He clicked on Josh's name. His profile was locked down too, but he could see his profile information. From Wakefield, lives in Wakefield. Robert nodded as he opened another window. He pulled up the number for the Wakefield Police Department.
"Sorry to call so late, but I wanted to let you know that I'd like to stop by tomorrow to speak to your chief."
~~~
Robert arrived at the Wakefield Public Safety Building at nine sharp the next morning. He could have been there earlier, but he didn't think the chief would appreciate that.
Chief Powell greeted him with a friendly handshake before he brought him to his office. "So, Detective Teague, what brings you all the way from Boston?"
"I was hoping you could give me some information on a Joshua Bruges."
The chief thought for a moment. "Josh Bruges? Nope. Ask me about his father Jerry or his sister Hannah, that's a different story."
"Did you say Hannah?" Robert leaned forward. He remembered Asif calling her Anna.
"Josh's younger sister." Chief Powell smiled. "Let me guess, she's going by a different name now?"
Robert nodded. "I believe she's calling herself Anne Brewster."
Powell chuckled. "Of course she is. She was always a clever girl." He cleared his throat. "What kind of trouble did she get herself into?"
"I'm not sure it's trouble just yet," Robert said quickly. "She claims someone violated a restraining order, and I'm not sure it's true."
"Hmm." Powell was trying not to smile. "What did the guy do?"
"Pimped out a friend of hers, and got a sweet deal in exchange for what turned out to be garbage."
Powell laughed. "That sounds like the Hannah I know."
Robert was taken aback. "Sorry, Chief, but how do you know Hannah Bruges?"
"She and my middle child were in the same grade. Hannah was always the smartest kid in the class, but she thought the whole thing was a joke. And she was the tough kid in class, believe it or not. If you bullied someone, you had to answer to her, so it didn't happen that often."
Robert thought of Anne—Hannah—as he knew her now. Not exactly tiny, but not exactly imposing. "What did she do? Put ink in their milk?"
"Hell no. One time when she was in the fourth grade and her brother was in seventh, some eighth grader started pushing Josh around. According to what my daughter said, Hannah had that kid leveled in two minutes: punch to the gut, kick in the crotch, and then a punch in the nose to make sure he got the message."
Robert smiled in spite of himself. "Her brother must have loved that."
Powell sighed. "I bet he was relieved. School was pretty rough for him. I think he was just as smart as Hannah, but he had trouble paying attention and following instructions. One of those kids who might be better with his hands than his head."
Robert thought about what it would take for a fourth-grader to beat up an eighth-grader. "What was home like?"
Powell's face darkened. "Jerry Bruges is one of the worst fathers I have ever come across in this town, no question."
"He ever hit Josh?"
"I'm sure of it, but if no one came to me with a complaint, there was nothing I could do. And maybe I could have come up with something to pick him up, but then they would have been left with their mother Meg, and she's not much better."
"What do they do for a living?"
Powell snorted. "Grift?" He shrugged. "They had odd jobs here and there. Jerry worked as a mechanic in a couple of places, and when that was slow, he'd do some deliveries. Hard to hold down a job like that when you're a drunk, though."
Robert clenched his jaw but didn't say anything. "What about the mother?"
Powell scoffed. "She did some hostessing in restaurants here and in Reading. She also did a bunch of retail things in the Burlington Mall. She's got an even worse work ethic than her husband, but she doesn't have the excuse of drinking."
"Excuse me, Chief, but how could they afford this town?"
"Meg's great-aunt owned the house and she rented it to them at a 1950s price. She lived in Andover, so I think she figured it was easier than hiring someone to look after the house. But from what I understand, even then Jerry needed to do some work on her cars because he couldn't pay the rent." The chief folded his hands on the desk and intertwined his fingers. "And then a decade ago, poof, they suddenly bought the house."
Robert raised an eyebrow. "At the 1950s price?"
Powell shook his head. "At the 2000s price. Excuse me, at the 2006 price."
