Fatal Secrets (23 page)

He could hardly believe all of his work—the crimes he’d committed, the crimes he had to allow lest he reveal his identity—were for nothing. He needed the older journals, and he had no idea where Jones kept them.

Charlie was certain they weren’t at Jones’s house or in any of the outbuildings. Jones wouldn’t have left them in either his consulting or security office because Jones trusted no one. He’d had a fear of being blackmailed, so Jones had held everything close to the vest.

But even if Charlie found the older journal, he still wouldn’t know what the damn words meant! Odd words and phrases like
lipid
and
fresh news
and
rose
and
coffee time
. The words meant something—the transportation method, how many people were brought in, expenses, and income. Lacking access to a high-end computer-decoding program, it would take him much longer than decoding the numbers.

All this work and he was no closer to finding Ashley.

Her mother’s voice rang in his ear.

Charlie didn’t yet have an answer for Ashley’s mother. It was killing him. How could he go back and tell her he didn’t know what happened to her daughter?

There was nowhere he could turn. Ten years ago he had burned every bridge and betrayed the one person he’d never wanted to hurt. But Charlie couldn’t let this one go. He had to find Ashley. But looking at this code—it made no sense. Jones had put together a fail-safe against law enforcement and his illegal business associates.

Damn you to hell, you bastard
.

Charlie should have found a way to torture the information out of Jones. Now he was dead and the bizarre code dead with him.

Even with a code-breaking program and a top-notch analyst, the chance information about Ashley Fox would be in the journal that began in January of this
year, while Ashley was abducted a year ago last April, was slim.

But for certain the key information about the China dolls being sold in the foothills to the unknown buyer was here. Charlie would give Sonia the journal—on the condition that she promise to find Ashley Fox.

The key players involved with the Xavier Jones investigation assembled in the conference room crowded with all Dean’s computers and files. In addition to Dean and Sonia, ICE agent Trace Anderson and analyst Maria Sanchez were there; FBI agent Sam Callahan and two analysts who’d been assigned to Dean full-time; and sheriff’s deputy Brian Aze vedo brought detective Melanie Montgomery, who’d been assigned the Vega double homicide and, because of the connection between Jones and Vega, the riverfront double homicide as well. Quantico’s top profiler, Dr. Hans Vigo, was on speakerphone. Dean introduced everyone who didn’t already know one another, gave a brief rundown on Dr. Vigo’s credentials, and started the task force debriefing.

It was after hours, and while the atmosphere was charged with energy and hopes that they were making progress on the case—or cases, as it were—the men loosened their ties, drank coffee, water, or soda and munched on snacks Sam had brought in.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Dean said. “As you now know, ICE and the FBI formed this Xavier Jones task force two days ago when we learned that we were running parallel investigations. However, in light of the primary suspect’s murder last
night, our purpose has changed. It’s important that we lay out everything we know and reexamine it together. There’s an urgency we didn’t have until now. An unknown number of Chinese women, likely minors, are being brought in illegally from Hong Kong and are being sold Saturday night into illegal prostitution or slave labor. We have an unconfirmed day and time, but no location. They may already be here in the Sacramento area, or still en route. Agent Knight will summarize what we know so far.”

Dean nodded at Sonia, who’d been sitting casually on the corner of the table by the door. She was drinking coffee but not eating, and Dean vowed to get some food into her before she left for the night. Though she was holding up well, Sonia still blamed herself for the Vegas’ murders.

Sonia stood and walked over to one of the whiteboards where earlier she had written a general time line. “Omega Shipping, affiliated with Xavier Jones, has long been suspected of transporting illegal immigrants, not only to the U.S., but to Canada and other countries in the Western hemisphere. No country is free of trafficking. Women, girls, and boys are enticed or kidnapped for illegal prostitution, child soldiers, and slave labor. Over eight hundred thousand individuals a year are trafficked across international borders, and that doesn’t include those captive in their own countries, such as the child soldiers in Africa.

