by Lisa Harris
Avery watched the gray-scale video flick by frame by frame. Their suspect pulled open the driver’s door, cap pulled low, then looked around and noticed Malaya was gone.
“How much time has passed?”
“Thirty minutes, which gives us an approximate radius of two miles.”
Avery tried to put herself in Malaya’s shoes. With no circle of friends, whether she was in the country legally or not, she probably had no idea where she should go or where to turn for help. “She won’t go far. She’s feeling scared and vulnerable and doesn’t see any viable options.”
Tory nodded. “Which means she’s looking for a place to hide.”
Avery mentally ran over the block surrounding the gas station. It was filled with shops and apartment buildings, and there would be dozens of places to hide. Which gave them a lot of ground to cover. But first . . .
“We need an ID on this man.”
“Wait a minute.” Mitch forwarded the video a few frames, stopped, then zoomed in on the man’s face. “He must have panicked when he noticed she was gone because we’ve got him.”
Avery felt her breath catch at the familiar face. “That’s him.”
Robert Sourn.
But there was no time to celebrate. “Tory, I want a warrant put out for Mr. Sourn’s arrest. Carlos and Mitch, watch the rest of the surrounding footage to ensure we didn’t miss anything. Tory and I will coordinate with the other guys and help expand the search. You can join us as soon as you’re through here.”
Mitch grasped her arm. “Be careful, Avery. He’s still out there.”
Avery nodded at her partner, then headed outside.
“What do you think he did?” Tory hung up her phone, then hurried to keep up, a step behind Avery. “Went looking for her specifically, or was it simply another opportunity?”
“I don’t know, but if he thinks she can identify him, he’s not going to let her go without a fight. He knows she’s out there.”
Sourn had a lead on them, which meant that he could have already found her. Avery shook off the fear of that thought, refusing to believe that they had come this far only to lose her.
They quickly coordinated with the other officers, then headed north on foot. Lightning struck in the distance, and Avery caught sight of dark clouds moving across the city. It had become another game of cat and mouse. Of who could find her first. And Avery’s job was to save Malaya from the man who hunted her.
They made their way up one of the dozens of side streets in the area. Avery quickened her step with Tory right behind her, then stopped midstride. Something had caught her eye.
It was a shoe.
Avery felt her heart sink as she closed in on the figure. If they were too late . . .
They found her there. Hovering behind a Dumpster. Alive.
Avery called on the radio to the rest of the team. “I’ve got her. Tory, call in an ambulance.”
Avery knelt down beside Malaya, who sat curled up in a ball, unmoving, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. Blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead.
But she was alive.
“Malaya?”
Big brown eyes looked up at Avery.
Avery knelt down beside Malaya, then turned to Tory. “Tell her she’s going to be okay now. Tell her the nightmare is finally over.”
30
Malaya sat on a hard metal chair in the small room. Gray walls threatened to close in on her. The clock on the wall told her it had been only fifteen minutes since they had brought her here, but it already seemed like hours.
The woman with the red hair and pretty smile placed a sandwich and drink in front of her, but Malaya’s stomach turned at the thought of eating. All she could think about was that Tala was dead and a man had grabbed her, threatening to kill her the same way. Somehow she was still alive, but the woman had been wrong. She’d never wake up from this nightmare.
A second woman sat down across from her, the one who spoke her language.
Her voice was soft, but even the familiarity of the words did little to calm her racing pulse. “You’ve been through a lot today. How are you doing, Malaya?”
She shook her head, unable to answer. Fear had crept in and taken over. Every dream she’d ever had shattered. Trust wasn’t easily earned. Even when she had no choice.
“Do you remember Detective North?”
Malaya nodded at the woman’s words and watched her smile, but her own words still wouldn’t come.
“I’m Detective Lambert. My mother grew up in Hanoi.”
The name brought back a rush of familiar images, scents, and longings of a place she believed she’d never see again. But if she closed her eyes, those vivid images from her childhood surrounded her, almost as if she were still there. Merchants standing outside their silk shops beneath the shadow of ornamented temples. The scent of rice noodle soup being sold at the street-side cafes. The rumble of motor scooters passing by . . .
“I want you to know that you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re safe.”
Malaya’s eyes blinked open. She wasn’t sure she’d ever feel safe again. Hadn’t she believed her father’s words? Promises that life would be better for her in America. She’d believed the man who had taken their money at the employment agency. Believed that once she arrived in this country, everything would be different.
Why should she believe them now?
Detective Lambert leaned forward. “I know this isn’t easy, but we need you to tell us what happened today.”
The reminder of the past few hours ripped through the memories from Malaya’s past and changed them into a nightmarish hue. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. It was as if she were slowly drowning and all the air within her was being sucked away.
“Malaya?”
She reached for the drink in front of her, tried to steady her hands, then took a long sip.