Robert shrugged. "Banks were giving out mortgages to anyone with a pulse at that point."
Powell shook his head again. "Except there wasn't a mortgage. They paid cash for it."
"Isn't that interesting," Robert murmured.
"Want to know something even more interesting? Hannah left the house at right about that time."
Robert didn't like where this was going. "How old was she?"
"Same age as my girl: fourteen. Her parents signed her off as an emancipated minor, and she hasn't lived with them since."
"What about her brother?"
Powell opened his hands. "He dropped out of high school the year before. He started working as a mechanic soon after that, but the difference between him and his dad was that he could hold down a job. He opened his own shop a few years after that, and I think he's got two or three mechanics working for him because he's that busy. But as far as I can tell, he's still living at home with them."
"Sounds like a good kid."
"He is. Like I said, I don't have that much to tell you because he has managed to stay out of trouble. We picked him once for 'disorderly conduct,' but that was really because one of my guys was worried about him."
"What happened?"
"They found him on a street corner about five years ago on the town line. Go ahead, stand on a corner, but it was pouring. And he was there for hours. One of my officers finally coaxed him into a squad car, and he kept saying, 'It's her birthday, I should have been there.' It was a little disturbing, but as far as we could tell, he hadn't been drinking."
"Do you remember the date?"
"Hold on." Powell turned to his computer and typed a few queries. "Here it is," he said a few minutes later. "April 25th."
Robert wrote down the date. "And let me guess, that is not Hannah's birthday?"
"As I recall, her birthday was sometime in the winter, after Christmas."
Robert put out his hand. "Thank you very much." Powell shook it and smiled. "Can I just ask one more favor? Keep me in the loop if you see anything out of the ordinary with the family?"
"Sure thing," Powell said as Robert handed him a card. "But the way the parents are now, if they left the house, that would be unusual."
"I'll take it," Robert said as he left.
~~~
Jeremy and Margaret Bruges had bought the house on 11 Collette Road in Wakefield in 2006. It was hard to tell because there was no bank financing, but it looked like they had paid four hundred and fifty thousand, cash. This from a couple that had had trouble scraping together five hundred dollars a month to cover rent for the decade before that.
So where did they get the money? If he hadn't seen Hannah—that was a much better name for her than Anne—he would have guessed that they had sold her. But she didn't sound like the kind of kid who was easily sold and made to disappear.
Joshua Bruges. There was almost nothing on him other than that one "arrest" report. Six-foot-one, one-hundred ninety-five pounds. Not someone you'd mess with. He might have been smaller as a kid, but Robert doubted it. He was probably taught to stand down so often that he hadn't known how to stand up.
And whose birthday was April 25th? Girlfriend, Robert was pretty sure. Why was she so important?
The young woman pimped out against her will by her boyfriend. The pimp who made a deal and only ended up turning in a few low-level pimps like himself. The girl who conveniently was the only witness to a TRO violation and whose parents just happened to come into several hundred thousa
nd dollars right before she disappeared.
There were two words this all kept dancing around, and he didn't like them. Human trafficking. Now how did Hannah Bruges aka Anne Brewster fit into this?
"Good morning, Captain," Robert said into his phone. "Yes, I'm still on my day off, but I need to speak to the Human Trafficking Task Force. Yeah, I'm looking for light reading."
Two hours later, Robert was sitting with the deputy head of the Human Trafficking Task Force at the Tremont Street Office. Edie Mayer had a dour expression on her face when he was done. "Detective, let me frank. We've got a lot of work to do right now, okay? More than we're letting on. What exactly are you asking me for?"
Robert pulled up the Facebook app on his phone and searched until he got to the picture of Hannah at Maria Gomez's party. "I need to know if anyone has had any dealings with this woman."
Mayer sighed as she looked at the picture. "As what? A victim? A trafficker? A witness?"
"Any of that, but I'm thinking more informant."
Mayer frowned. "What kind of informant?"
