Stranded (18 page)

“The, uh, puddle? I was going to get rid of it when we finished.” Jake gestured at the room. “So, what do you think? Does it smell any better?”

“I don’t know how you can stand it.” Eve covered her mouth and nose. “All this water has done is magnify the odor.”

Betty cringed. Had she gotten used to breathing the foul stuff? “I’m ready to eat if you can help me get outside, Jake.” Although he carried her to the cave door, she still had to crawl out, right through the ratty scrubbers and bird muck he’d swept through the entryway. Outdoors, his hands, legs, and clothing revealed he’d crawled through it several times.

Her own hands, like his, were white with a thin layer of the goo they’d been scrubbing. She shuddered. “Take me to the cove, Jake. You and I aren’t touching anything more until we clean up.”

After lunch, she made him bring the chairs for her to wash off directly in the cove. The salt-laden air cleared her head and lungs. Across the field with its hidden land mines and fence and trench, Jake and Eve and Crystal labored like determined ants.

Every time Crystal fetched water, Betty received updates.

“Jake carved hash marks on the wall to show we’ve been on the island seven days.”

“Eve took our tent down and brought it over.”

“Jake swept the muck over the cliff. Phew-ee!”

“Eve wanted to build a fire to dry out the cave, but she said the hearth still smelled, so she’s scrubbing it all over again while Jake and I cut grass for the beds.”

And with a fit of giggles, “A gull flew in and made new messes!”

The sun was casting a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges over the ocean by the time Jake retrieved her. “The cave is ready, but how about if we take a look at what Eve’s done with the firewood?”

Well goodness, he didn’t tell her it meant having to latch onto his back like a turtle shell. To scale the steep slope, he had to use both hands while she clung with all four limbs wrapped around him. He slipped twice, and once had to reposition the stranglehold she had on his neck. How had he and Eve ever made it up the cliffside they’d fallen over?

Crystal, reigning Gymnast of the Ocean Cliff, scampered easily to the top to join Eve. “Wow, look what Eve’s done!”

Oh my, it was impressive. Not only had Eve carried every twig, stick, and leaf to the new site, but she had also built a platform of large stones to stack the wood on. With the rope from the lighter, she had battened down the sailcloth over it to prevent the wood from getting wet.

Obviously pleased with everyone’s praise, Eve untucked a pointed end of the sail and propped it up with a sturdy stick. “And look, we can also put the sail at a forty-five-degree angle, like this, to protect us from sunburn when we’re watching for ships.”

The job looked just about right for a lame, old lady who couldn’t do much else, but Betty wasn’t sure turtle-backing it up there on Jake was something she wanted to do every day.

With far less hassle going down than up, they descended to the cave. The muck was gone from the entryway, and a fire crackled inside on the hearth. While the moisture hadn’t entirely dissipated, the improvement in reducing the odor of the former feathered tenants was gratifying. Crystal’s seashell platters lay on the table, stacked with a variety of fresh fruit. A five-star hotel couldn’t have received a higher rating than these accommodations the four of them had worked so hard on.

Jake carried her to the pristine table, which surely deserved as much praise as Eve’s pile of sticks and stones. No one said anything, but she beamed when Jake brought her a cane and a well-padded moccasin for her injured foot. The man was a marvel. Really, if anyone deserved praise, he did.

“So, Jake, tomorrow we light the signal fire and start work on repairing the boat.” Eve all but said
at last!

“Not quite.” He set his coconut on the table. “Now that I can safely leave you three in the cave, I’m going to walk the perimeter of the island. I don’t feel comfortable working on the boat when there might be things on the island we don’t know about yet.”

“Like what?” Eve’s response was quick.

“Well, for one, we have no idea what’s on the other side of the island.”

Betty’s spine tingled. Surely anything threatening would have showed up by now. And if there was something bad, what if it got Jake?

“I’m going with you.” Eve blocked Jake’s exit from the cave. “And don’t tell me no.”

