“Good morning, girls,” Anaya announced, softly. She did not want to startle them.
Murmured grunts and groans floated across the room as the girls adjusted to the introduction of light. Slowly, one by one, they sat up, rubbing their eyes and yawning. They looked inquisitively at the woman standing in the doorway.
Anaya didn’t speak Spanish. Although, in her many years of working in Austin, she’d seen the need and vowed to one day learn it. She’d planned to do a lot of things, but life seemed to get in the way. She could fill this small room with her to do list.
A translator from the detective unit stood behind her as she spoke, translating verbatim. “Girls, I need your help. Another girl is in trouble. The same people that did this to you are after her. We need to find her before they do,” Anaya said, waiting as the message was relayed to them in their native tongue.
Most of the girls stared vacantly at the social worker. Not in defiance. More in indifference. The brutality of their past circumstance depleted their empathy. Anaya knew this because she’d gone through it herself. Some victims never regained their sense of self.
One girl, a thirteen-year-old who referred to herself as Maria during intake, nodded slightly at the request. It was a subtle gesture, but Anaya was relieved to see it.
“Come with me,” Anaya said, gesturing with her hand as if beckoning a toddler to walk.
Maria looked around at her bunkmates timidly, hesitating momentarily as she slipped off the bed. She walked to the doorway and didn’t look back at the other girls, not wanting to see the judgment in their eyes. Anaya received her with a smile and escorted her out of the room. The remaining four girls resumed their supine positions as the light clicked off and the door closed.
Maria sat on a couch and Anaya in a chair positioned adjacent to her. The room had pale pink walls with three framed paintings, each depicting sunsets in swirls of bright colors. Potted plants were set in the two far corners. Out of context, it would look more like a small living room. It was done so by design. A room created to facilitate communication from young victims. Sad that such a room was needed. Sadder that it was needed with such an increased frequency.
Jones watched on the other side through the one-way mirror. Unlike the portrayal of television’s numerous police dramas, investigators did not typically interview child victims. That was handled by a select group of trained social workers. These forensic interviews were designed to elicit conversations without any manipulation, using a nationally recognized set of protocols. Anaya was qualified to conduct the interview. Something that she excelled at it. The translator sat in a folding chair positioned directly behind Maria to ensure the girl would only look and speak toward the interviewer.
The flow was slow at first, with the delay of each question being converted for Maria. The translator also relayed Maria’s responses in English for Anaya. But beyond the technical aspect of the interview’s pace, it was further hampered by Maria’s resistance to talk about her situation. Typical of these victims, but with the clock ticking on Mouse, it was more frustrating than usual. Anaya fought hard to suppress her anxiety.
“Maria, we need to find her. Her life depends on it,” Anaya said, almost pleading with the teen.
Anaya sat drumming her fingers against her notepad as the words were translated. At the conclusion of the translation, Maria’s head dipped a fragment lower in a mannerism that could only be described as sad.
Then Maria spoke for the first time since entering the room. She whispered, “They will find her. They always do.”
The words, spoken in English, caught both Anaya and the translator by surprise. Anaya didn’t admonish the child for holding back. She understood it. She knew it was the girl’s last defensive weapon and that she had just lowered her imaginary sword of distrust.
“What do you mean they always do?” Anaya asked.
“I got away once. Not for long, but I did,” Maria said, a small swell of pride entering her diminutive voice.
“What happened?” Anaya asked.
“I was small back then. I got out through a bathroom window at one of the motels,” Maria said, pausing for approval before she continued. “I thought I had escaped.” The teenager’s voice trailed off at this last statement.
“How long did it take for them to find you?” Anaya asked.
“Not long,” Maria said, flatly.
“What happened then?” Anaya asked, afraid of the child’s answer.
Maria didn’t answer. The emotional wall took shape again. The girl’s eyes look distant.
“How did they find you?” Anaya asked, redirecting the dialogue back to her comfort zone.
Maria shrugged. “They shouldn’t have. I was hiding in a tunnel pretty far away from the motel,” Maria said, looking for the social worker to provide an insight.
“Did they see you run off?” Anaya asked.
“I don’t think so. I was hiding and a man appeared out of nowhere. He told me to come with him. He had a gun, so I listened,” Maria said, defensively.
“And then what happened?”
“He took me somewhere else,” Maria whispered, her strength zapped.
The teenager pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms tightly around them. She began a gentle rocking motion. The trauma of that memory was still raw. Anaya assumed this was probably the first time she’d spoken about it to anyone.
“You’re very brave, Maria. I hope you know that. I hope you understand how special you really are,” Anaya said.
The words were designed to soothe the girl after this retelling. But they couldn’t have been truer. Some people repressed the memories of such trauma so deeply that the words to describe it are lost forever.
“What happens to us now?” Maria asked, softly.
“I will make sure that you’re safe. Those people will not hurt you ever again.”
“They’ll find me again,” Maria said, with a shiver.
“I promise you that will not happen,” Anaya said, but the confidence backing that statement waned. Especially after the recent events with Mouse.
“I’m tired,” Maria said.
