“You don’t know that.”
“Hope was in L.A. a year ago, at about the time Christina was brought into Hirsch’s organization. I want to ask her about Hope, about Anton Meyer, and about sex videos she was forced to do.”
“She hasn’t said anything about that—”
“Hope wasn’t the only one. I need to know why Hope wasn’t working the streets but Christina was. And she’s not going to want to tell me.”
“Sometimes, these girls do what they need to do to survive.”
“I know that as well as anyone, and I’m not going to make her feel guilty or cast blame on anything she did or didn’t do. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a survivor. But as a survivor, she needs to help. Anton Meyer was in Los Angeles at one point, and so was Hope. A month ago, he made a sex tape with Hope. My guess is she saw one or both of them.”
“I don’t feel comfortable putting that pressure on her right now.”
Laura sounded torn, and Lucy had pushed her. Laura was the gatekeeper, if Lucy didn’t get through her, she would never find the information she needed.
“At least, ask her if she’ll talk to me.”
Laura let out a sigh. “I’ll ask. No promises. And if Christina wants my opinion? I’m going to tell her I don’t think she should do it, not right now.”
“Why? The lives of other girls are at stake. Not just Hope, but three underage girls we believe were with Christina in Phoenix and are now somewhere in San Antonio.”
“Because my job is to help Christina heal. Sometimes, talking works. And sometimes, it makes everything worse. I haven’t figured out yet what it will do to her, and there is nothing more important to me than protecting this child from any further suffering.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sean arrived home after eleven Friday night. Bandit greeted him as if he’d been gone for a month instead of two days. “Hey, Buddy, I missed you too.”
Sean started upstairs, anxious to see Lucy, but Bandit ran down the hall.
“What is it?” he asked.
Bandit turned into his den. Sean followed. Lucy was sitting at his desk. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. His chest tightened.
“What’s wrong?” He was immediately at her side, touching her. She was shaking.
He looked at the computer. She’d turned off the volume, but one of the screens was his custom-designed geo-tracker program and the other screen was a pornography video.
“It’s Hope,” she said. “Grant found a recent video. It’s only three weeks old. Bella was right—she’s alive.”
“You should have called me—I could have been here sooner.” He would have driven a hundred and twenty miles an hour to be here for her.
He averted her face from the screen.
She stood up and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
He hated that she’d taken on this depressing task herself. There was a group of volunteers, mostly law enforcement or former law enforcement, at the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children who painstakingly went through videos like the one of Hope to find a location or any other identifying feature of the perpetrator or the victim. If they believed the individual was underage or being held against their will, they would first run the video against geo-tracking software to see if there were any identifiable tags. If the predator was smart enough to remove the markers, they would look at details in the video to narrow it down by city or neighborhood. Sean had read about one case where a unique window face had led to the exact street where a young boy had been repeatedly molested. The police found him and arrested his rapist.
Sean didn’t have the resources that NCMEC had, but he had a custom computer program that did much of the same thing, on a smaller scale.
“I would have done this for you, Lucy.”
“I’m okay.”
He kissed her. “You’re shaking.” He hugged her tightly to him. He would do anything to protect his wife, but he also knew that she would never turn her back on someone in need, no matter how much it hurt her. As a teenager, Lucy had been kidnapped, repeatedly raped, and her rapes shown on the Internet. Anytime another young woman was exploited, Lucy faced her own fears. She was strong—the strongest woman he had ever known. But it got to her, each and every time.
“Do you mind?” he asked and gestured to the computer.
She shook her head and stepped aside. She sat on his sofa and Bandit was immediately at her side, as if sensing her sorrow.
Sean sat at the computer and brought up the log that was generated while Lucy worked on locating the video. She’d been methodical, but one thing Sean understood better than most was computer technology. While there were no location tags on the video, it was uploaded from a unique IP. That IP address was masked—they couldn’t trace it to any one computer—but Sean could run a search on that unique address and hopefully find a pattern of usage. If he could narrow it down to a city, then a provider, he could give the FBI detailed information that would help them get a warrant. Though computer companies rarely, if ever, gave law enforcement information, if it was a child pornography case they would assist.
And if they didn’t? Sean would hack in and get exactly what he needed. He was trying to avoid breaking the law now that he was married to a federal agent, but he wouldn’t hesitate if it would save Hope.
He sent the video into the background—Lucy had another program running that would identify visual features. He ran the IP search. It would take time, especially running both programs simultaneously. He turned off the screen.
“Okay—the computer will work while we sleep.”
“I should have waited for you.”
“Yes, you should have, but I know why you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t do nothing. As soon as Grant sent me the video and said it was only three weeks old, I realized we didn’t have time to waste. I compared it to the video Bella saw and it’s clearly a different location—the other videos he’s processing are all in different locations. There were four at the same location, but the one I’m analyzing has the most unique features.”
“Did you eat?”
“I’m not hungry, Sean. Don’t push it.”
“Then come to bed.”