“No.” He emptied the morning’s fruit onto the tabletop and readjusted the katana scabbard on his back.

She huffed. “You shouldn’t go alone.”

“Should we leave Betty and Crystal here alone?”

Her mouth twitched down at his logic. There was no way she would abandon Betty and Crystal, if that’s what accompanying him meant.

“I’ll be back tomorrow by sundown.” He stuffed some of the fruit into his pockets, stepped around her, and crawled outside.

Then she’d just do her own exploring. The rocky slope above the signal fire would be perfect.

She grabbed the kitchen knife and hacked furiously at the fruit. Nine weeks left before the Danny Romero trial. Each day she stayed on the island was a prison cell that bound her and freed Romero. She had to get off. One more day—she would give Jake one more day. Tomorrow, if he didn’t start work on the boat, she would. It had survived an explosion—repairing it couldn’t be that hard.

After breakfast, she helped Betty assemble the moccasin for her injured foot, then lugged the tripod to the hearth and hung the cauldron while Crystal fetched two buckets of water from the stream. Mussel soup to surprise Jake was the target of Betty and Crystal’s day. Fine, because the last thing she wanted was anyone’s company.

She picked up one of the bayonets. “I’m going to check out the slope above the signal fire. I’ll bring fruit when I return.”

The two chefs barely acknowledged her departure.

On the plateau, she stopped to inspect the firewood. In spite of last night’s wind and rain, the sail was tight and everything under it dry. Satisfaction with the job she’d done raised her spirits. She was tempted to start a signal fire, but Jake had creeped her out with his concern about what might be on the island. No sense attracting unwanted attention while he was gone.

The slope proved an easy climb, with occasional shallow craters and large boulders breaking the monotony of bare rock stretching toward the distant volcano. Although she didn’t know what to look for, she kept an eye out for booby traps.

Her heart jumped when she spotted what she was sure was a trail—a man-made one. The path wound around several boulders, crossed a small stream, and ended at an opening between two vertical rock formations
.
She
squeezed between them and halted, her heart pounding at what she found on the other side.

Before her lay a garden. Its loveliness spoke of human hands crafting every square inch. Not only had a pocket been dug into the lava to cradle the garden, but the walls had been chiseled into artful geometric designs. Across from her, a miniature waterfall splashed in a cascade of descending ledges to several small pools linked across the garden. It wouldn’t have surprised her to find goldfish with graceful, flowing fins gaping at her from the water.

The reedy grass of the Lone Soldier’s field had taken root in the garden, but the invasion was sparse. On impulse, she began pulling the trespassers, stacking them in a mound behind her. A passion to restore the beauty of the garden overtook her and she worked feverishly.

Flowers, watered by the pools and sheltered from the sun by the lattice of weeds, released sweet fragrances as she uncovered them. Unfamiliar with all of them, she reveled in the glory of their colors, their forms, their scents. She imagined the soldiers finding them in the jungle and transporting them to the garden. At the exposure of a cluster of petite, white flowers, her breath rushed from her lungs.

Sampaguitas.

This flower she knew. Its name meant
I promise.
She knew because eight months ago she had made a promise to a sixteen-year-old prostitute—

The phone rang as Eve entered the District Attorney’s office. The receptionist’s desk was unattended. She punched the speakerphone button and peeled off her scarf and gloves, spattering the floor with specks of snow.

“Federal prosecutor’s office, Evedene Eriksson speaking.”

“Eve!” Debra Baker, her bud at the state attorney’s office, shrieked at her. “We’ve got a trafficking witness! Hurry! Cook County Hospital ER.”

“On my way!” She grabbed her purse, hustled outside, and hailed a cab.

The driver flew across Chicago at the promise of a doubled fare. Debra grabbed her by the arm in the emergency room and pulled her to a small room. A nurse nodded at Debra and left, closing the door.

