by Robin Mahle
The girl spoke to her brother in their native tongue once again, leaving Kate on the edge of her seat for an answer.
“He doesn’t know them, but he has seen them at the bar where our cousin works.”
“Do you think your brother could take me to see your cousin?” Kate asked and again waited for translation.
“He says he will take you.”
“Good. Please tell him that I will be back in just a few minutes. I need to see my boss first. Please ask him to wait for me and I will return. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Thank you, Nicola.”
Kate jogged back to the house where Nick stood on the front porch talking with Detective Garrett.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“I was just speaking with the neighbors down there. They’ve seen the men that were here. One of them said his cousin, who works at some bar, could identify the men. I guess they were in that bar a few times, I don’t know, but we need to get down there. The only problem is that these guys don’t speak much English. Only the little girl does.”
“From what I gathered, this area has a concentration of Croatian immigrants. I bet we can find one of the local cops who can speak the language.” Nick looked to Garrett. “You got anyone who speaks Croatian?”
“Not here. Not that I know of, but let me ask around. Give me a minute and I’ll find out.” The detective left the two of them alone.
“We need to get back there before the guy changes his mind. He didn’t seem to be overly enthused in the first place,” Kate said, glancing back at the home.
“Why did you go over there by yourself? I turned around for a minute and you were gone.”
“I just got an idea, and I did say something. You just weren’t listening. Aren’t I supposed to be able to take the lead once in a while? What kind of agent would I be if I just sat back while you did everything for me?”
“It’s not that. You need to be safe. There’s no way I’d have let you walk over there without someone else with you. You don’t know those guys, Kate. You gotta remember to be cautious.”
“All right. Point taken.” Kate checked her tone, realizing that she’d come off defensively. “Can we just get back there, please?”
The detective returned, shaking his head. “Sorry, no one here can help, but I’d like to come with you. The guy who works at the bar has to speak English.”
The three of them headed toward the house where the two men now stood on the bottom step of the porch. Their basketball jerseys hung almost to their knees with shorts that could have been confused for pants.
Kate didn’t know how long they’d been in this country, but they appeared to be American sports fans, or they were trying to blend in. She figured the kids couldn’t have been much older than twenty, maybe twenty-one, and she assumed at least one was the brother of the girl called Nicola.
On approach, the men appeared leery, not expecting two other law officers flanking the woman they knew to be with the FBI.
“Policija?” The man turned to his sister.
She nodded.
“Nema lokalna policija, samo FBI,” the man said.
The young girl with full lips and thick, dirty-blonde hair looked at Kate. “My brother says no police, only FBI.”
“I see you’ve built a good rapport with those in the community,” Nick said to the detective.
“Yeah, well, it’s a work in progress. Look, you two go. Talk to the bartender and find out what you can about this house. I’m going to be here for another couple of hours anyway. So, just give me a buzz when you know something.” Garrett patted Nick on the back and nodded to Kate. He turned to the kid. “No policija.”
The two men spoke words that meant nothing to Kate and Nick. But she would have believed it to be a discussion that verged on becoming an argument, noting the inflections and slightly raised tones. The one who appeared slightly younger went back inside the house and quickly returned with a cell phone in his hand and began walking toward them.
“Do you want me to come with you?” the girl asked Kate.
“I don’t think that’d be a good idea, sweetheart. A bar is no place for a young girl. But thank you for your help.”
Nick extended his hand to direct the man to his car, which was still parked in front of the crime scene. When they approached the house, the man turned toward it and spoke.
“Prostitutke.”
“Prostitutes?” Nick asked.
The man nodded.
Kate hadn’t asked the sister her brother’s name and figured she should attempt to find out. “What is your name?” She pressed her hand to her chest. “Kate.”
“Kate?” he replied. “Gregor. Gregor Bjurić.”
Nick unlocked the car and opened the rear passenger door. He scanned the man’s body. “Are you armed?”
He didn’t understand and tilted his head.
“Gun?” Nick pointed to his own weapon.
“Oh. No. No gun,” he replied.
Nick made a gesture to indicate he would need to pat the kid down. He seemed reluctant, but allowed Nick to check for a weapon. It didn’t appear to be the first time he was patted down either, as indicated by his stance. “Okay.”
Gregor stepped inside while Kate slipped into the front passenger seat.
“Well, I’m not sure how we’re supposed to find this bar if the guy can’t give us directions,” Nick said, shutting his door and turning the key to the ignition.
Kate turned back to Gregor and then pointed straight. He nodded. After several of these same gestures, they reached the bar, which had only been a couple of blocks away.
Nick pulled into the parking lot and it appeared as though the place wasn’t even open. “Now what?”
“Up.” Gregor pointed to the staircase that led to a door at the top, just above the bar.
Nick got out and opened the rear passenger door.
Gregor followed and cast a cautious glance at Nick. He began to walk up the stairs alone and knocked on the door. They waited at the bottom, leaning against the car.
“Why do I get the feeling that this guy understands more English than he’s letting on?” Nick asked.
