Dangerous Passage (Southern Crimes Book #1): A Novel (16 page)

M
ason felt the muscles in his chest groan as he turned into the parking lot on the west side of the warehouse, wishing—not for the first time—that his beat-up pickup truck had power steering. At thirty-three, he was already feeling too old for the backbreaking job of manually lifting boxes onto pallets, then stacking them onto trailers that would be shipped across the country. All this while trying to keep up with a half-dozen college-aged kids for a measly ten bucks an hour. But he couldn’t complain too much. If everything went as planned, he was about to be promoted.

Inside the open warehouse, he found Owen Jefferson already at work at his desk in the back corner, sweat dripping down his bald head and onto the sides of his neck. The overhead fans did little to alleviate the heavy heat in the warehouse. Mason had never seen Owen lift more than a pile of papers, but the man clearly worked out somewhere.

Mason had received extensive profiles on Owen the first day of work. Ex-military, with combat experience. Two ex-wives and hefty alimony payments. After a few years working security, he now managed a distribution center of imported furniture and knickknacks from Asia.

Whatever Mason might think about the man’s personal life,
Owen was his way in. And with word from his informant that the timeline had suddenly been pushed up, it was going to take every trick Mason knew to get there. Which was why he’d left Gavin lying on the floor of his apartment in a pile of vomit.

Owen punched off his cell phone and dropped it onto his desk. He frowned at Mason. “You’re early.”

“You never know how traffic is going to be.” Mason poured himself a drink from the water cooler and took a sip, wondering what Owen knew. “Something wrong?”

“Just got a call from Gavin’s girlfriend.”

“Gavin?” Mason furrowed his brow and pretended to try to place the man.

“Short, stocky, curly red hair. He was supposed to be working today’s second shift.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve spoken to him a time or two. Something wrong with him?”

“He’s not coming in today.”

Mason took another sip of the cold water. “He sick or something?”

“Something. Girlfriend found the door open to his apartment, went in to investigate, and found him unconscious.”

Mason tossed the empty cup into the trash. He must have just missed her. “Seriously?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Ambulance took him to the hospital about an hour or so ago. She said something about food poisoning.”

That familiar wave of guilt swept over him. Some of his aunt’s preaching still got to him every now and then.
Love your neighbor as yourself. Turn the other cheek.
How did that fit in with all the lies he’d told in the past two years, or the bodily harm he’d inflicted? He was convinced there was a special place in hell reserved for people like him. Unless the good he managed to pull off could make up for everything else.

Owen started punching something into his computer.

Mason weighed his words. “Listen, Finn said you might have some extra work. If you need someone to work Gavin’s shift, I could really use the money.”

Owen stopped and looked at him hard. This wasn’t a man Mason would want to meet in a dark alley, and he had his own experience with hand-to-hand combat. But as long as he played it cool, he could definitely win at mental games.

Owen leaned back and crossed his arms, looking as if he were sizing him up. “We don’t normally let our workers take double shifts. I don’t like being responsible for my men collapsing on the job.”

“I can do it.”

“You do pretty well keeping up with the college-age boys you work alongside, but that’s for one shift.”

The comment hit low, but Mason ignored it.

“Finn told me what you did for him. Saving his life.”

“It was nothing really.”

“Don’t be so modest. He said you took out a cop for him. That’s no small feat.”

“It seemed to be the right thing to do at the time, and he did get me this job. You know how it is with debt and ex-wives. Can’t sit around doing nothing for too long.”

Owen laughed. “He also said you’re a user.”

“Just on the side. You know my record. Never late for work. Always get everything loaded on time.”

“Oh, I know that and more. I did a background check on you.”

Mason shifted. “I thought the background check was required.”

“It is, but I did a bit of extra research on my own.”

Mason felt his pulse increase.

Play it cool, man.
If Owen had found a hole in his story, Mason would already be gone by now.

“And?”

“You weren’t kidding about the debt.”

“Just a few . . . gambling issues.”

“Finn did talk to me about you. Told me you’re looking to make some extra cash on the side.”

“Yeah.”

“I might have a job if you’re interested.”

“I am.” Mason slowed his breathing. “What’s the job?”

“It’s worth five grand for a couple days’ work.”

“More than I make in two months.” Mason leaned forward. “So I assume I wouldn’t be driving pillow cushions and shag rugs.”

“Oh, but you would be.”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not a fool. If I take the risk, I at least want to know what I’m getting into. Drug smuggling? Cigarettes with fraudulent tax stamps?”

Owen shifted his gaze toward the back of the warehouse and hesitated. “Weapons.”

“Weapons?” Mason furrowed his brow, making sure Owen didn’t catch the hint of satisfaction in his eyes.