He took her hand, turned off his office light, the hum of his hard drive telling him his computer was doing its job.
“Is JT here?”
“He went with Jack and Kane.”
“To Port Arthur?”
“Yes. We don’t have to talk about this now,” he said as they walked upstairs.
“I want to know.”
“I told you Bella called. She said they’re not coming to San Antonio, but JT isn’t positive she’s not misdirecting us.”
“She told you the girls were here.”
“Yes—and my gut tells me that’s exactly what she wanted JT to do, come and rescue these girls. But the information you found at the moving company, coupled with what Bella told JT, we think they’re going to Port Arthur even though the girls were moved to San Antonio. Until, like you said, they’re moved out Sunday morning.”
He kissed her. “It’s nearly midnight, Lucy. Let’s sleep. We’ll be up early.”
* * *
Lucy had barely drifted off to sleep when her cell phone rang. She immediately reached for it.
It was Laura Dixon.
“Laura,” she said.
“Um, no, this is Christina.”
Lucy sat up. It was two in the morning—midnight on the west coast.
“Did Laura give you my number? Did she tell you I wanted to talk to you?”
Sean was now up, and he turned on the light next to his side of the bed.
“She told me. She doesn’t want me to talk to you. So I waited until she was asleep.”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me, Christina. But I have some questions and I think you can help.”
Every victim was different, but Lucy had always done better with the direct approach. After her kidnapping and
rape her family walked on eggshells. Except Jack. Jack had told her, basically, to suck it up and move forward and stop feeling sorry for herself. She needed Dillon’s quiet counsel to deal with her grief and humiliation, but she also needed the push to stop feeling like a victim and start acting like a victor.
It was too early to push Christina with that approach, but she would not treat her like a victim. Her mother, her family, even Laura Dixon with her quiet Dillon-esque approach, could be the shoulder and loving arms she needed. Lucy would be the rock.
It was all she knew how to do.
“Do you want to Skype with me? Or just talk?”
“Talk. Laura said you’re an FBI agent.”
“Yes.”
“She also told me that the doc who helped us escape isn’t really one of them, that she’s trying to find another missing girl. Like me.”
“That is true.”
“And you think I can help find her.”
“I do.”
“I don’t remember Hope. I don’t know that name.”
“That’s okay. There are other things that you do remember.”
Sean reached for her. She kissed his hand, then swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She didn’t want to shut him out, but his presence would distract her. She opened the doors to the sitting room off the master bedroom where she often sat to read and relax. She closed the doors and sat in her comfy chair.
“Laura wanted me to sleep on it, she said. I think I hurt her feelings when I told her I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“She understands.”
“That’s what she said, but she was hurt. She’s really nice. So I told her I would sleep on it.”
“But you can’t sleep.” Lucy understood sleepless nights.
“No.”
“She understands what you’re going through. So do I.”
“Why do you people always say things like that?” Christina said, her voice suddenly bitter. “No one understands. I just want people to stop talking about it. I want my mom to stop crying, but she can’t look at me without crying.”
“I know. My mom couldn’t either.”
Christina said suspiciously, “Are you lying so you can make me think you know?”
“No,” Lucy said. “And if we were on Skype, you would see that I’m being truthful. I don’t know what you went through. It’s different for everyone. For me? I was kidnapped and taken a thousand miles from my family and raped by different men while chained to the floor. The man who kidnapped me made a video and people paid money to watch. But it was only two days. Two days of hell, but not a year. So no, I don’t know what you went through.”
“I wasn’t raped.”
“You were, Christina.”
“I only fought back once.”
“That doesn’t matter. You were coerced, manipulated, threatened, I don’t care what you believe, but it’s not on you, and I know Laura has told you the same thing. But guilt—guilt is powerful. It’s one of the most powerful emotions we have working on us. Sometimes it helps. Mostly, it traps us into blaming ourselves for something that is totally out of our control.”
“I ran away from home.”
“And I met the man who kidnapped me online. I talked to him, agreed to meet with him because I thought he was a nineteen-year-old college student from Georgetown University. I was going to Georgetown, and he was cute. But the photos he sent weren’t of him, they were of someone else. I felt so stupid. But my mistake did not justify what he did to me. Your mistake doesn’t justify what happened to you. I’m sure Laura has told you that it’s going to take time, that you need to forgive yourself. That’s all true. I’m going to tell you something she hasn’t told you. You won. You got away. You have your life back. It’s not the life you imagined, it’s not the life you expected or even wanted, but it’s yours, all yours.”
“The cop who helped us? He’s dead. Laura didn’t want to tell me, but I overheard her talking. He’s dead because he helped us. It’s not fair!”
“It’s not fair, but it’s real. He helped you because he wanted to help you. He died a hero’s death, and I believe in my heart that heroes go directly to heaven.”
“Laura is a God person. I’m not.”