“My office has been looking at Xavier Jones for a couple years, but we never had enough evidence for a warrant. We had some suspicious travel, his name had come up in other, unconnected investigations, and his
affiliation with Omega Shipping, who we had been investigating on another trafficking matter, had us on the edge. It took an informant to give us the in we needed to finally make strides in building a case against him.” Sonia drained her coffee, and Dean handed her a water bottle. She nodded her thanks, sipped, and continued.

“Our informant was one of Jones’s top lieutenants, and as everyone here knows, when you have a criminal like Jones in a major racketeering case, it’s usually the inside man who gives us what we need to build a case for the U.S. attorney. My informant confirmed what we already knew, and provided us with some additional but outdated intel regarding facilities used for temporary storage of their prisoners. Unfortunately it was his word alone: he had no hard evidence to give us Jones. He wanted immunity and witness protection. We agreed, provided he obtained the physical evidence we needed to prosecute.”

Sonia sighed almost inaudibly; if Dean hadn’t been standing right beside her, he wouldn’t have noticed the defeated heave in her chest. She said, “Greg Vega, my informant, and his pregnant wife were murdered early this morning. Any evidence he may have collected for us is gone, though I doubt he had anything significant. He wanted out, and would have given me the moon if he could have. We were both counting on the shipment of the China dolls—what we sometimes call Chinese women sold or lured into forced prostitution—to give us what we wanted. I wanted Jones; Greg Vega wanted freedom.”

Deputy Azevedo spoke up. “Vega was tortured and left to die with a knife in his gut. The coroner estimated
it took him twelve to fifteen minutes to bleed out; he was probably conscious for half that time. Conscious and looking at his dead wife who had been shot execution style while tied to a kitchen chair.”

Grimness set in among the assembled group. Dean spoke. “Xavier Jones was murdered prior to the Vegas. Though we’re waiting for the crime scene and ballistics reports, it’s clear the four homicides are connected. Theories as to why are welcome, but Agent Knight and I believe that there’s some jockeying for power within the Jones organization, or that one of his competitors saw a weakness and exploited it.” Dean paused. He had been uncomfortable with his realization all day, and hadn’t spoken of it. He would probably never know if his actions were the catalyst that led to this chain of violence. “Our raid early Wednesday morning may have been the signal that now was the time to make a move on Jones’s territory.”

Sonia said, “The problem remains that, if our intelligence is accurate, we have young women in jeopardy We don’t know where they are at this precise time, but we know they’ll be in the greater Sacramento area late Saturday night.” She pointed to her time line. “Twenty days ago, a small tanker owned by Omega left Hong Kong. ICE agents on site informed us that the ship was likely to have a minimum of thirty females between the ages of fourteen and seventeen who had been kidnapped from an illegal convent. These girls had been orphaned or abandoned as infants and raised to maturity by an underground church. They were being transported to a safe haven when the girls were abducted. We believe they are to be integrated into the illegal sex trade here in
the United States, or that they’ll be traded to other Western countries.”

“Why Sacramento?” Sam Callahan asked. “We’s inland. Wouldn’t it be easier to do this in a major port, or offshore, or in Mexico?”

“Yes and no. First, we have a vigorous watch in all ports in California, and because Omega is flagged, we search more of their ships. Second, Mexico is not the safest place to engage in trades if the destination country is elsewhere. There’s border patrol, for one.” Sonia paused. “However, we have unconfirmed intelligence that once the victims hit American soil, they are transported by air. Small aircraft, including helicopters, which have virtual autonomy to travel within our borders.”

“But Sacramento isn’t a major port,” Sam added.

“No, but Stockton is. We don’t think the women are being unloaded in Stockton. Based on another witness, we believe the victims are transferred at night from the main ship to smaller boats, which then traverse the delta to private docks where the women are moved to trucks or small aircraft.” Sonia pointed to the whiteboard. “Six days ago we had word that the ship with the girls would be stopping in Honolulu. They never came. We don’t know why, we don’t know if they sank, we don’t know if they went another route. Or they could have moved them in the middle of the ocean to another ship. But based on the business-as-usual tone of Jones’s people and another informant, the girls are still expected in Sacramento on Saturday.” She paused. “They may already be here. We don’t know.”

