Dangerous Passage (Southern Crimes Book #1): A Novel (11 page)

A
very took a bite of the fish taco from one of the food trucks strategically placed around the city. Thankfully, Atlanta’s battle against the roving gourmet vehicles had finally come to an end and the trucks were able to sell their food. Some of her best meals had come from mobile vendors. Besides that, there was nothing like street fare when in the middle of a stakeout or, like today, another long day of canvassing.

“This is delicious.”

“No kidding.” Mitch started on his second chicken burrito as they stood beneath the bright green umbrella that blocked the afternoon sun for the truck’s patrons.

She took another bite. It was almost enough to lighten her sour mood. Almost. Constant dead ends always left her irritated, and this case was hitting more than its share of brick walls.

They’d begun going through the Sourn neighborhood house by house for the second time, and once again they’d turned up nothing. Several neighbors thought they recognized Tala, but no one remembered speaking to her. How was it possible that she’d lived in that house three months and no one even knew her name?

Avery took a sip of her iced tea. What happened to good, old-fashioned neighborhood cookouts and the welcome wagon
when one moved into town? Apparently community solidarity had gone the way of cassette tapes and typewriters.

Scrunching up the paper wrapper from her finished taco, she tossed it into the trash and waited for Mitch to finish his lunch before they headed out again. Despite Jackson’s findings, punching holes in the Sourns’ story had ended up being more of a challenge than she’d anticipated. Not only had their story never wavered, a search of flight manifests and border control posts confirmed that Tala—as Mrs. Sourn had told her—had not traveled overseas. Which meant they were no closer to finding out who the young woman really was than they were two days ago.

While waiting for Mitch to finish, Avery watched the dozen people standing in line for their lunch. Moms with strollers, a jogger, three men dressed in suits and ties. The smell of exhaust from the passing cars mixed with the scent of grilled meat from the food truck. “I have to say, I don’t get this.”

Mitch frowned and finished swallowing, clearly not happy with the interruption. The man took his food way too seriously.

He wiped a spot of sauce from his chin. “Don’t get what?”

“We’re missing something. The Sourns continue to insist that Tala was the one lying, but it’s as if Tala never existed, except for the fact that her body is lying in the morgue. We have her fingerprints all over the house and her room, but the neighbors have never spoken to her. She has a positive case of malaria, but never left the country. We have a forged driver’s license and a high school diploma, but no friends or phone numbers of friends. No one who remembers any detail about her. Did she jog in this park here in the mornings, take the dog for a walk every night? Did she watch action-adventure films or prefer crying over old movies? I just don’t understand how someone could have existed, yet have been so completely invisible.”

The only scenario that made sense was that Tala had been in the country illegally. It gave the Sourns motivation to lie and explained the laundered documents. They just had to find a hole in their story.

“Living in anonymity these days isn’t as unusual as you think,” Mitch said. “People spend more time on the internet than they do face-to-face with friends. They live their lives through reality TV, online video games, or places like Facebook.”

They started the three blocks on foot back toward the Sourns’ plush neighborhood. The heat hung heavy in the air, but at least she’d get in a bit of exercise today. “I don’t know.”

“My cousin’s a prime example. He lives in his parents’ basement, most of his friends are online, and he’s known to most by his avatar name, Zytan. He works at home as a graphic designer, so there’s no commuting, no hanging out with friends by the water cooler or lunch with co-workers. If he goes out, it’s to grab fast food or to watch a movie. If he does actually show up at one of his real friends’ houses, they play video games or watch a game, but he certainly doesn’t call and chat with his buddies on the phone.”

“Maybe you’re right, but there’s got to be more. I have friends who work at home, but they have an email address, Facebook, they take the trash out and wave to their neighbors. Even though your cousin lives in his parents’ basement, tracking down friends who knew him wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“True.”

“If it weren’t for her body in the morgue, and the handful of documents we have, I’d have a hard time proving Tala even existed.”

“We’ve still got more canvassing to do. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Avery lengthened her steps to match Mitch’s long stride as they reentered the exclusive community of two-story homes,
each worth at least a million-plus, with its surrounding golf course. Except for the lawn mower buzzing a few houses down, the neighborhood was quiet. She studied the sign on the side of the lawn service truck. Hiring someone to mow your lawn meant you didn’t spend time outside doing your own landscaping.

