Storm Rising

by Sara Driscoll

  Her fingers touched cloth and cold metal wrapped around a child’s slender wrist.

  “The second victim is also a child, also restrained at the wrists. I don’t know if she was injured in the rollover, but if she was conscious she couldn’t release her seat belt and swim to safety. She drowned because she couldn’t get away when the water level rose over her head.”

  Webb let out a low, furious curse.

  She dug out her cell phone with her dry hand. “I have to call Craig. We can’t move them. This is a crime scene.”

  Webb waited while she called Craig, gave their coordinates, and outlined for him exactly what they’d found and who they needed, trying to keep her voice as cool and impersonal as possible.

  She hung up and tucked the phone into her pocket. “He’s contacting local Norfolk PD. But he doesn’t think the case will stay with them.”

  “Why not? Who should have it?”

  “The FBI.” Meg’s voice was flat, but when she turned back and gazed down at the child beneath the water, her anger tugged at its reins again, struggling to break free.

  “What makes it an FBI case?”

  “Look at them. Take this girl.” Meg inched closer to the girl suspended from the ceiling. “Tell me how old you think she is. Just be careful, and try not to touch anything because the crime scene techs will go over the van with a fine-tooth comb.”

  Webb moved over cautiously and then bent so he could look up into the girl’s face. He didn’t answer for the space of several seconds. “I’m not good at this. Maybe sixteen or seventeen?”

  “You’re looking at the surface. Take away the adult makeup and clothes. Now what do you see?”

  Webb took his time looking again, his gaze sliding over her face and body more assessingly. “Now I see it.”

  “What?”

  “The fact that this girl is way too young. I’ll guess fourteen?”

  “I’m pegging her at thirteen.”

  “Jesus Christ. Thirteen and in the sex trade?”

  “That’s how I read it. The makeup and clothes on a girl this age certainly suggest it, but the bindings say human trafficking to me. This child wasn’t selling her body voluntarily. And I’m betting she didn’t do the selling at all. And that makes it an FBI case. Craig read it the same way, but wants to start with the local PD to avoid stepping on toes until we have more established evidence. Like the second victim for instance. But I think she’s just as young. She’s even more slight than this first victim. She could just be petite, or she could be eleven or twelve.”

  “Christ,” Webb repeated. He looked unsettled and Meg knew it wasn’t the proximity to death. As a first responder, he dealt with it more often than he’d like. “That’s it? No one in the front of the van that you could see?”

  “A driver? No. But when I dropped in from the top of the flipped van, I didn’t land on the driver’s window as I expected, I landed in river sludge.”

  “The window was broken like it was on the passenger side?”

  Meg considered for a moment, thinking back to the instant of impact. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember even broken glass under my feet. Maybe the driver put the window down and tried to climb out when the van got swept down the river.”

  “Abandoning the girls to a sure death. What a hero.”

  “If we’re looking at someone who’s trafficking children, I don’t think this is someone who would save them to protect his investment. He’d see them as disposable, especially if it came down to him or them.”

  Webb stared down the river out the open doors of the van. “If the conditions were bad enough to sweep the van away in the first place, there’s a good chance he wouldn’t have made it. They just may not have found his body yet.”

  “It’s a possibility.” Meg scanned the inside of the van. Now that she was looking more closely, she could see that amid the dangling seat belts were empty wrist restraints. In her first check she’d missed them, seeing only what she expected to see. “Being out on the road at that point was a death sentence. What were they thinking?”

  “They likely weren’t. They were just panicking.”

  “But they didn’t evacuate when they had a chance.”

  “I don’t know much about trafficking, but can we assume that this guy was holding these girls somewhere?”

  Meg shrugged. “It’s not my area of expertise either, but I would imagine he was.”

  “Considering what he was covering up, he probably thought the safest thing to do to avoid being caught or losing his ‘inventory’ would be to hole up and just wait out the storm. He may then have gotten to the point where he knew they were running into trouble and had to leave. But by then it was too late. Now his girls are dead. And he may be too.”

