02_Coyote in Provence (20 page)

A minute or so later, an old man opened the door. Rheumy eyes looked out at them above a body that was so badly misshapen it was hard to imagine it could move on its own.
Monsieur
Yount wore a black beret and a vest over a heavily patched shirt and dirty black pants. His belt was cracked in so many places, it was impossible to tell whether it had originally been black, brown or white.

“
Monsieur
Yount, I am Jordan Kramer and this is
Mademoiselle
Johnson. We have just come from seeing your friend, Chef Bernard, who asked that we bring you these sacks of food. He said he would be coming to visit you soon.” Jordan spoke in a respectful, neutral tone.

“We’re here to talk to you about your son, Pierre. He told
Mademoiselle
Johnson that he would help her find a job in a restaurant in California, but he didn’t give her his contact information. Do you know how she could get in touch with him? Would you have an address or a telephone number for him?”

The rheumy brown eyes looked out at the two of them for what seemed a very long time. After he’d fully assessed them, he said, “Please, come in. I am Giles. It would be rude of me to leave you outside.”

As soon as they entered the small house, Jordan spotted the Franz Bischoff painting hanging over the couch. It was a jewel and shone against the sooty old walls of the house.

So
,
six of the seven have been located. And who would ever think one would be in this little dilapidated house? My God, that painting is probably worth $15,000 and to think it’s hanging in this run-down place. The painting is probably worth more than the house and the land together. Amazing!

Giles Yount lowered himself into a chair with a great deal of difficulty, his cane by his side. “Please, have a seat. You may have to clear a space. My wife is going blind and can’t see to clean like she used to. With my injuries, I’m no help to her.”

“Yes, I see that you’re in a great deal of pain. I’m sorry. Is there something we can get you or do for you?” Elena asked.

“No, but thank you. When Pierre comes, he cleans for us, but it has been several months since he was here. He’s such a good boy. I don’t know what we would do without him. He brought us that painting I saw you look at. He said we could get a good price for it, but I like it.”

“It’s truly beautiful,
Monsieur
,” Jordan said. “I can see why you would want to keep it.”

Holding shakily on the cane as if it was an extension of his hand, he pointed it at Jordan. “I can’t help you. We never know when Pierre’s going to call or visit. I know he is a private chef, but I don’t remember the name of the woman he works for.”

They heard the sound of a car pulling up in front of the cottage, and a car door opening. “Ahh,” said the old man, in a hacking cough reflecting a lifetime of cigarette use. “It must be my wife, Catherine. 
Monsieur
, would you be so kind as to help her bring in the groceries?”

Jordan was out the door in a second. “
Madame
, I am Jordan Kramer, a friend of Chef Bernard. Please, let me help you with those groceries. Why don’t you hold on to my arm while we go up the walk?”

He took the groceries from her and nodded to the elderly lady who had driven
Madame
Yount to town. She waved goodbye to
Madame
Yount and said, “See you next week.”

When they got to the end of the sidewalk, Elena held the door open for them. Once again she thought she heard children’s voices drifting through the early afternoon air.

She smiled warmly. “
Madame
Yount, I am Elena Johnson. We came to find out how I can get in touch with Pierre. I met him at a restaurant where I work. Please sit down. Here, let me help you. Jordan, take the groceries into the kitchen and I’ll put them away.”

Elena followed Jordan into the tiny kitchen and began to take the food out of the sacks. Everywhere she looked there was grease and dirt. She didn’t want to offend the Younts by offering to clean the kitchen, so she turned on the water to get it as hot as possible while she put the groceries away. When the water was finally hot, she quickly scrubbed the sink and counters. As she was putting food in the refrigerator she noticed that some of the food in it was spoiled. She put it in one of the grocery bags and looking out the window, saw a large empty trash barrel several yards from the kitchen back door.

Walking towards the trash barrel, she was certain she heard children’s voices. There was no mistaking it. After she put the trash in the barrel, she followed the direction of the sounds, which became louder the closer she got to the old dilapidated barn. She took a few more steps to the barn door, opened it, and stood frozen in amazement at the sight before her.

