“Checking missing person databases. Following leads. Searching through foreign arrests. Interviewing other kids in your similar situation, hoping they had maybe met you somewhere along the line. But I gotta tell you, Rory, your case has haunted me for a very long time. In recent years, we’ve been using facial recognition to try to match victims. Images of you after your ‘mugging’ made their way into our algorithms, which then matched up with images of you as a child. I went to the DCFS and showed your picture around until I was connected with Ms. Sutlidge, and here I am—almost six years later.”
“Congratulations,” I replied.
I mean, how else did he expect me to respond? Did he want a medal or something? Didn’t matter whether he’d spent years of his life looking for me because by the time he saw those images online and started the search, I’d already been living with the aftermath for a year. So, in reality, he was more like almostsevenyears too late to save me now.
“I understand this isn’t easy for you.”
No, he didn’t understand a thing. Did it not occur to him that I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, just knowing he’d seen me at my most vulnerable and knew exactly what had been done?
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Dutch laid out a series of mug shots, all of them men I knew. Men I hated. The visceral reaction in me did not escape him. “Obviously you recognize them.”
Of course, he’d known I’d recognize them. He’d probably seen them all with me in multiple shots.
He placed another image onto the table. It was Nikki.
“And by way of deduction, I’m assuming this is Nicola Aldana.”
“You seem to have all the answers. What do you need me for?”
“To help me get you and Nicola justice.”
I laughed, but there was no humor to be had. No amount of justice now would change what happened then.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“They’re still operating, you know.”
“So shut them down. Arrest them. You don’t need me for that.” I pushed the images on the table away from me. “You have plenty of evidence.”
“We’ve already arrested most of them, but they bailed out and are free men while we put together a case against them.”
“Well, you better get going, then. Time’s ticking.”
Dutch eyed me wearily. “Trust me, we want these guys off the streets as soon as possible. The ones on camera are easy to put away; we have physical evidence against them. But what we’re going for are the ones behind the camera. These guys”—he picked up the photos—“are the body. What we want is to cut off the head.”
“By handing them mine? I don’t think so.”
“Do you know who the head is, Rory?”
Oh, I knew who the head was. I heard his clicking in my sleep. But there wasn’t a chance in hell I was giving him up toalmost-six-years-too-lateDutch.
“Just by your reaction, I can tell you do. We’d offer you protection. Change your identity. They won’t be able to find you.”
“They already have.”
Dutch sat up a little straighter, his busted knee temporarily forgotten. “They did this to you?”
“The right-hand man of the head.”
“Hartman?”
I didn’t bother to confirm or deny, only to point out the obvious. “They already know you’re digging into the operation. He accused me of being an informant. I’m guessing he’s not too happy about me surviving.”
“No, I can imagine he wouldn’t be. All the more reason to get you under the protection of the US Marshal’s department. To relocate and reinvent you.”
“But only if I testify, right?”