  “They never had a chance. Those restraints aren’t hard to put on and take off, but you need a free hand to do it and—” She broke off, staring at the straps hanging from the suspended bench seat.

  “And?”

  “Damn it, it’s been staring me in the face. Look at this.” Meg grabbed one of the restraints, pulling it over for Webb to see. “It’s torn.”

  Webb took the end of the strap in his fingertips and rubbed at the frayed end. “There’s no cuff on this one.”

  “Maybe it snapped in the rollover, freeing one of the girls. And she got herself out.”

  “And maybe others?” Webb started counting seat belts. “Four spots on this side. Assuming the same on the other, there could have been up to eight passengers.”

  “And we can only account for two.”

  They looked at each other and then spoke in unison. “Hawk.”

  Meg turned toward the open doors and then stopped to look back over her shoulder as she considered options. “I need one of my knives from my bag.”

  Webb reached into one of the pockets of his cargo pants. “I’ve got a multi-blade utility knife on me.” He extracted a Swiss Army knife from the pocket and quickly flipped out the sturdiest blade. “Will that do?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She struggled back over the suspended bench seat and considered the dangling restraint straps. “Sorry, crime scene techs. You’re not going to like me much.” Grabbing a strap near the top, she quickly sawed it off, and then reached for the next one. Soon she held all six straps at the cut end, the wrist restraints dangling free. “We use head-up air-scenting techniques if we don’t have a dedicated scent to follow, but that makes things harder because Hawk could hit on anyone, not necessarily a victim. With a designated scent, we can use head-down tracking techniques to find that particular scent. Either way, if anyone really did escape, they’ve been gone for more than twenty-four hours, so it’s going to be tough following an older scent trail made during a storm with powerful winds.”

  “You think if they were restrained, those cuffs will hold their scent.”

  She folded up the knife and handed it back to him. “It could hold the scent of a lot of girls, more than the ones who wore them most recently, but it’s our best chance.”

  Holding the straps high to keep them out of the water, Meg jumped out of the back of the van and started slogging toward the bank. Hawk sat exactly where she’d left him, ears perked and eyes fixed unblinkingly on her. With her free hand, she dug quickly into her pack, pulling out a clean zippered bag. Opening it, she lowered the cuffs into the bag and sealed it for the moment. Reaching into her pack again, she pulled out the keys to her SUV and extended them to Webb. “I need you to stay here and wait for Norfolk PD. Chances of anyone coming along here to disturb the crime scene are close to nil, but . . .”

  “They aren’t zero. I’ll stay.”

  “If we’re not back by the time the cops show up and release you, take the SUV and go where you need and I’ll arrange for a pickup.”

  Webb jammed the keys in a front pocket of his pants. “We’ll make it work. Now go. Be safe.”

  “I will. I’ll try to stay in touch when I can.” She pulled out her phone and then swung her pack onto her shoul
ders. “I’ll call Craig as we’re getting started so he’s in the loop.” She opened the bag and extended it to Hawk, who took a long time to take the scent. “Okay, Hawk, let’s go. Find them, Hawk. Find them.”

  Hawk put his nose into the air and took a full fifteen seconds to scent the breeze. Then he turned and started off at a trot toward the west. Meg raised a hand to Webb as she jogged after him.

  In seconds, they’d disappeared into marsh grasses.

  CHAPTER 9

  Size up: A quick mental evaluation of the most critical factors influencing a situation, in order to decide on a course of action.

  Sunday, July 23, 7:13 AM

  Firman Street

  Chesapeake, Virginia

  To call it a street was being generous, Meg thought, as she and Hawk jogged down the country lane that was nothing more than twin ruts. But this was where Hawk wanted to go, and he called the shots.

