None of this was news, or even surprising. This case had dropped into their laps like a bad gift they didn’t know was coming. The phone call came early yesterday morning. A child’s soft voice had whispered all they needed to know, with plenty of information to verify her claims. Even the private, code only, website was provided during that phone call. Whoever called knew everything about the operation. Within hours, a hastily assembled team raided the seedy campground with its collection of RVs.
A rolling brothel of children for rent.
Between the sixteen men caught buying, the seven men and two women selling, and the many girls being rented, the police department was more than swamped. They were in over their heads and overwhelmed. They needed help.
Melody thought about that call again. The girl had asked for her by name. “Any idea which one of them was the caller?”
Captain Mann shook his head. “No one is confessing to that. Do you think you would recognize the voice?”
With an uncertain expression, she said, “Maybe. She was whispering most of the time and it’s hard to get a read on a voice when they whisper.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, the change in one rattling a little. It was a nervous habit, familiar to both Paul and Melody. Sometimes, Melody thought the Captain kept a handful of useless dollar coins just so he could jiggle them like that. She breathed the antiseptic hospital air and waited. He was thinking. The sharp rattle as he squeezed all the coins, then let them go was her cue to pay attention again.
“I want you two doing the interviews until the feds get here. We can’t leave them in limbo like this. They need to know we didn’t snatch them only to leave them hanging. See if you can’t figure out which one made the call. Whoever she is, she knew an awful lot about their system. We need her to tell us everything.”
Paul broke in and asked, “What about the ones who won’t give names?”
Mann aged ten years in the second between the end of the question and his answer. “Some of them don’t know their real names, or maybe they simply don’t remember. They were taken that young.”
The murderous glint in Paul’s eyes made Melody reach out and touch his arm, a gentle reminder that they were in the here and now, that they weren’t supposed to murder bad guys, even when they really deserved it. He drew in a long breath through his nose. It whistled a little. With spring right around the corner and the grasses starting to green, he was a little stopped up. Melody handed him a eucalyptus lozenge and the glint in his eye faded. She kept a supply in her jacket pocket, because he never remembered to bring any.
Also, she would make sure Paul didn’t conduct any of the perp interviews. Nor would she for that matter. Murder could happen.
Mann’s phone rang and he looked relieved after glancing at the screen. “It’s the FBI, finally. Go on and start with the girls. I’ll brief you later.”
With that, he turned away, his voice lowering as he spoke to his contact in the FBI. A nurse at the station a few feet away was looking their way, in her eyes a question. Deciding it was time to get to work, Melody answered the nurse’s unspoken query.
Holding up her badge, she said, “We’re here to interview the girls.”
The Introduction
They were piled in like puppies. All fourteen of the girls were in one room with four beds. They had other rooms, but they were gathered here. The way the girls were grouped inside that room told a story. Mel knew in an instant who relied on who for comfort, could see that there were two cliques within the group, and finally, understood which girls were the ones the younger children went to for mothering.
She also knew there was one who didn’t belong to any of those groups. A gangly kid of maybe eleven or twelve, she stood near the window, her posture relaxed but watchful. There was no one looking at her, hugging her on a bed, or stroking her hair while she slept across another’s lap. She was alone, but more remarkably, she seemed fine with it.
Her hair was pixie short, which was also unusual. The kind of men who sought out company in little chicken farms often fit stereotypes with unnerving accuracy. They wanted their little chickens to fit a stereotype too. Long hair with little girl curls and pigtails. That was their usual preference. That, or bows in their hair.
This girl didn’t meet those stereotypes. Her eyes were large and luminous, pale grey like a winter sky just before a traffic-stopping snow began to fall. A full and impersonal gray, potentially dangerous. That was the color. Her rose-pink lips curled up a little as Mel cataloged her features.
This girl was the one to watch. The one who called had seemed calm, matter of fact, and most of all, capable of making such a call. The girls clinging to each other on the beds weren’t any of those things. This one might be all of those things.
Paul saw it too, and the quick glance he shot Mel’s way conveyed that. Her quick answering nod let him know she would work her way over to that girl. They barely needed words to work seamlessly anymore. They each understood the other’s strengths and weaknesses. It made them great partners.
Melody introduced herself, then Paul, doing her best to make eye contact with every girl in the room. Asking for
