CHAPTER 27

 

Alan got out and gave her a hug. “This is sure a welcome surprise! Is everything alright?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Everything’s fine. I was in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No problem. But I’m not buying your story—why aren’t you still in Milldale?”

“I’m driving to Cleveland and Columbus just so happens to be on the way there. I’ll tell you all about it after you fix me a drink.”

“You got it.”

Alan hastily grabbed the duffle bag before heading toward his house.

“So where have you been?” Amanda asked.

“Planting things,” he replied.

“Isn’t it a little late for a garden?”

“Not necessarily.”

The moment they entered, Pan was there to greet them.

“Hi ya, girl!” Amanda cried. “Haven’t seen you in forever!”

“No wonder, you’re hardly ever here,” Alan said dryly.

“Well I’m here now. Hope you don’t mind putting me up for the night.”

“You kidding? My pleasure.”

They entered the kitchen and Alan made a beeline for the fridge. “What would you like?”

“Actually, a beer would be perfect if you have one to spare.”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” he quipped as he took out a pair of Yuenglings.

He removed the caps and handed a bottle to Amanda.

“Cheers.”

After a long slug, Alan took a bottle of Advil from the cupboard, poured a few in his hand and downed them.

“Must be one hell of a headache,” Amanda said.

“Joints. Just hang-dropped from a tree.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope. I’ll tell you all about it. But first you have to tell me what you’re up to.”

“Let’s sit down—this could take a while.”

They sat down at the kitchen table and Amanda told Alan what Charlie Ling had found for her and about her subsequent research of the Davidson and Associates employees.

“When I found out that they had a database worker named Clark Royer and that there had once been a Clark Royer pulled over for impersonating a police officer, I got really excited. Then I confirmed that both Clark Royers were one and the same after doing some more digging. Can you believe it? I think I may have found our guy!”

“It sounds promising. And that’s why you’re going to Cleveland, I assume?”

“Yup. I’ve got Royer’s address so I’m going to go see what I can find out. And I really need your help.”

“Shoot.”

“Say I find this guy and manage to somehow confirm that he’s our perp. What do I do then?”

“Depends on how much evidence you have. You have to make damn sure he’s a good suspect before you can even consider involving the law. Just because you see something that makes you think, ‘he’s our guy,’ it’s probably not going to be enough to get any kind of rise out of the police. Your proof has to be rock solid. Then, and only then, do you get the local law involved. And that won’t be a cakewalk, either. You’ll be in an unfamiliar city without any connections with law enforcement so they’ll be hesitant to give you any support. Plus, you’re not even a licensed investigator. And even if you were, you’re gonna find yourself faced with every PI’s dilemma—you’ve solved a crime but are virtually powerless to do anything about it. It’s like being all dressed up with nowhere to go.

“But before I sound like I’m trying to discourage you, I’ll tell you what you need to do. Call me. Tell me what you have and all you can about the situation. Do not do anything risky or involve the authorities until you’ve called me first, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t. I just hope this isn’t a bum steer. Uncle Ken thinks there’s a good chance they’ll arrest Nick soon—maybe as soon as Monday. The latest word is that the prosecutor is ready to take some action.”

“That sucks. Any chance that word has gotten out about Nick’s jaunt to Richmond? Because if the prosecutor found that out, it could make him feel confident enough to order Nick’s arrest.”

“That’s what Uncle Ken thinks may have happened, and that the authorities think Nick secretly drove to Richmond to take care of something that could be incriminating. Then he slipped back into town before anybody found out he ever left. If necessary, I could of course testify what really happened, but Uncle Ken doesn’t want things to go that far. He’s starting to get really nervous about this. He’s trying hard not to show it but I know better. That’s exactly why I don’t want to waste another day.”

“Have you heard any more about the sheriff’s son?”

“Nothing. Uncle Ken wonders if Sheriff Foley is second-guessing Mark’s guilt if they have indeed found out about Nick leaving town.”

“Damn, what a mess! I wish I could go to Cleveland with you but my hands are tied. I have my own rather pressing situation brewing here.”

Alan proceeded to tell Amanda about his case, from the beginning to the present. When he was finished, she was shell-shocked.

“I can’t believe it! And these people are doing this sort of shit here in Columbus as we speak?”

“Yup. So now you see why I felt morally obliged to pick up this case. It’s fairly common knowledge that human trafficking is growing steadily in this country and that it involves victims of all ages and nationalities. But when you find out that there are children as young as toddlers involved, and that it’s happening right here in your own backyard, it’s more than a little disturbing. And I can’t begin to describe how sick the bastards renting these kids are—how they chat online to each other about their experiences and how goddamn exciting it is to manipulate and abuse these children! You’d think they were talking about first dates in high school! They have no hearts—no compassion whatsoever for these kids or what it’s doing to them. They are evil, absolutely evil.”

“My god—I can’t imagine. So this Mansky guy is basically the pimp? And he’s working for somebody else?”

“That’s what it looks like. Columbus is apparently just the tip of the iceberg. The rest of the operation has its roots in Miami. That’s where they keep the abducted children before they’re distributed elsewhere. Fleming thinks that the majority of them are sold or rented out in the South but a select few are transported to Columbus. It looks as though Mansky and his boss are looking for a certain type of victim for a select group of clients. From what we’ve seen, that type appears to be young girls and possibly boys in the age range of around six to eleven or so.”

“So what you’re saying is that this select group of johns, clients, or whatever you’d call them, have the financial means to indulge their particular tastes.”

“Oh yeah. We don’t know exactly how much these men are paying or what the fee includes time-wise, but there is no doubt that it’s at least in the four-figure range. Fleming says he’s known of rich clients like these assholes spending as much as a couple thousand dollars for a single night with a child. The fee is based on things like age, size, experience or lack thereof, body type—if you can believe it—shit like that. Isn’t that unreal?”

“I’ll say. I wonder where these kids are being kept?”

“That’s what I hope to find out—along with where the clients are taking them while they’re on the clock.”

“I hope you can do it. This is really sick.”

“For sure. Another beer?”

Amanda drained the remainder and handed him the bottle. “You read my mind.”

They spent the next hour or so talking about nothing in particular. Alan had just returned from another trip to the fridge when Amanda suddenly took hold of his hand.

“Fancy drinking these somewhere more comfortable?”

“Like?”

“Up there?” she gestured, smiling coyly.

“I would definitely fancy that.”

Still holding onto her hand, Alan stood up and led the way upstairs to the bedroom. Along the way his head was filled with a plethora of emotions, all of them positive. And for the first time in over a week, solving cases was the last thing on his mind.