  They’d only been a short time in the marsh before breaking into forest again. Soon they’d stumbled onto a dirt track strewn with debris and where every low-lying area was waterlogged nearly to the point of impasse. That didn’t stop Hawk, however, who simply detoured around every obstacle, diving into brush and then emerging back onto the track.

  Meg was grateful for the early morning quiet with only a light breeze to stir the dew-laden grasses and the brush bordering the lane. But she wasn’t sure that Hawk had a reliable scent at this point. She believed that this was the right direction—anything else would require crossing the highway or swimming the river—but any scent trail was likely faint at best.

  If there is any scent at all. You’re predicting there were other girls in the van, but you don’t actually know that.

  “Hawk, stop.” He did immediately as commanded and stood waiting, staring up at her. Meg swore she could see confusion in his eyes. She pulled out the bag of restraints, opening it and offering it again. He dutifully sniffed it, and then wagged his tail and shifted impatiently from side to side as if to say Let’s get a move on.

  “Okay, Hawk, you’re in charge and I trust you. Find them.”

  The dual dirt track expanded to a gravel road flanked by storm-battered houses lining the road with greater frequency. It was between two driveways that Hawk suddenly cut left to sniff at a flattened patch in the overlong grasses along the verge. He whined and pawed at the grass. As he pawed at it a second time, Meg spotted the dark splotch discoloring the undergrowth. “Hawk, back.” She carefully parted the grass with both hands. It had been partially washed toward the soil, but there was no mistaking the dark red that clung to the blades.

  Blood. And no small amount of it either.

  Someone was badly hurt.

  A flash of white caught her eye and she combed through the long grass, pulling out a buckled restraint with a frayed strap where it had once been attached in the van.

  “Good boy, Hawk.” She stroked his back, crooning to him softly. “She stopped here and rested. She didn’t stay, but she took the time to ditch the restraint.” She added it into the bag of straps to add to the scent pool inside. “Now it’s more important than ever that we find her. Find her, Hawk.”

  They were off again.

  Before long, they hit a bend in the road, but Hawk didn’t deviate from his straight path. He pushed on through backyards, running parallel to the interstate, the whoosh of cars speeding by a constant accompaniment to the sound of their pounding feet and labored breathing. As they were passing a large school, complete with baseball diamond, tennis courts, and a football stadium, Hawk veered away from the highway, his pace picking up when he started his familiar back-and-forth weaving pattern as he identified and ran the contained edges of the scent cone. Meg looked past him, studying the school outbuildings. He’d bypassed the baseball diamond and the outbuildings entirely, but the bleachers for the football field loomed large in front of them. His pattern tightened, his side-to-side passes becoming even narrower.

  Almost there.

  They ran across the asphalt oval that circled the football field, lane lines and painted numbers for the runners clearly delineated. They jogged past the massive letters painted in the grass in front of the goal posts at one end of the field—CREEK—then over the painted yard lines of the football field to head straight for the larger of the two stretches of bleachers on the west side of the field. Hawk ran under the bleachers, but Meg had to duck beneath the supporting metal framework so close to the seats.

  As soon as she straightened, Meg spotted the girl. She lay limp under the seats, as if she’d tried to tuck herself out of sight. Coming closer, Meg couldn’t miss the catastrophic injury that had ended her flight. Her right leg lay at an unnatural angle, and when Meg knelt down in front of her, she had to bite back the gasp of shock at the sight of blood-smeared bone, exposed and protruding through the skin.

  She touched the girl’s cheek. Her skin was cool, but not with the coldness of death. A quick check of her carotid revealed a rapid, thready pulse. She gently rubbed the girl’s cheek, talking to her, and was rewarded with a moan and fluttered eyelashes before she went still again.

  She dug her phone out of her pocket, speed-dialed Craig, and started talking the moment he answered. “I found a girl and I need paramedics.”

  The noise that carried down the line sounded like a groan. “We’re still stretched pretty thin and response times aren’t good because of how far ambulances are having to travel to get to open ERs. What’s her status?”