A hospital bed, straddled by two chairs, took up most of the space. Its occupant, a slender teenage girl, was covered by a white sheet up to her chest. Arms, bare shoulders, and face bore a spectrum of black and blue bruises. Her left eye was swollen shut. Blood caked her lips, both ears, and a swathe of cuts across her cheeks. Although the girl’s hair was colored red, the slanted corners of her eyes identified her as Asian, and the honey color of the skin on her hands, as part Caucasian.

Eve’s chair crackled as she sank onto the plastic cushion.

“Alicia, this is Evedene Eriksson. She’s—”

“I know. I’ve seen her before. I want to testify.”

“Testify against whom?” Eve searched her memory, but the girl’s face was too messed up to recall.

“Romero.”

Eve’s heartbeat skyrocketed. “Danny Romero?”

“You told us at the jail you’d help us if we testified against him. I didn’t care then, but now he’s tried to kill me.”

“Danny Romero tried to kill you?”

“His men.”

Eve leaned forward. “I need hard facts, Alicia. Proof that will hold up in court.”

“I got them.”

“All right.” Eve fetched her notebook and pen from her purse. “Let’s begin with your name and birth date. The real ones, not what’s on your ID.”

“Marikit Santos Torres, August 23, 1965.”

Sixteen years old. Definitely underaged. Eve’s hand trembled at the thought of finally nailing Romero. “Where were you born?”’

“I don’t know. Here? I’ve always lived in Chicago.”

Eve slapped her pen onto the notebook and turned to Debra. “Why did you call me? If she hasn’t crossed state lines, federal has no jurisdiction.”

“Hear her out. Go on, Alicia . . . Mari. Start at the beginning.”

Eve waited two breaths before the girl finally opened her mouth.

“My mother’s pimp started me when I was twelve. A year ago he sold me to a club. We got rounded up one night by the cops, and that’s when I heard you at the jail. I didn’t know who Danny Romero was, but I asked around and found out stuff.”

With her good eye, Mari studied
Eve. “You were pretty and smart and powerful, and for a while I wanted to be like you. I never went to school after sixth grade, but I read a lot.”

“I can help you—”

“No, you can’t. Nobody’d ever give me a job. Anyways, I liked the club. I had a bed and food and TV and pretty clothes. Then they promoted me, said I’d be part of a special group, the Sampaguitas.”

How could the girl think there was anything special about prostitution? But this was just a kid, a sixteen-year-old kid, held in bondage for four years, and who knew how many before that? “Is this group connected to Danny Romero?”

“Yes. The Sampaguitas are his. I moved to a different club. His club.”

The idea of “special” galled Eve, but the question had to be asked. “What’s special about the Sampaguitas?”

“All of us are Asian. No one can do”—she looked down at her body—“this to us.”

“Are all of you children?”

“I’m the oldest.”

Eve wanted to scream, but instead she asked, “Why the name Sampaguitas?”

“It’s the national flower of the Philippines. We’re supposed to be from there, but some of us are Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese. Anyway, Americans can’t tell the difference.” She shrugged. “It’s a small, delicate flower. The name means ‘I promise.’”

“Promise what?”

Mari’s chin trembled, and she hung her head.

“Never mind. Tell me about the proof you have.”

“When we were put together at the club, some of the little girls cried, but after a while they stopped. Not Tala, though. Even with the drugs, she still cried. Maybe because she’s the youngest.”

“How young?”

“Eight.”

Eve closed her eyes. So what if Mari saw her pain. The girl needed to see it, needed to feel it, needed to be kicked harder than those bruises with it. She opened her eyes and met Mari’s.

“I wanted to help her.” Mari’s voice quaked. “I didn’t want her to be stuck like me for the rest of her life. She had a home and a family, and she told me their address—”

“What state?” Eve swallowed. This would be the deciding factor. It had to be across the state line for her to get involved. For her to get Danny Romero for trafficking. Child trafficking.

“Indiana.”