“With Gavin out, I need a fourth man to drive one of our store trucks from here to Houston. And I need that someone today.”

Trafficking weapons across state lines would mean the FBI getting involved. This was no small family business.

“It’s the tip of the iceberg. A couple dozen guns every month. Guaranteed extra income for those of us involved.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Mainly from China and India. It’s easier than you think, and as far as I’m concerned, the demand far outweighs the risks. Did you know that there are craftsmen living in local villages who can clone assault rifles? Within days, they ship them into the country. Guns with no serial numbers and no way to trace them. It’s unbelievable how easy it is. From here we send them across the country, to the UK, and of course, Mexico.”

“If I get caught, I could get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“Don’t get caught.”

“How are they shipped?”

“Sourn Imports is a legitimate business, remember. So they are shipped inside the pillow cushions and shag rugs. Sometimes, they’re broken down into parts and concealed to be sent internationally.”

“How do you know I won’t simply go to the police with the information you’ve just given me?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to hire people off the street?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I trust Finn’s recommendations, and my background checks are thorough. I happen to know a man by the name of Veno who you owe seventeen thousand to in gambling debts. And I know you’re already two months late. Veno and I go way back, and I know how he works. If you don’t pay up, he won’t kill you, but he’ll hunt you down and start breaking your bones, one by one.”

Mason swallowed hard. “Then you understand why I need this job and why I’m willing to take on a shady deal or two for some extra cash. When does the shipment need to go out?”

“Later this afternoon.”

“Can I see the goods?”

Owen hesitated briefly, then nodded for him to follow him across the back of the warehouse to a locked door Mason had noticed his first day on the job. The older man opened the door with a key from his pocket, then shut and locked it behind him after they entered. The room was large, at least twenty by twenty, and filled with imported items that looked ready to go into the storefront.

Owen pulled open two wooden chests along the wall. Mason eyed the cache of weapons ready. Five or six shotguns, two dozen handguns, three boxes of M-16 rifles, plus ammunition. And that was just for starters.

“Worth at least two million dollars on the street,” Owen bragged.

All illegal and untraceable. Mason couldn’t help but smile. All his hard work was finally paying off. “Does Mr. Sourn know you’re using his warehouse to launder weapons?”

Owen’s laugh was back. “Don’t worry about your employer.”

Mason shifted his stance as Owen shut the containers.

“You’re sure you can do this?”

“Like I said, I need the money. Five thousand will go a long way to get Veno off my back, not to mention my ex-wife. I’m more afraid of her than Veno at this point.”

“Then we have a deal. You drive your truck to Houston, and I’ll help you keep Veno—and your ex-wife—off your back.”

A
very turned into the winding streets of the Chu’s pricey neighborhood with Tory beside her in the passenger seat and winced at the movement of her arm as it pulled against the stitches. The doctor had warned her that she’d be sore for the next few days, but also promised that once her arm healed and her headache vanished, she’d be as good as new. A diagnosis that was going to have to be enough for now. Because she wasn’t going to step away until she had answers.

She pulled alongside the curb in front of the Chu house, but didn’t turn off the engine.

Tory turned to Avery and caught her gaze. “You okay?”

Avery concentrated on the steady blast of cool air from the air conditioner before answering, knowing Tory must have caught the fatigue still lingering in her eyes. Despite the continual roadblocks her team faced in this case—now complicated further with this morning’s attack—she nodded. She could do this.

“My head hurts and my arm is still sore, but other than that, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Avery shut off the engine and pulled out the keys. “If I’m not feeling better by the end of the day, I promise to rest tomorrow.”

“Okay, but I can still call Mitch or Carlos and have them track down this lead with me.”

“I appreciate the offer, but let’s do this.”

Avery glanced behind her as she and Tory exited the car and headed up the drive toward the Chus’ brick and stone exterior house. Her latest shadow parked in front of the neighboring house, compliments of the captain. She’d expected Mitch and Jackson to insist on continuing their roles as bodyguards, but apparently they weren’t the only ones who believed she needed extra protection. Now it had become official.

She could talk to the captain later about the necessity of spending department resources on her, but if she were perfectly honest, last night’s break-in had her flustered as well. And until they could confirm who had broken in and what his connection was, being cautious might not be such a bad idea.

An Asian woman answered the door—thirtysomething, thin, and well dressed in a skirt and pleated blouse. But Avery didn’t miss the frazzled, almost frantic edge to her appearance, as if she were in a hurry to get somewhere.

Avery held up her badge and introduced them. “Mrs. Chu?”

“Yes? I . . . is there a problem?” Mrs. Chu reached up to smooth her short, dark hair, her gaze darting behind Avery.