“I know this is hard for you, but we need your help. We don’t want what happened to you to happen to another girl. Anything you can tell me will help us catch the man who took you. Did he tell you where he was taking you?”
Somewhere a seed of strength emerged. Tala had visited Malaya’s dreams—her face white and bloated. The same thing would have happened to her if these people hadn’t found her. She’d known it the moment he’d grabbed her from the Chus’ driveway. She would have been his next victim.
She shook her head.
“That’s okay.” Detective Lambert pushed a button on a tiny machine and set it on the table between them. “You’re not in trouble, but we need to gather evidence against him to ensure he never does something like this again. I’m going to record what you say. Do you understand?”
Slowly, Malaya nodded her head. If she was ever going to see her family again, she was going to have to trust someone. Maybe stopping the man who had taken her was the first step.
“I had gone outside to bring in the trash can when he grabbed me. He shoved me in the backseat of the car.” She closed her eyes again for a moment. It was the voice she wanted to forget. “He spoke to me in Vietnamese.”
Rough. Authoritative, like he was used to telling people what to do.
“Had you ever seen him before today?”
Malaya searched her memory, but she already knew the answer. She shook her head. He might not have the same face as the others, but he was just like them. Out to hurt her. Out to control her and get whatever he wanted without ever considering the cost to her . . . and to other girls like Tala.
“Did he make any stops before the gas station?”
Malaya shook her head. “No, we were driving in circles. Like . . . like he didn’t know where he was going.”
“Let’s talk for a minute about when you first came to this country. How long ago was it?”
Time had begun to run together like her mother’s spicy dipping sauces on their white dinner plates, some days moving slower than others. But Mrs. Chu had a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. It was filled with notes about pa
rties, appointments, and Teo’s swim classes, and with it, Malaya had silently marked off the days.
Malaya took another sip of her drink. “It was . . . about three months ago.”
“How did you get here?”
“On a boat.”
“Do you remember the name of the boat?”
Malaya shook her head, then watched Detective Lambert’s pen scribble across the yellow page, taking notes even though the tiny machine was recording her words.
“Did your parents pay to send you here?”
This time Malaya nodded, wishing she could erase the guilt that resurfaced with the memories. “My family . . . they are not as poor as many, but my parents worked hard to provide, and there weren’t many jobs. We met a man. His name was Nien. He was a nice man who promised me a new start in the United States and a job where I could earn enough money to send to my family. My parents had saved for many years for such an opportunity and gave him everything they had.”
The detective looked up from her paper. “Were there other girls on the boat with you?”
“Yes.” She could still see the tangled web of girls sleeping inside the vessel and smell the soured stench of their unwashed bodies. She’d spent the last three months trying not to think about where they were. Or what horrible things had happened to them since she’d last seen them.
“How many?”
“Twenty . . . maybe twenty-five.”
“How long were you on the boat?”
“I don’t know.” Malaya tried to focus on the question, but the days on the boat had stretched into weeks, leaving her with nothing more than vague impressions of the passing days. “We stopped a few times, in isolated spots, with warnings from the captain that it wasn’t safe to leave the boat. One of the men would buy fuel and supplies while the other ensured we followed the instructions. At the time, we believed it was simply for our safety that we were told to stay on board.”
In the end, she’d realized that even then they had been prisoners.
“What happened once you arrived here?”
“I was told I was a fool to believe that a new life awaited me in the United States. That I no longer had any rights, and I would have to do what I was told.”
“What about Tala?”
“After we left the boat, I never saw her again.”
Until the photo. How could Tala have been living so close without Malaya knowing it?
“Why didn’t you call the police, Malaya?”
She looked to the other detective, who sat quietly at the end of the table, then back to Detective Lambert. “I don’t speak English, except for the words that Teo taught me. They told us if the authorities found out we were in the country illegally, we would be arrested. I know what prison is like in my country. And they watched me. Mr. Chu beat me if I did anything wrong. Even if I decided to run away, where would I go? I don’t know anyone in your country except for the Chus.”
“You’re very brave to have escaped the man who took you.”
“I am not brave.” Malaya ducked her head and wiped the condensation that had collected on the table from her drink. “I only did not want to end up like Tala.”
Detective Lambert set her pen down on the pad of paper. “What about the magnolia flower tattoo? Did they give that to you as well?”
Tears filled Malaya’s eyes as she pulled the sleeve of her shirt from her shoulder to reveal the small flower. “When we were on the boat, they . . . they told us that we belonged to them now, and there was nothing we could do. If we run, they will find us. And when they find us, they will kill us.”
31
Avery popped two Tylenol into her mouth, then chased them down with what was left of her lukewarm water sitting on the edge of her desk. She’d made a second pass through the notes from Malaya’s interview that Tory had transcribed into English. The swell of nausea had yet to leave. They’d focused their resources on searching for a murderer and in turn had stumbled across something that expanded far beyond the ordinary MO of a serial killer and the tragic death of a couple of girls.
