Chapter 52
RICH CONKLIN AND I wasted no time after Yuki Castellano called us with the information she’d overheard at the Hall of Justice. We headed straight over to South Van Ness, looking for the shelter the patrol officer had mentioned. Traffic made the drive slow and choppy.
The young woman’s name was Elizabeth Nunez. A quick check showed she had a couple of minor arrests. One for breaking into a car and stealing a purse, and the second for underage possession of alcohol. There were a few citations issued for shoplifting. Nothing that had been worth prosecuting.
We found the place easily enough. It wasn’t run-down, but it was the definition of a “basic” building.
White paint covered blemishes in the stucco walls.
A row of windows, a couple with cracked panes, ran along the exterior.
The door looked like it was meant for a home rather than a business.
Lindsay and Conklin pressed the video doorbell and stood in front of the camera.
After a moment, a woman’s voice said, “Can I help you?”
I held up my badge and said, “Lindsay Boxer, SFPD.”
“What’s this about?”
“It’s a little sensitive. Can we talk to you in person?” I was surprised that there was such a long pause before we got an answer.
“I’ll buzz the door, but only you can come in. Your partner will have to wait outside or in your car.”
I looked at Conklin. He shrugged, understanding the rationale that a male might be disturbing to some of the women in the shelter. Many of them were likely fleeing abusive relationships and didn’t need the extra stress of his presence.
I told the gatekeeper I was coming in alone and she buzzed the door open.
The inside of the shelter was much more cheerful than the exterior. It was well lit, with artwork on the walls and clean, brightly colored furniture. Two of the framed artworks were animation cells of the Roadrunner character. The rest were watercolor landscapes.
A tall Black woman wearing a heavy blue cardigan sweater stepped into the hallway and said, “I’m Laura Chandler, director of the shelter. What’s this sensitive matter you need to discuss?”
I didn’t hold anything back. I explained our whole theory about the missing girls and whether there might be a connection to what had happened to Elizabeth Nunez last night.
The director said, “Lizzie didn’t say anything about that to me.
She just mentioned that she didn’t feel safe on the street.
” The director paused for a moment, then added, “I have to say I’m gratified to see a detective looking into human trafficking.
I see stories on the news and in press releases from some of the federal agencies, but I’ve never had someone actually come here to our shelter and show any interest in the problem. ”
“To tell you the truth, I’m learning about it on the fly. I even have a man from Interpol coming over from France to give me some guidance.”
“Why Interpol? Why not the FBI?”
It was a fair question but not one I had expected.
“To tell you the truth, I started with the FBI, but they directed me to Interpol. Interpol seems to be on the leading edge of missing persons and human trafficking. They assist a lot of law-enforcement agencies that then do the footwork in their own jurisdictions and ultimately make the arrests. The Interpol investigator who’s coming over here is just stopping by here on his way from a conference in Seattle.
Everyone’s got a tight budget, so we have to improvise. ”
The director laughed. “Don’t tell me about tight budgets.
We operate on a grant from the city and charitable donations.
The only thing more risky than a grant from the government is charitable donations.
We go week to week with our expenses. Most of the food we use comes from a food pantry for the homeless.
We get to pick through the stuff left over from the morning disbursement. ”
The director’s words put my police budget woes into perspective. Suddenly, having to write up reports didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
She led me down the narrow hallway, deeper into the shelter.
As we passed open doors, several different women looked up.
I could tell they were evaluating me closely.
A couple of them turned away. No cop liked to have that effect.
But people have different interactions and interpretations. I just went with it.
The director noticed it too and said, “I’m sorry. It’s not you. Some of these women have faced terrible trauma. Many of them feel that the justice system has let them down. But I appreciate what you’re trying to do and the sensitivity you’re using.”
She gave me a smile and I felt better.
As we turned a corner, the director said, “I saw Lizzie in the computer room earlier. She said she was putting together a résumé.”
As we approached another open door, a teenager in a pink sweater rushed out of the room. She looked at us and hurried in the other direction. Something about her made my antenna go up, and I took the last few steps quickly.
When I entered the computer room, I saw that the window was open, and looking out it, I caught a girl with long black hair running away fast. She already had a head start.
I yelled out the window, “We just want to talk to you, Lizzie!”
The girl didn’t even turn around. She just raised her right hand and shot me a bird as she continued to put distance between her and the shelter.
Now I had one more witness to try to find. This case was getting weirder and weirder.