pointed.
“We know who Ramona is. Thanks. And we’ll try to get you some services; I’ll make some calls.”
The woman laid her cheek along the baby’s downy head. “Okay.”
Lei and Stevens approached the bluff-side tent of the imposing Hawaiian woman. She was still out in front, this time working a basket. It was an elaborate construction with patterns of dark hala leaves worked into geometric shapes among light golden ones. Seated at the rickety table beside her was a dark-haired young woman. She looked up at their approach and hurried into the tent, zipping it up behind her.
“Don’t tell me, the other guy looks worse.” Ramona looked Lei over.
Lei snorted a laugh. “I wish. I was hit by a car. Run off the road.”
“Someone have it in for you?”
“I don’t know.” Ramona had a way of bringing out the truth. “Maybe.”
“Well, then you know a little about what brings a lot of us out here.” Ramona waved a hand. “This camp’s for those with nowhere else to go.”
Lei gestured to the tent. “Does she have anywhere else to go?”
“I don’t know. Probably. She hasn’t talked much.”
“Can we ask her a few questions? We just want to see if she might know this girl.” Lei brought out the photo. Ramona peered at it and shook her head.
“Don’t know her.” She turned to the tent. “Anchara, come out. Nothing to worry about from these folks.”
The door unzipped and a face peered out. The girl knelt in the opening. She was striking, with dark almond eyes set above scimitar cheekbones. Jet-black hair hung in snarls and tangles past her hips. Lei’s hand crept up to touch her own shorn head at the sight.
“Hi, Anchara,” Lei said. “We just want to see if you know someone.” She proffered the photo.
The girl came out a little more, held out her hand. Lei put the photo in it and witnessed the moment Anchara recognized Jane Doe. She dropped the picture and it fluttered to the ground as she withdrew inside and zipped up the tent.
Stevens had a way of reining in his presence so he became like a tree or a stone, there but not threatening—a calm stillness that he could don at will. Lei called it his “cloak of invisibility,” and she wished she knew how he did it. He hunkered down by the closed flap, finally speaking.
“You know her? We just want to find out who she was.”
No answer.
“We just want to return her to her people, give her a decent burial.”
“I don’t know name.” The girl’s voice was heavily accented. Nothing Lei knew, but Stevens’s brows knit. Lei picked the photo up off the ground.
“How do you know her?”
Silence.
Stevens prompted. “She a friend?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“I only know her stage name.”
“Stage name?”
“You know. For the…men.” She stumbled over the words. “Her name Vixen.”
“Vixen. Hm.” Stevens sounded thoughtful. “So how did you two meet?”
“In the place.”
“What place?” Gentle and slow, he crouched beside her, talking to her through the green nylon. The darkness of not seeing him must have felt like a confessional.
Lei, however, struggled with impatience, pacing back and forth and finally sitting in the chair beside Ramona and stripping the thorns off an unworked piece of hala leaf. She didn’t have Ramona’s sharpened thumbnail, but once she got the end of the tensile strip of thorns, it was easy to pull off.
“The place where they kept us. That place.”
“Where was that?”
“The ship mostly, but sometimes we’d be in a living place.”
“Ship?”
“We came on a ship. From our countries.”
“So you were both in the sex trade?”
Silence. Lei guessed Anchara wasn’t sure what that meant. He went on.
“So you both saw men there?”
“No. We went to hotels and met them there. Then we went back.”
“Who kept you there?”
Silence.
“Did you run away? Is that how you got here?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get away?”
“Vixen. She had taken the
“We know who Ramona is. Thanks. And we’ll try to get you some services; I’ll make some calls.”
The woman laid her cheek along the baby’s downy head. “Okay.”
Lei and Stevens approached the bluff-side tent of the imposing Hawaiian woman. She was still out in front, this time working a basket. It was an elaborate construction with patterns of dark hala leaves worked into geometric shapes among light golden ones. Seated at the rickety table beside her was a dark-haired young woman. She looked up at their approach and hurried into the tent, zipping it up behind her.
“Don’t tell me, the other guy looks worse.” Ramona looked Lei over.
Lei snorted a laugh. “I wish. I was hit by a car. Run off the road.”
“Someone have it in for you?”
“I don’t know.” Ramona had a way of bringing out the truth. “Maybe.”
“Well, then you know a little about what brings a lot of us out here.” Ramona waved a hand. “This camp’s for those with nowhere else to go.”
Lei gestured to the tent. “Does she have anywhere else to go?”
“I don’t know. Probably. She hasn’t talked much.”
“Can we ask her a few questions? We just want to see if she might know this girl.” Lei brought out the photo. Ramona peered at it and shook her head.
“Don’t know her.” She turned to the tent. “Anchara, come out. Nothing to worry about from these folks.”
The door unzipped and a face peered out. The girl knelt in the opening. She was striking, with dark almond eyes set above scimitar cheekbones. Jet-black hair hung in snarls and tangles past her hips. Lei’s hand crept up to touch her own shorn head at the sight.
“Hi, Anchara,” Lei said. “We just want to see if you know someone.” She proffered the photo.
The girl came out a little more, held out her hand. Lei put the photo in it and witnessed the moment Anchara recognized Jane Doe. She dropped the picture and it fluttered to the ground as she withdrew inside and zipped up the tent.
Stevens had a way of reining in his presence so he became like a tree or a stone, there but not threatening—a calm stillness that he could don at will. Lei called it his “cloak of invisibility,” and she wished she knew how he did it. He hunkered down by the closed flap, finally speaking.
“You know her? We just want to find out who she was.”
No answer.
“We just want to return her to her people, give her a decent burial.”
“I don’t know name.” The girl’s voice was heavily accented. Nothing Lei knew, but Stevens’s brows knit. Lei picked the photo up off the ground.
“How do you know her?”
Silence.
Stevens prompted. “She a friend?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“I only know her stage name.”
“Stage name?”
“You know. For the…men.” She stumbled over the words. “Her name Vixen.”
“Vixen. Hm.” Stevens sounded thoughtful. “So how did you two meet?”
“In the place.”
“What place?” Gentle and slow, he crouched beside her, talking to her through the green nylon. The darkness of not seeing him must have felt like a confessional.
Lei, however, struggled with impatience, pacing back and forth and finally sitting in the chair beside Ramona and stripping the thorns off an unworked piece of hala leaf. She didn’t have Ramona’s sharpened thumbnail, but once she got the end of the tensile strip of thorns, it was easy to pull off.
“The place where they kept us. That place.”
“Where was that?”
“The ship mostly, but sometimes we’d be in a living place.”
“Ship?”
“We came on a ship. From our countries.”
“So you were both in the sex trade?”
Silence. Lei guessed Anchara wasn’t sure what that meant. He went on.
“So you both saw men there?”
“No. We went to hotels and met them there. Then we went back.”
“Who kept you there?”
Silence.
“Did you run away? Is that how you got here?”
“Yes.”
“How did you get away?”
“Vixen. She had taken the
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