She looked down the street in the other direction. A black sedan pulled into a driveway. The garage door opened with the push of the button, securing the driver inside, where he would probably spend the rest of the day locked away inside the comfort of the air-conditioned home. Once the weather cooled, he might hang out on the back porch surrounded by a fence tall enough that none of their neighbors could see him. It had been built purposely for that reason.

No barn raisings or hunting parties for the men.

No quilting bees for the women.

Nothing requiring them to work together.

Maybe Mitch was right. It was possible to be invisible in the middle of a community.

“Have you ever thought about how much life has changed over the past hundred and fifty years, and how much we’ve lost?”

“Lost?” Mitch chuckled. “A hundred and fifty years ago, they had no cable TV, no cars or airplanes, no internet, no fast food . . . I must be missing something. What have we lost?”

“We have everything we need at our fingertips. We’ve lost that true sense of community where we rely on each other for our very survival. Instead we live in communities where they lose a young girl and no one misses her.”

They walked up the long drive. Avery rang the bell, then took a step backward. A little boy, no more than five, finally opened the door.

Avery bent down, pressing her hands against her thighs. “Hi, I’m Detective North. Is your mommy or daddy home?”

The boy’s eyes widened. “You’re a policeman?”

“Yes, I am.”

His smile faded. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Teo?” A young woman behind him tried to pull the boy back into the house. Asian, like the boy, late teens, maybe early twenties.

“Wait, please—” Avery started.

“Teo,
vui long!
”

Teo stood his ground and didn’t budge from the still-open door. The young woman spoke a few more words, then glanced behind her as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

Teo didn’t seem to care. “I want to be a policeman when I grow up.”

“I’m sure you would make a very fine officer.” Avery took a step forward and identified herself to the woman. “Do you speak English?”

The young woman shook her head. “No. No English.”

“I’m helping her learn. She can say hello, good-bye, how are you—”

“I’m sure you make a wonderful teacher, Teo. Is she your mother?”

“No, her name is Malaya. She takes care of me when my mother is gone.”

“Is your mother here now?”

He shook his head. “No, she had to go shopping.”

“I have a picture I would like you and Malaya to look at. I need to know if either of you know this girl. She died, and we are trying to find out what happened to her.”

Teo made a quick translation and Malaya nodded. Avery handed the girl a copy of the photo they’d found on Tala’s body.

Malaya studied the photo, then shook her head, but not before Avery caught the brief flicker of recognition in her eyes.

“She says she’s sorry, but she doesn’t know the girl. I don’t know her either.”

“Is she sure? It’s very important.”

Teo repeated the question to her and Malaya shook her head again, insistent. Avery shoved back her frustration. Without more evidence, there was nothing more she could do for the moment.

She pulled out her business card. “One more thing. If you or Malaya remember something you think might help me, please call me.”

Teo took the card and stepped inside before Malaya slammed the door shut, leaving Avery and Mitch alone on the front porch.

Avery started down the drive toward the next house. “I think she recognized her.”

“Maybe. There was definitely fear in her eyes, but it could be that she was simply afraid she was going to get in trouble for letting Teo open the door to a stranger.”

“Or it could be something more. Not every person who can’t speak English is here illegally, but after she saw our badges, I’m pretty sure she didn’t want us there.”

She started up the next driveway beside Mitch and watched a landscape crew pack up their tools, load them into their truck, and drive away down the empty street. She didn’t want to run off on tangents not supported by evidence and forensic findings, but neither could she ignore the way the pieces of the puzzle were coming together.

“There’s a connection somewhere here, Mitch. No one knew Tala, which means that it’s possible she was living in a situation no different than a prostitute kept under the radar by her pimp. And now this girl, she was clearly frightened by something.”

Mitch shook his head. “I know where you’re going with this, but most of the people in this neighborhood pay their employees to cook for them, watch their children, clean their houses,
and mow their lawns. It’s economics, not exploitation. And it certainly doesn’t mean they’re all doing it under the table by using illegal immigrants.”

“I’m not concerned, right now anyway, about other people’s employees and whether or not they’re here legally.” Avery turned to him and caught his gaze. “What I’m worried about is one dead girl, and the possibility of more murders.”