“You don’t have to be. Just believe that he died doing exactly what he wanted to do. You know what? My brother was in a coma for nearly two years because he walked into a trap meant to kill him while he was trying to save me. He gets migraines to this day because of what happened. He’ll never be without pain and I blamed myself for a long time. Roger Beck did what he did because he wanted to. It was his choice. Just like it’s my choice to be an FBI agent and go out and find predators and put them in jail. And it’s your choice to live. I didn’t know Roger, but I know people like him. You two weren’t the only people he’s helped. He’s been doing this for a long time. I’m truly sorry he died, but that’s solely on the person who killed him.”
Christina was listening.
Lucy reflected on how young she was. Lucy herself had been eighteen when she’d been raped. Her high school graduation day. It had been horrific, but had she been younger? Would it have been worse? In some ways, yes; in other ways, no. Sexual exploitation was cruel no matter what, and just because Christina had—at the time—convinced herself she had to go along with it, didn’t make her any less a victim.
“You told Laura that you didn’t know Hope. Yet, we know that she was in Los Angeles at the same time you were.”
“So?”
She was defensive. “It may not mean anything. You may not have known her name. But anything you can tell me will help us find her. She was thirteen at the time, blonde, blue eyes, petite. She has a mole on her neck—about the size of an M&M.”
“I know who you’re talking about,” Christina said. “I never met her, but I knew about her. I saw pictures of her … they called her Pixie. Because she was like Tinkerbell, small and feisty, they said. I didn’t know Pixie was Hope until Laura showed me her picture, and I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That she was alive. I mean how?”
“We’re survivors. You. Me. Hope. Do you know how Hirsch or the people in charge of you decided who was going to work the streets and who was going to do movies?”
“Everyone worked the streets—it’s what we did. Parties, conventions, hotels, streets, it all became a blur. If we tried to get away—it just got worse. I just did what they told me to do and it was okay.”
“But Hope was in Los Angeles.”
“Ashley knew Pixie. Hope. They came at the same time, but Hope ran. Ashley said she was punished, and then she never came back. Ashley thought she was dead. They didn’t say anything about her, and we didn’t ask. Others heard that she had the good life, that those picked to do movies had hotel suites and good food and pretty clothes and for awhile … sometimes … I thought why not me? What did I have to do to have the good life, too? Not sleep on crappy mattresses and let disgusting, smelly men fuck me?”
The anger seeped through, and Lucy let her continue. It was hard to listen to, but it had been harder to live through.
“I didn’t believe it. I thought it was just a lie to keep us in the game, you know? I just started blocking everything out. I did what they told me and after awhile … it just all blended together, one day after another.”
“Anton Meyer. He was in Los Angeles.”
“Laura showed me his picture, too. He’s mean.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to, but it would help me if I knew what he did.”
“He—he told us he was responsible for breaking us in.”
Lucy’s stomach flipped. She didn’t want to hear anymore. She knew exactly what Christina meant.
“Okay. I don’t need details now—”
Christina continued. “Sometimes, he would come in drunk and said that the boss gave him the pick of the litter, lik
e we were dogs. That’s what he called us. Bitches in heat.”
It was all Lucy could do not to start shaking, out of rage and suppressed memories. She didn’t want to go back to the time she was held captive, when she was told there was one thing she was good for and that was giving paying customers a show.
While Lucy had worked with victims, mostly to pull out details to help with an arrest or conviction, counseling took a special skill that she didn’t have.
“And Damien Drake?” Lucy’s voice cracked and she hoped Christina didn’t pick up on it.
“The only time I ever saw him was with Mr. Hirsch. He was like, I don’t know, his bodyguard. Oh—and sometimes with the doc.”
“You’re doing great.” Better than Lucy, she realized. “I have proof that Hope is alive, that she’s with Anton Meyer. I’m working to find her, to rescue her like Roger rescued you.”
“Don’t let them kill you, too.”
Lucy realized that was really bothering Christina. That Roger died for her and she had a warped sense that she didn’t deserve to be rescued. Christina might not have shared that with Laura, and if she did, Laura might not have picked up on that nuance.
“They won’t. Because I’m not going anywhere without backup. I promise you.”
“Okay.”
Christina had confirmed so much, but there was little new. Lucy had one more person to identify. “Do you know a man named Z?”
“Tommy Z?”
“If he goes by Z, yes.”
“I don’t know him, never saw him, but I know his name. Tommy Zimmerman.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because we’re invisible. If they’re not fucking us or we’re not sucking them off, they don’t even notice us. Like I can tell you that Mr. Hirsch never once fucked any of us, it was as if we were disgusting to him. Damien did sometimes, but he never hurt anyone, unless they ran—then he had to.”
“He hurt the girls who ran.”
“He had to.”
“Didn’t have to. It was his choice.”
The shrug was in her voice. “I ran once. I went to solitary for three days. He got me out and said he was sorry, but he had orders. He’s … he’s creepy but not in the same way that Anton was creepy. I don’t know why. He never yelled, he never smiled—well, except with the doc.”
Breaking Point Page 24
