The Girls On Poppy Drive: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  Once the FBI was done with their survey, I got the laptop. It needed to be doused in a bottle of rubbing alcohol before allowing it anywhere near my desk. The pair of latex gloves separating me from the keyboard was for my own sanity.

  FBI might have examined the hard drive for photos and videos, but I needed more from Kirwin’s perversions. He wasn’t the kidnapper, but he’d had a connection with the real monster.

  But how? Where?

  His internet history revealed the usual debauchery—porn, fetish websites, underage chats. Eddie had a singular hobby, and it had gotten him killed.

  But one site featured adult models. Presumably. I crossed his credit card statement with the website and double checked the link. Camgirls. Didn’t surprise me given his history, but he only ever paid a single girl.

  Paid, emailed, Skype chatted, sent presents.

  Apparently, Eddie had quite the crush on this internet superstar. And if he’d talked to her twice a week, odds were she knew more about Eddie than I’d learned in a two hour interview.

  Poor woman.

  The website wasn’t reputable, but Eddie’s credentials were saved to the login, as were the few credits lingering on his account. Flashing banner ads for women of all shapes, sizes, and questionable ages blinked from both sides of the screen. The homegrown website advertised the best camgirls on the web, but it didn’t look reputable. More like…created by a single user.

  And Kirwin’s favorite girl wasn’t the entrepreneurial, independent type. Her name was Sunshine, but God only knew the last time she’d seen the clear blue sky. She had the body of a heroin addict, the twitch of a meth head, and the blonde roots of a girl who might have been quite pretty if she hadn’t dyed her hair a deathly black.

  Her bloodshot eyes hid a lovely hazel, but she didn’t glance much at the camera. She slouched, not wearing a shirt. The straps on her black bra were loose over her bony shoulders. She didn’t fill out the cups, but her jeans fit. A ratty denim band settled near her navel. Not the style now, but I doubted she usually kept the jeans on long enough to matter.

  The girl checked the screenname and faked a cute, girly voice—high pitched and babyish.

  “Hi, Eddie. I missed you. Whatcha wanna do today?”

  So familiar. The girl must have constantly entertained Kirwin. She pouted when I didn’t type, but the non-response didn’t bother her. I paid the credits remaining on his account, and she swept us into a private chat.

  “Where’s your camera?” she asked. “Feeling shy today? Fine. I’ll just play by myself.”

  I prepared to stop the woman before she degraded herself for my benefit, but she didn’t reach for her jeans. Sunshine set a pink box on her desk and hummed a little song as she removed the lid.

  And pulled out a Barbie.

  No. I recognized the doll from my own childhood. Sunshine played with Skipper, Barbie’s barely pubescent little sister. She walked Skipper in front of the camera, showing off the doll’s shiny skirt and blonde braid.

  “She’s dressed real pretty today, Eddie.” Sunshine’s voice quieted. Sad? She petted the doll’s hair. “Let’s pretend she’s going to the beach. You like the beach right?”

  Sunshine removed a naked G.I. Joe from the box. With a practiced flourish, she forced the Skipper’s hand into his plastic fist. Joe had lost his pants, but he’d gained an artistic representation of what filled the fatigues. The sharpie’s markings had faded, but Joe was definitely more anatomically correct.

  Sunshine’s words dulled, torn between a youthful falsetto and a heavy, hardened impatience. “So, we’ll go to the beach, and we’ll have a picnic.” She pulled a handkerchief from the box and rested it on the desk. Skipper sat while Sunshine opened a plastic picnic basket in front of the doll. “And we’ll pretend that the beach is real warm and nice. And we’ll go swimming. I like swimming. Don’t you like swimming, Eddie?”

  She looked to the screen. I still hadn’t typed. Sunshine made a face and surrendered.

  “Fine. Then she’ll go to the beach, and she’ll get naked, and all the men will take turns fucking her until she asks them to stop, but they won’t. Then you’ll come save her, all right?”

  How often had they played this game? The bitterness in her voice wasn’t pretend. And the scenario…

  That sounded a little too real.

  What the hell had happened to this woman? What brought her to this point in her life where she played dolls with convicted pedophiles?

  Sunshine eyed the chat. Her doll slumped as she sighed. “Eddie, what are you doing? I want to play with you. And I need another fifty dollars to buy a new doll. You know I can’t play if I don’t get a new doll. You don’t like it after they’ve been touched.”

  I reached for the keyboard, hesitated, and began to type.

  This isn’t Eddie. My name is London. Can we talk?

  Sunshine read the message, stiffened, and threw the dolls into the box. She dove for the mouse. Her voice shifted to an adult, normal tone.

  “I don’t know who the hell you are or how you found me, but I’m not talking to you.”

  I’ll pay.

  Her hand stilled. “How did you get Eddie’s account?”

  I’m on his computer. I promise, I won’t ask you to do anything sexual. I just want to talk.

  “I’ve heard that before.” The girl plopped into her chair, but she didn’t try to cover herself or put a shirt on. “It’s never sexual, is it? Just let me talk. Just let me see your feet. Just let me hear you call me Daddy.”

