by LS Sygnet
Love. Need. Forever. His garbled words echoed in my mind. “Johnny, maybe we should finish talking about the overlap in our cases first –”
“Marry me Helen.”
“Johnny I –”
“I know you still love me. If you didn’t, what you think you saw wouldn’t have hurt at all. We’re so good together. I can’t… ”
“I’ll think about it.”
His eyes impaled me. “You will?”
My turn for a dry swallow. “Yes, but not right now. I need to talk to Maya about the autopsy on the child that washed up on the beach last night.”
“Washed up where, exactly?”
“Pier 20, but that’s probably a meaningless detail. Whoever dumped her couldn’t direct the current.”
“No, but eleven through thirty are used exclusively by Datello’s fishing enterprise.”
My heart sank. “No.”
“Doc, the FBI might be onto something bigger than you could imagine here. Maybe we should be cooperating with Agent Preston.”
“I already know the root of this case. It’s bigger than one abducted infant. Like I said earlier, I’m not convinced that Datello’s hands are completely clean either, even though I really doubt that he was responsible for the baby’s kidnapping. He could be involved – with a number of other people – in the rest of it.”
“The rest of what, exactly?”
I gnawed on my lower lip.
“Helen …” Not a plea, a warning in that single word.
“Human trafficking,” I said. “The woman who was actually responsible for removing that baby from Saint Mary’s yesterday afternoon, she’s a wreck Johnny. The first thing she said when your men picked her up was that she only did what her owner told her to do.”
“Let me guess,” his hand smothered his goatee. “She is related to the Sherman household somehow.”
“Yes,” I said. “And if Sherman played a role in your investigation in Montgomery, and he was somehow linked to illegal financing in a campaign of someone Datello chose to beat Collangelo …”
“It stands to reason that this thing could be very ugly for Sanderfield if the truth is exposed in a manner that we don’t control very carefully.”
“Yes,” I said. “Which is why cooperation with the Montgomery field office could be disastrous. Who knows what kind of influence or relationship Sanderfield – or Sherman for that matter – had with the FBI?”
“You’re suggesting that the bureau would cover up a human trafficking ring?”
“No,” I said. “But if Preston is convinced that the buck stops with Datello, it would shut down the deeper investigation into the people who are really involved in this, Johnny. Florence Payette, the nurse who took Sofia Datello from the nursery yesterday, told us that she gave the baby to a man, to some friend of Mr. Sherman. We have yet to identify him. Even though we have Melissa Sherman in custody, nobody has interviewed her yet as far as I know.”
“Crevan said she invoked her right to counsel. She’s not talking, Doc.”
“This is very dicey. One wrong step, and we might never uncover the deeper truth behind what happened to a very young child who died under suspicious circumstances and was dumped in the bay, discarded like day old bait. Please let me do this my way. I know how to deal with the FBI. I know how to get Preston out of here with the illusion of cooperation. Believe me, if Danny Datello is part of this crime, he’ll never talk to the bureau about it.”
“You think you can get him to talk to you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “His wife is a different story. She owes me now.”
“What’re you thinking?”
“His fishing business. The young girl we found last night who happened to wash onto shore in the middle of piers that his business uses exclusively, had an unusual mark on her arm.”
“What kind of mark?”
“A brand, or tattoo. It resembled a UPC symbol.”
“Jesus,” he muttered. “So you’re thinking what exactly?”
“If I can get a look at the books for his fishing business, it might give us a lead. When you couple the corruption in this city with how human traffickers smuggle people into this country, Darkwater Bay becomes the perfect storm for this sort of activity.”
Johnny’s hands covered his face and magnified a slow exhale of breath. “It just can’t be something simple. Ever. All right, Doc. We’ll play this your way for now. Why do you need to get to the morgue before Preston does?”
“Because Maya needs to understand what information is still officially pending and what Preston can be told.”
“You know it’s a crime to lie to the FBI, Helen.”
“It’s only a lie if he asks the right questions, and I plan to make sure that Maya offers what little information I want him to have before he says a single word.”
“I don’t think you should do this alone.”
“Johnny, if you’re there, his guard will be up. This way, it looks like the indulgent head of OSI is merely placating his lover. I’ll meet you at OSI when we’re done talking to Danny.”
Chapter 13
A billion questions bounced around in my head long before I walked into the county morgue that afternoon. How could I leverage Datello’s gratitude and parlay that into an in-depth analysis of his books for the fishing company? Was foul play involved in the death of the little Asian girl we found last night? Would I have to use trickery to get Maya to cooperate with my plan to deceive the FBI? Did I have enough time to formulate a solid plan that would get Preston out of Darkwater Bay immediately?
More important, what had possessed Johnny to propose marriage? Had I been unclear regarding my feelings on that particular subject? It was out there now, the question, floating in the universe. An answer would eventually be required. What would I say?
