by Taylor Lee
Viviana covered her dismay with effort. Realizing that Greg Bannon was nobody’s fool and that unfortunately he had seen her at her devious worst, she needed to throw him off her tail, carefully. She knew she and Francis had uncovered a likely landmine, and it wasn’t only because the mayor’s wife was potentially involved. All she would need was to pique Greg’s interest, give him a sense of the looming crisis, and her new boss would have no choice but to go his boss, the new chief of police.
Frowning, she shrugged derisively. “Honestly, Commander Bannon, Jax was right yesterday. I do have a bug up my butt when it comes to high-society women. I’ll admit it. They annoy me. They are such do-gooders, but their doing good is so transparent. In my mind, the only way it does ‘good’ is by giving them something to brag about with one another. As I told you yesterday, Mrs. Simpson is on the board of the shelter that Ariel, the young woman I’m concerned about, left to go back on the streets. I plan to talk with Mrs. Simpson, give her a chance to understand what happens when the causes she supports don’t work for some reason and that it behooves her as a board member to see if there is cause for concern.”
Viviana knew from the quizzical expression on Greg’s face that her explanation raised as many questions in his mind as it answered, but before he could push further, she tossed out another line of attack to distract him. “Jax was also right when he said that I’m a media whore.”
Greg frowned. “C’mon, Viviana, be fair. That’s not at all what Chief Hughes said . . . ”
She sniffed and raised her chin dismissively. “Well, maybe not in those exact terms, but I’ll admit that at base, he’s right. I do cater to the media. Frankly I’m good copy, and my public is interested in what I do and how I do it. That’s not all bad, Commander. I think both Jax and Commissioner McElroy, and even Mayor Simpson, will tell you that the attention we raked in with the Diva exposé gave the SJPD some of the best publicity it’s ever had.” She tossed him a winning smile. “My public is always looking for something new. I promise if I find anything that I think will pique their interest, you will be the first to know.”
Studying the accomplished actress smiling sweetly at him, certain that she’d bamboozled him as she did everyone, Greg decided to press on about an insight that had been niggling him. “Speaking of bugs up your ass, Sergeant Moreau, in addition to society ladies and a certain overbearing police chief, you seem to be especially concerned about abused girls. Where did that come from? How did you happen to board that particular train?”
To his surprise, Viviana responded defensively. “Good God, Greg. Surely I don’t have to explain why I’m irate about the exploitation of young girls—and boys, for that matter. And yes, several of the high-impact cases I’ve worked involved abused girls. I freely admit that I’ve done my damnedest to make sure that the child molesters get pilloried in the press as well as having their own asses up for grabs in the roughest prisons I can put them in.” Seeming to pull back at what he was sure was his surprise at her outspoken response, Viviana shrugged. “I just hate the abuse of power in whatever form it takes, Greg.” Her lips pressed together in a firm line for a moment. “All my life, I’ve seen powerful men and women assume that their rarified positions allow them to do whatever they damn well please to whomever they please.” She tossed her head. “I’ve learned that being a media darling, a media whore if you will, gives me power to challenge those assumptions. I may not be a trust fund baby or head up a major corporation or foundation, but I can assure you that the people who do have that kind of power do not want to get in the crosshairs of the Enchantress.”
Not hiding his surprise at her unexpected frankness, Greg moved to capitalize on her unusual forthcomingness. “Thank you for telling me that, Viviana. I appreciate your passion and your candor. While we are actually talking about the issues that concern you, how about we discuss some of the issues that concern me?”
Viviana visibly pulled back. “What might those issues be, Commander?”
Greg laughed. “It won’t surprise you that they concern your rather unusual work style.” Seeing her hardening expression, Greg pressed on. “In addition to your erratic work schedule, your penchant for secrecy is challenging to say the least. For example, according to your partner, Detective O’Reilly, you rely heavily on well-placed confidential informants to make your cases. I’m interested in those CIs, Sergeant, and how you use them.”