“That’s a lot you don’t know,” Detective Melanie
Montgomery said. “Why isn’t the Chinese government doing anything to find their citizens?”

Sonia glared at the detective. “As I said, the girls were kidnapped from an illegal church. They can’t go to the authorities, there’s no record of the girls being born.”

“So they’re illegal in China?” Montgomery asked skeptically.

“The one-child-per-family policy has created a subclass of girls—unwanted by their families because they are not boys. Especially in the farming communities, where a son can help keep their plots working. Those babies born female are often killed or abandoned. Illegal churches and other human rights organizations will take them in. They can’t go to the authorities or risk their lives and freedom. But that’s neither here nor there, it is what it is.”

Montgomery frowned. “I have four bodies and no suspects,” the detective said. “Do you have suspects you’re not sharing with local law enforcement?”

Dean saw Sonia bristle. He was about to respond to smooth tensions, but Sonia said, “I’ve told you everything I know about the murders. If I had any idea who killed Xavier Jones, believe me, I’d tell you. Jones was a ruthless bastard, but whoever killed him is colder, more calculating, and completely without remorse. Jones was a businessman; he was in it for the money. He never thought about the fate of the women he’d sold; to him it was simply a business transaction. Whoever killed him is in it for power.”

Dean glanced at Sonia. He hadn’t realized she’d been profiling the killers, but what she said made sense to him. He leaned toward the speakerphone. “Dr. Vigo? Did you hear that?”

Hans Vigo sounded like he was in the room when his voice came through the speaker. “Yes, Dean. And I think Agent Knight is dead-on. I read your report on the homicides and came to the same conclusion.”

“So who are these people?” Detective Montgomery said. “I feel like we’re in the middle of a war. I haven’t seen so many dead bodies outside of gang turf wars.”

Vigo said, “That’s actually a good comparison, Detective. Xavier Jones is a top lieutenant of a ‘gang’—or, in our case, a human trafficking ring, who’d been given autonomy to operate within a defined territory. In fact, he’s been working the territory for so long he thought of this criminal enterprise as
his
organization. He got into a bit of trouble with the law. The leader of the ring doesn’t tolerate this kind of attention, so he kills Jones. Takes out his top lieutenant as well.”

Sonia interrupted. “I agree, Dr. Vigo, except your last point. The killer
knew
that Greg Vega was a government informant. Vega’s tongue was cut out. Jones wasn’t tortured; Vega was.”

“It could be that Jones was killed because his man was an informant, but the informant was made to suffer because he’d committed the more egregious sin.”

Montgomery said, “So who is this top gun?”

“Someone who has little fear that he’ll be caught,” said Vigo over the speakerphone.

“Most criminals don’t think they’ll be caught,” Sam said.

“But this killer is extremely confident. He’s stealthy. He’s not someone you’ve talked to or interviewed. I don’t even think he’s from the area. If he were, there’d be more dead bodies.”

“Four isn’t enough?” Montgomery sneered.

“This killer leaves a trail of dead wherever he goes. He punishes people fatally. He does not tolerate dissent; he does not tolerate imperfection. He rewards those who do what he says when he says it—he prizes loyalty. At the same time, he surrounds himself with smart people. He loathes not only incompetence, but stupidity.”

Sonia looked stunned. “You can tell all that by a written report on the murders?”

Vigo chuckled. “Not exactly. I have copies of the preliminary autopsy reports, as well as Agent Hooper’s psychological assessment of Mr. Jones after their meeting the other night. I’m also drawing upon my knowledge of known individuals involved in human trafficking, and my own experience.

“For example,” he continued, “the killer considered Jones incompetent; he was shot and killed. Simple and effective. He considered Vega a traitor. Traitors anger him far more than incompetence, therefore the torture. Cutting out his tongue while he was alive shows that he wanted to make it clear to not only Vega but to everyone in his organization that if they talked, they’d meet a similar fate.”