Efren only nodded, his gaze glued to the floor.

'Let me summarize what you've told us so far,' Kate said, 'and then we have a few more questions. Okay?' She waited until Efren nodded, and then went on in a gentle voice. 'You were approached by a neighbor who'd applied with a recruiter and had gotten a job in the United States.' She spelled the neighbor's name and Mila nodded.

'I hope he didn't experience the same nightmare we did,' Mila said. 'We should try to locate him and be sure. He said he was going to work in New York.'

'We will make every attempt to find him,' Kate assured her, 'but you should be aware that many times the neighbor who tells you about the jobs is paid by the recruiter. Many times the neighbor is still in the home village, living very well by betraying his friends. I'm sorry,' she added when Efren and Mila looked stricken. 'I hope I'm wrong.'

'I hope you are too,' Mila whispered. 'The person who told us was Efren's cousin. I don't want to think of him suffering like we have, but . . .' She put her arm around her husband when a strangled cry broke free from his chest.

'He had a new car,' Efren sobbed. 'He said he'd gotten it for his mother to drive when he left. He lied, Mila. He lied and our daughter is gone.'

Scarlett exhaled. To be betrayed by family was another agony they'd have to endure. She met Kate's eyes and could see that she was thinking the same thing.

Once he'd calmed, Kate began again, asking Efren for further details of his recruitment. Efren explained that the recruiter had charged an exorbitant placement fee for his services, so not only had the recruiter been paid by the traffickers, but he'd stolen the Bautistas' savings as well. Efren had taken out a loan at such a high interest rate that it was pretty much assured he would never be able to pay it back. He'd come to the United States hoping for honest work and a living wage, only to find himself in a worse situation than any indentured servant.

The family had been separated almost immediately, Mila and Efren only allowed to see each other only four times during the first year, and not at all in the last two. That had been imposed by Chip Anders, who taunted Efren by telling him he was sleeping with his wife and daughters, then forced his compliance by threatening to do the same to John Paul.

'Do you want to apply for a U visa?' Peter Zurich, the immigration attorney, asked.

Efren shrugged. 'I would be humiliated to go home and be laughed at for being such a fool, but I'll continue to hate myself if we stay, so where we are matters not to me. If Mila and my children want to go back, I'll go back.'

Mila looked panicked. 'I don't know. I . . . I just don't know.'

'When do they have to make a decision, Mr Zurich?' Meredith asked using what Scarlett recognized as her counselor voice. Soothing without being condescending, it had an instant effect on Mila, the poor woman's panic visibly receding.

'Within the next few weeks,' Zurich told them, kindly. We need to get a jump on the paperwork, as the others liberated from Anders's factories will also be filing applications and there is a ceiling on how many U visas are issued every year.'

'If they give you permission to start the paperwork and they change their minds,' Meredith asked, 'is that a problem?'

'We can always withdraw an application,' Zurich said.

'Then start it,' Efren said, his eyes remaining downcast. 'Thank you for your kindness.'

Zurich gave all four Bautistas their own cell phones and his business card. 'Call me if you need me.'

Efren didn't take the phone he was offered. 'I can't pay for any of this.'

Zurich placed Efren's phone on the lamp table. 'Right now, don't worry about paying. We're working for you at no charge because we know how many people are in situations just like yours. Five years ago I worked with a family who'd come from India. He was an engineer with a graduate degree and found himself working in a restaurant for no wages. He was embarrassed, much as you are. Today he and his family are US citizens. Their sons are enrolled at the university. And he volunteers his time to help families like his like yours get a new start. We call that paying it forward, and someday I'd like to count on your support in the same way.'

Efren looked up then, his eyes red from crying. 'Thank you for trying to restore my dignity. But I fear it is too late.'

'Not too late, sir,' Zurich said. 'Remember, you're not alone in this. We'll talk again soon. For now, rest.' He looked at the two agents. 'You're going to the temporary shelter for the other people pulled from Anders's factories?'

'Yes,' Kate said. 'You'll represent them too?'

'For now. My office is working to get more attorneys on board. Today it's just me.'

'I'll stay for a little while,' Annabelle Church's grandson said. He smiled at Mila. 'My grandmother made me promise to take care of you.'

As the agents and Zurich left, the CPD sketch artist came in. Scarlett rose to give her a hug. 'Lana. Thanks for coming in. I heard it's your day off.'