Wondering if Jax had put him onto Francis, Viviana fought the anger rising in her gut. But even as she thought about it, she knew that Jax would never betray her or Francis without telling them both what he intended to do. However, she also knew he wouldn’t be above suggesting to Bannon that a good commander ought to know his detectives’ sources. As if the gods were out to test the premise, her phone vibrated. Glancing at the screen, she saw Francis’s emergency summons. It conveyed the warning in no uncertain terms. “Ariel. Get your ass here now!”
Pasting a bored expression on her face, Viviana pretended annoyance. Raising her hands in mock acquiescence, she said, “Sorry, Commander Bannon. Apparently my partner needs me now, at least according to him.” Trying to make her excuse as plausible as possible and one that wouldn’t compromise Mick unnecessarily, she rose to her feet and said blandly, “I had forgotten that we were due to meet with one of his sources. Please excuse me.”
In that she was almost to the doorway, Greg couldn’t do much more than accede as graciously as possible. After escorting her to the door and thanking her for meeting with him, he headed for the side bar that Jax had loaded with Greg’s favorite libations. Pouring himself a triple shot of Maker’s Mark, he settled into his desk chair with a heavy sigh. Snorting in disgust, he reminded himself that at least he could report to his chief that he’d finally gotten the recalcitrant sergeant to deign to meet with him. He could even report that he may have gotten some useful insights into what floated the elusive woman’s boat. But he conceded that if he were scoring the match, even if he had his thumb on the scale, he’d have to admit that the score was Sergeant Moreau, ten, Commander Bannon, one. After all, he did get her to stay in his office for a record ten-minute conversation. However, as for getting a single insight into what the hell she was doing or what case she was working on, he could mark that up as a big fat cipher.
Chapter 18
I’m telling you, hot stuff, you need to get your ass over here now! And yeah, I’ve got Ariel. She’s here, sleeping on Macy’s couch.” Francis added with a groan, “Or to be more precise, the poor kid is passed out on Macy’s couch.”
Now staring at the young girl lying on the threadbare sofa, Viviana sucked in a deep breath. She reminded herself that this was a good thing. Which was a little hard to do, seeing the yellowish-blue bruises marking Ariel’s pale face and neck. Swallowing the bile threatening to choke her, Viviana pinned the large black woman standing off to the side with a hard gaze. “Who did that to her, Macy?”
The buxom woman shrugged. “Sheet, Sergeant, how the hell would I know? When I found her, she was propped up against a dumpster. Lookin’ sorta like another pile of garbage, jest waitin’ to be hauled away. Francis had been askin’ about her, and when I recognized that it was Ariel, I called ’im.”
Viviana breathed a hard sigh and forced herself to count their blessings. Ariel was battered and clearly drunk or drugged out of her mind, probably both. Her disheveled clothes were ripped and dirty. The short skirt barely covered her ass, and the stretchy halter did a piss-poor job of containing her nubile breasts. Studying her, Viviana saw that it wasn’t only Ariel’s face that was battered. The telltale marks of a hard life on the street were all over her abused body. But she was here, somewhat safe, and if Viviana had anything to say about it, safe is where she was going to stay.
Sitting at Macy’s pockmarked kitchen table, Viviana held up her hands, refusing the coffee their stern hostess was offering from the tin coffee pot in her hand. Francis met her hard gaze and breathed a hard sigh. “I know, Viviana, it’s tough to see he
r like this, but she’s here. Hell, if Macy hadn’t called me, she’d still be out on the street. We managed to haul her up here, but she’s not so much as said a word. She’s been lying there looking like she’s half-dead for the last hour.”
Viviana nodded as she rose to her feet. “You’re right, Francis. At least we found her and she’s off the street.” Frowning at the hefty woman scowling at her, Viviana managed to soften her tone. “Thank you, Macy. Not only for bringing her here but for calling Francis. It’s essential that we talk to Ariel as soon as she’s awake.”
Macy snorted. “Don’t hold your breath, Sarge Moo-row. That little girl ain’t gonna be up to chatting for some time, sure as hell not for today.” She shrugged. “But, like I told Francis, I ain’t gonna let her leave my pad, no matter what she says when she wakes up.”
