M. Grayson - Isabel's run

“What kind of problems?”

“Nancy needs solid probable cause before she can get a warrant. The good news is that we think we have the gang’s locations and their vehicles all identified,” I said. “We’ve spent a fair amount of time on surveillance, and we’ve learned quite a bit. When the time comes, it will be a whole lot easier to mobilize and move against them. But the bad news is that this information doesn’t mean much unless we have some proof that these guys are somehow involved with Isabel. We need to be able to link them somehow. Unfortunately, so far we haven’t found Isabel-no sign of her. And because we don’t have any clue as to where she is, or even if the North Side Street Boyz are involved with her disappearance for that matter, Nancy can’t get the warrants that would allow her to arrest them or even to search the houses. The best we have regarding Isabel now is the fact that the person who answered the ad for Isabel was employed by NSSB.”

“But from what you just said, you know Kelli’s with Crystal,” Annie said. “You have an eyewitness. And to some degree, that corroborates the story you heard about Isabel.”

“True. But Kelli is over eighteen-she’s an adult. She can go where she wants and hang out with whomever she wants. The fact that she’s going along willingly-at least so far-makes it so that Nancy can’t go after her. No crime’s been committed.”

She thought about this for a second. “That’s tough, then. What are you going to do?”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “When you said that we know Kelli’s with Crystal, you’re right. And we know where Crystal is-pretty much, anyway. If it comes down to it, we’re not going to wait for the Seattle Police Department to go in and get her out of there, to hell with the legal concerns. We definitely have the ability to do that on our own. That said, for obvious legal reasons, we’d rather have SPD do it. Which brings me to the real purpose of my call.”

“What’s that?”

“I was hoping that we might be able to speak to Paola again. When we talked to her last week, she seemed like she had more information-maybe a lot more-that she was not willing to share. Most of the good information we’ve been able to put together has come from our interview with Paola. We’re wondering if she can help us some more. Has she softened up at all? Do you think she might be able to add anything now?”

The tires hummed softly on the pavement while Annie thought. “I don’t know,” she said after several seconds had passed. “She’s been making good progress over the past week. I don’t know if that means she’d be willing to talk. And I also don’t know whether she has anything else she can offer, even if she were willing to talk to you guys. That said, my inclination is that she’d probably be a lot more willing to do it now than she was a week ago. Would you like me to ask her if she’d be willing to sit down with you?”

“That would be fantastic,” I said.

“Let me call you right back,” she said.

Five minutes later the phone rang.

“She’ll do it. Can you be here at four? She has a meeting with a counselor until then,” Annie said.

“Great.”

“We don’t usually give our addresses out, but I don’t think you two are a security risk.”

“We appreciate that.” She gave us the address-it was in Fremont, right on the way.

Before I drove into the neighborhood of Paola’s Angel House, I thought the streets near Ravenna Park where the NSSB houses were located were narrow. Fact is, they were boulevards compared to the streets in Paola’s neighborhood. “Streets” is actually kind-goat paths might be more accurate. I resisted the urge to turn myself sideways as I squeezed the Jeep through impossibly narrow spaces on the way to Paola’s house. No way could two cars ever pass side by side there. If I’d encountered a car from the opposite direction, one of us would have had to swerve into a parking space and wait for the other car to pass before proceeding. And if the skinny roadways weren’t bad enough, the streets were lined on both sides with tall trees that canopied completely over the roads. The effect was very much like driving through a narrow tunnel. If a person was prone to claustrophobia, he’d be in trouble. Fortunately, I didn’t see any other traffic once we pulled into the general area-the neighborhood was quiet and peaceful.

I turned onto Paola’s street, and shortly afterward Toni said, “There it is.” She always finds addresses first. She pointed to a house two doors up on the right. “I see the number on the mailbox.” I lucked out and found an empty spot on the curb only two houses away. We hopped out and began walking back to the house. “It looks just like all the other houses,” she said. “You can’t tell from the outside that it’s a home for girls.”

This assessment changed a little as we turned up the walkway to the house and went through the front entry gate. The home’s security features became more apparent. The windows were all covered with decorative wrought-iron bars painted white to match the house’s trim. It looked pretty, but it was secure-no one was getting through a window unless they had a blowtorch or a chain hooked up to a truck. As we drew closer, I noticed small, unobtrusive video cameras mounted up high, under the eaves. I counted five in the front of the house alone. “Smile,” I said.

I pushed the buzzer just outside the wrought-iron work that enclosed the front porch and protected the front door.

“Hello? Can I help you?” A girl’s voice.

“Hi,” I said. “Danny Logan and Toni Blair here to meet with Annie Hooper.”

“Okay. Hold your IDs up to the camera there in front of you,” she said. We each did as she said. Shortly thereafter, the gate made a loud click . “Come on in. Someone will meet you at the door.” We did as she instructed. The gate swung closed behind us and latched shut.

“Great,” I said. “Now we’re in jail.”

The front door opened, and Annie Hooper greeted us.

“Hey, guys,” she said. “Come on in.”

She held the door for us.

“Very impressive, Annie,” I said. “Looks very secure.”

“Thanks,” Annie said. “We take precautions. Occasionally, these girls’ pimps try to get them back. If they come around here, we want to be ready.”

“I’ll bet you have the police on speed dial,” I said.

“Yeah, it usually takes them just a couple of minutes to respond when we make a call.”

“And the fortifications and the cameras buy you that time.”

“That’s right. Come on back. Paola’s in the family room, I think.”

We followed her through the living room, past the kitchen and into a family room located at the rear of the home. Three girls were sitting around a coffee table-Paola was one of them. I hardly recognized her.

Without the layers of makeup and the poofed-up hair, she looked like she was about twelve years old. She wore white gym shorts and a light blue Nickelback T-shirt. Her long, dark hair was back in a ponytail. It had only been a week, but she looked fuller-as if she’d been eating better.

“She looks good,” I said quietly to Annie.

“We were lucky with her,” Annie said. “So many of the girls who we get are addicted to something-usually to meth. It sometimes takes a whole year to get them straightened out. Paola wasn’t addicted.”

“Good news,” I said.

Annie beckoned to Paola, who jumped up and walked over.

“Hi, Paola,” Toni said, reaching to shake her hands. “You look really good.”

“Thank you,” Paola said. I imagine that a compliment coming from someone who looked like Toni probably carried some weight.

“They treating you alright here?” I asked.