FOREWORD
The California Legislature defined human trafficking as “all acts involved in the recruitment, abduction, transport, harboring, transfer, sale or receipt of persons, within national or across international borders, through force, coercion, fraud or deception, to place persons in situations of slavery or slavery-like conditions, forced labor or services, such as forced prostitution or sexual services, domestic servitude, bonded sweatshop labor, or other debt bondage.”—State of California Senator, Kamala D. Harris
Human trafficking is one of the fastest growing crimes in the world. The average age of entry for children in twelve years. Approximately eighty percent of the victims are women and girls. Many are fearful to seek help because of their immigration status or prostitution arrests. Human trafficking is both a federal and a state crime, punishable by life in prison.
Orange County, California has a task force and has assisted victims of human trafficking since 2004.
https://www.egovlink.com/ochumantrafficking/
For further information: The National Human Trafficking Resource (NHTR) hotline number is 1-888-373-7888.
https://traffickingresourcecenter.org/.
According to the NHTR statistics, California has the highest reported cases of human trafficking in the United States.
NHTR website is funded by the Anti-Trafficking in Persons Division (ATIP), Office of Refugee Resettlement, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. ATIP “identifies and serves victims of human trafficking, assisting foreign trafficking victims in the United States to become eligible for public benefits and services to the same extent as refugees.”
The investigative case you are about to read took place in 1990, long before the above-named organizations had been formed to help victims and families searching for them. The names have been changed to protect everyone involved in the case.
CHAPTER 1
August 1, 1990
Wednesday, 9:00 a.m.
Long Beach, California
Her teenage daughter had been missing for six weeks.
My heart sank. I held the phone to my ear, listening to Ida Franklin. I felt her weary desperation deep inside my chest.
“My husband and I have flown to Cancun twice to search for her,” she said. “The local authorities have told us that they have done all they can do. We hired a couple of private investigators down there, but neither of us is fluent in Spanish so we’re not even sure if they did anything other than take our money. After we came home, I spoke to Brian Masson here in New Hampshire. He sympathized with our circumstances but didn’t have the ability to take an international case. He remembers meeting you through the national organization of legal investigators.”
“Yes, that would be NALI. Brian and I served on a committee together a few years ago. He’s highly qualified and I would recommend him to anyone. He also knows I’m bilingual and certified as an international investigator, which takes him out of his realm of expertise.”
“To be perfectly honest, my husband and I never considered hiring a woman. For safety reasons, that is.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t mean to offend.”
“No offense taken.” In front of me, on my desk, was a framed photo of my son and daughter from last Christmas. Michael is in college. Kitty, a high school senior. I ran my finger along the frame’s edge. “I’m a mother, too. If I were in your situation, I would want the best of the best.”
“Mr. Masson said you are the best he’s ever met. He claimed you find people when no one else can. Is that true?”
“More often than not.” I am proud of my success rate, though I don’t like to make a big deal over it. Nor do I talk openly about my psychic abilities. I prefer to keep those to myself unless someone specifically asks about them. Instead, I let my record speak for itself. “Before I commit to taking a case, I do my own preliminary investigation to weigh the risks. Safety is a reasonable concern for anyone involved, man or woman. Your daughter’s situation will probably require a team of several investigators.”
“Whatever is involved to get our daughter back, we’ll pay for it.”
“First, I need information about your daughter and the friends who were with her in Cancun. Please be honest with me.” I took out a legal pad and pen. “Has she ever taken off on her own before?”
“No. Never. Faye isn’t that type of person. We’ve never had any trouble with her. She’s a wonderful daughter. She’s not reckless or impulsive. She’s extremely responsible with a good head on her shoulders. She called every day to check in to let us know she was safe. The last time we heard from her she was having the time of her life. She’s an excellent student and was looking forward to starting NYU in the fall.”
“When did she disappear?”
“June twentieth. A few hours after our last call, the girls went to a night club around the corner from their hotel. Faye danced quite a bit with a particular young man who paid her a great deal of attention. When her friends wanted to go to another club, Faye let the man talk her into staying behind with him. Since the hotel was so close, she assured them she could get back safely on her own.”
