He snorts derisively, sliding effortlessly back into his impassive persona.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Ms. Berry,” he mocks.
“Am I? You seem to have an interest in the goings on at The Youth Center. You showed up at the house of the center’s director and were asked to leave by law enforcement. And finally, you knocked on the door of the ex-wife of a well-known sportscaster and former athlete, whose name has been connected to the center and Mason Kramer, the man running it.”
My mention of Cassandra Hogan seems to evoke surprise. He clearly wasn’t expecting that. I decide to push my luck.
“Mr. Remington…Lee,” I correct myself. “Whatever your motivations are to look into what is going on at the center, we are on the same side. We want these kids found and to stop what we’ve begun to uncover is happening at the center.”
He doesn’t look convinced, so I throw out my ace in the hole. My Hail Mary.
“I was fourteen when I was placed at Transition House and spent the next four years there. I’m guessing from the article you wrote; you are aware of what happened there.”
For the first time, I read a hint of sympathy in his eyes.
“Those were supposed to have been rumors,” he says, confirming my assumption.
“But we both know they weren’t. I know because I lived through it, but I’m not sure how you know.”
His shoulders suddenly slump and he drops his head. The pose gives off an air of resignation, and I wonder if I managed to break through.
“My mother was a member of the custodial staff at Transition House,” he clarifies, glancing up at me. “She saw things. Heard things. Tried to talk to law enforcement.” A dark glare is aimed at Mitch beside me. “No one would listen. She died in a single vehicle car crash shortly after, and two weeks later the place burned to the ground.”
“And you think…” Mitch speaks for the first time.
“I know,” Remington growls. “I saw the car. The front of the new white Honda she saved for years to buy had been wrapped around a tree at the side of the road. You tell me why then her bumper was half torn off the back and blue paint was visible in a scratch as long as my arm running along the rear fender on the same side. Local cops wrote it off as damage done in the accident.”
“You don’t trust law enforcement.”
“I don’t trust anyone in positions of power,” he corrects me.
“For what it’s worth,” Mitch says. “I may fall under that nomer, but like you, I have personal reasons driving me to do this work. Valerie, my younger sister, was the victim of a sexual predator.”
Remington stares at Mitch for a beat before shaking his head. Then he steps back and to the side, motioning us inside.
“Give me a minute.”
He disappears down a set of stairs in the kitchen, and a few minutes later leads a scared-looking Melissa Romero into the living room.
I walk up to her and take her hands in mine.
“You don’t know me, but I’m so relieved to see you. I’ve been looking for you.”
“You have?”
She seems surprised and it breaks my heart.
I sit down on the edge of the couch, pulling her down beside me. From the corner of my eye, I see Lee Remington motion for Mitch to follow him down the hallway off the living room, but I make sure to keep my focus on the girl.
“For you, Chantel, Jesper, Bryonne, Jamie, and Bobby-Jean.”
Tears glisten in the pretty girl’s eyes.
“I didn’t believe her at first,” she mumbles.
“Believe who?” I prompt her.
“Bobby-Jean. She warned me, before she disappeared, but he’d been so nice to me. He said I was pretty enough to get a job modeling. Said he could help me earn my own money, maybe even get a place of my own.”
Rather than ask for clarification, I let her talk. I’m pretty sure she’s referring to Kendrick, or Kramer, as she knows him.
“He took my picture, said he wanted to show it to a friend of his who had connections. Took me to see him, but…”
I squeeze her hand. This story is painfully familiar.
“He wasn’t interested in taking your pictures,” I fill in for her.
She shakes her head, her eyes downcast.
“The friend he took you to see? Had you seen him before?”
“At the center. I was so stupid.”
I reach out with a hand to lift her chin so she has to look at me.
“Not stupid. You hoped, that’s never stupid. You hold no responsibility in what happened to you, it’s all on them. People prey on those of us who dare to hope for a better future, who are full of life and promise.”
Her eyes slide to the side and I give her chin a little shake.
“Look at me, Melissa. Don’t let them steal that life, that promise. Don’t give them that power. It happened to you and nothing will change that, but it doesn’t have to define you.”
Her deep brown eyes stare into mine, perhaps recognizing a kindred soul. When I give her a little nod, she hesitates only for a moment before she nods back.
The clearing of a throat has me turn my head, to find Mitch and the other man standing in the doorway.
Both sets of eyes are on me.
EIGHTEEN
Mitch
I glance over at Kate, who is sitting ramrod straight beside me. The knuckles on her hands are white as she clasps them on her lap.
Her expression doesn’t betray a thing, but I know the last hour and a half took its toll on her. It had to have. Hell, it impacted me. I had a hard time keeping my composure when all I wanted to do is let go of the rage and put my fist through something.
Lee Remington had briefly taken me aside while Kate talked with the girl. He wanted to feel me out, see how much we knew, but first he wanted an assurance from me we’d keep any information he or Melissa shared close to the chest for now. Given what he told us about his mother, I understood his mistrust.
Then, he added a warning that this sex ring involves some very influential people with a long reach—something we already suspected—and we’d not only be risking his life and Melissa’s, but the lives of the missing kids as well.
To show my goodwill, I shared the latest about Krebs, which has not yet been made public. He’d been shocked, but not exactly heartbroken when I told him we found the man dead.
Not really my place to give that information, especially with a journalist, but if I wanted him to share what he knows, I had to give him something in return.
I also shot Matt a text, telling him I had things under control and would catch up with him later. Last thing I wanted was for my team to come looking for us and freak Remington and the girl out.
Darkness has already set in, and I realize we’ve been on the go the entire day. More importantly, we haven’t eaten a bite since that measly granola bar this morning. I need some fuel.
“Hungry?” I ask, my eyes peeled for a sign for some restaurant we can stop at.
“Not really,” is Kate’s muted response. “I need to talk to my team.”
I understand why, given what we learned from Melissa, but especially Lee. The man had some serious suspicions that sounded valid but were lacking hard evidence. We had some digging to do and it would probably be better for GEM to tackle that task. Running it through the task force would require following official channels which—if Lee is right—could catch unwanted attention. We need to be cautious.