“We’re not sure. I received a call about forty minutes ago, and we were able to trace it back to your phone.”

She shook her head. “You must have made a mistake. I haven’t made any calls this morning.”

“Does someone else in the house have access to your phone?”

“No . . . I always keep my phone with me.” Mrs. Chu turned and spoke to someone inside the house in Vietnamese.

The little boy who had answered the door on Thursday appeared a moment later with a large bag. Mrs. Chu dug through the contents. “I don’t understand. It’s not here.”

“Mrs. Chu, I was here two days ago and spoke to a young
woman. Perhaps she used your phone. I gave her my card and asked her to call if she thought of anything else. She said her name was Malaya.”

“You spoke to Malaya?” A shadow crossed the woman’s features. “I’m sorry, but she isn’t here. It’s just my son and I.”

“Mrs. Chu, we can’t emphasize enough how urgent it is that we speak to her, especially if she was the one who tried to contact me this morning.” Avery’s voice softened as she took a step forward and attempted to connect with the woman. “If we could come in and speak with you for a few minutes, you might be able to help us.”

The woman clutched the purse against her chest. “I don’t know.”

“If it was Malaya who called, she might have information on a murder we are investigating,” Avery continued. “She’s not in any kind of trouble. We simply need to ask her some questions. Please, Mrs. Chu. This is extremely important.”

This time, clearly, it was fear that flickered in the woman’s eyes. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Then just answer this, please. Do you know where Malaya is?”

“No, she . . . she’s gone.”

The little boy, Teo, pressed in against his mother. “You’re the police who came here yesterday.”

Avery knelt down so she could talk to him at eye level. “Yes, I am, and we are looking for your friend, Malaya. Do you know where she is?”

All traces of the boy’s smile vanished as he shook his head. He looked up at his mother. “No, but I know she wanted to talk to you.”

“Teo, I don’t want—”

“How do you know she wanted to talk to me?” Avery jumped in before his mother had a chance to stop him.

The boy dropped his gaze.

“It’s okay, Teo. Malaya might be in trouble, which means that it is very important that you tell me what happened.”

Teo pressed his lips together tightly for a moment before speaking. “It . . . it was our secret. I am teaching her English and how to use the phone—”

“Teo.” Mrs. Chu turned back to Avery. “Maybe if you came back later, she would be able to speak to you.”

Teo shook his head. “What if she doesn’t come back? What if the man took her?”

Avery’s stomach cinched. Another young Vietnamese girl was missing. It fit a pattern. The pattern of a serial killer. At least two girls were dead, and if their killer had taken Malaya, the chance of finding her alive was diminishing with every minute that passed. There was no time for search warrants or excuses. They were going to have to get Mrs. Chu to realize the importance of her cooperation.

“Mrs. Chu, I need you to understand that this is a murder investigation. If you know something and withhold that evidence, then you also need to realize that you could be prosecuted. And if that isn’t enough to convince you to help us, if someone has taken Malaya, then there is a very good chance that her life is in danger.”

“I’m sorry. I told you the truth when I said that I don’t know where she is.”

“Mrs. Chu, let us come in and talk to you. Please. I need to know everything that happened.”

Tory turned to Avery. “Can I try?”

Avery nodded. Her head pounded, and while Tory spoke to the woman in the clipped sounds of Vietnamese, Avery tried not to imagine the worst-case scenario.

Finally the woman nodded, then turned to her son. “Teo, there are some cookies in the kitchen cupboard behind the peanut butter. Why don’t you get three or four, then go color in your room.”

“But I—”

“Now, Teo.”

Tory turned to Avery while Mrs. Chu tended to her son. “She’s scared, but she does know something. I’m not sure if it is related to Malaya disappearing, but something is going on.”

A minute later they were sitting in the living room, decorated primarily in reds and yellows with heavy teakwood furniture. “Thank you for letting us in and talking with us.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for something happening to Malaya.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. I . . . I should have called the police, but I didn’t know what to do.”

“Just tell us what happened, Mrs. Chu. Did someone take her?”

“I honestly don’t know. On Saturdays, Malaya always has breakfast ready between eight and eight thirty, but this morning, when I came downstairs to get my coffee, she wasn’t here.”

“And that’s unusual?”

“Yes. Because I could tell she’d been up for a while. The coffee was brewing in the pot like always, but breakfast wasn’t made. On Saturdays, she sometimes fixes an American breakfast like pancakes—something I taught her how to make—but typically it’s more traditional, like rice porridge or noodles.”

“And today?” Avery probed.

“Today, when I came downstairs, like I said, I couldn’t find her. Teo had asked for pancakes, so there was a box of the mix on the counter.”