“Did they get the man’s name?”
“Alex. He spoke English without a distinguishable accent so they assumed he was an American tourist like them.”
I jotted down the info. “What about a last name?”
“James or Jones. Celia couldn’t remember exactly. She took a picture of him with Faye. But they were several feet away and the place was dark. The photograph has been enlarged for a clearer view of his face. That man is behind her disappearance. I’m sure of it.”
Her gut instinct was the same as mine. That feeling in the pit of my stomach is a sure sign. Every time I trusted it, I’ve been glad I did.
“I want to be clear that no one has asked for a ransom. Correct?”
“Right. Nobody has contacted us.”
“Tell me about the friends who went with your daughter.” I drew a line under my notes.
“Celia Bracken has been her best friend since first grade. They’re like Mutt and Jeff. Faye is five-five in her stocking feet. Celia is five-ten. Faye has brown hair styled into a shoulder-length bob. Celia has very long, very straight blonde hair. Faye is the academic. Celia is the athlete, and much more out-going. She wanted to attend college in California but decided on NYU because of Faye.”
Mrs. Franklin’s description of her daughter was all that I needed, but I let her talk freely as I wrote down the information. Victims of crime often were in such as state of shock they froze up, unable to articulate any details. Others, like Mrs. Franklin, did the opposite, recalling everything and anything that could possibly help the investigation. Sometimes, a seemingly mundane fact turned out to be important.
“And the others?” I asked.
“Six girlfriends went with Faye to Cancun. Celia, Bonnie Wright, Amanda Canefield, Carla Brontski, Penny Richards and Roxanne Dixon. They are all distraught and feel somewhat responsible for leaving Faye at the club. They’re all nice young girls who just graduated from a private school. I’ve known five of the girls and their families since they started at the school when they were just five years old. Roxanne came to the academy two years ago. I don’t know her as well.”
“But…?” My pen continued writing the names.
“Excuse me?”
“I get the sense that you don’t like Roxanne.”
Mrs. Franklin held her silence for a long moment. “Mr. Masson said you’re psychic.”
“I have certain abilities, yes. Telepathy being one of them. Actually, your tone changed when you said Roxanne’s name.”
“Are you reading my mind right now?” she asked.
Her voice sounded slightly alarmed. I knew she needed assurance. “Not in the way you might think. I don’t always know the exact words you are about to say. But the emotion behind the words comes to me. The stronger the emotion, the stronger the mental imagery you project.”
“Oh. If I sent you something of Faye’s, could you tell us where she is?”
“No. I don’t work that way. If you are expecting me to pinpoint her precise location, you will be disappointed. I’ve trained extensively as an investigator. I run down leads and I go undercover. My intuition guides me, but I also do the legwork. A lot of legwork.”
“You said telepathy is one of your abilities. What are the others?”
“Precognition. I receive warnings of a death or a major disaster before it happens.” Even through the telephone connection, I felt rising fear in Mrs. Franklin. “Before you ask, I don’t have anything about your daughter.”
My shoulders sagged under a heavy pressure. Disappointment. Not mine, though. I was picking up on the waning energy of Mrs. Franklin on the other side of the continent. The fingers in both my hands ached from the strain of a tight grip on the receiver, even though I held it with one hand while I wrote my notes with the other. The physical telepathy came from Mrs. Franklin.
“Please help us.” She sounded on the verge of tears. “Anything you want, we’ll give it to you. We love our daughter and we want her back home.”
My own throat tightened with hers, and I swallowed hard. I needed to make sure my voice would sound professional. “Send me photos of her, including the one in the club with the man calling himself Alex James-or-Jones. Also, give me as much information as you have, no matter how insignificant it seems to you. Do you have the phone numbers for the girlfriends?”
“Right here.” She read them to me. After the last one, she asked, “Should I send some money as a deposit?”
“Not until I decide to take your case. Please let those friends know I’ll be contacting them.”
“I guess I have no choice but to be patient. I pray to God you will help us.”
“I’m sorry I can’t give you a positive answer right now. I’ll get back to you in a few days.”
After I hung up the telephone, I sat alone with my thoughts. Faye’s disappearance was every parent’s worst nightmare, including my own.