M
alaya tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t reach her lungs. The living room started closing in on her. She leaned against the wall for support, but all she could see was Tala’s face. They’d killed her. Just as they’d promised. She and Tala had been warned, but Tala hadn’t listened and now she was dead. There was no way out. Why couldn’t she have seen that? The scarred man on the boat had been the first to threaten them, and now they had come for her.

The voices replayed over and over in her mind.
If you try to escape, we will kill you. And do you know what the police do to undocumented workers?

“Are you all right, Malaya?”

Malaya managed a smile for Teo. “Let’s not tell your mother about the police, okay? You know how they’ve told you never to answer the door. She might get angry with you. And neither of us want your mother angry.”

The boy’s eyes widened. She hated scaring him, but what choice did she have?

“Are you hungry? I think it’s time for a snack.”

Teo nodded, his smile back. She’d learned quickly that a few sugary treats went a long way in getting him to do what she wanted.

“I think there are some cookies left. Why don’t you grab a couple and color for a while.”

Malaya wanted to learn English, but no English was spoken to her in this house except for what Teo said to her when they were alone. She’d convinced him that it would be their secret game, her trying to pick up words and phrases. One day they would surprise his parents.

Except she knew their reaction wouldn’t be one of surprise. It would be one of anger. But she didn’t plan to end up like Tala.

Malaya held the card the police had given her. She should throw it away. If Teo’s mother found it, she would want to know where it came from. She could burn it, but if Teo found out, he was bound to ask questions and tell his mother.

She peeked through the window. She couldn’t see the man and woman with their badges anymore, but she couldn’t help but wonder, why this neighborhood? Had they somehow linked Tala back to this neighborhood and Malaya? Could Tala have lived in this neighborhood and Malaya hadn’t known it? But how could she know? She’d been kept isolated and the rules had been clear. Clean and cook during the day, and keep Teo occupied. She wasn’t allowed to go out or use the phone or answer the door. The beatings she’d received had been enough to remind her they were serious.

Not that it mattered. Who would she talk to if she did run away? If the police were after her, and she couldn’t communicate with the outside world, there was nowhere to run.

“Malaya?”

She spun around, sliding the card into her pocket. Mrs. Chu stood in the middle of the kitchen, her face etched with a scowl. Malaya’s heart pounded. How had she missed the sound of the garage door opening?

“Why are you just standing there? I’m going upstairs to rest. I expect dinner on the table by six.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fatigue swept over her. Sixteen-plus hours of work a day, sleeping on a mat in a corner of the garage. Two days ago, Mr. Chu had beaten her for breaking a dish and left a bruise on her rib cage where Teo wouldn’t see it. Most of the time they left her alone, because they knew that threats were just as effective as physical abuse. She knew what they could do.

Malaya began chopping vegetables. Teo sat quietly at the end of the bar, eating his snack and coloring. She scooted the cutting board closer so she could see what he was doing.

“What are you coloring, Teo?”

He held up a picture of a racecar and started describing it in Vietnamese.

“In English, Teo.” She lowered her voice. “Tell me the words in English.”

“This is a car. This car goes very fast. Very far.”

“Car. A fast car.”

A car that could travel very far. Back to another world? Longing swept over her as she cut the rest of the carrots and tossed them into the salad bowl. She wished she were home, watching her mother fix dinner in their small kitchen while their father entertained them with stories of what had happened at work that day. Laughter around the dinner table had been as abundant as the rice growing in the surrounding fields. They had thought they were giving her a chance to better her life. Instead, she’d become a prisoner.

But what if there were a way out?

Malaya started chopping harder and dismissed the thought.

Her gaze shifted briefly to the front door. She slid her hand inside her pocket and felt for the card again. There had been a hint of kindness in the woman’s eyes. Malaya might not have understood anything the woman had said, but the card she’d given her held a phone number. What if she heard her story?
That she’d been told she would have all the necessary papers. That her family had paid the required fee to bring her here. What if she told her what they had done to her? How she didn’t want to be here. Wasn’t America supposed to be the land of freedom and opportunity?

What if the woman understood?

Tala’s face surfaced, and for a moment, Malaya thought she was going to be physically ill. She stepped back from the counter, her hands shaking.

“Are you okay, Malaya?”

She nodded, eyes closed until the nausea passed.

Her thoughts were foolish. The police were not an option. Running was not an option. Praying for a miracle hadn’t worked.

But she would find a way out. Somehow.