"Unofficial. Civilian." Robert chuckled. "Anonymous. Yeah, I know, this is a goose chase but—"
"No, hold on, I might actually have something." She typed in a few queries, then smiled a second later. "Yeah, that's what I thought, and this just might be your girl."
"Are you serious?"
Mayer's nostrils flared. "As I said, we don't have time to screw around here. Go talk to Henry Chin in Chinatown. Tell him I sent you. And now, if you don't mind, I have an appointment."
"Uh, yes, sure. Thank you," Robert said as he left. He couldn't care less that he'd just been given the boot. He'd also been given his best tip so far.
~~~
By the time Robert had arrived at the Chinatown PD, Detective Henry Chin was waiting for him. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice," Robert said as he shook his hand.
"No problem," Henry said. "Any friend of Edie's is a friend of mine."
"Friend? I’ve never had a public servant rush me out of their office so quickly in my life."
Henry laughed. "Detective, that's how she treats people she likes. People she doesn't, she's very polite to as she gives them the runaround."
"Great," Robert said as he followed Henry.
"I have someone here for you to talk to. She can give us more information about the case."
"What case?" Robert said as he walked to Henry's desk. Sitting there was an elderly Chinese woman who couldn't have been younger than seventy but had bright, sharp eyes.
"Detective Teague, I'd like you to meet Huei-ru Sun." He turned to the older woman and said something in Chinese. She nodded impatiently but smiled. Robert took that as his cue to sit down.
"Why did you bring her down here?" Robert asked.
"Mrs. Sun was brought over here several years ago to work in a sweatshop and work off her debt to the people who brought her here."
Robert looked at Mrs. Sun. "I'm sorry, ma'am."
Henry started to translate, but she waved him off. "Thank you," she managed in broken English.
"What kind of work?"
"Textiles. Some clothing, but mostly counterfeit handbags and shoes."
"How long had she been working there?" Robert asked.
Henry asked Mrs. Sun the question in Chinese, and she answered. "Almost five years," Henry said. Mrs. Sun said something else, and Henry's face fell a bit. "She said she'd only worked off a fifth of her debt in that time. They also charged her room and board and for what little they fed her."
"Wonderful people." Robert swallowed. "How did she get out?"
Henry smiled. "She was broken out. She and everyone else there."
"How?"
Henry drew a picture of the factory as Mrs. Sun described it. She nodded for the most part, shaking her head at times and correcting him when she needed to. She finally patted the paper to show she approved.
"It looked like that?" Robert grabbed the paper. At least one hundred people were crammed into a workspace that couldn't have been more than two thousand feet square. He blinked. "Ask her how they got out."
Henry asked her in Chinese. The woman's face changed. She no longer seemed annoyed. "Guanyin," she said solemnly, nodding.
"Guanyin?" Robert repeated. "What's that?"
Henry smiled. "Miaoshan?" he asked the woman.
She was annoyed again. "Guanyin," she repeated, waving her hand. Then she said something else that made Henry laugh.
Robert waited a moment. "For the rest of the class?" he prompted.
"She said Guanyin, not Miaoshan; no man would have stood up to her."
"Who...?" Robert had a feeling he could wait for the clarification. "What did...Guanyin look like?"
Henry translated, and the woman gestured at her hair and her face, then moved her hand in front of her body. "Dark gold hair that matched her eyes," Henry said. "Average. Not too tall, not too short. Not fat, not too thin."
Robert lifted his chin. "Someone who could blend in." Henry translated the statement without being asked. Mrs. Sun shook her head and replied in Chinese.
"She had a kind face," Henry translated. "Her kindness made her beautiful."
"Kind," Robert said slowly, "and tough?"
Henry translated, and she laughed. Through fits, she told Henry a story that lasted five minutes. Henry's eyes became wider, and he sat back. By the time she was done, Henry was laughing too.
"Yes?" Robert asked impatiently.
"I'm going to need to listen to the transcription to make sure I got everything, but basically this woman tricked the guards one by one. Those she couldn't, she disabled—"
"Disabled?"