For over ten years, I’ve raised my two kids without much help from my ex-husband. The hard times drew me closer to Michael and Kitty, who shares my telepathic ability.
Our psychic connection emerged before she could talk. At six months old, she woke me in the middle of the night with her silent call of distress. I’d found her lying listless and rushed her to the hospital. If I’d slept until morning, the doctors had said, she would have been a victim of SIDS—Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. She and I became so adept at telepathic communication that I’d inadvertently delayed her verbal development. Today, Kitty and I can have entire conversations without realizing we haven’t spoken aloud.
Even now, I knew my daughter was thinking of me. I picked up my office phone on its first ring. “Hi, Sweetheart.”
“Hi, Mom. Who’s Paul?”
“I know a few guys named Paul. Do you have a last name?”
“No. I just keep getting his first name, and that he has something to do with you. Could he be connected to your friends in Puerto Vallarta?”
I had an extended family, of sorts, in the town that felt like my second home. I visited so often over the years that the Padilla family considered me one of their own.
“Not Paulos?” I asked, referring to the name of the youngest Padilla son.
“Nope. Definitely Paul.” She chuckled. “Now I hear a bagpipe.”
An image of another investigator popped into my head. He didn’t play the bagpipes but the symbol was close enough. “Paul Macintosh?”
“Zing!”
I smiled to myself. When Kitty was little, she would experience a tingling sensation up her spine whenever she had a psychic hit. The only way she knew how to describe it was a “zing” up her back.
In only a couple of seconds, I remembered Paul had worked some investigations in Mexico.
“He’s just the person I need to contact about a case that I’ve been asked to take,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, honey. You’ve been really helpful.”
“Any time, Mom. Is it okay if I miss dinner tonight? Terry and I want to catch a movie.”
“Sure. I’ll pick up something for myself on the way home.” I already knew Michael wouldn’t be home. He’d taken a summer job at a popular restaurant in Sunset Beach.
After leaving a message for Paul on his answering machine, I checked my watch. Nine-thirty. I had a meeting with an attorney at one o’clock to hand over my surveillance report on a man claiming to have an incapacitating back injury from an industrial accident that had left him confined to a wheel chair. I’d taken pictures of him walking out of a bar at two in the morning and climbing behind the wheel of his car.
I still had enough time to knock out another report and have a bite to eat at Riley’s Deli across the street. I grabbed two sheets of typing paper and a carbon to sandwich between them. Despite the growing popularity of office computers, I still used my Smith-Corona manual typewriter for security reasons. I can’t risk having any private information left inside a computer for a technician to discover during repair or maintenance on the machine.
A few minutes later, a quick knock at my door pulled my attention from the report as a tall, good-looking gentleman came into my office.
“I thought I’d pop in to ask you out to lunch.”
“Ryan!” I jumped up from my chair, rounded the desk and slid my hands around his waist.
His smile broadened as he pulled me close and kissed me.
We had met during my previous case for a young woman whose oldest brother had murdered her parents and was after her. She needed a new identity but couldn’t leave town without her critically injured younger brother. Ryan entered the picture when we needed an auto body shop to change the color of her Porsche, which she couldn’t bring herself to sell as it was a gift from her parents on her last birthday. Ryan ended up also changing the appearance of two vehicles owned by her mother and father.
Lisa and her kid brother eventually relocated to the East Coast while I helped track down the perpetrator, Kevin, in New Mexico. Somewhere along the way, Ryan and I fell in love.
“It’s a bit early for lunch,” I said to him.
He shrugged. “I had some business downtown this morning. It didn’t take as long as I’d expected. I was on my way back to the shop, driving down Broadway, and my car suddenly stalled right in front of this office building.”
“Imagine that.”
“No good, huh?”
I grinned. “Not buying it.”
“In all fairness, I did have business downtown. And I do want to take you to lunch. I can come back later.”
I sighed with regret. “I hate to spoil the fun but I’m waiting for a phone call. And I have an appointment with a client at one o’clock.”
“Then how about dinner tonight? A new Italian restaurant opened up by my place.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
At that moment, the phone rang.