***
Viviana spent the next three hours canvassing the neighborhood. Calling on every one of her street contacts, she pieced together the last several weeks of Ariel’s benighted life. Apparently, when she had left the shelter, Ariel hit the streets hard. The various working women she interviewed confirmed that they were as surprised as Viviana that not only was Ariel using again but that she was pimping out her body to anyone who’d have her, as long as they paid for her next hit. Viviana was relieved when Francis texted her, indicating that Ariel was awake. She didn’t know how many more details of the ugly reality of Ariel’s crash she could handle.
Gratified to see Ariel sitting up, hunched in a corner of Macy’s tattered sofa, Viviana sat beside her and pulled the fragile young woman into her arms. Not trying to hide her emotion, she whispered in a raspy voice, “God, Ariel, I’m so glad you are here. Francis and I have been so worried about you.”
Ariel’s voice broke. “I’m sorry, Sergeant Moreau. I . . . I know you . . . you and Francis are disappointed in me.”
Viviana shook her head fiercely. “No, honey, we’re not disappointed. We’re just upset. God, baby, I can hardly bear to see you like this.” She hesitated, then added, “You were doing so well, Ariel. Sister Eloise was as shocked and upset as Francis and I were when you left the shelter. Please, honey, can you tell me what happened? Why did you leave? Did something or someone at the shelter hurt you? Frighten you?”
Several hours and many torrents of tears later, Ariel relayed her shocking, unbelievable tale. Viviana listened quietly, prodding carefully when the battered young woman hesitated or appeared as though she could not go on. Viviana knew from long experience working with abused girls what it took for Ariel to tell her gruesome tale. At any moment, she might shut down and never open up again. But given what she had heard so far, Viviana persisted. She knew that she was on to the biggest story of her career if the hideous details Ariel had hesitantly revealed were close to reality.
“If you can, honey, tell me more about the camp you went to where it first happened. How old were you?”
Ariel’s voice was barely audible. After a long moment she said, “I was eleven the first year.”
“It was a drama camp? A music camp?”
“Yes, but it was also a real camp. We had swimming lessons and canoes and all kinds of other water stuff.” She swallowed visibly, then said in a shaky voice, “But the reason my mom and dad sent me there was for acting lessons. My . . . teachers at my school said I had talent . . . ”
Viviana rose and went into the shabby kitchen and retrieved a passably clean glass. Filling it with water, she pressed it into Ariel’s hand. Waiting until the young girl took several gulps of water, Viviana met Francis’s haunted gaze. She nodded, acknowledging that he was counting on her to ask the difficult questions. Taking Ariel’s hand, she sat down and pulled the pale girl next to her and said carefully, “When the director first told you to take off your clothes, were you the only one there?”
“No, two other girls were there too. They didn’t want to take their clothes off either, but Miss H said we were special. That she could tell we were talented. Not like the other girls who didn’t know how to dance or who weren’t as pretty as we were. She told us that we were so good, soon we would be able to dance for special people.”
Ariel closed her eyes, as if shutting out a horrible scene. Viviana exchanged a glance with Francis. Knowing that it was the only way she could get the young girl to continue, she persisted. “Did Miss H give you anything, a pill or something to drink, before she had you dance?”
Ariel nodded. “Yes, she gave us what she called happy pills. She said that she knew we were shy but that the pills would make us dance better. They made me dizzy at first, but after I took them, I knew what she meant. I wasn’t as shy as I’d been before, and I could dance better. I wasn’t afraid to move my body like she told me too.”
Viviana asked in as matter-of-fact tone as she could manage, “When did Miss H have you dance for other people? That first year . . . when you were eleven?”
“Yes. At first she just showed us how she wanted us to dance. After we learned the steps and how she wanted us to touch each other and stuff, she said that we were so good, she wanted to videotape our rehearsals. So that we could see what we were doing right and what was wrong. That was when she called in one of the other teachers. His name was Carl. He had a video camera.” She was silent for a long moment, then visibly swallowed and said, “Carl was the first man we did it with.”