Eve slumped back in her chair. She scribbled down the address, her heart thumping. “What happened? Did you help her?”

“I didn’t know how to get her home. I couldn’t take her there, and I couldn’t send her all by herself.” Tears trickled from Mari’s good eye. “I should’ve called you.”

Dread squeezed Eve’s gut. “Should’ve” meant something had gone wrong. Impulsively, she slipped her hand over Mari’s. The slender fingers were cold. “What happened, Mari?”

Mari took in a shuddering breath. “I sneaked out with Tala and took a taxi to Child Services. I knew they’d ask me questions and maybe even hold me if I went inside with her, so I told her what to say.”

“What was that?”

“To just keep saying her parents’ names and address—that’s what mattered, to get her back home to them, and then they’d look out for her. She didn’t know stuff like Romero’s name or the club address, and I didn’t tell her.”

“Go on.”

“Once she got inside the building okay, I went back to the club. Nobody saw me. There was a big stink when they discovered she was gone, but no one suspected me. I was happy, figuring she was home safe and all with her mum and dad.”

Her voice fell. “A week later they brought her back. She didn’t talk to me or no one. And she didn’t cry any more, either.”

For several heartbeats, none of them spoke.

Eve glanced at Debra’s blanched face and knew she was thinking the same thing. How could someone who should have helped little Tala betray her instead? She steeled herself to ask more questions. “Did you find out how she got taken back to the club?”

“No. Everyone was scared to talk to her. Scared even more ’cause she’d stopped crying all the time. I kept thinking what they must of done to her, scared of what they’d do to me if they found out.”

“It looks like they did.”

“I ran—that’s how they found out. I couldn’t stand hanging around waiting for them to get me. I sneaked out just like before, but this time they were watching. They made me tell everything and then beat me up. That’s when I knew they were going to kill me, because no one was allowed to hit us.” Sobs shook her chest in quick gasps.

The nurse poked her head into the room. Eve signaled “one minute” and turned to Mari. “How did you escape the men?”

“I don’t know. I woke up in the hospital.”

For the first time since Eve started the interview, Debra spoke. “They dumped her into the Chicago, but a patrolman saw them and fished her out. It was touch and go. You’re a lucky girl, Marikit.”

“I want to testify against Danny Romero!”

Eve released the girl’s hand and stood. “Thank you, Mari. We’ll take you to a safe place until you can. With your help, we’ll put Danny Romero behind bars. I promise you.”

“And send Tala home?”

“Yes. And send Tala home.”

A week later, Eve and Debra were the sole attendants at Marikit’s funeral. An anonymous benefactor paid for it. A bouquet of Sampaguitas sat on the coffin, mocking the two mourners. Mocking their failure to find Tala. The club. A group of Asian girls called the Sampaguitas.

“I made a promise to you, Marikit.” Eve dumped the flowers into the trash and stomped them flat. “I’m going to put Danny Romero behind bars.”

Rain pelted the Japanese garden. Eve hunched her shoulders and gazed around her. Her heart pounded. She’d made a promise, and no matter how long it took, she’d keep it.

She sheltered her eyes and peered up. The sky glowered with dark clouds that roiled from horizon to horizon. This storm was going to last awhile. Jake had chosen a bad day to walk around the island.

Across the garden, she spotted a second entrance. Betting it would lead to the stream that flowed from the waterfall pool, she cut a path through the vegetation until she stumbled onto the stream. Already the water was overflowing its banks and hurtling toward the ocean. At the waterfall, she picked the fruit easiest to reach and waded downstream to the cave. No sense battling the rain attacking the bare mountainside she had climbed that morning.

She entered the cave, soaked to her bones, teeth chattering. Betty and Crystal scooted a chair close to the hearth and handed her a coconut shell of their seafood concoction. “Sit and sip,” Betty commanded. “We don’t have towels to dry you off, but between the fire and the soup, we’re going to stop those shivers.”