Who Will Find Them?

Jake had a four-hour drive to mull over all the different ways he might convince the people at Safe Haven that he was simply a concerned individual who wanted to check on the young girl he managed to rescue from a trafficker. No matter how he adjusted the scenario in his mind, 50/50 was the best odds he could come up with. What Jake finally realized was that he needed some help from an outside source; possibly someone from the media. Hopefully, the incident wouldn’t be considered yesterday’s news. Out of the throngs of media pursuing him yesterday, he hoped at least one reporter might be interested in a human-interest follow-up piece.

Arriving on time or ahead of schedule was something Jake took a great deal of pride in. People paid good money and made plans based on published arrival times, and it was his responsibility to be as close to on time as possible. Today he was five minutes early. Once everyone had disembarked and Jake had searched the bus for forgotten personal items, he was about to head for the garage when a man in a suit approached him. The guy was slightly taller than Jake and approximately mid-forties.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you Jake Martin?”

“That’s me, and you are?”

The man reached out and handed Jake a business card that read Ashford Investigations.

“My name is Bill Ashford, and I was hoping to speak with you about what happened yesterday, if you have the time.”

“I have the rest of the day, just not here. This gate needs to be clear for the next bus, but if you can meet me at the garage, we can talk there. It’s located in Tuxedo; are you familiar with that area?”

“Yes, very familiar. I’ll catch up with you there.”

Jake pulled his bus off the gate and drove to the garage while Bill walked to his car and headed toward a place he never thought he’d have a reason to visit ever again. When he pulled into the parking lot, Jake was standing by his bus waiting for him. Bill steadied his nerves, put the events that happened there back in the past, at least for now, pulled up next to him, and asked Jake if he’d like to go to the diner down the street for a coffee.

“Best offer I’ve had all day. Before we go, I have one question: What does a private investigator want with me?”

“Fair question. I think we may be able to help one another. It involves the trafficked girl.”

“If this entails putting those bastards behind bars, I’m all in. Let me get my car, and I’ll follow you there.”

Jake retrieved his car, and they drove to a small neighborhood diner. The place was mostly empty, so finding a booth wasn’t an issue.

“Is this a regular hangout for you, Bill?”

“An old friend and I used to meet here occasionally when he worked down the street. That was a while ago. This is the first time I’ve been in here since he passed away.”

“Was he one of the ones killed in that explosion a few years ago? I heard that was a real mess.”

Bill sat with his head down, staring at the table, a blank look on his face, almost as if in a trance. “Mess doesn’t come close to describing it. All that is in the past. What we need to talk about is what’s happening in the present. I’ve done some research and found out you have some law enforcement training. Is that correct?”

“I was in the Air Force’s Security Police for four years. The work was pretty routine stuff, mostly guard duty. No investigative work.”

“That’s still more experience than most people have. Since helping to free the girl, has anyone besides the police contacted you?”

“I wouldn’t call it contact; it was more of an attempted payback for messing up a delivery. Two guys jumped me in front of my condo this morning. I was grateful for my martial arts training. I doubt I’ll be seeing them again.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. People who do that kind of work take it personally when someone gets the better of them. It’s a bruised ego thing.”

“Well, I think I bruised more than their egos. So, what can we do to make sure this girl has been placed somewhere safe?”

“Well, to start with, we need to find out what NY Child Protective Services has done so far. In cases like this, the receiving agency considers the kids runaways and returns them to the original facility.”

“I already have that part covered. A friend of mine at the NYC Port Authority told me she was being sent back to a place in Baltimore called Safe Haven. The problem is that’s the place she told me was a prison for kids.”

“Interesting. The woman who owns the organization just received an award from the Governor for all the great work she’s doing. If what the girl says is true, there is definitely something off.”

“Well, I believe her, and if you had heard the emotion in her voice, you’d believe her too. I’m off for the next two days and was planning to try and visit Beth. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s an excellent idea, but not alone. Let me contact a friend of mine who’s a reporter for the Baltimore Sun and see if he is willing to go with you. It would make a great byline: Rescued Girl Visited by the Bus Driver Who Saved Her. What reporter wouldn’t want a story like that?”

“Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you before trying to see her. Now that we have that worked out, let’s order. I’ve only had a sandwich to eat all day, and I’m starving.”

The men ordered and got to know one another better over supper.