20
The photographer’s studio was located in a live-work loft in the South of Market district only a ten minute drive from Scanguards’ headquarters. The converted warehouse contained eight such lofts, and according to Savannah, the photographer, a woman named Kerry Young, occupied one unit on the top floor.
John pulled to a stop in front of the building, blocking the entry to the common garage, since there was no parking spot in sight. Knowing that the police would take at least a half hour from the time a resident called to complain, there was no chance that he’d get towed. They’d be gone by then. And if he really needed to stay longer, he could rely on one other failsafe: once the arriving officer from parking enforcement ran his plates, he’d get a notification that the car was being used for official police business. He wouldn’t tow it, and John would get a text message, alerting him that he needed to move his car. It was a perk Samson had negotiated with the police chief to make it easier for Scanguards staff to patrol the city.
John got out of the car, as Grayson pulled up next to him, double parking the sportscar. John closed the car door, then walked around the front. He didn’t get a chance to display his old-fashioned Southern manners by opening the door for Savannah, because she’d already hopped out of the car and was shutting the door. John clicked his key remote, locking the car.
“Ready for this?” he asked her, meeting her eyes.
“What are we gonna say to her? I mean, we can’t just storm in there and accuse her of having kidnapped Buffy and the other girls,” Savannah said, with a doubtful look on her face.
“Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. All you need to do is get us into the building.” He pointed to the entry system, a rectangular box with buttons, a speaker, and a camera, which allowed the residents to see who wanted to gain entry. “Ring her flat and tell her you need to come up to see her urgently. Grayson and I will stand to the side so the camera will only show you.”
John moved aside, out of the camera angle and motioned for Grayson to do the same. He watched Savannah punch in a few numbers. A ringing sound emanated from the box, then a crackling, accompanied by a female voice.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Young, I’m Savannah Rice. You remember me? I came with my daughter Buffy to have her picture taken a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh yes, now I recognize you. Is there a problem?”
“Yes,” Savannah said, “I need your help.” She looked around herself as if she heard something. “My cell phone’s battery is dead, and—” She whirled her head around and then back to the intercom. “Oh God, no! That man, he’s still following me. Please! I need to get off the street and call for help.”
“Quickly!” Kerry Young said. The buzzer sounded at the same time.
Savannah pressed against the door and held it open.
John walked to her. “That’s quite some acting.” He gripped the door, let Savannah enter ahead of him, then walked into the foyer with Grayson on his heels.
“You can always count on a woman to help another woman if she believes a man is chasing her,” Savannah said and pressed the elevator button. The doors opened immediately.
Savannah stepped inside, while John pointed to the stairs. “Grayson and I will take the stairs. Give us about ten seconds before you press the button for the top floor, so we can get upstairs before you reach the top.”
She nodded.
John ran up the first flight with Grayson following him close behind. The building had only four floors, including the entry level, and since both he and Grayson used their vampire speed to ascend the stairs, they were just around the elevator shaft when it pinged, announcing that Savannah had reached the top floor.
A door opened right opposite the elevator just as Savannah stepped out of the cab.
“Come on in,” John heard the photographer say.
“Thank you so much, I’m really grateful.”
When he heard Savannah’s footfalls on the concrete floor, John charged around the corner and reached for the door, gripping it, so Ms. Young couldn’t slam it in his face.
She cried out in shock and stumbled backward. John followed her into the flat, Grayson behind him.
“Help!” the woman screamed, cold fear in her eyes.
John raised his hand and motioned Grayson to step back. “Easy, Ms. Young. We don’t mean you any harm. We’re just here to get answers to some questions.”
The woman edged farther back until her back hit the dining room table. “Get away from me.” She glanced past him and Grayson. “You! I was trying to help you!”
Savannah stopped between John and Grayson. “Ms. Young. It’s not what it looks like. I swear, nobody’s going to hurt you. But we have questions. Regarding the photos you took of my daughter, of Buffy. She was kidnapped five days ago. And the pictures you took are our only lead.”
The woman tossed a look between Savannah, Grayson, and John. “They’re not the police. Or they would have said so.”
“We’re private investigators,” John offered. “Unfortunately, most people don’t let us into their homes voluntarily, so we have to fall back on a ruse or two. My apologies.”
She still hesitated, still looked at them with doubt and fear. “I want you to leave now, and I won’t call the police.”
John shook his head. “We’ll leave—after you’ve answered our questions.”
“I don’t understand. I’m just a photographer.”
John reached into his jacket pocket. Ms. Young shrieked, as if she expected him to retrieve a gun. “Calm yourself, Ms. Young.” He pulled out Buffy’s picture and held it up so she could see it. “Did you take this picture?”
She stared at him for a moment, then diverted her gaze to the photo. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, I remember her. She’s very photogenic. A pleasure to work with.” Then she looked at Savannah. “You said she was kidnapped? Is that true, or just another ruse so you could get in here?”
A sad expression on her face, Savannah shook her head. “She was taken five days ago. Just like a dozen other kids.”
Stunned, Ms. Young looked back at the photo, then at John. “What does this photo have to do with it?”
“Every single girl that disappeared came to you for a photo session before her disappearance,” John said calmly, even though he hadn’t received confirmation from Ryder yet.
