We headed into the police station, where a woman in an officer’s uniform was waiting for us.
“Are you the federal agents?” she asked.
“We are,” I confirmed. “I’m Agent Patel, and this is Agent Hills and Agent Chapman.”
“Great,” the officer nodded. “I’m Officer Berek. I’ll lead you all back there.” She led us down the hall and toward an elevator.
“We put the girl in our break room,” Berek informed us as we boarded the elevator. “We obviously didn’t want to leave her in the interrogation room, but we weren’t sure where else we could put her while we waited for you to arrive. A social services agent is in there with her right now with the translator.”
“How limited is her English?” I asked as we reached the third floor.
“Very,” Berek responded. “She was able to tell us her name and how old she was, but she didn’t seem to understand much else of what we tried asking her. Once the translator got here and we learned that she probably wasn’t the only kid that was brought over, we figured we’d better call you guys.”
“That was a smart decision,” Charlie commented as we made it to the door of the break room. I peered through the glass window on the door and could see a small child sitting on a worn-looking couch next to two women.
“What’s the girl’s name?” I asked Berek.
“Kamya,” she replied. “Eight years old. She said she was living with her mom in India before they brought her here. Didn’t get much else out of her.”
“We’ll take it from here,” I assured her before pushing open the break room door and stepping inside. The two women, whom I assumed were the social worker and translator, looked up as we entered. “Agents Patel, Chapman, and Hills from the Military Border Liaison Investigative Services. We’d like to speak to Kamya about everything that has happened.”
“I’m Ms. Nicole,” the shorter of the two women said as she stood up to shake my hand. “I’m the social worker assigned to Kamya’s case. This is Mrs. Grose. She’s been helping me communicate with Kamya.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I replied, though, in truth, I just wanted to get the pleasantries out of the way so I could speak to the girl. I moved toward the couch, and Mrs. Grose stood and walked a few paces away. Charlie and Junior walked to the other end of the room so they’d be close enough to observe without overwhelming Kamya.
“Hello,” I greeted Kamya in Jamaican Patois. “My name is Naomi. I heard that you’re called Kamya. Is that true?”
“Yes,” she nodded, looking up at me with large brown eyes. Her hair was a little tangled, but it didn’t look dirty. She looked a little gaunt and had bags under her eyes as if she hadn’t been sleeping or eating well.
“Can you tell me your last name?” I asked.
“Dayal,” she responded.
“That’s such a pretty name,” I told her with a smile.
“It is,” she agreed, “but the bad people changed it.”
“Who are the bad people?” I asked.
“Daniel and Patricia Weaver,” she replied, stumbling over the pronunciation. “When they brought me to their house, they told me my new name was Megan. I tried to tell them they were wrong, but they wouldn’t listen to me.”
“That wasn't very nice of them,” I frowned. “Can you tell me how you got to the Weaver’s house?”
“A man brought me,” she replied, frowning as she spoke.
“Do you know the man’s name?” I asked. Kamya just shook her head sadly.
“He came to my house in Nochikuppam,” she explained. “He talked to my mommy and me and said that he wanted to take my baby sister and me to a school in America.”
“Your baby sister?” I asked. “So you came here together?”
“Yes,” Kamya nodded. “Her name is Lakshmi. We were together for a little while, but then a man took her away.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “Tell me what happened after the man came to your house.”
“I did go to school for a little while,” she replied. “But it wasn’t in the United States. I could see the sea from out the window, but it didn’t look like Jamaica. They taught us how to use a stove and an electric washing machine and how to sew. They didn’t take us to the United States until later.”
“Us?” I prompted. “So there were more children with you?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “It was mostly all girls, but there were a few boys too. They would get in trouble a lot because they said cooking and sewing was for girls, and they didn’t want to do it.”
“I see,” I frowned. “So then what happened?”
“Once we got very good at cooking and cleaning, they would tell us it was time to go to America,” she replied. “They chose me, Lakshmi, and two other girls, and a different man took us to the airport.”
“That sounds exciting,” I forced a smile. It was heartbreaking to hear, but I wanted to encourage her to keep speaking.
“It was,” she agreed with a nod. “It was so big and pretty, and there were so many people with pretty dresses and suits. After a little while, we got on an airplane. Some other girls thought it was scary, but I wasn’t afraid.”
“What a brave girl you are,” I smiled at her. “Can you tell me what happened after that?”
“After the plane landed, the man took us to a car,” she frowned as she recalled what had happened. “He gave us some sweet drinks and told us to go to sleep. When I woke up