“The first man that you and the other girls had sex with?”
Ariel nodded, brushing at the tears flowing down her cheeks. Her voice was barely audible. “Yes. Miss H said it was part of the dance and that important people, people who knew this kind of dance, would be impressed at how good we were even though we were just learning. After a while, Carl brought in some of his friends and they taught us new things. Things that sometimes hurt, but Miss H said it would hurt less after we practiced more and were better dancers.”
Little by little Viviana dragged detail after hideous detail from the now almost catatonic young woman. “Did you tell any of the other teachers or anyone at the camp what you were doing?” Ariel shook her head. “No, Miss H told us that we couldn’t tell anyone, that it was our secret. That the other girls would be jealous. When it was time for us to go home, Miss H said it was important that we never tell anyone what we had done. That was when I began to realize that we were doing something bad. She warned us that if we told, she would show our parents the videotapes and they would be angry that we took off our clothes in front of other people.”
After many long moments of silence, Viviana asked, “Did you go back to the camp?”
Ariel nodded. “Yes. For two more summers. But something happened after that first year. Now I know that I was hooked on the drugs Miss H gave us. I think from the way they made me feel that it was Ecstasy. She gave us packages of the stuff when we left and sent me another box for Christmas. It had other kinds of pills in it. I started taking them whenever I was feeling bad. They made me feel good.”
“Did your parents say anything to you? Indicate that they knew something was wrong?”
Ariel shook her head with a dismissive sniff. “No, my dad was never home, and now I know that my mom was taking as much stuff as I was. Only she got hers from her doctors.”
“When did you see Miss H again?”
“That next summer. After the third year at camp I was pretty much zoned out all the time. I’d started skipping school and was hanging out with the bad kids. That’s when I got hooked on crack. One of my friends, an older guy, said I had a great body. He was a dealer.” She snorted. “He was also my first pimp. He convinced me that we could make a lot more money in San Jose, so I moved here with him.”
“How old were you?”
Ariel met Viviana’s gaze and shrugged. “I’d just turned fifteen. But I was an old-timer by then.” She sniffed. “As they say, the rest is history.”
Viviana forced herself to ask the question that both she and Francis needed answered. “Why did you leave the shelter, Ariel? Did it have something to do with what happened
to you when you were at camp?”
Ariel blanched. Her eyes widened as though she was seeing a frightening image, then she began to shake her head fiercely from side to side. Her broken words were barely audible. “Please, please don’t ask me. I . . . I can’t talk anymore.”
Even though she hated like hell to push the shattered girl, Viviana knew that they were at a breaking point. Once she shut down, Ariel might never open up again. Ignoring Francis’s warning frown, Viviana took a deep breath and persisted. “Ariel, honey, this is critical. I promise you, just a little more and then we can stop. Please, sweetheart, tell me what happened at the shelter. What frightened you so much that you left and went back on the street?”
Ariel looked as though she wouldn’t answer, then said in strangled voice, “I saw her. At the shelter.”
“Who, honey? Who did you see?”
“Miss H. She was in the library.”
Viviana couldn’t hide her shock. “Miss H? The drama teacher? She was at the shelter?”
Ariel shook her head. “No. Not her, exactly. But there was a picture of her on the wall . . . with some other people.” Ariel swallowed and glanced at the floor. Taking an audible breath, she murmured, “Sister Eloise was with me. She saw me looking at the pictures and said, “Those are important people, Ariel. They are the generous men and women who make our work here at the shelter possible.”
Ariel met Viviana’s stunned gaze and whispered, “He was there too.”
“Who was, honey?”
“The man who made us dance for him . . . and do things to him.”
Chapter 19
I’m impressed with the size and scope of your work here at St. Vincent’s, Sister Eloise. I mistakenly thought that you merely provided sleeping rooms for the girls. I didn’t know that you had this beautiful kitchen and that the girls help prepare their meals. I also was surprised to see your library and other pleasant areas where the girls can congregate.”