The photographer’s eyes widened in shock. “No, that can’t be. B-b-but that’s impossible,” she stammered. She pressed her hand to her chest, her gaze bouncing back and forth between Savannah, Grayson, and John. “You think I’ve got something to do with it?” She shook her head and then pointed to Savannah. “But you were here with her. You know nothing happened here. You took her home with you.”
John cleared his throat. “We’re not saying that you were the one who took the girls. But you’re the common link. The only thing these girls have in common is that you took their pictures.”
“But that doesn’t have to mean anything,” she protested.
“It does,” John said. “That’s why we’re here. We need to know what you did with the digital files, who saw them, who could have copied them, who had access to them.”
“Nobody does. My files are secure.” She pointed to a desk in the corner, where two large computer monitors stood next to each other, a keyboard in front of them, and a docking station with a laptop in between. Various pictures were displayed on the screens.
John motioned to the desk. “Grayson.”
The hybrid walked to it and plopped into the chair, then touched the mouse.
“Hey, you can’t just use my computer.” But Grayson didn’t even turn around, so she addressed John instead. “What if he deletes something? That’s confidential stuff.”
“Don’t worry, he’s trained,” John said calmly and approached the desk, as Grayson swiveled around in the chair.
“Safe, huh?” Grayson huffed. “Then why are there pictures of all these kids on a publicly accessible website?” He pointed to several of them. “Look at this, John. I recognize this one, this one, and these two. They’re the ones from the police reports.”
“Fuck!” John spun around. “You call that secure? Every pervert in the country can see those pictures.”
“No!” Ms. Young protested and approached, looking more pissed off than frightened now. “The only reason you can see them on this site is because I’m logged in.” She pointed to a spot in the top right-hand corner of the screen. “I was working on it earlier, that’s why I’m still logged in. Nobody can access the site without a login and password.” She turned around to look at Savannah, who’d also stepped closer. “You know that. I told you that I give a separate login and password to each client so they can see the proofs online, but they can only see their own, not the pictures of any other client.”
Savannah nodded and looked at John. “It’s true. Ms. Young gave me a password to choose which pictures I wanted from the shoot. And it only worked for a week.”
Ms. Young nodded eagerly. “The logins expire after seven days. And unless a parent shares them with their friends, there’s no way anybody else could have seen those photos.”
“Actually,” Savannah said slowly, “there is.”
Everybody’s gaze snapped to her.
“How?” John asked.
“Somebody could have hacked the system. It’s not that hard.”
The photographer opened her mouth to protest, but Savannah lifted her hand. “I know what I’m talking about. You’re not a government agency, nor a high-powered tech company. You don’t have the kind of security measures in place those companies do.” She pointed to the computer. “If somebody wanted to get in there, they could.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ms. Young ground out.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe it,” John said. “I believe it. Tell me, where do you keep the names and addresses of your clients?”
Ms. Young tipped her chin in the direction of the computer. “On a database.”
“And I assume that you somehow link the addresses with the photos?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. The database is separate.”
The clicks of the computer mouse sounded behind him, and John looked over his shoulder and noticed Grayson clicking on the pictures and revealing the file names. He turned, grinning triumphantly at the photographer. “Last name, date, and sequential number? That’s your naming convention for the photo files, really? And you think the person who hacked into your computer and swiped the database wouldn’t be able to match the photos to the names and addresses?” Grayson clicked his tongue. “Amateur move.”
A gasp came from Ms. Young, and John saw her press her hand to her mouth. Her eyes took on a pleading look. “But why would somebody…”
“Because child sex traffickers are—”
“Shut up, Grayson!” John wanted to bare his fangs at the hybrid, instead, he just glared at him.
Grayson grunted something unintelligible, which could be an apology, but it was too late. John shifted his gaze to Savannah, and saw the tears in her eyes. Fuck! Did Grayson have to remind her what fate was awaiting Buffy if they couldn’t find her in time? Insensitive bastard!
Even though he knew that Savannah had to already have suspected that a child trafficking ring was a sex trafficking ring, there was no need to spell it out and make the pain worse. It was better to leave certain things unspoken. He wished he could comfort Savannah, but this was neither the time nor the place.
Instead, John addressed the photographer again. “We need to take your computer with us. We’ll have our IT team comb through it to find any evidence of hacking.”
“But I need this for work. Without it—”
“If you’d rather I’d take you down to the police station and have you booked as an accessory for thirteen counts of kidnapping and child trafficking, that can be arranged,” John thundered.
Ms. Young shrank back, visibly intimidated, and wrapped her arms around her torso as if she was cold. “Take it, please. I’ll cooperate. Whatever you need. Logins, passwords. Just ask for it.”
John nodded, somewhat appeased by her compliance. “My IT team might call you if they need anything else.” He pointed to a stack of business cards on her desk. “Is your cell number on there?”
“No, just my business number.”
He took a card and a pen and handed both to her. “I need a number where we can reach you 24/7.”
She quickly scribbled a number on the back of the card and handed it back to him.
“One other thing: what happened here tonight, anything we told you, or you told us, not a word to anybody about it. Not to your mother, your father, your sister, your brother, your best friend. Do you understand? If you tell anybody about what we suspect, I’ll have to assume you’re trying to warn them. And then I’ll have to come after you.”
“Yes, I understand.” Ms. Young nodded quickly, her lower lip quivering.
He hated scaring women, but in this case it was important to make it clear to her that she couldn’t tell anybody that they were following this lead. Any leak might tip the people behind this off and they would disappear before he could snatch them.