  I want to talk about Eddie.

  The circles under her eyes darkened. She considered it, but shook her head. “Fuck off.”

  I need your help to save someone’s life.

  That only panicked her more. “Who the hell are you? Turn the camera on.”

  I’d regret it, but I’d regret losing Sunshine more. I took a breath before flipping on the webcam.

  I wasn’t in the greatest of spaces to film. The department was mostly dimmed, only the occasional officer checking in. I’d tucked my hair into a ponytail and wore only a light foundation and chap stick. Not my greatest cam debut, but I doubted Sunshine had expected a woman.

  Or a cop.

  Probably the first time someone flashed a badge instead of their goods on one of these chats, but it still rendered her speechless. I spoke quickly, preventing her from exiting the conversation.

  “My name is Detective London McKenna. Please, don’t go. I need your help.” My voice rose as she reached for the laptop’s cover. “I’m not Vice! I work Missing Persons. Eddie was my contact. I’ve been trying to save three little girls who’ve been kidnapped. I was already too late for one. I think you can help me before something terrible happens to the others.”

  Sunshine went silent, only her ragged breathing audible over the feed. Slowly, she tilted the screen back and swallowed.

  “Why would you want Eddie to help you? Don’t you know what he is?”

  “A pedophile.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, yeah. Who isn’t? But he’s practically retarded. How can he help you?”

  I wasn’t sure yet. “He might have known the man who kidnapped the girls. I’m trying to find anyone Eddie might have talked to about them.”

  “So, why don’t you talk to him?”

  If only I still had that option. “Eddie’s dead.”

  Her expression fell. She looked away for a long moment. Not sad. Disappointed? “Damn. There goes most of my income.”

  “You talked with Eddie a lot?”

  “If you can consider this talking.” She batted the Barbies off her desk. They clattered to the floor off screen. She ducked away from the camera only long enough to reach for the Skipper, gently resting her in the box with a soft apology. “We mostly played games.”

  “What sort of games?”

  “Dolls.” She spat the word. “We’d make them go somewhere fun. Somewhere I’ve never been. Then he’d want to take their clothes off and masturbate. You
know. The usual. Look, you said you’d pay me…”

  Right. I reached for my purse. “How do…what do you want? A credit card?”

  “Bitcoin.”

  “I don’t have those.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Credit card. There’s a place for tokens. Click it, and it’ll give me the money.”

  I didn’t have time for my identity to get stolen, but what choice did I have? I tapped in my credit card number, exchanged my hard-earned cash for sex tokens, and passed Sunshine a hundred bucks.

  She scoffed. “Are you serious?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Another zero.”

  I laughed. “You seriously overestimate how much money a detective makes.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to save some little girl?”

  The attitude wouldn’t earn her any other tips. I tossed her another four hundred dollars that would have paid for wedding flowers I’d never use and didn’t let her bargain for any more.

  “You don’t look old enough to be a model,” I said.

  Sunshine arched an eyebrow. Did she dye those too? “And this conversation is over.”

  Damn it. “Wait! I won’t ask any questions about you.”

  “Not sure why you’d even want to.” She kicked back in her chair and twirled her hair. “Do cops normally talk to whores?”

  I did, and I hated when they referred to themselves as such. “I talk to anyone who can help me find a missing child.”

  “And you think Eddie was your best bet? You know what he does with little girls, right?”

  “I know that Eddie liked them young.”

  “Gonna let you in on a little secret.” Sunshine’s smile wasn’t nearly as bright and cheerful as a girl her age deserved. What was she? Eighteen? Seventeen? “All men like them young. Tight, perky, and completely innocent until they slobber over their dicks.”

  Christ, what had happened to this girl? “Speaking from experience?”

  “No questions about me, remember?”

  “I can help.”

  “Too little, too late. I can take care of myself.”

  How many times had I said that? “No harm in accepting a little help. Gotta be better than doing this for a living.”

  “Really?” Her fist rapped against the monitor. “See that? No one’s reaching through that screen to grope at me. Best job in the world.”

  “Yeah.” I listened to the telltale rumble nearly shaking her room. “No one would think to look for you beside the airport.”

  “How did you—”

  “Eddie was obsessed with three little girls—one in particular. Did he ever mention anyone to you?”

  Sunshine shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “He thought he was actually emailing the girls, but, in reality, he spoke with their captor. The emails asked him to do things for the girls—buy them supplies, deliver presents to specific places, attack anyone who might take the girls away.”

  “Sounds like Eddie,” she said. “He’d do anything for his girls. I almost felt sorry for the asshole. He acted like a kid himself.”

  She certainly didn’t, despite the youth hidden behind her scowl. “Did Eddie ever talk about a girl named Kaitlyn?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about a Sophia?” I asked. “Alyssa?”

  Sunshine stilled. Her voice dropped its edge. “What did you say?”

  “Three little girls were kidnapped with nothing in common except they lived on the same street. Alyssa Wicker, Kaitlyn Gibson, and Sophia Carter. All three were kidnapped and forced into child pornography.”