“I’d better let you get that,” Ryan said, then gave me a quick kiss. “Pick you up at six.”
He was out the door by the time I picked up the receiver and recognized Paul’s voice. We exchanged pleasantries before I got down to business, telling him the situation with Mrs. Franklin and her missing daughter.
“Sounds high risk,” he finally said. “I wouldn’t go to Mexico alone if I were you. I’d offer my services but I’m running two big cases that might take a few months.”
“I’m here if you need to talk after you get more information.”
“Thanks, Paul. I trust your opinion.”
“If you decide to take the case, make sure you have all your ducks in a row.”
“Definitely. Ideally, I could use an experienced investigator in Cancun who knows everything about the area. You know—the people, the culture, the police.”
“Smart thinking. Get someone who has connections to pull together a team for you.
“Exactly.”
“I know a good investigator in Mexico City.”
“That’s almost five hundred miles away.”
“Yes, I know. But I have used him to track down witnesses all over the country and obtain statements from them. I’m sure he’d be a great asset to you.”
“I still need to talk to a few more people before I make up my mind about taking the case. But I’d like to speak to him, too.”
“His name is Ricardo Perez. Hang on while I get his number.”
After receiving Ricardo’s information, I thanked Paul and told him I’d keep in touch. I hung up and stared at my notes, ending in the number for Perez. I toyed with the pen like a miniature baton, flipping it around and between my fingers. It’s an old habit I fall into when I’m concentrating.
I decided to hold off calling the investigator in Mexico City. No point taking up his time while I was still not sure I could deal with the risks involved. Most people think of Cancun as a vacation resort, not a dangerous place. But I visit friends in Mexico often and knew about the violence and corruption of drug cartels. Beyond the relative safety of the hotels, tourists had to be extra cautious. But search for Faye could draw unwanted attention from her captors if I wasn’t careful.
I wanted to help Mrs. Franklin. I wanted to find her daughter. But how far would I be willing to go? Could I put my own life on the line? Would that be fair to my own two children?
CHAPTER 2
August 3, 1990
Friday, 3:00 p.m.
Two days after my phone call with Mrs. Franklin, I received the photograph. But I hadn’t been able to obtain new information out of the five girls when I reached them. As expected, they were guilt-ridden, especially Celia. Each cried while giving me the same story Mrs. Franklin had already told me.
The time had come to call Ricardo Perez in Mexico City. Introductions weren’t necessary. Paul had already let him know about me, my credentials, and that I might be contacting him.
“Deanne, allow me to be brutally honest. I suspect Faye Franklin was kidnapped to be a sex slave. I worked a similar case a few months ago. They use a good-looking young man to find a naïve young woman, usually but not always at a nightclub. He slips a sedative into her drink. When it takes effect, he carries her unconscious to his car and drives her to a secluded camp where these girls are kept. They are shot up with drugs until they are dependent upon them and will do anything for another fix, even having sex with thirty men in one night.”
My stomach clenched. Shocking as the news was, I kept my reaction to myself. “Did you find the girl in that case?”
“Yes, but I had a hell of a time getting her to cooperate. Heroin was everything to her. She did not care what she had to do to get it. To her, I was the enemy, as was the rest of my team. Going with us meant giving up the high. Together, we managed to extract her and get her back to the United States. Currently, she is under psychiatric care. And she’s only twenty years old.”
“Do you think we might be successful in locating Faye?”
“I am sorry to say that the odds are stacked against you. More and more, I am hearing these girls are being transported far from the site of their abductions, making tracking them down more difficult. Girls working in Mexico City could have been taken from Tijuana or Guatemala or anywhere else far away.”
The image of young girls working the sex trade sickened me. “Anything else I need to know?”
“The search can be expensive. In my last case, I had to pay off several officials. If the parents of this girl cannot afford the cost… well, chances are slim to none of getting her back.”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“I’ll be gone for the next two weeks. If you decide to take the case, I will help you when I return.”
I glanced at my calendar and wrote the date on my pad. I couldn’t help but think of the Franklins and the agonizing delays in finding their daughter. But the answer was not to rush into the search without preparation. I could only hope they would understand.
“Thank you for your insight.”