Anaya registered the girl’s comment and understood its meaning. She was done talking and Anaya knew better than to push any further.
“Thank you for speaking with me, Maria. You were very helpful.”
Anaya escorted the girl back to the room. Maria quietly scampered back into the bed and found a comfortable spot among the sprawled bodies. She was quickly swallowed up by the scattered blankets and into the arms of friends. Her safety net.
“Well, what do you think?” Jones asked as Anaya returned.
The two now stood in the disarray of Jones’s cubicle looking at each other. Anaya drummed her fingers and Jones rubbed his stomach.
“At least she’s talking. That’s a huge first step in the right direction for us,” Anaya said, optimistically.
“True, but time isn’t on our side. We don’t have the luxury of waiting around to slowly bleed information out of these girls,” Jones said.
Frustration had set in and the comment’s tone came out rougher than intended. Jones quickly fumbled to add, “Sorry. I’m worried about the girl and I’m pissed off at what happened to Nick. I want this guy bad. I want his whole damn crew!”
“Me too,” Anaya said, placing her hand on his shoulder.
The touch’s effect was immediate. It did two things simultaneously. It calmed him, but also excited him. Jones regretted that his cheeks coloring did little to hide his emotions. He nodded and looked away, pretending to look for something in his stack of files.
“Next step?” Anaya asked.
“I’ve got every cop in the city keeping an eye out for the girl. The traffic unit is checking intersection cameras and license-plate readers to see if we can get a plate on the Range Rover. Maybe something will break in our favor,” Jones said.
He’d deployed similar tactics on abduction cases in the past and sometimes these measure
s helped. Sometimes it was the simplest of things that broke a case wide open. The infamous Son of Sam serial killer, David Berkowitz, was eventually caught because of a parking ticket.
“Who knows, maybe we’ll get a sighting of her and Rusty can track her down again,” Anaya said, widening her eyes with a hopeful look.
Anaya rubbed her head. She yawned as if trying to swallow all the air from the building.
“Get some rest. Rusty is refueling his vehicle and his partner. I’ve got it for a few hours while you reset yourself,” Jones said, giving a half-smile.
He attempted to give Anaya a comforting pat on her shoulder, but as he turned, the wide girth of his midriff tapped a teetering stack of papers. It was like pulling the wrong Jenga piece. A tidal wave of file folders splashed to the floor.
Jones reddened with a combination of embarrassment and exertion as he bent down. Suddenly, he stopped his feverish attempt at reorganization. He stood holding several 8x10 glossies. His eyes were transfixed on the images.
“What’s up?” Anaya asked.
“Not sure,” Jones mumbled, still staring at the pictures.
Anaya circled behind the detective and stood on her tippy toes to look over his shoulder at the images.
The two stared at the closeup images of the motel room girls’ burned hiplines. Jones shuffled between the branding mark of the eleven-year-old and the others. The doctor said the eleven-year-old’s burn had been done recently. He stated that pinkness and irritation of skin indicated it was still healing. Something caught the eye of the seasoned detective when he compared this girl’s picture to the others.
“Why does that one look different?” Anaya asked.
Her voice startled him. Jones quickly regained his composure and cleared his throat.
“Not sure, but it almost looks like there’s a square underneath it. Like something under the skin is framing the burn.”
“Okay?” Anaya said in a questioning tone.
“I want to get these girls back to the hospital. Now! I know I just told you to go home and get some rest, but I could really use your help with this,” Jones said, his eyes pleading.
“You don’t even have to ask. There’s no way I’d be able to fall asleep anyway. At least not until we find Mouse and I know that Nick’s going to be okay,” Anaya said.
“I’m going to let my boss know we’re going to be taking them back to medical,” Jones said.
He was already moving. He headed in the direction of his boss’s corner office with the file folder containing the images loosely tucked under his arm.
“I’ll start rousing the girls,” Anaya said, heading back toward the room where she’d just taken Maria.
Anaya quietly turned the knob and opened the door. She allowed the light to spill in from the office area and fill the room. Maria sat upright first. She cocked her head and raised one eyebrow. The question on her face was obvious. What do you want now?
“We need to go back to the hospital. Can you tell the others?” Anaya asked in a whisper.
She knew the importance of empowering the teenager by giving her a role. It would be much more agreeable to the other girls if the request came from Maria. By default, she’d become their leader and they’d trust her over any cop or social worker.
Maria nodded and began whispering to the other girls crammed on the beds. Anaya was glad to see Maria’s willingness to help. It would be beneficial to the investigation. But, more importantly, it gave Anaya hope that the girl would be strong enough to later battle the demons of her recent past.
Chapter 37
The fluorescent light bled into his eyes, causing them to water. With each blink, his surroundings became clearer. He looked at the intravenous line running from the back of his hand up to the clear plastic bag hanging off the thin metal rack. Nobody was in the room, but he could hear voices outside. The blinds were drawn and the analog clock on the wall said 8:52. Nick had no idea if it was morning or night. The disoriented confusion bothered him.
He adjusted himself in the bed when he heard the click of the door’s latch. His left side protested the movement. The pain was strong enough to make him wince. Nick was prepared for a more intense sensation and the dull throb indicated he was on pain meds. The fog in his head was also a telling sign.
