THE BLUE FILE CONTAINED a life’s work, or rather, the skeletal outline of one. Nowhere in the collection of documents was an accurate depiction of the blood, sweat, and sacrifice which had defined a career in public service.
Tony paused in the doorway to the conference room. The acrid smell of reheated coffee washed over him, souring his stomach enough to match his mood. He cast one last look down at Jenna Wheaton’s personnel file before calling out to the chamber’s sole occupant. “Here it is.”
Derek Samuelson, the exceptionally slender, fifty-two-year-old Washington State Patrol investigator sat at the table. Appearing to be in jeopardy of disappearing beneath the massive stacks of paper surrounding him, he glanced up from the report he was reading. “Thanks, you can leave it on the table.”
Last night, Samuelson and his team had descended upon the crime scene with pinpoint precision. Over the past few years, the citizens of Washington state had made it clear they were not about to allow the fox to guard the henhouse. Regulations required local law enforcement to cede authority of investigations to oversight agencies such as the WSP.
Whether Tony liked it or not, Deputy Wheaton, and by extension, Tony’s entire department, was now the subject of an investigation. Samuelson had taken the reins last night without exercising undue ego or engaging in false flattery. The approach had earned him Tony’s respect.
Watching a shortage of resources for an unknown young girl turn into a veritable bounty of resources for the death of a convicted pedophile had rubbed Kate the wrong way. After submitting to a seemingly endless barrage of questions about how the attempt to arrest Delford had turned into a homicide, she had been more than ready to accept Tony’s invitation to go out for drinks, as well as everything afterward. While their parting had not been unpleasant, her drastic change in demeanor had made it appear last night’s offer was a one-time deal. He hoped like hell that was not the case.
The taste of her kiss still lingered in his mouth. It had teased his senses on the brief ride back to his place, rising to almost unbearable proportions when he jumped into the shower before heading back in to relieve Flaherty.
As much as he wanted her body, what he most needed from Kate was her help. Although he hated to admit it, he would not be surprised if the added layers of bureaucracy and public scrutiny sent her running. He couldn’t blame her. While he had originally wanted the sheriff’s position, there had been a split-second last night when poor Wheaton had squinted up at him through the blood and bits of Delford’s brains when he had almost taken off running himself.
Pushing all thoughts of the hot detective and his beleaguered deputy from his mind, Tony placed Wheaton’s file on the table. “When I came on board as sheriff, I wanted to make sure everyone in this department understood the gravity of walking around with a gun strapped to their hip. I instituted mandatory quarterly training classes. You’ll find all the certificates of completion in here.”
Intelligent blue eyes settled on Tony’s. “I reviewed the footage from Wheaton’s body camera. It’s like a textbook training video.”
“That’s a credit to Wheaton as much as to the training.”
The investigator’s expression remained impassive. “When I complete my investigation, I’ll forward my findings to the county prosecutor who will review the evidence and decide whether there is cause to proceed with charges.”
“I understand. The last thing I want is any appearance of a rush to judgment. This department has had a squeaky-clean record and I don’t want it to change.”
“Perception is important. We’re going to hold a joint press conference with the mayor this afternoon. The Governor plans to make a statement afterward and we’ll want you to be there. Wheaton’s name will be made public.”
Tony winced. “I assumed as much. It’s the right thing to do for the sake of transparency, but it’s going to suck for her son. The poor kid is going to know people are questioning whether his mom is a hero or simply a bully with a gun.”
For a moment, Tony thought Samuelson’s features were about to morph into something approaching sympathy, but the man merely nodded and resumed his reading.
Without another word, Tony headed back to his office. Retrieving his coat and hat from the row of hooks behind his door, he walked to the front desk where he endured a full three minutes of Deputy Flaherty’s impassioned protests to what he considered Samuelson’s excessive use of the coffee machine.
Taking a minute to back the younger man off the emotional ledge, Tony emerged into the parking lot and jogged through the light rain to his car. Starting the ignition, his heart rate climbed by leaps and bounds. He smiled, unsure whether the increased pace was a response to who he was about to see, or what he was about to find out.
*
Familiarity with the route made the trip to the coroner’s office seem much shorter than it had been on Kate’s first visit. She took a sip of the latte Tony had presented when he arrived at the cottage to pick her up fifteen minutes ago. Mercifully, the drink came with no strings attached. There’d been no reference to the previous night’s tryst, only a brief smile and an invitation to be on their way.
During the drive, he had briefed her on his interactions with Samuelson. He had almost finished when they were interrupted by a call from the mayor. Kate had listened as he fielded round after round of questions. With every passing mile she had learned that in addition to being an exceptionally promising lover, the sheriff was also an exceptional gamesman.