Briscoe’s cold accusation uncurled like cancer in my brain. He couldn’t have been more wrong. This case, missing and exploited children of any age, had been the lure that sucked me into Darkwater Bay in the first place. I thought of all the slaughtered young girls who suffered at the hands of Jerry Lowe for over three decades. A slow agonizing death would be too kind for Lowe. The victims of his attacks who didn’t die were probably the unlucky ones. Carrie Blevins came to mind. Forever fearful, eternally damaged. Yes, death might’ve been a blessing for her.
This was a siren for me, some inexplicable draw that I could not ignore. She sang a song of mercy, of justice for the dead, the vulnerable, for protection of those who could not defend themselves. Dad’s lessons in self defense floated back to me. He was so cautious with me. So determined that I learn at a very young age to defend myself. Was this why? Had he seen too many children victimized by the perversity of mankind?
My temples throbbed with the agony of my own indecision. Dad’s lessons included something else, something that I tried to discard but couldn’t. He taught me to walk away. Two months ago, I put a new escape hatch in place. The wall safe of my den at home held that identity, my way out of Darkwater Bay that would leave the world scratching its head, wondering what ever happened to Helen Eriksson. How had she simply vanished without a trace, and why had she done it?
It was the safe play. Let Johnny and his incorruptible men at OSI hammer out the details regarding who was involved in what with missing children. I could circle back to the house, get into the new character and disappear before Agent Preston realized I had no intention of meeting with him or facilitating a conversation between the FBI and Danny Datello.
Glassy dark eyes flashed through my mind. Jane Doe’s little blue lips moved, closing the gap between her front teeth. Help me.
Even though I’m no longer a member of law enforcement in Darkwater Bay, the guys who guard the bodies never question me when I show up to see my best friend. Today was no different. I strolled past Seth with a grin and a salute.
“Hey you!”
I turned toward him. Seth held up a fist and waited for the bump from mine.
�
��Fantastic job you did today, Eriksson. Congratulations.”
I was the crowned hero again, the queen of the blind lady justice who served all without prejudice, even someone as guilty as Danny Datello. “Thanks Seth. Do you know where Maya is this afternoon?”
His smile faded. “Finishing up with the little girl from last night. Too bad we can’t save them all, huh, Eriksson?”
Too bad indeed. My little victim screamed for my attention, my focus, and an unwavering commitment to draw a line in the sand and say, this far and not one step farther. I pushed through the swinging doors to Maya’s favored autopsy bay.
She pulled off her goggles and pulled the drape over the tiny body. “Hey there, my friend. How are you hanging in today?”
“You heard about the Datello baby?”
“The city is buzzing over the news like crazy. I assume you’re here because of this one. If you give me five or ten to close, I can talk probable cause of death.”
I sucked in a steadying breath. “It’s all right, Maya. You can finish up and tell me while you work. Yesterday was rough. I’m under control now.”
“My friend, the rock,” she murmured. “All right, here goes.”
The drape flipped back and Maya started doing her typical postmortem review for me. She pointed to the lungs exposed in the tiny little chest. “She died of pneumonia,” Maya said. “If you need the specifics, you’ll have to be patient. Micro is growing cultures from the fluid in her lungs, but I can tell you now that this infection was nasty and fulminating. We won’t know if it was viral or bacterial for at least forty-eight hours. The poor darling’s respiratory system was overwhelmed with whatever it was. Maybe even influenza. Contrary to popular belief, the little bugger and all his nasty permutations do not lie dormant from March to October to accommodate our vaccination schedule.”
“I’m aware. Anything else remarkable?”
“The ink on her arm was temporary. It was higher quality than those that the kids buy to slap on their skin and give their parent’s heart failure over. I’d estimate a duration of weeks if I hadn’t found a solvent that would remove it. The intention was not permanent, but longer than a few weeks.”
“Like henna?”
“I’m not sure henna would last as long as this one. I can’t tell you when it was placed for sure, but based on the type and strength of solution we had to use to remove it, I’d give it six months on average before it would completely disappear.”
“So if this child was marked with a brand that wasn’t intended to be permanent, but still served the same purpose of that type of mark, it could indicate a few things.”
Maya nodded. “Like inventory until a buyer is found, perhaps.”
“I had the same thought.” My eyes traveled down the drape. The little girl was still covered from the waist down. I hated that this question would even occur to me, but unfortunately, I have seen too much over the years. I closed my eyes and turned ninety degrees away from the table. “Signs of sexual activity?”
“In a six year old, they’re pretty obvious, even if we’re not talking complete penetration.”
“I take it that means yes.”
“It means yes,” Maya said.
I cupped my hands and dragged them over my mouth. “I talked to Crevan on my way over here. He spoke to our resident Neanderthal Tony Briscoe’s new partner. There’s no record of a girl matching her description in any of our databases. Are you certain about the age?”
“Five to seven,” Maya said. “Dentition supports that estimate, Helen. She’s a very petite little girl. It’s not all that uncommon in Asian populations.”
“Or Darkwater Bay populations.”