Avery looked toward the gourmet kitchen that opened up to the living room. A box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix sat on the black granite counter beside a bowl and a couple of measuring cups. “Tell me what happened next.”

“I heard a crash outside. I told Teo to stay in the house, then
I went to see what had happened. I thought maybe the trash can had rolled into the street and someone had hit it. I forgot to bring it in last night.”

“And when you got out there?”

“The trash can was out by the street, tipped over on its side, but there was no sign of Malaya . . .”

Avery frowned. “People don’t simply vanish.”

Either Malaya left on her own . . . or someone had taken her.

“I spent thirty minutes walking up and down the street. I couldn’t find her.”

“Did you see anything? A strange car, or someone walking down the street?”

Mrs. Chu closed her eyes for a moment. “There was a car I didn’t recognize when I went outside, but that’s not unusual.”

“Do you remember what it looked like?”

“It had . . . dark, tinted windows. That’s why I noticed it.” She shook her head. “Besides that, I don’t remember.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Mrs. Chu dropped her gaze and started picking at one of her dark red fingernails that matched the pleated blouse. The woman was afraid.

“Mrs. Chu?” Avery prompted.

“You won’t understand.”

“I can try.”

“My husband is gone on a business trip. If he finds out that she has run away . . . he will be very upset.”

“Why?” Avery asked.

“Having full-time help isn’t cheap. And finding someone isn’t easy.”

“So you haven’t told your husband Malaya is missing?”

“No.”

“And you believe she ran away?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where would she go? Does she have friends or family nearby?”

“No family, but friends . . . yes. Of course she has friends.”

“Can you give me their names?”

“Maybe.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Avery handed her a business card with her numbers on it. “I need you to try and get me their contact information. In the meantime, why do you think she might have run away?”

“I don’t know. I thought . . .” She sounded lost. Flustered. “I thought she was happy.”

Avery leaned forward on the contemporary-styled black sofa. “Do you have a photo of Malaya?”

“I think so . . . at Teo’s birthday party last month.” Her hands shook as she reached for a box sitting on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. “He adores her and asked for her to come.”

“How old is Teo?”

“He just turned six.”

“He said that someone took her. Why did he say that?”

“He doesn’t think she would leave without saying good-bye, so to him I guess it makes sense that someone took her.” She opened the box and began flipping through photos. “I haven’t had time to organize them. I’m sorry . . . Here.”

Mrs. Chu handed the four-by-six photo to Tory, who studied it for a moment, then passed it on to Avery. Malaya stood beside Teo, his arms wrapped around her neck. Thin face, soft features . . . the girl was beautiful.

“So, Malaya isn’t family?” Tory continued.

“No . . . I needed some extra help at home, so when my husband heard about a chance where we could get a girl who could work for us, we decided to hire her. I also didn’t want Teo to lose his Vietnamese. She speaks to him and takes care of him when I’m out. I spend a lot of time volunteering and doing fund-raising for charity.”

“Tell me more about Malaya. How long has she been working for you?”

Mrs. Chu gripped the yellow tassels of the throw pillow she’d pulled into her lap. “For about three months.”

“Does she have papers allowing her to work in the country?”

“Yes, of course. My husband took care of everything.”

“We will need to see her INS documentation and talk to your husband as well.”

“He’s on a flight back to Atlanta later this evening. He’ll be able to provide you with what you need.”

“I assume she lives here with you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if we look at her room before we leave?”

“I . . .” Mrs. Chu glanced toward the staircase. “Like I said, my husband will be able to provide you with what you need when he returns.”

Avery bit back a heated response. If they needed to, she’d come back with a search warrant. “I just have one last question before we go, Mrs. Chu. Does Malaya have a tattoo?”

“Yes, on her shoulder. Some kind of white flower.”

A magnolia.

Avery stood and started for the door beside Tory. “If we have further questions, we will be in touch with you. And in the meantime, I would file a missing persons report with the police station.”

A minute later, Avery and Tory stepped out of the air-conditioning and back into the humid Georgia air. “So what do you think?”

“That she’s more concerned about how her husband will react than the well-being of a young girl.”

Avery sensed Tory was right, there was an ugly picture beginning to emerge. “She doesn’t want us to look at Malaya’s room or documents, doesn’t have contact info for any of her friends, no English or phone use . . .”

“Just like Tala. Which means we’re probably looking at more than a serial killer case.”

Avery nodded. “Girls brought into the country illegally and forced to work.”

Long hours. Little or no pay. She wanted to believe that such scenarios only happened in faraway places on the other side of the world, but she knew that wasn’t true. The United States wasn’t immune to human slavery any more than she was going to be immune to this winter’s flu season. But they needed proof to back up their growing concerns.