The door opened and a man of similar build and age stepped just into view. The two began talking and, after a moment, the occupant looked down at Nick, then returned his attention to his cousin.
The two finally began to descend the stairs and Nick moved toward Kate. “All right. Let’s see what this guy knows.”
The man next to Gregor tossed his cigarette to the ground and thrust his hands inside the front pockets of his jeans. They continued to move toward the agents.
Nick immediately cast his eyes to the man, whose hands were now out of view. His stance firmed and he placed a hand on his revolver. “You speak English?”
“Yes,” the man replied. He must have sensed Nick’s alarm and slowly pulled his hands back out of his pockets and held them palms up to show the FBI man that he was unarmed.
“I’m Special Agent Nick Scarborough. This is Special Agent Trainee Kate Reid. Your cousin here said you might know something about what was happening at the house on his street.”
The man eyed Kate up and down. “You’re training to be an FBI agent?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir.”
He nodded his head and returned his attention to Nick. “Greg says you found some dead bodies there or something?” The man didn’t have an accent.
“Yes. Two female victims. If you don’t mind, can I ask your name?”
“Julian Petrovich.”
“You’re from Croatia as well?” Kate asked.
“My parents are. I was born here. Greg’s my cousin. His family moved here about two years ago. But Greg hasn’t had much interest in learning English, so his sister translates a lot for him.”
“We met her. Nicola?” Nick said.
“Yes. So Greg told you I talked to those guys who were living at that house.”
“Did they l
ive there?” Nick asked.
“Well, not exactly. I mean, it wasn’t like they were paying rent or anything. That house has been abandoned for years and the city won’t do nothing about it. Anyway, these guys came in asking where they could find companionship. Said they were hanging out at that house and wanted a taste of the local talent.”
“It seems there are quite a few Croatians living here. Did they specifically ask for a Croatian companion?” Nick asked.
Greg started speaking to his cousin. Julian shook his head and continued, “There’s a mix here. Croatians, Serbians, Hungarians, Romanians. They’re all here, but don’t hang around one another. In fact, they do the best they can to stay as far away from each other as possible.”
“And yet, they all live in this community?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, go figure. Anyway, these guys were looking for pretty much any woman from Eastern Europe. I don’t know. I guess that was their thing, but I told them where they could find the kind of women who wanted to be paid for their services.”
“Do you think if I showed you a picture that you might recognize them?”
“Sure. I don’t see why not. They both came in a couple of times. I remember them.”
“So it was just two men?” Nick asked.
“Just two that came into the bar. Don’t know if they had friends at the house or whatever.”
Nick leaned into the car and pulled out the photo of James Corbett and the composite sketch they’d received from Ms. Sala’s description. “These guys look familiar to you?”
Julian took hold of the pictures and examined them for a moment. “I recognize this guy for sure.” He was holding up Corbett’s picture. “This one could be the guy he was with. It’s hard to say based on this drawing. He’s bald, so it’s possible this could be him.”
They still had no identification on the man in the composite, but it appeared they were dealing with the same person.
“I don’t suppose they ever gave you names?” Nick asked, concerned Corbett had been operating under an alias and hoping they could get some indication of who his partner was.
“No, I didn’t ask either. Not my business.” Julian went quiet for a moment. “Did they kill those girls in the house?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out. You’ve been a big help. Would you mind if Detective Garrett with Richmond PD stopped by to ask you a few more questions?”
Julian looked at his cousin. “Um, yeah, I guess that’d be okay. I can give Greg a lift home.”
“Thank you, Mr. Petrovich and thank you, Gregor,” Kate replied.
They got back inside the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Kate looked back at the men through the side view mirror. “What’s the deal with the local cops here?”
“No idea. Clearly, there are some issues. We need to stop at the station and inform Garrett of what we’ve got.”
Madlena sat on the edge of the bed in the silky robe given to her by the man who now owned her, for a specified length of time, although she was not privy to that information and had no idea how long she would be here. It was better than the derelict houses she’d been held captive for the past several days. Here, a hot shower, clean clothes, and comfortable bed were being offered, but for a high price. Mild sedatives and heroin still coursed through her veins, and it was now much too difficult to decipher the day or time, only that she looked through a foggy lens. Perhaps it was better that way. Dulled senses and hazy memory kept her from fully realizing the horror she was living.
Her sale had come by way of an auction where she’d been examined by several men. She was forced to stand, half-naked in front of them, and they leered at her slender figure. Now she knew what had happened to the other girls, and since none had returned while she was there, Madlena likened this viewing to a death knell.
After the bidding ended, she was then placed onto a small plane that brought her to this place now. The man who paid for her seemed like just another John and she did what he asked. But now he kept her in a hidden room. No windows, but plenty of devices by which he used to bring her pain. Her body was worn, bruised, and swollen.
Madlena began to think of her family. Her sister would probably be in school right now, something her father would have insisted upon even as Madlena remained missing, if only to keep the child from worry.