'I was cleaning house,' Lana D'Amico said with an easy laugh. 'I'm glad to escape it.'

Scarlett led her to where the Bautistas sat, still twined around each other. 'This is Sergeant D'Amico,' she said. 'She's going to create sketches based on your descriptions of the man and woman who brought you to the city. Sergeant D'Amico is one of my friends. She and I were partners many years ago, before I was a detective. Now she's a police artist.'

'I'm very pleased to meet you,' Lana said. Her smile was always so sweet that it put witnesses at ease, and the Bautistas were no exception. All four visibly relaxed when she took the seat that Kate Coppola had occupied.

'Lieutenant Isenberg? Detective Bishop?' Cell phone to his ear, Deacon stood in the doorway to the adjoining room, motioning them to come, his expression unreadable.

Lana settled her sketchbook on her lap. 'Go ahead,' she said to Scarlett, then turned her smile back to the Bautistas. 'We'll be just fine, won't we?'

'You'll want to come too, Marcus,' Deacon said.

The Bautistas might have relaxed, but Marcus had instantly tensed when Deacon appeared, expecting the news to be bad. Scarlett clasped his hand as they walked into the next room.

'It'll be okay,' she murmured so that only he could hear. 'It can't always be bad.'

Deacon ended his call and gave Marcus an encouraging nod. 'This might be hard to watch, but hopefully you'll be glad you did.' He turned his laptop to face them, revealing a lanky young man lying in a hospital bed, his leg wrapped in bandages and mesh. He was handcuffed to the bed rail, trying to look bored but failing utterly. Under the pain was a great deal of fear.

Deacon did a ta-da gesture at the screen. 'Meet Drake Connor.'

Cincinnati, Ohio

Wednesday 5 August, 1.15 P.M.

'Sonofafuckingbitch,' Marcus snarled, and took a step toward the laptop. 'Can that little piece of shit hear me?'

'No,' Deacon said. 'It's a live feed, but he can't see or hear us. The agent and detective have earphones, so we can communicate with them.'

Scarlett tugged on his hand. 'Marcus.'

Marcus drew a steadying breath. 'I'm sorry. Just seeing him . . .' He glanced at Isenberg, surprised that she hadn't thrown him out already. 'I'll control my temper better.'

'I was wondering when I'd really see it,' the lieutenant said. 'I was starting to wonder if you were flesh and blood.'

'Oh, I'd say so,' Scarlett whispered, and Marcus barely swallowed his laugh, grateful for the distraction. He'd needed a moment to shove his temper down and she'd given him that.

'I heard that,' Isenberg said blandly. 'You shouldn't poke the bear through the zoo bars, Detective. Especially since we haven't yet had our chat.'

Marcus's good humor became a scowl, but Scarlett just shook her head and sat down across from her boss, studying the young man on the screen. 'Who are the men in suits?'

'The guy in the black suit is Special Agent McChesney of the Detroit Field Office,' Deacon said. 'The guy in the gray suit is Detective Danhauer, Detroit PD Homicide. They have earpieces, so we can ask them questions. The guy sitting on the other side of the bed is Graham White, public defender.'

'Does Drake know that his sister is missing?' Scarlett asked.

'No, not yet,' Deacon said. 'Detroit hasn't told him. But the really good news is this.' He turned his phone to show them the screen, a photo of a flash drive. 'Found under the SUV he was trying to steal. He'd tossed it there when the cops pulled into the gas station parking lot. It has his thumbprint on it. Detroit PD says it has several encrypted files. They're sharing the files with Tanaka. He and Detroit CSU are working to open them. We've been comparing notes, prepping the agent and the detective. They're waiting for us before they start the interrogation.'

'Tell them to proceed,' Isenberg said.

They started out with the shooting in the gas station, which Drake promptly denied, claiming he'd only tried to steal an SUV. But the detective calmly showed Drake and his lawyer a clip of the security video on his iPad, and Drake became sullen.

'What are you offering?' Drake's lawyer asked.

'Nothing,' the detective said with a tight smile. 'We're not finished.'

'We're barely started,' the agent agreed.

'Where'd you get the gun, Drake?' the detective asked.

'You don't have to answer that,' his lawyer counseled.

