by Alex Kava
Creed was holding the Polaroid so tightly between his fingers, he was sure his hand had gone numb.
When Charlotte was quiet for too long, Maggie turned to him and reached for the photo. She handed it casually to the woman, and Charlotte stared at it in mid-air. She started to reach for it with the hand connected to the tubes then readjusted and took it gently with her other hand.
“Have you seen this photo before? Or one like it?” she asked the woman.
Maggie had put white tape over the names written on the bottom. Charlotte stared intently. When she spoke again, her voice was almost a whisper.
“I remember this little girl.”
Creed felt a flutter of hope and tried to tamp down the anticipation.
“She clutched this old picture and held on to it like it was some kind of pathetic lifeline.” Charlotte’s tone switched suddenly to disgust. “I hated how frightened she was. I hated how she thought having it gave her hope. A stupid photo. I wanted to rip it up. I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.”
Maggie shot a glance back at Creed. He had to stop himself from grabbing the Polaroid away and protecting it from this woman.
Then she looked up at Creed and said, “You’re the boy in the photo.”
A statement, not a question.
He simply nodded.
The woman smiled. A first. It made her look so much younger.
“I wondered if you existed,” she said. “Or if you were just a figment of my imagination. I tried so hard to forget about you.” Then she said, “Your name’s Ryder.”
Creed felt as if his heart had stopped beating.
“Wait a minute,” Maggie said, and she put her hand out, palm flat against Creed’s chest as if she needed to stop him physically from thinking, from believing what this woman was saying. To Creed, she whispered, “She could have heard your sister talk about you.”
To the woman, she asked, “Did you know the little girl you were talking about? The one you said was holding onto this photo?”
“I used to know her. But she’s been gone a very long time.”
Creed realized this was a rollercoaster, because now he felt his stomach drop to his knees.
“She disappeared when Iris started calling me Charlotte. I think Iris called all of us Charlotte, because that was her little girl’s name. She told me I had to stop being a frightened little girl holding onto a stupid photo. That I was Charlotte, now. And I had to stop being Brodie.”
Chapter 66
Omaha, Nebraska
Creed couldn’t believe that Maggie wouldn’t allow him to talk to the woman any more.
“We have your mother’s DNA sample. We can find out whether this woman is telling the truth,” she told him.
“How would she know my name? How would she know Brodie?”
“If she saw the original photo, your names were written on the bottom. Please, trust me. You need to wait. You’ve waited sixteen years, what’s another couple of days?”
“Days?”
He was upset. He was elated. He wanted to talk and ask more questions.
“What harm is there in me talking to her?” he asked.
“Because you’ll believe her, and what if the test comes back negative?”
“Then I won’t have lost anything that I haven’t already lost.”
But he didn’t argue. Deep down he knew Maggie was just trying to protect him from another heartbreak. After all, what were the chances this woman really was Brodie?
Pakula had told them that Eli Dunn and his sister, Iris Malone may have taken dozens of girls from rest areas and truck stops, using an RV that Dunn had parked in an old barn. Kristel Unger, the woman they’d pulled from the lake, was proof. The girls all looked the same. Their stories would all sound the same.
And yet, she recognized him. Or did she?
Maggie stayed at the hospital with Pakula. Creed left to check on Grace in the back of his Jeep. He’d left the sunroof open, and it was beginning to sprinkle. Dark clouds hovered above the city and matched his mood. He tried to shake it off as he took Grace for a walk at the far end of the hospital’s parking lot.
His cell phone rang, and he grabbed it thinking Maggie may have changed her mind. It was Hannah. He hadn’t spoken with her in days, but somehow she always had the uncanny ability of knowing when he needed her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey yourself. Jason said he hadn’t heard from you in a couple of days, and I realized I hadn’t either.”
“Is he okay?” He’d forgotten about Jason and Scout’s search for the missing teenager.
“He’s hanging in there.”
“What happened?”
“You were right about Scout,” she told him. “That dog’s already a good scent dog. There was a shed in the backyard. Jason was embarrassed thinking Scout was alerting to a freezer full of frozen fish in that old shed. Turns out, that poor girl was in the freezer the whole time.”
“Damn!”
“The mother admitted she wanted to get rid of the girl. Had a new boyfriend. The girl was causing problems between them. So sad and so incredibly horrific.”
Creed shook his head. He wanted to ask how a mother could do that to her child, but both he and Hannah had seen it before. Instead, he said, “I was having Jason train Scout for search and rescue, so the two of them wouldn’t have to deal with so much death.”
“Some things you can’t plan, Rye. You know what I always say, man plans—”
“And God laughs,” he finished it for her.
“So how are you doing?”
“Maybe not so good.”
“Rye, I’ve been worried about you. Tell me what’s happening.”
“Hold on,” he told her as he opened the tailgate and lifted Grace into the Jeep. He slid into the driver’s seat just as the cold rain started.
Then he told Hannah about the young woman who might be Brodie.
