Justice For Abby (34 page)

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, ready for all of this to be over. He and Abby were officially in the clear now that the Task Force had closed their files on The Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring, deeming the organization dismantled with the key players dead or behind bars. Even Adam sat in a cell waiting for his day in court. Dimitri’s computer had been chock full of information the feds used to raid dozens more brothels over the last several days.

Bringing Abby back to Maryland had been a necessary evil, but this would finally be the end. After this, he and Abby were free to move on. During their eight days in LA they’d given it their best try, settling back into their condo with his clothing and bathroom supplies making their way to her bedroom and bath instead of his. They’d both worked, him in his old room via e-mail and conference call and Abby in the dining area, frantically sewing and fitting her models, with Lily at her side. For the first time in almost seven months, he’d been able to leave her home alone or let her walk the streets on her own, but neither of them had been ready for that.

“Did Lorenzo Cruz then rape you, Ms. Harris?”

“Yes.”

“Just to clarify, Ms. Harris, in no way was your sexual encounter consensual.”

“Mr. Cruz strangled me while he forced me to open a condom. He then violated me while the fifteen-year old girl he’d just beaten sat huddled on the floor. Neither me nor Margret Stowers consented to being assaulted that day—physically or sexually.”

“Mr. Cruz raped you, then went after Margret Stowers?”

“Objection.” Lorenzo’s Defense attorney stood. “This is hearsay.”

Judge Marris adjusted her horn-rims resting on her nose as she looked at Abby. “I’ll allow it.”

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney started in, “I—”

“Attorney Stronger, I’ll allow it.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He took his seat.

“I’ll repeat the question,” Prosecutor Bitner said. “Mr. Cruz then raped Ms. Stowers after raping you?”

Abby nodded. “Yes. Lorenzo beat her for a second time after he raped me, then he raped Margret.”

“No further questions.”

Defense Attorney Stronger stood, adjusting his black tie as he walked toward the witness stand. “Ms. Harris, how many times did you say you were sexually assaulted while at the DC residence?”

“You mean
brothel
? I was held against my will in a stash house, Attorney Stronger. I was raped once.”

“Once?” Attorney stronger raised his brows as he looked at the jury then back at Abby.

“Yes.”

“I’m confused then, Ms. Harris. In your statement you shared that other victims were raped continuously.”

“Yes. That’s right—daily, hourly.”

“Were you attracted to Mr. Cruz?”

She shook her head. “Lorenzo and I were friends—or I thought we were.”

“Didn’t you and Mr. Cruz have dinner on occasion?”

“Yes. We ate out a few times and met for coffee once or twice after fashion shows. As I said, I thought we were friends.”

“Were you in charge of keeping track of the ‘rapes’?

“Yes.”

“And you were responsible for the rotation of each girl?”

“Unfortunately yes. I was forced to keep documentation of how many times young women were prostituted and how much money was made by the day, weeks, and months for all brothels in the Baltimore and DC area.”

“Your Honor.” Prosecutor Bitner stood, “where is this questioning going?”

“Attorney Stronger,” Judge Marris said, “move this along.”

 “Your Honor, I’m trying to establish Ms. Harris’s roll in The Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring.”

“Proceed.”

Attorney Stronger nodded. “Ms. Harris, you’re a fashion designer, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you make clothes to showcase the allegedly prostituted women for their clients?”

“By force.”

“But you
did
make them outfits and then dole the girls out to paying customers.”

“By force,” she repeated.

“So isn’t it safe to say that you prostituted these ‘victims’ as much as the accused man sitting here on trial, the man you had dinner with on several occasions, whom you claim was your friend? I’m wondering why you’re not facing charges similar to my client’s.”

Murmurs filled the courtroom while Jerrod gritted his teeth, struggling to remain seated instead of rush forward and punch the shit out of the asshole for his implications as the prosecution stood to object.

“That’ll be enough, Attorney Stronger,” the judge warned. “Strike that from the record.”

Abby looked at Jerrod, then the judge. “Your Honor, if I may, I’d like to respond.”