  Sunshine had softened, but the bitterness never left her words. “That happens all the time.”

  “I want to stop it from happening. And I think Eddie might be the best way for me to find the man responsible for these kidnappings. Did Eddie ever talk about what he liked, any particular pornographies or conversations with other girls?”

  “Maybe.” Sunshine looked away.

  “Maybe yes?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Whatever you know.”

  “How did Eddie die?” she asked. I didn’t answer, and she understood. “Oh. He was murdered.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you want me to rat on him, knowing that someone already tried to keep his mouth shut?”

  Damn it. “I can protect you. I’ll help. Eddie was my only link to those girls, and, if he was killed, then he might have known—”

  She interrupted me with a groan. “Are you serious? Let me tell you a little about Eddie. His biggest fantasy was watching Skipper here get tag-teamed by an entire platoon of G.I. Joes. Then he wanted to rush in, save her from the rape, and then take her home so he could do the same damn thing to her over and over again. Only this time, he promised Skipper would like it.”

  Christ. He had a hero complex.

  Or he knew that the kidnapper was abusing the girls.

  Some sickos believed they were legitimately in love with a child. Eddie had convinced himself that he and Kaitlyn were soul mates. Maybe he’d wanted to spare her some of the abuses. Hell, he’d blown up his own damn house after realizing what the videos made him do, think, and feel.

  “Was he ever specific about the men hurting the…doll?” I asked.

  “Every man.”

  “Every man?”

  “Oh, come on.” Her patience fried the instant her hands started to tremble. Reality wasn’t great for a high. “Don’t be so naïve. There isn’t a man out there who wouldn’t get a stiffy from watching a kid get starved, beaten, and whored out. All men. Friends. Strangers. Fathers. Kindly neighbors. Probably the police too. The world runs on pussy, the younger the better.”

  “Not everywhere,” I said.

  “I don’t believe that. There’s two types of men in the world—those who get off on the power they hold over kids, and the ones who think they can show us the right way to be loved. I’m not sure who is worse, but at least ones like Eddie never left a bruise.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” I said. “There’s people like me trying to stop it. Putting those types of men behind bars. Helping the victims.”

  “You don’t know how bad it can be.”

  I had a good idea. “And you don’t know how good of a life you could have.”

  “Not after what I’ve seen.”

  “You help me, I’ll help you.”

  “Will you help me if I don’t say a word?”

  No hesitation. “Absolutely.”

  Sunshine brushed a hand through her hair, revealing more blonde roots. The room behind her stayed bare, only one wet towel on the floor near the bathroom. A recent check-in? A bag rested on the bed. Unpacked or ready to bolt?

  Who was this girl?

  And why was she so reluctant to help me?

  She shifted, her voice heavy. “Look. Eddie wasn’t the smartest. But there’s other guys out there too. Guys who like the same things. And they talk.”

  “Who?”

  “No.” She refused. “No names. You don’t know how dangerous this is.”

  “I do, because those girls are living it every day.”

  “Those girls are probably dead.” Her eyebrow arched as I went silent. “I’m right, huh? You don’t even think they’re alive. You know exactly how long a girl can last when they’re being used like that. Men watching them. Demanding their bodies, their submission. Everyone says puberty is hell, but it’s a goddamned torment just getting to it.”

  “What do you know?”

  “A lot of things. And nothing. Rumors. Stories.” She picked at her fingers, flaking away the black nail polish. “How badly do you want to help them?”

  “I’ve already risked my life,” I said. “And I’d do anything to protect them.”

  “Everyone says that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “What makes them so special? There’s hundreds of kids—thousands—being abused. What’s so great about those three little br
ats?”

  “It’s my case,” I said.

  “And you really think you can save them?”

  “I do.”

  Sunshine’s eyes locked on the camera. She tilted her head. “Well, that’s good. Cause from what I’ve heard…most cops are shit at their jobs.”

  I tensed. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means…they haven’t looked very hard for the girls.”

  If she only knew. “Well, where should we be looking?”

  She shrugged, a solemn, sorrowful motion. “There’s rumors. Stories. It seems to me…those little girls didn’t get too far from home.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because it always starts at home, Detective.”

  My words trembled. “What are you telling me?”

  “Something that’ll get me killed.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “It’s too late for that. I know what you’d do. How you think you can help. But you don’t have a clue about how this world really works. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve been forced to do. There’s no helping me. Right now, staying in the shadows here is all that’s keeping me alive.”

  My heart raced, pounding with frustration. “And what about those girls? Sophia Carter is nine years old, and she’s being abused every damn day. You can stop this. You can help her before she’s destroyed too. Tell me what you know. Please.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away, smearing black mascara across her cheeks.

  “They can’t be saved. Those girls have spent their lives six feet underground…and they weren’t even allowed to die.”

  25

  Chains. Ropes. Nails.

  How best to keep you still?

  -Him

  The girls had never left Poppy Drive.

  It wasn’t possible.

  For seven years, we’d combed every inch of Poppy Drive. The houses. The street. The neighborhood. No way the pervert would have left them so close.