Chapter 67
Interstate 80
Outside of Grand Island, Nebraska
Maggie hadn’t spoken to Creed since he’d left the hospital. She’d gotten back to the hotel late and thought about knocking on his door, but she knew if she did, they’d end up spending the night together again, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that.
This morning she left before dawn, but she sent him a text, asking if they could have dinner together. She explained that she and Pakula were checking out a hunch. Then she sent the message only after they were already on the road.
She felt like she could breathe again when a few minutes later he answered:
LOOKING FORWARD TO DINNER. BE SAFE.
She and Pakula had a two-hour drive. Plenty of time to talk. She told him what had happened when she and Creed talked to the woman named Charlotte. How she said her real name was Brodie.
“This woman’s been gone from society since she was eleven,” he said. “She might not know who she is.”
Last night, Pakula had already moved Charlotte to a place called Project Harmony where he said she’d be safe, well taken care of, and she’d be able to be with her kitten.
While Maggie was protecting Creed, she also realized that Charlotte’s story rang true. Pakula had told her about Iris Malone. When he and Trooper Gregory went to arrest her, they found a mantle of photos. Six little girls, all around ten to twelve years old. All with long brown hair and with the same features.
Since then, Pakula had found an obituary for Iris Malone’s daughter. The girl had died almost twenty years ago. Her name was Charlotte.
“Eli Dunn probably started out helping his sister take little girls to replace Charlotte,” Pakula said. “Then he took her rejects and discovered there was money to be made in human trafficking. I’m not sure what role the nephew, Aaron played. We found him dead in the barn. I haven’t asked Charlotte about that yet.”
Pakula told Maggie about the letter they had found in Eleanor Dunn’s house. The letter signed by Kristel, who they now suspected was Kristel Unger, the woman they’d found in Lake Wannahoo.
“She mentions a man named Eli. She overheard him and Aaron talking about how much he’d be able to sell her for. She said the Christmas house was the end of the line. You should see the place. Plastic reindeer, garland and glass balls. Looked like Eleanor Dunn certainly loved Christmas. She had it all decorated right before her daughter and son had her committed to a care facility. I guess they never bothered to do anything with the house. Left everything exactly the way it was the day she left.”
Though Pakula had found Charlotte in the house, he hadn’t found the three captives Eli had moved from his own farmhouse. Maggie could feel Pakula’s disappointment and frustration. But over the weekend, the boy Konnor had gained back another memory. Konnor remembered where the hotel was.
Pakula had told Maggie about Eli Dunn taking the boy and the others to a hotel every fourth Monday of the month for what Konnor called “fix-ups.” Now, as they traveled to that hotel on the fourth Monday of the month, Maggie wondered if Pakula was grasping at straws, thinking he could still find the others.
“Iris and Aaron might have helped him, but someone else warned him we were coming. Someone who knew about the raid,” Maggie reminded him, and she had her own suspicions.
After all, Creed had been right about the dive tank. Someone had tampered with it. How was that possible when they didn’t know they’d need it until the night before? Sheriff Timmons had arranged for the tank and the boat to be delivered to the lake. But the sheriff had been hand picked for the human trafficking task force by Pakula himself. Pakula didn’t want to believe the man was involved. He was well respected and had been the Butler County sheriff for decades.
When Creed and Maggie were in David City, Creed had picked up a local newspaper with a front-page story about the sheriff and his wife hosting a fundraiser for the victims of human trafficking. Late Saturday night, after Creed had fallen asleep, Maggie was wide awake, her body still remembering his touch, though she was completely exhausted. She found the newspaper in the outer room of his suite and started reading, thinking she could keep her mind from thinking about where this took her relationship with Creed. There was another article in the local newspaper. One that she saved to show Pakula.
The Butler County sheriff’s department had pulled over a vehicle on Interstate 80. The routine traffic stop had discovered 120 pounds of marijuana along with an undisclosed amount of C-4.
“You said the explosive device in the raccoon carcass was likely C-4?”
“That’s what I was told,” Pakula admitted. “C-4 with tripwires to a 4.5 volt battery.”
“Eli Dunn accused me of tricking him,” she said. “What if he was just as surprised by the explosion as the rest of us? Or maybe most of us?”
Pakula shook his head. “I’ve known Sheriff Steve Timmons for a long time.”
“He knew it was a raccoon. The carcass was hardly recognizable but Timmons knew it was raccoon.”
“Lucky guess. There’re a lot of raccoons around here,” Pakula continued to defend the man. “Besides, what would be the point?”
“He didn’t want Dunn’s scavenger hunt to continue.”
“I can’t imagine he planned to shoot Dunn. Or that he’d ever want Trooper Vegaz to lose his hand.”
She had to admit, maybe it was a stretch. But she had planted enough suspicion that Pakula didn’t include Sheriff Timmons in their plans this time.
The hotel was just off Interstate 80, outside of Grand Island, seventy-five miles from Sheriff Timmons’ hometown. Konnor had told Pakula which hotel Eli Dunn took them to every fourth Monday of the month and always in the morning. Each time, the customers were already in the rooms waiting for them.