Judge Marris looked from Lorenzo to Attorney Stronger, then at Abby. “Go ahead, Ms. Harris, but this will be off the record.”

She nodded. “Could I please have a tissue and a glass of water?”

“Do you need a break, Ms. Harris?”

“No, Your Honor.”

The bailiff brought over the requested items.

“Thank you.” Abby dipped her tissue into the water and wiped at her battered cheek and jaw with an unsteady hand, exposing the purple and yellow mess she’d hidden with makeup. “Attorney Stronger, these are bruises I received a week and a half ago while I sat in a cold, rundown warehouse waiting to die at the hands of Mr. Cruz’s colleagues.

“Their plan was to murder me before I could testify today. I was beaten and knocked unconscious with the handle of a gun, but my injuries aren’t nearly as bad as what many of the other young women faced on a daily basis. I did not
choose
what happened to me. I never asked for my
friend
to organize my abduction. I did not ask to be shoved into the back of a van. I never once gave off some sort of signal that suggested I wanted to be raped, intimidated, and abused, nor did the other survivors. When everywhere you turn there’s a man blocking the door to freedom, reminding you you’re not allowed to leave, there are no choices. So no, Attorney Stronger, I did not prostitute the young women held against their will, but your client certainly did.”

Silence filled the courtroom as several jurors wiped at their eyes. Abby swallowed, fighting back tears.

“No further questions,” Attorney Stronger muttered as he took his seat.

“You may step down, Ms. Harris,” the judge said.

Abby stood and walked from the stand, moving toward the door as Jerrod followed her into the hall.

“Abigail.”

She dashed to the women’s room down the hall.

“Abby.” Jerrod picked up his pace, pushing his way into the bathroom, caring little that he didn’t belong. He steamed out a breath as Abby vomited into the sink, trembling, tears tracking down her cheeks as she gripped the counter, heaving.

He pulled paper towels from the holder and ran them under cold water in the next sink over, damning Lorenzo Cruz and his attorney to hell.

She rinsed her mouth and stood up straight, pale and sweaty, holding his gaze with devastated eyes.

 “Here,” he said gently, wiping at her forehead with the damp towel.

“Thanks,” she choked out.

“Damn, Abby. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, aching for her. “Come here,” he repeated, pressing her cheek to his chest, holding on as her shoulders shook with her quiet sobbing.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t go back in there.”

“You don’t have to.” He ran a hand through her hair. “It’s all over. You more than threw away that key.”

“I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He drew her away, staring into her eyes. “So let’s go.”

“I need to see Margret.”

He opened his mouth to object. She’d had more than enough, but he nodded anyway.

“I need to say goodbye.” She sniffled.

She wouldn’t have peace until she did. “We’ll get some flowers.”

“She liked daisies.”

“We’ll take the guys back to the island and find some daisies.”

She took his hand, kissing his knuckles. “Thank you.”

He winked. “You’re welcome.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too. Let’s go say goodbye.”