There were fifteen or so young girls in the barn. Some had been badly burned; others were missing a limb or an eye, and a few bore huge black and blue marks, suggesting they had been beaten. They were all emaciated, many with open sores. One of the girls spotted Elena and cried out, pointing at her. An older woman quickly came to the door where Elena was standing, and at the same time, hushed the girls.

From the doorway Elena could see that the barn was divided into three rooms. The large front room served as a kitchen, and by the looks of the placement of chairs, it also seemed to serve as a classroom. Through an open door, Elena could see a room in the rear portion of the barn with bunk beds pushed up against the walls. Another door next to the bedroom opened, and a young girl came out. Looking over the girl’s shoulder, Elena saw stalls and sinks in what appeared to be a bathroom. It was very stark.

“
Mademoiselle
, why are you here?”

Elena was speechless. All the young girls seemed to have been badly abused or injured, in one way or another.  Two of them appeared to have only one eye. She was having a hard time taking in the sight of the injured girls in front of her and at the same time trying to comprehend how and why they were in a dilapidated barn in Provence. It made no sense.

“
Mademoiselle
, I must ask again. Why are you here?”

Elena found her voice and responded, “I came here to visit
Monsieur
and
Madame
Yount, and to find out if they knew how I could contact their son, Pierre.”

At the mention of Pierre’s name, the Frenchwoman seemed to relax and smiled broadly. “Ahh, yes, what a wonderful man. I don’t know what we would do without him. Please, come in.” She closed the barn door behind her.

“Who are these young girls?” Elena asked with a sweeping motion of her arm.

“They are from Afghanistan, part of the nearly two million orphans in that country. As you can see, all of them have suffered greatly. They had no one to turn to and were found on the streets of Kabul by a friend of Pierre’s employer.”

Elena turned to her, interrupting. “How were they brought here? And what will you do with them? Do the French authorities know about them?”

“
Non, mademoiselle
. Pierre works for an Afghan woman who lives in the United States and helps girls such as these. Pierre has a friend who is a doctor. He comes once a week to tend to their needs as best he can. After they have healed somewhat, and been fed nourishing food, friends take the girls to the airport, and Pierre’s employer flies them to the United States.”

Elena stood in shocked silence as the Frenchwoman continued. What she was hearing and seeing was unfathomable to her.

“We help these abused young girls because there is no one else to care for them. Without us, they would either be dead or forced to work as sex slaves in the brothels of Kabul. What we are doing is illegal. You can see why we must be very careful that no one finds out about them.”

Elena felt like she was going to become ill.
Please don’t let me be sick
. She quickly swallowed several times, willing the clammy feeling to go away.
I’ve never seen human beings who have suffered like these young girls
.
I thought the gang rape that happened to me was the worst thing in the world, but clearly these little girls have suffered far more than I have.

“Do many people know about this?”

“No. You look like a good person. I trust you not to tell anyone. Pierre and the lady he works for arrange for clothes and food. There are a few other women besides myself who come here daily to take care of them. As you can see, the Younts are too old and suffer too much physically to be of much help in caring for them. Pierre sends as much money as he can. I think he has friends who are chefs that help, because sometimes we get sacks of food dropped off at the front door, and often there are envelopes containing money in the sacks.”

She continued, “Because of what the Younts are doing, these young girls have a chance of finding homes where they will be well cared for. So far, nearly two hundred young girls in the last three years have been placed in homes in the United States.” She paused and then emphatically stated, “Pierre, his parents, and his employer are saints. I beg of you not to tell anyone.”

Elena had a hard time thinking of Pierre as a saint. This was a direct contrast to everything Jordan had found out about Pierre and his accomplice.

“Thank you for telling me. I didn’t expect any of this when I came here. I must get back to the house. I’m sure they are wondering what happened to me, but yes, you can trust me. I will not reveal your secret to the authorities.
Bon jour, Madame
.”