Finally, Tony ended the call. Shaking his head, he relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and glanced at her. “I want to tell you how sorry I am for getting you caught up in all this. You know I won’t blame you if you want to call it quits.”
The last statement was directed toward the windshield, but Kate responded to it anyway. “I may regret it, but with Wheaton on administrative leave, Lloyd busted down to desk duty for leaking like a sieve, and your entire department the target of a state investigation, I don’t see how I can walk out on you now.”
She glanced out the window then fixed her gaze back on his profile. “So, I’m staying on to help for the next few weeks. But you have to promise to keep me out of the spotlight.”
Letting out a long sigh of relief, he turned back to her. “You’ve got it. By the way, has anyone ever told you how awesome you are?”
“Only the people who desperately need my help.”
“I never thought I’d be happy to be considered desperate, but here I am.” Something wicked sparked in his eyes as he gazed briefly at her.
Kate let the words hang in the air. A few moments later, Tony pulled into the lot. Mildred Gellert greeted them at the back door. She had exchanged her blue scrubs for jeans and a knit sweater adorned with cats in various stages of repose.
After completing the check-in process, they followed her into a small office adjoining the autopsy suite. The workspace was as immaculate and organized as the rest of the facility. An artful display of ceramics incorporated the coroner’s creative nature into the decor.
“I take it you heard what happened last night?” Tony asked.
Stepping behind her desk, Mildred settled into a chair that was more like a cast-off from a chic dining room table than something one might find in a typical office. “The mayor called me first thing this morning to tell me WSP is taking over Delford’s autopsy. I reminded him playing with political grenades is not my thing. Anyway, let’s get to the reason I called you over here—Jane Doe’s implants.”
“I hope you’ve got something good,” Tony mumbled as he and Kate dropped into matching black task chairs.
“I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t.” Mildred winked at him as her fingers flew across a wireless keyboard.
She turned her monitor around to face them. The display featured the homepage for a corporate website. “They were part of a run of conical connection implants Gerterre Industries manufactured late last year. This particular set had been exported to an oral surgeon in Malaysia.”
The coroner tapped her mouse, bringing up another window. The website was replaced with a mugshot of a southeast Asian man in his late forties. Excessive wrinkles and a deeply furrowed brow implied a history fraught with adversity.
“This is Bujang Nik. Forty-eight years old, single, and until recently, the sole practitioner in his struggling business. He was arrested two months ago in Kuala Lumpur.” She brought up another window alongside the picture; it contained an arrest record.
Kate scanned the document but could not decipher a single word of the Malay language. She raised an eyebrow. “For?”
“Accessory to human trafficking. He was getting hefty sums from a sex ring dead set on making over their teenage girls with perfect cover girl smiles. During a visit, a girl slipped an SOS note to one of his assistants. The woman made an excuse to leave the room then called the police.”
“Did he talk?” Tony asked.
“He admitted knowing the girls were sex slaves. Apparently, he was required to work under the strict supervision of a handler who was also arrested at the scene. Six other girls had sat in that chair before the last one had the guts to risk reaching out for help.”
“Did he give them anything else?”
“No. He committed suicide two days after he was arrested. To this day, the handler has refused to say a word.”
Kate recalled the horrific sex trafficking cases she had encountered in the Bay Area. She had seen everything from traumatized little girls and boys squirreled away in building heating and cooling machinery spaces, to adults strapped to beds in perpetual states of drug-fueled delusion.
When she spoke, her voice conveyed none of the turmoil the memories evoked. “Those rings are one-stop shops. They procure victims, break them in, and have vast networks for getting them into the United States.”
The facts fell into place for Kate like pieces in a puzzle. “Most of these rings operate on sheer volume. Slaves are forced to turn upwards of thirty to sixty tricks per day. Usually, it isn’t so much about the slave’s looks as their abilities. But if these guys are investing so much cash to make sure their girls look perfect, they must be appealing to a higher caliber clientele with more discerning tastes.”
Tony’s cell phone clamored to life. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Samuelson.”
“Go ahead and take it, I’ve told you all I know.” Mildred grabbed a nearby cup of tea and exited the room.
Tony waited until the door closed to accept the call. He was on the phone for no more than thirty seconds before he suddenly stiffened. Pulling the device from his ear, he began tapping at the screen. Nodding to no one in particular, he resumed the call and ended it a few seconds later.
When he turned to Kate, it seemed as if the air around her was tingling with electricity.
“One of the state techs found a hidden stash at Delford’s place. He was searching the bedroom when he spotted excessive wear on the screws in a heating vent. He pulled the screws and looked in the duct. Inside was a strongbox full of child porn photos. They also found a flash drive laden with digital porn, along with one other file. Samuelson emailed it to me. He wants us to watch it right now.”