“Do you think she was a local girl, that someone let her die and then dumped her instead of reporting it?”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this city, it’s that anything is possible. While her cause of death doesn’t seem to be intentional, it was still failure to seek medical attention that killed her. Abuse of a corpse. Class A felony sexual assault. Whoever did this had plenty of legal reasons not to report her missing, or to seek medical attention when she got sick enough to die.”
“Knowing what I know about human trafficking, I think we need to expand the search to the international stage,” I said. “This country isn’t the hunting ground for predators as much as it is a lucrative point of sale.”
“Ah, Helen, I don’t want to think about that. We have people in this country who are buying slaves? Jesus Christ and General Jackson. What’s wrong with the world?”
“It has often been my opinion that some of them are here without raising too many eyebrows under the guise of domestic help, but that’s not the only places where these people land. Forced prostitution, pornography, sometimes they even snatch young boys and sell them to armies or for sports teams.”
“Not here!”
“No, that’s not how they’re typically used in the United States.”
“How many victims are we talking about here?”
“Entering the U.S.? The State Department estimates anywhere from fourteen to eighteen thousand.”
“There are that many slaves in this country? How can people not know about this, Helen?”
“That’s how many are sold into slavery in this country per year. The number worldwide is a staggering million. And you know how these statistical estimates are made.”
“Too low,” Maya rasped.
“A lot of times, yes. You can see why even a mere hint that this girl was going to end up on an auction block or was already custom ordered by some criminal of the lowest form makes me sick.”
“No wonder you don’t want to do this job anymore. I’ve seen a lot of shit over the years, Helen, but it ends on this table. I don’t have to go out and find the people responsible for this garbage. I don’t have to try to figure out how they think and what motivates them in order to catch them.”
“Don’t ever underestimate the value of your job to mine,” I said. “Without everything you observe, we’re shooting darts at the globe. Literally on this one.”
“Your best bet on finding her identity might lie in the fact that she appears to be so well cared for, Helen. She’s well nourished, despite being under the third percentile for children in this age bracket. There are no vitamin deficiencies. She had regular dental care and fluoridation treatments to her teeth. Her hair is silky and strong. Nails are without evidence of malnutrition. Somebody snatched a child who was loved.”
“If she’s not from the U.S., maybe it’s an indicator of her family’s wealth,” I postulated. “If she came from a family who could afford a ransom demand, why sell her into slavery?”
“Maybe she fit the type someone wanted,” Maya shrugged. Or maybe it was a shudder.
I thought about Melissa Sherman, her tiny frame, the perfectly coiffed blonde hair. Another mental image flashed before my eyes, that of baby Sofia’s biological mother. My eyes widened. “You know Maya, sometimes your brilliance bowls me over.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not.”
“Oh, it definitely is a compliment. I think you might’ve put your finger on why the Datello baby was targeted in the first place.”
“Seriously? You think people advertise for what they’re looking for?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Figuring out where just might be the next step in this investigation. But there’s something else we need to discuss right now. I haven’t got much time to waste before the FBI shows up asking questions about our little girl here.”
“They’re in this case now too?”
“Trying to be. My fear is that we’ll have a city crawling with men in navy windbreakers with FBI emblazoned on the back in yellow letters before nightfall, and if there are local conspirators in this trafficking ring, they’ll be in the wind before we can find them.”
“How can I help?”
“Don’t lie to him. It’s a crime to lie to the FBI. But I want you to be as vague as possib
le about your autopsy findings. If something is pending, stress that point. It won’t buy me much time, but it might be enough.”
“Of course, but –”
The autopsy bay doors swung open. Preston appeared, looking none too pleased. “You were to wait for me to arrive, Dr. Eriksson.”
I smiled warmly. “Sorry. Maya and I were supposed to have dinner last night. We needed to reschedule for obvious reasons. Agent Preston, this is Dr. Maya Winslow, chief medical examiner for Bay County. Maya, this is Special Agent Alfred Preston from the FBI field office in Montgomery.”
“Doctor,” he nodded curtly.
“How can I help you today, agent?”
“You didn’t tell her?” he scowled at me.
I shrugged. “You never explained how this case got on your radar, Agent Preston. I’m not sure why our Jane Doe is of interest to the FBI.”
“Someone entered information last night that matched the specific parameters of a child reported missing from Manila. Since I was in town on another child abduction case, D.C. requested that I look into it.”
“I wasn’t aware that the bureau regularly monitored what local police are investigating, Agent Preston,” I said. “I thought you waited until local officials notified you of the status of missing children before you came charging in on your white steed. At least that’s the way these things were handled when I was working out of Quantico.”
“I’m aware of your history in Washington, Dr. Eriksson,” he said with a sharp edge to his tone. “This is an international matter that was entrusted to the FBI and other similar worldwide agencies specifically. The missing girl is the youngest child of a wealthy businessman with political aspirations in the Philippines. They wanted to keep the incident quiet when it became clear that there was no ransom demand forthcoming.” Preston gestured to the table.
“Is that her?”
