“Pretty much, yeah, that was the impression I got. He said that it was likely, if the girls were from one of those remote towns, the families have stopped looking for them already.”

“Thinking, what, that the kids are runaways to the city? That they’ve been eaten by alligators or whatever swims in the rivers down there? Where do they think their daughters have gone?”

“Kidnapped by the slavers. A huge percentage of the kids that go missing are sold into slavery. In some cases, the parents, or other family members, have sold the kids to the middlemen, the ones who obtain the kids through whatever means-kidnapping if not outright purchase-who then deal with the slavers. The traffic in slaves-particularly children-is a big business in some countries right now. Some child-advocacy groups are saying as many as two million children could be involved worldwide. Others are more conservative, but still…”

“Yeah. One is too many. How does a parent think his or her kid was caught up in this and not make any effort to find her? Wouldn’t you be moving heaven and earth to bring her back if she were your kid?”

“Or he. As many young boys as girls are sold into slavery. There’s a huge market for little boys, especially overseas, which is where a lot of these kids end up.”

“So you think our girls were sold to slavers in Santa Estela and brought to this country…”

Manley nodded. “And branded with those little stars so there’s no mistaking whose property they are. Then they’re sent up here, to the US, by boat, by car, by truck. Sometimes they’re literally walked across the border. A buddy of mine in immigration told me that anywhere from fifteen to twenty thousand are smuggled into this country every year.” Manley paused, then added, “Most of them are just out-and-out kidnapped, but so many others come voluntarily, under false pretenses.”

“Promised jobs that will pay enough that they can send money back to support their families at home. I read something about that recently.”

“Right, except they have to pay off their transportation expenses first. These bastards charge them thousands of dollars to get to this country, then make them work off the fees in the brothels. Of course, they’re rarely released, even after their supposed debt is paid off. Very few ever go to the authorities because they’re afraid they’ll be killed or their families back home will be killed. For the most part, they don’t trust authority because the authorities all along the way have turned a blind eye and have let these terrible things happen to them because they’re on the take. Sometimes, the kids have been told that their families were the ones who sold them in the first place, so they figure they have nothing to return to.” He smiled wryly. “In a lot of cases, they’re right.”

“You figure that’s the case with these girls?”

“I hate to even venture a guess with these kids. On the one hand, I know that Santa Estela and the surrounding countries are really poor. Some of the big banana plantations have been sold and the monopoly has driven wages down, so we’re talking about real hardships here. Poverty that you and I can’t really comprehend, so there’s a good chance a family member turned the girl over for some cash. On the other hand, kidnapping is so rampant in Mexico and South and Central America, your guess is as good as mine as to how these kids got here.”

Manley stood for a few long quiet minutes, deep in thought, in front of the spot where the body of the youngest victim had been found.

“This little girl had cocaine in her system. Sometimes, when a girl’s uncooperative, they force her to take drugs, get her addicted. Cocaine, crystal meth, whatever it takes. That way, they can control her, through her addiction. She isn’t likely to try to leave as long as she’s dependent on her captors for her drugs.” He averted his eyes, absently scuffing one shoe in the dirt at the base of the fountain where the girl’s body had lain. “I like to think that this one fought hard; that’s why they had to drug her. Because she wouldn’t give up the fight.”

“You know there have to be federal agencies involved here. Have you contacted Immigration, the FBI, the CIA…?”

“All of the above. I’ve spoken to every one of them, and they tell me they’re working on it, but that tells me nothing at all.” He swore under his breath. “More accurately, it tells me there’s a massive cluster fuck going on over this. They’re all so damned territorial, you know? No matter what they say, no one wants to share. That’s never going to change, no matter what they tell us. Which means that except in maybe an individual case here and there, no one is talking to anyone else. And of course, that just opens the door for more of the same.”

Manley shook his head slowly.

“Frankly, I don’t see where it’s ever going to end.”

Manley turned abruptly and walked back toward the parking lot. Evan followed, a thousand times more depressed than he had been when he’d arrived in Chicago early that morning. He found Manley waiting at the car when he found his way back to the parking lot.

“So what do you do about this?” Evan held the keys to the car in his right hand, but made no move to unlock the door.

“I don’t think that anything can be done, frankly. I think it’s way too big.”

“Then why did you call me out here if you’re convinced you’ll never solve the case?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t think I could solve this case. Sooner or later, someone will have information to trade. I’ve got the word out; someone will step up to the plate when they’re getting hauled off for possession with intent to deliver and their back is against the wall. It may take me a while, Detective Crosby, but I have every intention of solving my case. If it’s the last thing I do on this earth, I will find the sons of bitches who murdered these kids. But the overall thing, this traffic business, that’s something else. But my girls… I want to take care of my girls.”

“That’s how I feel,” Evan told him. “I want to solve this for their sakes.”

“I know.” Manley met his eyes across the roof of the car. “That’s why I wanted you to come out here.”

“Sorry?” Evan asked.

“I needed to know there was someone else who really cared about what happened to these kids. That someone else is willing to keep on this, even after everyone else is convinced that it was a waste of time.”

“No one’s told me it’s a waste of time, Detective Manley,” Evan said as he unlocked the car doors.

“Someone will.” Manley swung the passenger door open. “Sooner or later, someone will…”

Annie topped off the tank of the rented Ford Taurus sedan at the station advertised as the last gas for 167 miles. She had started out from the airport with a full tank, but wasn’t sure how far she’d have to drive to find Melissa Lowery and figured that “Last Gas” sign must have been put there for a reason.

Mariana Gray, she corrected herself. She’d have to assume that Melissa was known around West Priest as Mariana Gray.

The last road sign told her that Priest lay twenty-four miles up the road, but Annie had driven in the west before and had found that sometimes the mileages weren’t exactly accurate. It appeared from the map she’d picked up at the airport that West Priest lay just a few miles beyond Priest. She should be able to make the drive in well under an hour.

She was pleased to find herself arriving at Priest a mere forty minutes later. She went straight to the post office, where she was given directions that would take her three miles outside of town on Old Fort Road. When she reached West Priest, the postmistress assured her, she’d know it.

The road between the two towns consisted of two skinny lanes of flat gravel with no shoulder on either side. The scenery, however, made it worth the caution one was forced to take in maneuvering the roadway. In the distance rose the East Front of the Continental Divide, with its scraggy plateaus and rolling grassy hills. Annie stopped once, pulling off onto the edge of the hard-earthed field to photograph the landscape. She would want to share its beauty with Evan, and knew words alone could not do it justice.