“I didn’t want to be right.” She shook her head and looked up at Tory. “But we’re not just talking about the harboring of one or two illegal aliens.”
“I know.” Tory leaned against the edge of Avery’s desk, her thumbs circled through the front belt loops of her dress pants. “And we’ve got to figure out how everything ties together.”
Avery nodded as she dropped the notes onto her desk and leaned back in her chair, her mind—and stomach—still churning from the interview with Malaya. “They’re trafficking young girls, treating them as though they were nothing more than pieces of property. How can anyone do that?”
No matter how many cases she worked on—how many horrific crime scenes she witnessed—she’d never be able to understand how humans could mistreat one another. Or how the value of life could be dismissed as insignificant.
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand.” Tory’s frown deepened, her somber expression mirroring the emotional impact that Avery felt. “Granted, these girls weren’t involved in the sex trade, which would bring in a more steady income, but still, why murder the merchandise?”
“I don’t know.”
Avery pushed her chair away from the desk and stretched her back, trying to loosen the knotted muscles lining her spine. Tory’s question was one she’d asked herself a dozen times since the interview, and to make it worse, more than likely the girls they had encountered were only the tip of the iceberg. With billions of dollars generated every year, human trafficking had become the fastest-growing criminal industry in the world. And it was no longer a situation that affected someone else on the other side of the world. These girls—as they’d discovered—were right here in their own backyards.
Tory dropped into the chair across from Avery and caught her gaze. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course.” Avery caught the frustration brewing in Tory’s eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“These last few days have been hard.”
“It’s more than that.” Tory leaned forward. “One of the reasons I wanted to join the department was so I could be an advocate to my people, but now . . . it’s my people who are responsible for this.”
Avery shook her head. “That’s where you’re wrong. The Vietnamese community is a part of this, yes, but for one thing, that involvement doesn’t include everyone. And secondly, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t stop here with what we’ve found in this specific case. There are many, many others involved.”
“I know but—”
“We’re talking global profits into the billions, Tory, and nearly every country and economic class feeding into this trafficking network in some way.” Avery understood Tory’s anger, but nothing about what had happened could be placed at the feet of one group of people. “This isn’t about race or color or status, it’s about injustices being forced on those who have no voice. It’s human beings violated and sold as property.”
“I know, but I just can’t shake this feeling of horror over what’s happening.” Tory fiddled with the silver ring on her finger. “When I worked in white-collar crime, it was easy to look at a case as simply numbers and dollar amounts. Listening to Malaya tell her story and realizing that there are other girls out there just like her . . .”
“That’s exactly why I need you on this case, Tory. Not only are your language skills proving to be essential, so are your people and computer skills. You’re going to help us take down those behind this atrocity and potentially save the lives of dozens of other girls.”
“But it’s become personal. I’m afraid it’s going to affect what I do.”
It had become personal—too personal—for all of them. Which was all the more reason to find the truth and put a stop to what was happening. “This case has affected all of us in one way or another, and being emotionally involved to a degree is a part of the job. But I need you to stay fo
cused and with me on this one.”
Tory pressed her lips together and nodded. “You’re right. We’re going to get this guy. We’re going to get all of them.”
Carlos entered the room and dropped two bags of takeout onto Avery’s desk. Mitch followed a couple steps behind, carrying a tray of drinks.
“Lunch is served, ladies.”
“Thanks, guys.” Avery pulled the drink marked “sweet tea” from the cardboard holder and took a sip from the straw while the rest of the team grabbed their lunch, overdue after a long morning.
She breathed in the savory smells of seasoned lamb, onions, and garlic sitting in front of her, but even the guys’ offer to pick up her favorite takeout while they were out had done little to restore her appetite. She understood all too well the conflicting emotions Tory was dealing with at the moment, because she was struggling with them herself.
Mitch helped himself to one of the wrapped gyros and a bag of fries, along with a large drink, before taking one of the vacant seats. Avery watched him take a bite. Nothing got in the way of Mitch and his appetite.
She dropped her food onto a paper plate on her desk. Hungry or not, she’d worked enough cases to have learned the importance of keeping up her own energy level while in the middle of an investigation.
Carlos unwrapped one of the gyros, then sat down next to Mitch. “Tory briefed us on the interview with our victim. We’ve somehow gone from serial killer and the possible harboring of an illegal alien to human trafficking?”
“That pretty much sums up the situation. So much for a more advanced and intelligent society.”
Human trafficking was alive and well with everything from domestic slaves, to sex slaves, to agricultural laborers. But tracking down the girls who had been brought over with Malaya was going to be difficult, if not impossible. How did you track down girls who had been sold like merchandise to the highest bidder?
Avery looked up at the crime board. “Let’s go over the facts again.”
Carlos put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “We’ve got girls brought here by recruiters who promise them the world, and once they’re here, if they’re given anything at all, it’s laundered identities, including fake high school diplomas, driver’s licenses, and immigration papers.”
