Chapter 22
THE NEXT MORNING, Cindy Thomas was deep into a four-year-old United Nations report on human trafficking.
The more she read, the more horrified she became.
The way people were shuttled between countries was terrifying.
Cindy was shocked at how many people were transported across the borders of Europe and into the US by trafficking networks.
She couldn’t stop reading, even though none of it really pertained to the story she intended to write.
Her idea was to be more specific and personal, starting with Nicole Snaff and the girls from San Julio.
She had begun hours earlier with an article in The Sun about the human-trafficking problem in Europe, and it seemed to line up with her theory: Groups profited most by trafficking younger women.
The UK had experienced its share, specifically in London.
It seemed like a lot of that had to do with the tremendous number of people crammed into a relatively small urban area.
She also read about how criminal gangs related by nationality often worked together, under the radar.
Much like in the US, law enforcement and the government in the UK were not particularly plugged into some of the larger minority cultures.
It appeared they found it easier to just ignore certain issues.
Cindy was so engrossed in her research, she barely noticed the other workers in the building walking past her open office door.
She would mumble something when someone poked their head in and offered a greeting, but in general, she was completely absorbed in the UN report and articles she was reading.
Then her cell phone rang. More accurately, it played the theme to Friends. She didn’t recognize the local number. It looked like a switchboard. She answered it with a quick “Cindy Thomas speaking” while still staring down at the report.
“Hi, Cindy. It’s Joe Molinari.” When Cindy didn’t say anything immediately, he continued. “You know, Lindsay’s husband.” He added a short laugh to show he was kidding.
“I’m sorry, Joe. I was right in the middle of reading something,” Cindy said. “What’s going on?”
“Lindsay told me about the story you’re following.
I’m going out on a lead about a missing child.
Nothing wild or unusual. Just a tip that someone saw something suspicious.
They believe they saw a ten-year-old girl who’s been missing for eighteen months.
Lindsay said you might want to come with us to get some context about families whose children have disappeared. ”
“This is exactly what I need. Where can I meet you?”
“I’ll call you in about forty minutes. We’ll stop at the Chronicle and pick you up. It’s on our way.”
Exactly thirty-eight minutes later, Joe called Cindy and said he was outside the main entrance to the building, in a blue Chevy Tahoe. Cindy managed to make it out the front door less than two minutes later.
Joe introduced Cindy to FBI special agent Debbie Roche. From the back seat, Cindy greeted the agent, a tall, athletic-looking woman with dark hair.
Joe said, “Debbie handles a lot of the coordination for missing children cases. She’s also tied in closely with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. She goes out on these kinds of assignments all the time. Today, I’m just her chauffeur.”
Cindy smiled. She knew Joe had probably volunteered to go on this assignment just to give Cindy a chance to see what it’s all about. All of her friends’ husbands were smart, stand-up guys.
Special Agent Roche said, “From what Joe’s told me, this might not be that similar to the story you’re working on. It’s a tip from a neighbor who saw a little girl from a distance and somehow made the leap that it could be a girl missing from Portland.”
Joe said, “I blame true-crime podcasts and Netflix series. Everyone thinks crimes are happening secretly all around them all the time. I’m afraid it’s not quite that interesting in real life.”
Debbie said, “We go out a lot on these kinds of tips. Unfortunately, most are useless, but we can’t ignore any of them. Imagine if a tip turned out to be accurate but no one paid attention to it.”
Cindy said, “This is plenty interesting to me. I appreciate you letting me tag along. It should give me some good ideas on how to proceed with my story.” She was almost bouncing in the back seat with anticipation.
Reporters generally didn’t get to see this side of investigations.
With good reason, cops usually didn’t trust reporters.
Cindy was trying to turn that stereotype around all by herself.