“Mr. Lawrence, I’m glad to see you’re awake,” the nurse said as she entered the room.
She approached slowly, first checking several of the machines surrounding his bed. She picked up his hand that had the IV attached and manipulated it, checking the tape. She placed his hand back on the bed without much care.
“What’s the damage?” Nick mumbled. His speech was impacted by the dryness of his mouth.
“The doctor will be in shortly to go over everything with you. How are you feeling?” she asked, with a curtness that was neither rude nor pleasant.
“I feel like someone stabbed me,” Nick said, making a feeble attempt at levity.
“Very funny, Mr. Lawrence. On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your discomfort?” the nurse asked, dryly.
“I feel good. The pain isn’t bad at all. I would give it a three,” Nick said, hoping his self-evaluation would lead to a speedy discharge. He hated hospitals and wanted to leave as soon as he was able.
“Well, you’re a very tough man. Most people wouldn’t be so lighthearted after going through an ordeal like yours.” The nurse gave a flaccid smile.
“I’ve been through worse.” Nick paused, recalling the injuries sustained from the standoff with the Translator eight months ago. The reminders of those wounds still plagued him. He continued, “How long until I’m out of here?”
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse. You’ve got quite a bit of recovery time before you’re going to be out chasing bad guys,” the nurse said, sounding like a parent trying to get her child to eat his vegetables.
Nick didn’t respond. He would save his argument about an early discharge for the doctor. The nurse set about her business, re-checking the different monitors and noting the information on a chart.
“Are you up for some company while you wait for the doctor?” the nurse asked, as she made her way to the door.
“Sure,” Nick said, softly.
“Well, this damn case went to hell in a handbasket quicker than shit,” Jones said, as he strolled into the room with Anaya in tow.
Jones’s drawl was in full effect. He even added a slight swagger to his walk. Nick watched the Austin detective saunter to his bedside, imagining him in a pair of spurs and a ten-gallon hat. Nick laughed at the thought.
“Hey Jones, don’t get all emotional on my account. I don’t want you to drown yourself in a stress-induced brisket-eating-frenzy on my account,” Nick retorted.
“This is what you need, my fit friend,” Jones said, gripping the excess around his waistline. Chuckling, he added, “Extra bulletproofing! I’ll bet that knife wouldn’t’ve even penetrated my outer layer”
“How are you feeling?” Anaya said, not giving into the childish banter of the two investigators.
“I’m good as gold,” Nick said, repositioning himself to look at Anaya.
“I answered your phone for you while you were out of it.” Anaya said, sheepishly.
Her fingers twiddled, and she dropped her eyes slightly. Anaya had a worried look, as though she was a child admitting to stealing a candy bar.
“Thanks. Anything important?” Nick asked, showing that he wasn’t fazed at all by the intrusion.
“It was a friend of yours,” Anaya said, pausing for a moment before she continued. “Izzy.”
Nick saw the slightest of facial tics in Anaya’s face at the mention of Izzy. Her left cheek muscle spasmed, pulsing once. Nick knew it was an involuntary response. He wasn’t sure of its meaning but was intrigued by the prospects.
“Oh, what did she say?” Nick asked, hoping to see another reaction.
“She said to tell you that she was on her way. She also told me to tell you that Decl
an was with her,” Ayana said, relaying the message. This time without the tic.
“What? Why?” Nick asked. The question was more to himself, knowing that Anaya wouldn’t hold the answer.
Anaya shrugged.
“I’ve got something big!” Jones said, slapping a manila folder on the railing of the hospital bed.
Nick waited, knowing Jones was only pausing for effect and would give the big reveal to his news without further prompting.
“Check this out,” Jones said, opening the file and sliding out a photograph.
Jones handed over the glossy image. Nick held it close to his face. His eyes scanned the image. He’d already seen it before and squinted hard, wondering what detail he missed.
“Maybe I’m still coming off the anesthesia but isn’t that the same picture I already saw?” Nick asked, confused.
Jones smiled, frustrating him further. He was going to make him work for it. Nick again looked at the image of a branded hip of one of the girls from the motel.
“It is, but we missed something the first time around. Look carefully,” Jones said, teetering on the verge of giddy.
Nick cocked his eyebrow, showing his disinterest in playing this game any further with his Austin counterpart.
“I give up. What am I looking at?” Nick asked, sighing loudly.
“I didn’t see it at first either. None of us did,” Jones said.
The portly detective leaned over the railing of Nick’s hospital bed. His belly pressed hard against it, spilling over onto Nick’s arm as he pointed at the squared outline that framed the brand. He retracted and shoved his hand into his pants pocket.
“Look at this,” Jones said, holding up a plastic bag.
“What’s that?” Nick asked, looking at the small black objects inside. They were the size and shape of scrabble tiles.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before. Have you?” Jones asked.
Jones raised both eyebrows expressively as his eyes widened. He tossed the bag to Nick. It landed on his chest. The contents of the ziplock jingled.
The Lion's Mouth Page 13