As Elena walked back to the house, tears begin to form in her eyes. She could only imagine what the young girls had witnessed and the horrors they had gone through. She knew the sight of the mangled, tortured bodies she had just seen would stay with her forever. She also felt angrier than she had ever been in her life.

Elena unsteadily entered the house through the back door, walked through the kitchen, and into the living room. Jordan took one look at her and knew something had happened while she’d been outside. He couldn’t imagine why she was looking and acting so strange. Although she was ashen and visibly trembling, two spots of anger were quite visible on her cheeks and her eyes were blazing.  They hadn’t been together very long and this was a side of her he hadn’t seen.

“While I finish putting away the last of the groceries, may I start a little dinner for you before we leave?” she stuttered, as she walked over to
Madame
Yount.

“No, thank you,”
Madame
Yount said. “We have worked out a system. Giles sits at the table and tells me what to put in each pan. He is my eyes and I am his body.  It works for us. It’s not what we would have chosen, but with Pierre’s help, we get along.”

“Well, it’s time for us to leave. We have several other stops to make. Your husband told me you don’t have any way to contact Pierre. I would like to leave my contact information with you, if I may. If you need anything, please call me. Will you promise me you will do that?” Elena said.

“Oh, we don’t need anything, but yes, leave us your number and the next time Pierre calls, I will tell him you came to our house looking for him. He may call you and help you get a job with that restaurant,” Giles said.

Elena took a pen and a piece of paper out of her purse, and wrote her telephone number and address on it.  She also took out ten one hundred euro notes, and put them underneath the piece of paper. She knew the proud couple would not accept money if she offered it, but if they discovered it after she left, it would be too late to return it to her.

Jordan stood up. “We’ll let ourselves out. Thank you so much for your time and hospitality.
Bon jour
.” 

CHAPTER 31

As soon as they got in the car, Elena began to sob, flinging her head back against the seat headrest. “Oh Jordan, you can’t arrest Pierre! He’s all they have. Stealing the paintings from the gallery in Laguna Beach was wrong, but maybe there’s a higher law working here. Please, please don’t arrest him. Can’t you do something to stop this investigation?”

“Let me think about it. Believe me, I don’t feel any better about this than you do.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she said between gulping sobs. “Yes, the Younts are very sad, but they’re saints. Let me tell you what I saw in the barn.” She paused, as the memory of what she had seen came flooding back to her.

She tried to talk again. “Remember, when we got out of the car, I told you I thought I heard children’s voices? Well, when I was in the kitchen beginning to put away the groceries, I walked out to the trash barrel and again I thought I heard children’s voices. I followed the sound to the barn and opened the door and, and…”

Elena was crying so hard that Jordan had no choice but to pull the car over on the shoulder of the highway. He turned off the engine and faced her, putting his arms around her.

“It was awful. They were maimed and scarred. Oh Jordan, you don’t know what I saw. These poor little girls, you can’t believe what they’ve been through and, and…” She stopped, her voice trailing off, hiccupping as she tried to get control of herself.

“Elena, you’re right. I don’t know what you saw. Tell me everything. Start at the beginning. I have no idea why you feel so strongly about stopping the investigation, other than how hard it was to see the Younts.” He handed her his handkerchief.  She dabbed her eyes with it, swallowed and began.

“Well, when I went outside to dump some garbage in the trash barrel, I was certain I heard little girls’ voices coming from the barn. I walked over to it and opened the door slightly. There were about fifteen little girls inside. Some looked to be as young as a year and a half or so, probably not any younger, because they were all walking. The oldest was about seven.”

“You’re kidding! The children’s voices were coming from the Younts’ barn?”

“Yes, just listen to me. Something was horribly wrong with each of them. Oh Jordan, some had their eyes gouged out, limbs were gone, they were bruised, scarred, and some of them even had what looked like cigarette burn marks on their faces and bodies. Oh God! It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Elena sat perfectly still, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and her face ashen.