“Please give my regards to Paul.”
“I will. He spoke highly of you. He said if he were me, he wouldn’t take the case if you couldn’t help. After talking to you, I have to agree. Thanks again, Ricardo. I appreciate your time. I’ll call you one way or the other.”
After I said goodbye, I leaned back in my desk chair, reluctant to call Mrs. Franklin. The conversation was not one I wanted to have with the mother. No doubt she was having nightmares about her missing daughter. But Ricardo’s bleak suspicion would be even more shocking and upsetting. I, myself, was having a hard time with the images of so many young girls being forced into drug addiction to become sex slaves.
Tracking down Faye was one thing. Rescuing her would be extremely dangerous. In my gut, I knew I had to help. I won’t deny that the very idea scared me.
My intuition guides me all the time but it’s not battle armor. The ability doesn’t necessarily keep me out of tough spots, but it warns me in the nick of time. We all have intuition. The trick is to pay close attention. That instinct “talks” to us in many ways, particularly through sensations in our bodies.
Ancient philosophies consider the gut, or belly, the “power center.” A strong gut feeling—good or bad—gives us the proverbial power to make a decision. The same can be said about the heart—the center of emotion. For centuries, many cultures believe love emanates from the heart. We also talk of the “heartache” of losing someone.
With my hands resting on my belly, I contemplated the inevitable dialogue with Mrs. Franklin. Admittedly, a few butterflies were inside. I am only human. I wish I could say that I had a clairvoyant vision of the future, assuring me that the circumstances would all work out fine. But I didn’t.
However, I do believe that everything happens for a reason, even if we don’t realize the synchronicity of events until after they happen. Mrs. Franklin had been sent to me because I have the skills to help her. Call it God. Call it Universal Intelligence. Call it Divine Mind. Call it whatever you want. “It” brought her into my life to help her.
My gut was telling me to accept this case.
But what about my kids? I had a feeling in my heart they would want me to help save Faye. Not to say they wouldn’t be worried about my safety. All the more reason why I would be sure to have, as Paul said, “all my ducks in a row.”
I sat up, straightened the notepad on the desk, and reached for the phone. Mrs. Franklin picked up after the second ring. She took the news about Ricardo’s speculation as well as could be expected. We talked about the problems of investigating in a foreign country. I told her Ricardo said the officials would require payment for helping.
“My husband and I already tried that. Bribes didn’t get us anywhere.”
“But Mr. Perez knows how to make things happen. He handled a similar missing person case a few months ago.”
“Does this mean you’re sending us to Mr. Perez instead of taking the case?” she asked.
“No. I would work with him. Following an investigation beyond the U.S. border, particularly in Central America, requires a great deal of coordination that I cannot do alone. Only a fool would go into a foreign country and expect to know more than local investigators about their own people and culture.”
“Yes, of course. I understand. How soon can you start?” Her previous desperation was replaced with a stoic confidence. She believed I was the one who would find Faye.
“Before I give a definite yes, I want to make sure my kids are on board with my decision.”
“Oh.” She sounded a little surprised but quickly recovered. “How old are they?”
“Michael is twenty. Kitty is eighteen.”
“Same age as my daughter.”
“Yes.” My grip on the phone tightened causing my fingers to ache. I sensed my own maternal anxiety meld with hers. “They need to be aware of the situation before I take the case. I would be leaving the country with no idea how long I will be gone.”
“I understand. I just—. She’s been missing for so long already. Every day that goes by…”
“I am sorry to put you through more delays, Mrs. Franklin. But Mr. Perez is tied up with another case for the next two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” she echoed. My throat tightened as I felt her constrain her tears of frustration.
“I know this is hard on you and your husband. But I also have to wrap up investigations for my other clients. I will call you as soon as I possibly can.”
“We will be waiting by the phone.”
I hung up. My hand rested on the receiver. I thought of Michael and Kitty, wondering what I would do if one of them vanished for one day, let alone six weeks. Making the Franklins wait was difficult for me, but this was real life, not a television crime drama where everything happened in rapid succession.
I wished I could snap my fingers to speed up the process, but I couldn’t.
My next step was to talk to my kids.
And Ryan.
