Chapter 17
Still later that evening
“I thinkthis rules out where the girls wouldn’t be saying,” Griff announced from the dining room table, pushing a pile of papers to the side. “We’ve looked at every bed and breakfast and Airbnb in Knoxville, Knox County, and two surrounding counties. Never knew there were so many. But I can’t see any responsible person with those kinds of properties renting them to a large group of young women coming into town for just a few days.”
“Unless The Cadre or Big Daddy plans on keeping them past the conventions,” Patrick called from the kitchen, where he was mopping the floor. He was restless, he had told them after dinner, and cleaning helped him re-focus.
“There is that possibility,” Griff agreed. He looked at Elaine, who sat at a smaller table, studying her laptop screen. She’d changed out of her sparkly dress and fancy shoes before dinner and now wore jeans, a white button-down shirt, and no shoes. She’d agreed to use the sling, so her left arm now rested against her, while her right hand manipulated the mouse from time to time. She looked fragile and vulnerable, but her gaze on the screen held all the determination of a woman who would not stop until she got what she wanted.
A sudden urge to be beside her drove Griff to take one of the dining table’s chairs and carry it to sit beside her and ask, “Whatcha doing?”
“Reviewing statistics on human trafficking nationally, regionally and locally,” she said, still staring at the screen. “Especially for children and teens. I’m always overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. As often as I tell myself it can’t possibly be true, I know it is.”
“As in, how could anyone be so sick as to hurt or molest a child or young person?” Griff asked.
“Yeah.” She canted her head toward him. “We’re supposed to protect and love children and keep them safe, not hurt them.”
“Aren’t a lot of trafficked kids runaway?” Griff tried to remember the literature he’d studied during his rehab at Better Days. “Running from abusive and neglectful homes?”
“Yes,” and he winced at the sorrow in her voice. “The childcare system can’t handle the thousands and thousands of cases of abused and neglected kids out there and no one seems to have a good answer on how to fix it. So, lots of kids who are abused or neglected at home, especially older ones run, hoping to find a better life. And they get caught or tricked by traffickers all too often.”
“But not Chelsea and Martin,” Griff put in quickly. “They weren’t abused or neglected.”
“Not Chelsea and Martin,” she echoed. “Their parents–mine and his–are a long way from being rich, but the kids often got what they wanted and always what they needed. But they had rules and limits and like a lot of young teens, they felt ‘no one understood them.’ So, when we wouldn’t let them audition for a traveling dance company, they were furious. We wanted them to concentrate on their schoolwork.”
“Did you check out that company?” Griff asked. “Was it legit?”
“First thing we did.” Elaine looked back at the screen. “It was legit, but there were others who advertised online, and we think they found one that wasn’t. We think one of those lured them away. Martin managed to erase a lot of stuff from his laptop before they left, and we never found which company it was. And the websites were all taken down and were erased. Someone was very, very tech savvy and knew how to hide or destroy everything.”
A kind of guilt tore at Griff for not being there to help her. Stupid, but that was how he felt. “I could have found them.”
“I bet you could have,” and her praise thrilled through him like a shot of good whiskey.
“Were they good dancers?” Griff asked.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Mom and Martin’s mom had them in dance classes from the time they were six. They were incredibly talented, but their dreams were kids’ “we’re gonna be famous and dance with every famous entertainer you can name’ kind of dreams.”
“Maybe tomorrow we should try talking to Marty again,” he suggested. “Spending the night in a cell and eating jail food might help him re-think what he wants.”
“That’s that, then.” Somehow Patrick had made it to the suite’s front door without either of them noticing. He held up his oversize travel mug and said, “I’m off to the lab to get the recordings from Elaine’s necklace transcribed and sent to Miller.”
“I hope Grant gets some sleep tonight,” Elaine said, pushing back from her desk. “He looked exhausted when he left here.”
Did you put a fresh recording cartridge in her locket?” Griff asked.
“Yes sir.” Patrick came forward to hand the locket to Elaine.
“Is there coffee in that mug?” Elaine teased. “Or do you have a special stash in the lab?”
“Ah, how the lady knows me.” Patrick praised. “Fresh bag of Blue Mountain awaits as we speak. I left a cheese and fruit plate in the ‘fridge in case you change your mind about dessert. Get some rest, you two. Don’t wait up for me. I have some things to do for Hank when I finish in the lab.”