Pakula and Maggie came in the front lobby. Trooper Gregory was waiting at the only exit in the back. He had brought along several other troopers with him. The hotel had three stories. They had no idea what rooms were being used.
Pakula flashed his badge at the young man sitting at the reception desk.
“What’s going on?”
Pakula put a finger to his lips while he yanked the telephone cord from the wall. Then he put his hand out.
“Your cell phone.”
The kid looked frightened and handed it over without another word.
Maggie didn’t wait. She was already halfway down the hall, her weapon drawn. As she walked by the guest rooms she knocked on the doors.
“Police, open up,” she called out as she kept walking and knocking.
She could hear rustling behind the doors. Her voice had carried so well, she could hear doors opening and slamming above her. She continued down the hall until she reached the door to the stairwell, and that’s where she waited while Pakula took up residence at the other end of the hallway.
By the end of the morning, they had made thirteen arrests. But Maggie was startled and shocked when she saw the kids. Two of the girls were so little, so young. Both with long brown hair, parted down the middle.
Pakula had brought in victim advocates to take care of them. The chaos had quieted just as Sheriff Timmons showed up, coming in the back exit.
Maggie watched Pakula’s face, surprise turn to disbelieve to anger.
“What are you doing here, Sheriff?”
“I just got the message. I didn’t realize we were hitting this place.” Timmons looked around and shook his head, making a good show of being disgusted.
“I didn’t call you.” Pakula said.
“Well, someone did,” the sheriff insisted.
“You and me need to talk,” Pakula said, and he gestured for the two of them to step outside.
There was a lot more work for Pakula’s task force, but they’d made a significant dent.
Later, Pakula would tell Maggie that Sheriff Timmons had broken down and told him about his wife’s unexpected diagnosis. How they had planned to travel after his retirement. And now, there wasn’t enough money for that. So Timmons had agreed to simply “look the other way” and protect a network of human traffickers in exchange for a retirement package he said he deserved.
Eli Dunn was part of a network, connected only by messages and ads on the Darknet. Dunn had never even met Timmons until the day of the raid on his farm, but Timmons was worried the man would somehow implement him. He’d found a way to warn Dunn then sabotage his outrageous scavenger hunt.
Hearing about the man’s financial problems didn’t come close to wiping away the image of those little girls’ faces. The man’s pleas had gotten nowhere with Pakula. Maggie suspected that Sheriff Timmons wouldn’t be spending his retirement traveling or with his wife.
Chapter 68
Florida Panhandle
Olivia was all packed, but Hannah insisted she have breakfast with her and Jason before she left for Atlanta. She needed to get back to the studio. Work had saved her before, and she knew it would do her soul some good now, though she was reluctant to leave. She’d gotten used to having Hannah fuss over her. Truth was she hadn’t had a friend like Hannah since her mother had passed away.
She joined Jason at the table. He looked better today. The three of them had talked for hours after he’d found that poor girl in the freezer. But the whole time, he petted Scout and caressed his dog.
During her stay, Olivia had come to understand that her son was an incredible man, and she wanted to get to know him if he’d allow it.
The phone rang, and Hannah answered.
“Yes, she’s here. And she’s all packed.”
She smiled at Olivia as she handed her the phone.
“Your son wants to speak with you.”
She could see something in Hannah’s eyes. There was something she wasn’t telling Olivia.
“Hello, Ryder. How are you?”
He didn’t waste any time and instead of a greeting, he said, “We found her.”
Immediately, Olivia’s entire body stiffened and her pulse began to race. She had been expecting this for years, but it still caught her off guard. How could she ever be ready to hear that the body of her little girl had finally been found?
“The DNA?” she asked, barely able to speak.
“It’s a match. But she’s alive.”
“Ryder, say that again?” Certainly, she couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“We found Brodie. And she’s alive. Hannah said you’re packed. I’ve booked a flight to Omaha for you.”
She was speechless, and Ryder must have taken her silence as reluctance.
“Unless you’d rather wait,” he said.
She glanced up at Hannah and across the table at Jason, both of them waiting for her response.
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
Author’s Note and Acknowledgments
Almost a decade ago a friend told me I should include human trafficking in a novel. That friend, Judge Leigh Ann Retelsdorf was a deputy Douglas County prosecutor at the time. Leigh Ann has helped me countless times with plotlines, forensic details and criminal profiles. But human trafficking seemed an overwhelming task.
When I touched on it in “Breaking Creed,” I discovered just how dark and horrific the subject was. But I also realized it might provide some answers as to what might have happened to Ryder’s sister. Brodie disappeared sixteen years ago from an interstate rest area when she was eleven and Ryder was fourteen. So after talking to Leigh Ann, again, during a recent ski trip to Breckenridge, I knew I would need to tackle the subject of human trafficking.
After seventeen books, numerous research and too many conversations with the law enforcement professionals (like Leigh Ann) who do this for a living, I don’t shock as easily as I once did. But I have to tell you, my research for this book shocked me. Let’s start with this fact: according to a study funded by the Women’s Fund of Omaha, there are 900 people for sale online every month in Nebraska.
