Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

Albert said, “Then give me a reason not to blow your head off.”

The kid said, “There are a bunch of other homeless shelters. That’s where I’d look.”

Albert pulled the pistol back to smack the would-be robber in the face, but Hanna caught his wrist and said, “We have other things to do. C’mon, Albert.”

Chapter 85

THEY TOOK THE tattooed kid’s advice and started searching south of the port. It was now stretching into the afternoon, but Hanna was far too panicked about her daughter to give up.

On almost every street, Albert constantly swiveled his head, looking in every direction. He was afraid they were being watched.

Hanna said, “Who would be watching us?”

“I don’t know. The police. The Russians. This is not paranoia.”

“You’re right. It’s gone past paranoia. I agree we can’t trust anyone, but the police don’t know we’re here, and the Russians already have Josie.” She hadn’t meant to raise her voice so much, but she was losing patience with her brother.

Behind one homeless shelter in downtown Miami, they noticed an alley where several people were lying on blankets or sitting on pallets. Hanna couldn’t pass it by. When she stepped into the alley, the first thing she saw was a man who had been savagely beaten recently. He was holding a bloody towel to his forehead. His nose looked like it had been broken. Both of his eyes had swollen almost shut. His lower lip was split and clearly needed stitches.

No one there seemed too concerned about the man’s injuries.

Hanna looked down the wide alley at the makeshift beds and chairs lining the walls. A rat crossed the uneven asphalt with no fear of the humans. The smell of urine and alcohol washed over her. She gave an involuntary shudder. She looked up at the six-story building with cheap air conditioners jammed into its windows. This was not where the rich people of Miami lived.

A round-faced older black man wearing a red military beret with the emblem ripped off looked up at her from his seat.

She stepped over to him and said, “Excuse me, we’re looking for a missing girl.” She held up her phone with the picture of Magda.

The man studied the photo on the small phone, then nervously glanced over at the man with the bloody face. Then he looked up at Hanna and said, “Why are you looking for her?”

The question surprised Hanna.

Albert snapped, “Why are you asking? Have you seen her or not?”

The older man studied the photo for a moment, then said, “No young women come here. You might want to check over on Miami Avenue. That’s where most of the runaways go.”

Albert stared at the old man, trying to intimidate him.

The man in the beret gestured at the bloody man and said, “A nasty Russian dude has already been here looking for her. She’s a popular young woman. Good luck.”

Hanna nodded her thanks.

Chapter 86

MIAMI IS A compact city with an easy street-numbering system. It’s not until you’re looking for someone that it seems vast.

In the middle of the afternoon, my phone rang. The name that came up on my screen was BULLDOG.

I looked at Marie and nodded as I answered the phone. “Talk to me.”

Bulldog said, “Meet me over on Biscayne between Fifth and Sixth where the hot-dog vendor in the bikini sits.”

“Did you find her?”

“Toss that baggie now.” He let out his signature laugh. It sounded like a small pig grunting.

Bulldog was there waiting for us when we got to the meeting point. When I saw him, I said, “If this is some kind of prank—”

Bulldog held up his hand. “I get it. You don’t trust me much. I done you right this time.”

“How’d you find her so fast?”

“I know people. Kinda like you, but I don’t scare them shitless just by showing up.”

“Where’s the girl?”

Bulldog said, “Behind them pallets. She’s safe and sound. My man Reggie, the older dude in the red beanie, looked after her. He said all kinds of people been by asking for her today. One of them was a nasty Russian who slapped around one of the other homeless guys.”

Marie walked past us straight to the rear of the alley. She weaved between makeshift beds, old chairs, and broken furniture.

I waited with Bulldog so as not to scare the girl. It looked like Marie was coaxing a frightened cat out of a tree. It took a while before I saw a hand reach out and touch Marie’s outstretched hand. A moment later, Marie couldn’t restrain herself and gave the girl a hug.

Apparently, that was all this girl needed. She wrapped her arms around Marie and began to sob. The girl started to speak quickly in what I thought was Russian but then realized was Polish.

Marie calmed the girl down and brushed her blond hair out of her pretty face. The girl picked up a red backpack and walked toward me. Marie slipped an arm around the girl’s shoulder.

Marie introduced us and I said, “Nice to meet you, Magda.”

Magda turned to Bulldog’s friend Reggie, who was sitting in a sketchy green plastic chair with one of the legs cracked. In heavily accented English she said, “Thank you for not telling Hanna I was hiding in the back of the alley.”

The man said, “Thank you for the turkey sandwich.” He looked over at me, then back to her. “Everyone knows who Anti is. He’ll treat you right,” he said.

That was the best compliment I’d ever gotten. I handed the man a twenty and said, “Thanks for looking after her.”

Chapter 87

TEN MINUTES LATER, Magda was sprawled on a beanbag chair in the witness room at the Miami Police Department. No one had seen us bring her in, which was how I’d wanted it.

I wasn’t going to let social services take this girl off to some cold facility. Unlike interview rooms, these rooms had a touch of home. There were photos on the walls here, pictures of people riding bikes or going to the beach. Each wall was a different, calming color, not the industrial white or tan found throughout the rest of the building.

A green couch someone had brought from home stretched across the back wall. Magda had gone straight for the beanbag, and Marie leaned in close from a standard hard wooden chair. Most of the pizza I’d bought was gone from the open box on the folding table.

We’d immediately connected Magda’s surname, Andruskiewicz, to Joseph, the young pianist in the group of children we’d rescued at the Miami airport.

The raw emotion on Magda’s face when Marie told her she knew where her brother was made everything I had done in this case worthwhile. She started to cry and laugh at the same time. By now her eyes were bloodshot, but she kept smiling and asking about Joseph and the others who’d been in the container with her; they were like family to her now.

Marie assured Magda she’d be able to speak to her brother shortly. First, we needed to know more about her ordeal so we could construct a case around her statement.

Magda calmed down and talked to us through occasional sniffles. “When I saw the container, I got scared. It didn’t look safe. Hanna kept leading more and more people inside. By then, it was too late to back out.”

Marie interrupted with a few questions, looking for details.

Magda said, “I cried the first day in the container. A lot of us did. But toward the end, it got so much worse.” She had to stop and blow her nose.

She identified Hanna Greete and her brother, Albert. That, along with some of the information Marie had gathered, was enough to make a decent case against them. But I was after bigger game.

I’d been careful not to inject myself into the interview too much so far. Now I asked, “Did you meet any Russians during all this?”

She shook her head. Then she said, “Perhaps. I’m not very good with English.” She paused, gathered her thoughts, and said, “I’m not very good with accents in English. There was one man. He beat a homeless man. Beat him badly. Blood everywhere.”