"She knew how to fight and where to hit them." Henry narrowed his eyes. "It sounds like she had been watching them."
Robert blinked. "And then she snuck them out?"
"Yes, but out the back door, and in stages. She had vans waiting for them at different locations, and then they were all sent to safe houses. As the last vans were pulling away, they heard the police sirens."
Left enough merchandise to make sure there was a conviction, but got everyone out. "And did they ever see Guanyin again?"
Henry smirked, but translated. He shook his head after she answered. "In the wind, but she'd like to see her again."
"Wouldn't we all?" he murmured. He pulled out his phone. This time the picture was saved so he didn't have to pull up Facebook, or risk losing evidence if Maria deleted the photo from her page. He turned to the woman. "Is this her?"
The woman pointed and nodded excitedly. "Guanyin!" She said something to Henry.
"She'd like to know if the young woman is alright."
Robert smiled. "She's fine. She knows how to take care of herself."
Henry translated, and the woman laughed. Some replies didn't need a translation.
"Thank you very much, ma'am. We'll call you if we have any other questions, alright?" She nodded and waved impatiently after Henry translated, then stood and walked to the door. Henry opened it for her and walked out with her.
"Who is Guanyin?" Robert demanded as soon as Henry came to his desk.
Henry chuckled. "The Goddess of Mercy."
Robert groaned. "Not again."
"Sorry?"
"Ah, just, I'm allergic to mythology."
"It's just one goddess, and obviously not real. It's clear why they'd call her that."
Robert waited a moment. "I might regret this, but tell me the story anyway."
Henry shrugged. "She's said to be an Indian import. Originally a male god, but the Chinese thought compassion was more female. Or there were a bunch of different aspects to the god, like there always were—"
"Okay," Robert said impatiently. "What did she do?"
"She rescued people. Sometimes it was sailors, sometimes it was mothers who wanted children. You can imagine why those things would be important."
"What was that other name? Miaoshan?"
Henry chuckled. "Very good. There's anot
her origin story about Guanyin. Supposedly, she was originally a princess named Miaoshan who refused to marry the man her father picked out for her. He was so pissed, he, well, had her killed. But she was so pure that she was resurrected into her own body."
"How original," Robert said dryly.
"Hey, man," Henry said, "I think we had the story first. And arguably she made better use of it. From then on, she could separate her spirit from her body when she needed to so she could hear cries for mercy more easily."
"And what did she mean when she said she was too tough?"
Henry looked to the side and thought for a moment. "I can only guess. I think she meant that this woman wasn't pure like Miaoshan; she was willing to get her hands dirty to help someone."
"Jesus," Robert muttered. "Now I know the Chinese word for 'vigilante'."
"And what's her real name?"
"Hannah Bruges, now going by the name Anne Brewster."
"And what's she gotten herself into?"
"Excellent question. Thanks, Detective, I owe you one."
Chapter Three
Robert drove to the convenience store in Dorchester. "Good afternoon," Asif said. Same damn smile. "What can I do for you?"
Robert smiled too and picked up a packet of gum. "Just this. And if Anna is here, I'd like to speak to her."
Asif kept smiling. "No charge for the gum. Anna just left for the day. She'll be back tomorrow at ten."
"No, please," Robert said, putting a dollar on the counter. "And keep the change. Could you give me Anna's address, please? I don’t have it on me, and I’ll look like an idiot if I have to ask my station for it. It's very important."
"Of course, of course," Asif said. He scrolled through his phone and pressed some keys. "Here it is," he said before he gave Robert the address. Still smiling, not asking any questions.
"Thank you," Robert said deferentially. He looked at Asif's mother. "Is she on the phone to Bangladesh?" Asif nodded. "Don't the charges add up?"
"You know, sir," Asif said, sighing a little. "What you do for family."
"Of course," Robert said as he turned to leave. "Please give her my regards."
Robert got in the car, positive that Asif had sent Hannah a text before he left, just as he’d hoped.
Needs, Wants and Other Weaknesses (The New Pioneers Book 6) Page 3
