Amber put the car in park, gathered her things, and exited the vehicle. I got out and eyed the place. Where were the kids? The place looked deserted. How much worse could it be than the ghettos of Bed-Stuy, where I grew up? Or the ones where I’d spent time searching for evidence in a haunting case I’d handled only last fall.
We negotiated the buckled concrete walkway to the front door. Amber knocked three times. Birds sang cheerful morning songs. Strange muzak. After a lengthy wait, the door creaked open. A short, brown man around forty or so, wearing faded jeans and a white wife-beater shirt, stood in the doorway. He leaned on a set of crutches, his right foot encased in plaster.
“Can you tell him who I am?” I asked Amber.
Amber leaned toward me. “I know. I’ll make the introductions, tell him who you represent, then ask him if he’s ever heard of Maria Benitez. Okay?”
That seemed simple enough, so I nodded.
Amber turned toward the man and engaged him in conversation in Spanish. He nodded. I heard her mention Maria’s name. He nodded some more. Interesting. But then he shook his head.
“Gracias,” Amber said. She turned to me. “He says that one of the women living here has mentioned the name Maria Benitez on occasion. However, he doesn’t know anything else about her.”
“Okay. Could you ask him, who lives here and where are they? Who is the woman who mentioned Maria and where is she?”
Amber relayed my questions to him in Spanish. He responded.
“They’re all working right now,” she said. “Luisa works as a crab picker. You’ll find her at the processing plant about half a mile from here.”
“Is Luisa his wife?”
“No, she’s his cousin.” Amber turned to face me directly. “He says five families live here. That’s pretty typical. And I’ve seen much worse.”
*****
When Amber and I reached the processing plant, she said, “Why don’t I go in and see if I can find Luisa and sn
eak her out here? She may feel uncomfortable being asked questions in the presence of her coworkers.”
“Sure,” I said.
She left the car and entered the building.
I sat alone, glancing from side to side. Just how big was this operation we were unearthing, anyway?
Was the CIA going to swoop in at any moment?
I laughed. “Good God, Sam. Don’t be ridiculous.” I said out loud.
Then, I heard the gunshot and flung myself down on the front seat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I pulled myself upright in the seat, feeling like an idiot.
I’d been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed the truck pull up to the loading dock only about fifty feet away. And when the damn thing backfired, I could’ve sworn it was a gunshot.
I had just collected my wits, when Amber emerged from the building with a stocky brown woman in tow. The woman’s hair was pulled back and tucked under a ball cap. She wore a striped T-shirt, jeans, and a worried look.
Amber hustled Luisa into the car’s back seat, murmuring in Spanish. Luisa looked from Amber to me, brown eyes growing wider by the second.
“I’ve explained who you are and that you need to know about Maria Benitez. Do you have more specific questions?” Amber asked.
“Luisa, what have you heard about Maria and Bower Farms?”
Amber translated. Luisa shook her head. “Nada,” she said. Amber shrugged.
“What about Maria and Dwayne Sutterman?”