He left, the door’s lock clicking into place. Griff looked at Elaine’s laptop screen, then at here. “May I ask you something about Sister Bernie’s memorial service?”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Sure.”
“Why was it held so quickly? I know the coroner would still have her body at that point, so why was service held two days after she died?”
Sorrow settled over her beautiful features and Griff mentally kicked himself for distressing her. Her day had been hard enough. Then she smiled and said, “Both Bernie’s parents and her brothers are doctors and work with Doctors without Borders. They were scheduled to leave the country the day after she died, but got the trip postponed until Thursday. She’ll be cremated when her body is released, and her ashes interred in St. Nicholas’ columbarium when her family gets back. Was there a reason you wanted to know?”
Griff shook his head. “Just thinking. Sister Bernie’s death was what kickstarted this whole roller-coaster ride. Her dedication to helping those in danger or those who couldn’t help themselves was awesome. I wish I’d met her before she was murdered.”
“She would have liked you.” A grin replaced Elaine’s sorrowful expression as she moved to settle against the sofa’s cushions. “She probably would have challenged you to a game of baseball. Your batting was impressive.
“Bet she could beat me at running ‘round the bases.” Griff rubbed his right knee. “Getting hurt in Central America really slowed me down.”
“Enough about that,” she scolded. “You just said you’d eliminated lots of places that would be unlikely locations to hide the girls. Where do we look next?”
“I’m going to text Aunt Sally to see what she knows about any properties with short-term rental options that would start next week, their locations and names of the renters,” Griff said. “She handles stuff like that too.”
“Can she tell you that?” Elaine asked. “Isn’t that sort of thing confidential?”
Griff shrugged. “I told her I was working on a case involving missing, exploited teens that someone might be bringing to town and who would need a place to hide them. She said if it helped find exploited kids, she’d re-write the rule book.”
“You’ll have to introduce me to her when this is over,” Elaine laughed. “She sounds like my kind of woman. Given the girls will need a big place to stay–”
“Other than there are seven of them, what make you say that?”
She actually rolled her eyes at him. “And you’re a man who has two sisters who work in fashion? The clothing those girls will have! All those costumes and shoes, not to mention the huuuuge make-up cases? They’ll probably need a room just for all of that! And a couple of guys as big as Patrick to lug it up and down the stairs! And we’re not even factoring in the people assigned to watch them.”
A wave of laughter poured out of Griff before he could stop it. It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny about the past few days or this case with its deaths and threats of death and fear for The Honeys.
But her descriptions of young girls and their many suitcases packed with who knew how many outfits, of poor Patrick with the oversized luggage stacked on his back like Atlas carrying the world, staggering up who knew how many flights of stairs, and her exaggeration of the word huge, was like something from a slapstick movie when things literally fall apart, like the dinosaur collapsing at the end of Bringing Up Baby, sending Katherine Hepburn into Cary Grant’s waiting arms.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “It’s not funny but–damn, my ribs are killing me–” his laughter started again, and he realized she was laughing too at the enormity of it all.
“I think,” she gasped as their laughter subsided, “that this calls for a glass of wine. Maybe that fruit and cheese tray Patrick left for us. It might be the only thing that will calm us down.”
“As my lady wishes,” Griff agreed.
In the kitchen, he poured two glasses of Chardonay, took out the cheese-fruit platter, gathered plates and napkins and put everything on a tray. He even took time to roll the napkins into fancy shapes, remembering his father’s advice.
“Even a simple meal can be a celebration of life,” he would say. “The little extra touches just make it that more special.”
But he returned to find her asleep, her chin in her hand, elbow propped on the sofa’s arm.
He put the tray on the dining room table, then went to the sofa. “Elaine,” he said softly. “Wake up.”
Her eyes popped open, and she blinked. “Wow,” she breathed. “I’m more tired than I realized.”
“You need to sleep,” Griff told her. “Go to bed and tomorrow after I text Aunt Sally, we’ll decide what we need to do next.”
“ ‘kay.” She yawned and stood. “ ‘night, Griff.”
“Good night, Elaine,” he called as she headed for her room, and after he’d returned everything to the kitchen, he went to his.