She nodded, wiping her cheeks.

~~~~

Abby kept her speed to a crawl as she drove Carol’s sedan along the scarred roads of Severna Hills Cemetery, searching for the angel statue Agent Terron remembered from Margret’s funeral two and a half weeks ago. She slowed further, spotting the tall, weathered landmark casting shadows over several plots in the distance. She hesitated, then stopped, gripping the steering wheel tighter as her gaze traveled over dull, leafless trees, gray headstones, and brown grass peeking through patches of snow.

She glanced to the bright blue sky, waiting for the wash of peace she always felt when she brought flowers to Gran’s gravesite in Hagerstown, but the warm sense of tranquility remained wretchedly absent. Today she was as sick at heart as she was to her stomach. “This is wrong,” she murmured, frowning, hating that she was here among these sacred grounds.

Jerrod leaned in close, his chin brushing her hair as he looked out the driver’s side window from the passenger’s seat. “I think this is it. Terron said her plot’s close to the praying angel.”

She shook her head. “No, this entire situation. Look at this place. It’s so…lifeless and horrible.” She scoffed at herself, turning in her seat, rolling her eyes as they met his. “Of course it’s lifeless. I mean Margret was so young. She shouldn’t be here.”

He slid his thumb along her jaw. “No she shouldn’t.”

She looked down at the pretty bouquet of friendly daisies Jerrod held in his lap. “I should’ve brought different flowers. I should’ve picked something with more color.” She scoffed for the second time and closed her eyes, full well knowing she was focusing on the trivial instead of the overwhelming reality that this was a fifteen-year-old girl’s final resting place.

“We can go get something different.”

She shook her head, meeting his gaze, treasuring his patient understanding. “It doesn’t matter. Pink flowers, red or purple won’t bring her back. They won’t make this any less awful.”

“No,” he said gently.

“I don’t want—” She swallowed as her throat tightened with a choking ball of emotion. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

He took her hand, pressing a long, firm kiss to her knuckles. “I wish you didn’t have to. I wish I could change this.” He kissed her again.

“Thank you.” She blinked away her tears and glanced toward the gravestones, nibbling her lip, knowing she needed to get out and do what she’d come to do. “I need to find her.” She took the bouquet of cheerful daisies from Jerrod and opened her door.

“Do you want me to come?”

The offer was tempting, but she shook her head, giving him a small smile. “I think I should do this myself.”

“Sure. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“I love you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you so much, Jerrod.”

“I love you too.”

Bolstered by his unending support, she straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Here I go.” She got out of the warm car, bracing herself against the cold as she clutched the flowers and started up the path, picking her way over the clumps of snow in her sneakers and jeans, looking for the black marble headstone Agent Terron said would be Margret’s.

Veering off the concrete, she walked among the graves, moving closer to the angel, stopping when the pretty young face etched in stone caught her eye. Tears instantly flooded her cheeks and a keening moan escaped her throat as she crouched down, studying Margret’s bright eyes and beautiful smile in the eternal picture. “Oh, Margret.” She slid her finger down the image of the long brown hair she’d brushed and braided numerous times. “You smiled at me like that sometimes when we forgot, for just a second, that life outside my bedroom door wasn’t what either of us wanted.” She sniffled. “I’m glad we had each other. You were my best friend during the worst time of my life.”

The plastic protecting the flowers crinkled in the wind, and she looked down, setting the bouquet among the dead blooms still piled high from the funeral.

“I brought you daisies. I remember you said they’re your favorite. I—” Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry, Margret. I’m so sorry I didn’t save you.” She sucked in several deep breaths. “I looked for you. We tried
so
hard to find you every single day.” She took the tissue from her pocket, blew her nose, and shoved it back. “This should’ve ended differently. You should be here going out on dates and enjoying high school. You and your mom should be getting ready to be my guests at Fashion Week.” She sniffled again. “I made your blue dress, the one you were going to wear when you came to visit. I’m going to show it off myself when I walk the runway in a couple weeks. Hundreds of people will see your dress, and you and I will know it’s just for you.” She pressed her lips firm as they trembled. “I know it’s not enough—not even close. I know what you did for me, and I’m so grateful.”

The car door slammed in the silence. Abby looked toward the road as Jerrod got out and leaned against the hood in his knit cap and jeans, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I met someone, Margret.” She smiled his way, despite the deep ache. “He’s amazing—the one bright spot in all the bad. He’s so patient and kind.” She looked back at the grave, knowing it was time to go. “I—I have to say goodbye, my sweet, beautiful Margret.” She kissed her fingers and pressed them to Margret’s cheek. “I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be a part of my heart. I love you.”

Standing, she looked at the pretty girl one last time and turned, walking toward Jerrod, meeting him halfway down the path.

He opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace, holding on, resting her head against his chest as he ran his hand down her back.

“You okay?” he murmured.

“No.” She drew back enough to look at him. “I’m sick and sad, and my heart hurts, but this was right. Coming here today, saying what I needed to say.”

He nodded, sliding loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I got a call a couple minutes ago. Lorenzo’s been found guilty.”

She blinked at the sudden shock of news. “What?”

“You did it, Abigail.” He cupped her face in his hands, smiling. “Lorenzo won’t be stepping outside a penitentiary anytime soon.”