Chapter 10
IN THE WEE hours of the next morning, I sat in the kitchen in the unholy glow of my laptop computer. When I’d woken up to Joe’s snoring, I knew I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.
My mind just kept going back to the body that had washed up on Marshall’s Beach.
And the body from earlier in Golden Gate Park.
The other homicide team had texted me a few hours after I’d left them.
They’d already identified the victim. She’d been in some kind of witness protection with the Oklahoma State Bureau of Investigation.
Could have been a revenge killing, but they were still working on the details.
Claire was theorizing that the residue on her face was some kind of homemade mace.
With my peripheral interest in the missing girl Cindy was looking into, the daughter of the guy who’d come to Claire’s party, any hope of a restful night was gone.
I decided it was a good time to do research.
I started with simple news articles about missing women.
I restricted it to California. Soon, I moved on to any stories about human trafficking.
Finally, I started poking around in darker places, where unsettling pornography marked the entry portholes to the sites.
“What are you doing, Lindsay? It’s four thirty in the morning.”
Joe’s voice had made me jump, really pop up in my seat. Once I caught my breath, I leaned back and let him look over my shoulder at the computer.
Joe glanced down at my screen. “These sites look creepy. I’d visit some more official websites.”
“I know. But I’m trying to get a down-and-dirty look at it. I want to read comments on some of these crazy websites.”
“Have you found anything interesting?”
“I found a news article and a few police reports that might be something in San Diego. Just this week they broke up a ring that trafficked teens to legal and illegal brothels in Nevada. There were four defendants and over fifty trafficked teens. It’s a big organization.
They claim it’d been operating for several years.
This is a problem no one really talks about. ”
“Because it doesn’t happen in a vacuum. These people purposely prey on girls with iffy family situations,” Joe said.
“I’ve been doing a little checking myself.
We have organizations like the Center for Missing and Exploited Children, which tracks all this stuff.
But the truth is, with law enforcement departments not talking to each other, we’re not sure exactly how often it happens.
It may not be as prevalent as people say. ”
I said, “Neither is kidnapping, yet we do everything we can to educate kids about stranger danger. I feel like we’re dropping the ball on this one.” I felt a knot in my stomach when I considered all the implications of a crime syndicate trafficking young women.
I looked at my husband. “What if they’re all connected? What if some kind of crime ring is behind these dead and missing girls?”
Joe said, “You might be on to something. Something you should really look into on Monday morning. But right now, hours before the sun comes up, you need some rest.” Then he added, “Maybe you should talk to someone at Interpol. This is the kind of stuff they gather data on all the time.”
“Interpol? Don’t they only handle international crimes?”
“They have experts in different fields. Any kind of human trafficking is documented by them. Couldn’t hurt.”
I’d never had dealings with Interpol during my career. Interpol was based in Europe and mainly collected information. As a working cop, I preferred to be involved with organizations that provided manpower and actual assistance. But it was an idea I couldn’t dismiss out of hand.
Joe said, “I’ll get you the number for their headquarters in France. I have it somewhere in my desk. They’ve been helpful to us over the years. They also have analysts and investigators there who used to work in law enforcement, not just report writers.”
I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, and Joe gently closed the lid of my laptop. It was exactly what I needed. He held out a hand and helped me off the breakfast barstool. I was already feeling more relaxed.
As we went toward the bedroom, I heard Martha stir and whimper. I turned to Joe. “I’ve got to take Martha out to do her business.”
“No way. I got her.” Then Joe made sure I kept walking toward the bedroom. This kind of husband doesn’t grow on trees.