The detective kept talking. 'It's registered to your girlfriend's daddy. Who is missing, by the way. The whole family is missing. Cinci PD tells us that there were shots fired and the Anders family was removed from their home by force. Did you take them somewhere, Drake? Bury them in a shallow grave, maybe?'

'No. I don't know anything about that.' But his eyes said otherwise. 'I didn't go over there very often. Her father hated me.'

'Drake,' his lawyer cautioned.

'Well he did. I'm just sayin' that I had no cause to go over there.'

'Then how did you get his gun?' the agent asked innocently.

'Stephie gave it to me.' Drake shrugged nonchalantly. 'I live in a rough neighborhood. She was scared for me.'

Deacon leaned into the microphone on his laptop. 'He lives in a low-crime neighborhood,' he murmured to the Detroit agent. 'Not rich, but not rough.'

'When did she give it to you?' the agent was asking.

Drake was quiet for a moment, his eyes calculating before he spoke. 'Last week.'

'So you never visited at night?' the special agent asked.

'I said I didn't,' Drake said.

'The punk's fucking pathological,' Marcus muttered. 'He raped Tala and Erica every chance he got.' Scarlett squeezed his hand under the table. He drew another calming breath.

'So you never met up with your girlfriend at night?' the agent pressed.

'He said he didn't,' the lawyer snapped. 'Next question, please.'

The agent ignored him. 'So you and your girlfriend and your Ruger with cop-killing bullets weren't in an alley in Cincinnati two nights ago looking for drugs?'

'No!' He'd been pale from the surgery, but visibly paled further.

'Then how did bullets from your gun which Stephie gave you last week get into two victims in that alley early yesterday morning?' The agent tilted his head mockingly. 'We don't understand.'

'It wasn't my gun.'

'Oh it was,' the agent said. 'Ballistics prove it. And your fingerprint was found on one of the casings you left behind.'

The public defender sighed. 'I want copies of the ballistics report and the print match.'

Drake turned on the defender. 'You believe them? You're supposed to be on my side.'

'Are you really that stupid, Drake?' the detective asked, laughter in his voice. 'Your lawyer knows your goose is cooked. They're gonna put a needle in your arm.'

The lawyer shook his head when Drake looked like he wanted to bolt. 'They're lying, Drake, trying to scare you. Michigan hasn't had the death penalty in a hundred and fifty years.'

'Ohio does, though,' the detective said with a cold smile. 'We'll try you here in Michigan for the murder of that woman you shot in the parking lot last night. You'll get life, for sure. But then Ohio will get their turn. You killed that young woman in the alley yesterday. You even went back and shot her in the head to be sure she was dead. You shot the man trying to save her life in the back. Ohio's gonna be sliding a needle in your arm, boy. I know I'll be there on the other side of the glass, watching.'

'I'll bring popcorn,' the agent deadpanned.

Scarlett snickered, making Marcus's lips twitch, venting off just a smidgeon of his rage, but enough so that he could think.

'I didn't kill anyone,' Drake insisted. 'You have no proof.'

'We have your gun, Drake,' the agent said. 'That's all the proof we need.'

'What do you want?' the defender asked again.

The special agent held up the flash drive, and Drake's eyes narrowed in anger. 'That's not mine,' he exploded.

'Riiiight,' the agent said. 'It's got your thumbprint on it.'

'Because I found it on the ground when that bitch shot me. I must have touched it then.'

The agent shook his head. 'We have your print on the part that plugs into the computer and that was covered up. See, it's right here in the video. There you are getting shot,' he said, speaking slowly as if narrating. 'Oh, and there you are digging it out of your own pocket and throwing it under the dead lady's SUV. But at no time did you touch the plug part.'

Drake's jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. 'Fuck you.'

'In your dreams, kid,' the agent said, and the detective laughed.

'We're done here,' the defender said, thin-lipped.

Drake turned to the lawyer, his eyes sly again. 'Tell them I'll decrypt the files on the drive if they let me go.'

The lawyer gave him a stunned look. 'Uh, listen, kid, they are not letting you go.'

Drake shrugged. 'Then they'll never know all of Chip Anders's secrets. And he's got good secrets,' he added conspiratorially.

'Ooh, tell Vince to hurry decoding that thing,' Isenberg said quietly. 'The kid was gonna blackmail Stephie's daddy. We might get information about the traffickers.'