Tony turned his phone sideways and propped it on the desk in front of them.
Steeling herself, Kate looked at the screen. A frozen, grainy image of a concrete slab appeared with a white triangle in the center of it. Tony tapped the white play icon, prompting a low hissing from the device’s speakers.
“Where are you?” The disembodied voice carried a faint echo, as well as a note of familiarity.
The image began to bounce up and down, making it appear the world was tilting on its axis. The movement became increasingly frenetic, making it impossible to discern anything in the field of view.
In the next moment, the world stood still. “Okay, there you are.” The cadence and tone tickled Kate’s memory while souring her stomach.
The camera had settled on a blue tarp, which had been neatly wrapped into a long, thick bundle. She leaned forward, peering intently at the screen.
In the background, she could just make out the outline of a deep pit cut into the concrete nearby. She recognized the warehouse she had visited days before, immediately recalling the putrid stench which had seared its way into her olfactory senses.
“Hold on a second, we have to be able to see you.” A hint of exasperation accompanied the voice. The image went blurry again for a moment then stilled.
Instead of the floor, the camera was now fixed on the ceiling. A gloved hand and part of a white sleeve appeared. The appendage moved back and forth with steady determination. A crackling sound, reminiscent of cats running through a crinkle tunnel, blasted through the speakers.
“There you are.” The exasperation in the mystery voice’s tone was replaced by triumph. The arm rose, revealing a gloved hand for a split second before the image flipped again.
Delford, who Wheaton had shot the night before, appeared looking alive and well. He wore white plastic coveralls. A spark of defiance lit his eyes as he gazed directly into the camera.
“This video is my insurance policy. You better not dick with me down the road because I’ve got a lot more than this, I’ve kept other stuff—things that can prove what you’re up to if you ever try to fuck me over.”
The view shifted once more, sweeping down across the floor and over to the bundle. The entire tarp had been unwrapped, exposing Jane Doe’s battered corpse. Copious amounts of blood streaked the sides of the plastic around the dead girl’s torso.
Kate’s gaze trailed down the body to the cadaver’s feet which had not yet been devoured by sodium hydroxide. The only betrayal of the roiling cauldron of rage and revulsion inside of her was the breathless release of the words, “Son of a bitch.”
Delford brought the camera back around to face himself. “Remember—I know everything. Not only where you keep the girls here, but how you got them into the country and what you’re doing with them. Bottom line …” He pulled the phone closer to his face, filling the screen with a menacing glare. “DON’T … FUCK … WITH … ME!”
A spray of spittle accompanied the warning. In the next second, the intense expression was replaced with the original still image of the concrete floor.
The sheriff sat back in his seat and looked at Kate. “That’s all there is.”
Kate turned from the screen to look at Tony. When she spoke, her expression was downright stony. “He mentioned girls—plural.”
“He also confirmed someone else is involved. And that those girls are being smuggled into the country. No wonder the victim didn’t show up on any missing persons lists.”
Kate nodded. “Did the WSP find anything else at the property?”
“Samuelson said there was nothing significant. But based on the video, he’s going to rush the lab results for every sample they collected out there.”
“So, Delford was either bluffing about having more evidence, or he split it between more than one hiding spot. Either way, this has turned into much more than a simple murder case.”
As soon as she said the words, Kate felt as if reality shifted. The same internal clock which had mercilessly counted down every moment of powerlessness during the Tower Torturer investigation suddenly rumbled to life deep inside her.
Tony sat back in his seat, casting a forlorn look at the framed topographical map of northwestern Washington hanging on the wall behind the coroner’s desk. “He said the girls are being kept here. How many? And how long before they end up like Jane Doe?”
Recognizing the sheer size of the challenge before them, Kate decided to grasp it by the throat. “Every second that passes is another second lost. We need to go back to Delford’s girlfriend. We also need to pay another serious visit to Aaru.”
She narrowed her gaze. “At least we won’t have to go it alone anymore. We have reason to believe the girls are the victims of human trafficking. That expands the case beyond your jurisdiction, Sheriff.” Anticipating the inevitable trajectory of the dominos which had begun to fall in her mind, Kate pulled out her cell and began dialing the one phone number her recent experiences with the Tower Torturer had made her hope she would never use.
“Who are you calling?” Tony mouthed as she waited for the line to be answered.
“Someone who owes me a favor. Let’s hope I can collect enough on it to keep this case from slipping through our fingers.” Steeling her stomach against the sound of each successive ring, she stood and headed outside. An audience was the last thing she needed for this particular conversation.