The sound of a latch releasing caught her attention. He was coming.
8
A phone call from Detective Moreno with Metro Police during the drive back from Richmond brought unwelcomed news. After the day’s long effort working with the local police and playing the go-between with Moreno and Garrett, the call was just fetid icing on top of a bad cake.
Moreno was following a lead on a tip regarding the location of James Corbett, but it failed to turn up anything and so the man for whom a BOLO had already been issued still evaded them.
“What about the composite sketch from Ruxandra Sala? Any idea who that guy is? We know he’s partners with Corbett. The bartender confirmed as much,” Nick said to the detective.
“Not yet. I ran it through our recognition software, but there was no match.” His voice sounded through the car speakers. “I was hoping you guys could run it through your databases.”
“We’ll be back in the office soon. I’ll have Agent Jameson get it into the national database and see what we come up with. If we can find out who this guy is, it might bring us closer to finding Corbett. We’ll be in touch. Thank you, detective.” Nick pressed the end call button on his steering wheel.
The time on his cell phone showed three p.m. The bar would be opening soon. Julian took the final bite of his sandwich and locked up his apartment. The commute wasn’t bad, just a walk down the stairs and he was inside the bar. He flipped the light switch and a soft buzz filled the room. The sound came from fluorescent lights with green glass shades that hung over the pool tables.
The stools had been upturned onto the bar top and Julian returned them to the floor, but not before a quick wipe with his dishcloth. The bar was blessed with being the only one inside a mile radius of the tight-knit community and so, while it lacked a certain quality that would find it ranking low on Zagat’s list, it was always packed with hardworking people, mostly of eastern European lineage. Julian’s father had retired and now, after twenty years, it was his turn to run the place.
With his back turned, organizing the bottles of liquor placed strategically on the shelves, Julian noticed a sliver of light bouncing off the mirror behind the wall of booze. It was the front door and someone was opening it.
“We’re not open yet. I’ll need a few more minutes, please.” He set a bottle of gin down and began to turn around. The light from the opened door cast shadows on the rest of bar and the identity of the visitor remained in disguise. As the person’s steps drew near, Julian smiled as the shadows finally revealed his guest. “Oh. It’s you. What are you doing here?”
“Trebali su držali jezik za zubima, Julian.” You should have kept your mouth shut, Julian.
“Toma, wait!” He raised his hand to shield him from the gun that was now pointing at his head. “What did I do? What did I do?” His face masked in fear, the words stumbled from his lips as he looked through the spread fingers of his hand. The automatic defense mechanism would do little to stop the bullet from piercing his skull. A moment was all he had to understand why this was happening. And then it came to him. Gregor.
The gun fired point blank at Julian’s head and he crumpled to the floor behind the bar. Blood and brain matter sprayed onto the bottles behind him. The massive bullet ripped through his head and carried on through to the mirrored wall, shattering the glass and bottles until they fell on top of the now lifeless Julian Petrovich.
Toma, a square-shaped man with ham hands and a face wrecked by tattoos, looked over the counter to ensure that his victim was not moving. “No policija, no FBI.” He retrieved the dishcloth that rested on the counter and wiped the few spatters of blood that landed on him. Turning
away, he headed to the entrance again. The door had remained open and he wondered for a moment if anyone had heard the gunfire. Then he figured, if anyone had, there would be no calls to the police. No one around here trusted them. Toma flipped off the lights and closed the door on his way out.
The CCTV monitors displayed the action on the streets of Hogan’s Alley as the tactical training operation was about to begin. Agents responsible for coordinating the drills watched the screens and gave out orders to the actors. Kate was behind the scenes, watching the raid unfold.
Supervisory Special Agent Hawes stood next to her and began pointing to one of the screens. “This is where you seem to have the problem.” The NATs involved in the drill were quickly assessing the situation and putting to use some of the techniques they’d learned. “When you get to this point,” he continued, “your reactions are not adequate to the situation. You are too hesitant.” Hawes turned to her. “Hesitation kills, Reid.”
While she was hanging onto his every word, a disruption came by way of a call on her phone. Damn it. Agent Scarborough’s name popped onto the screen. “Sir, it’s Agent Scarborough. May I take this?”
The look on Hawes’ face suggested Kate was pushing her luck, but he nodded anyway. “Thank you, sir.” She stepped outside the surveillance room into the bright corridor. “Reid here.”
“That kid from the bar the other day?” Nick wasted no time.
“Gregor?”
“No. His cousin, Petrovich.”
“Yeah.”
“Shot in the head. A couple of patrons found him behind the bar about an hour ago. Detective Garrett wants us to head back down ASAP.”
“Oh my God.” Kate glanced to the closed door behind her. “I’m right in the middle of training. Can I…”
“Let Hawes know what’s going on. He’ll let you leave. Meet me at the WFO in an hour.” Nick ended the call.
Kate returned her phone to her pocket and stepped back inside the room. Agent Hawes looked at her as if he already knew what she was about to ask.