  “She’s shocky and has an open leg fracture. Probably suffering from exposure and dehydration if she’s been here like this for over twenty-four hours.”

  “I’ll get help to you as fast as possible. You still have Webb with you?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Get him to stabilize her as much as he can. I’ll get someone to you ASAP.”

  “I don’t know exactly where we are, but these are my GPS coordinates.” Meg then ended the call with Craig and dialed Webb. “Is Norfolk PD there?”

  “Yes.” She could hear men’s voices in the background behind Webb’s voice. “Showed up just a few minutes ago.”

  “Can you get away? I need you and your trauma kit.”

  “You found one.” His words were sharp, clipped. “Where?”

  “Not sure where I am. Under some bleachers at a football field behind a school. Letters in the end zone spell out Creek.”

  “Hold on.” She could hear Webb’s voice, muffled as if he held his hand over the phone before he came back. “Local PD says that’s Deep Creek Middle School. What’s going on?”

  “The girl is shocky and has a compound fracture in her lower right leg. Craig’s sending help, but he’s worried about arrival times because services are still stretched thin. You’ll get here faster than the ambulance and can at least get her stable.”

  “Hang on.” More muffled voices, then, “One of the cops is coming with me. He’ll get me there faster than using the GPS. He says we can be there in less than ten minutes.”

  “See you then.”

  It was a long ten minutes, but it gave Meg time to really examine the unconscious girl. She looked young, about the same age as the dead girl suspended in the van. She wore a tight black skirt that came down to just past crotch level, intentionally short to show a flash of cherry-red panties beneath. The blouse she wore was practically transparent, with no bra underneath. Anger flooded Meg all over again. Girls this age shouldn’t have anything weightier resting on their shoulders than homework. This one had been in a struggle for her life.

  But her spunk showed through. Her heavy red lipstick was smeared across her left cheek, with a matching smudge across the back of her right hand. Tried to wipe it off on her own. She also wore no shoes, having kicked off what were likely high heels in the attempt to escape. Her bloody and torn left foot attested to the desperation of her flight.

  How did she possibly get this far on her own? She wouldn’t have been able to support her own weight on that leg.

  A
thought struck her like the force of a slap. What if she wasn’t on her own? What if we’re tracking more than one victim?

  As they waited, Meg talked to the girl quietly, even though she remained unresponsive. Hawk paced back and forth behind her, occasionally coming up to sniff at the girl’s face, then continued his pacing. Soon, a siren wailed in the distance, growing louder before fading again.

  Passing us on the highway, then exiting.

  The siren grew louder again, coming closer from behind her, then circling around, the sound ever increasing. With a squeal of tires, a police cruiser stopped just in her field of vision outside the bleachers. Her own SUV pulled up beside it, then Webb jumped out and popped the hatch.

  “I’m here!” she called. “Under the bleachers.”

  Webb grabbed his bulky trauma bag from the back of the SUV and ran toward her, ducking under steel support beams. She scurried out of his way as he dropped to his knees beside the girl, tugged on latex gloves, and started his assessment.

  A Norfolk PD officer, wearing a navy uniform with a heavy utility belt followed more slowly. He tipped his uniform cap to Meg. “Ma’am.”

  A quick glance at his nameplate provided his name. “Officer Berkeley, thank you. We appreciate the help.”

  “Always happy to lend a hand. And who’s this?” Hawk had wandered over to give his ankles a sniff.

  “That’s my search-and-rescue dog, Hawk. Hawk, sit.” She waited while he sat. “Now say hi to Officer Berkeley.”

  Hawk promptly raised his right paw and looked up at the officer, his tail waving back and forth over the gravel beneath the bleachers.

  Berkeley smiled and shook the dog’s paw. “Well, aren’t you a smart boy.”

  “The smartest.”

  “He’s definitely the bright spot in my day so far.” Berkeley stared at the unconscious girl. “How’s she doin’?”