Page 96 of Rage

A heavy beat of silence. “That would explain a lot.”

I tell him about the photos, the emails, the chat-room logs, and some of the code being used. “I looked up the acronyms and emojis. They’re talking in code.”

“Emojis are tougher to search for and track.”

“What about the tattoos?” I ask.

“Those are brands,” he tells me. “They’re used to show ownership of someone who’s being trafficked.”

A waxy sense of nausea rises into my throat. “Human trafficking?”

“It’s no longer just a big-city problem.”

I force the information into my brain, try to process it, make it make sense. It’s like trying to shove a square peg into a round hole. “So, you knew.”

“Not until I saw those files,” he says. “I’m barely into the first.”

I sense our thoughts zinging and he poses the question both of us are asking. “How does Samuel Yutzy fit into all of this?”

Images from the files fly at me. I think of everything I know about the investigation so far. The relationships and connections and all of the things that don’t add up.

“Yutzy met Borntrager at the rager here in Painters Mill.” I’m thinking aloud, giving my brain free rein. “She was in trouble. Needed money. A place to stay.”

“She appealed to him,” he says. “She needed help.”

“He got her the job at the brewery,” I add. “When that went south, he got her the job at The Cheetah Lounge.”

“Samuel Yutzy brought her in,” he says slowly. “He recruited her.”

The words hit me like quick, hard punches. Such a terrible word, the meaning of which is not lost on me. “At some point, they became involved.”

“Was it serious?”

“And unexpected.” My mind spins through the implications of that. “Yutzy’s parents told me in the last few weeks he’d come back to them.”

A beat of silence and then he says, “His relationship with Borntrager may have changed things.”

“He realized what he was doing was wrong. That he was hurting people. And he stopped.”

“But he was already in too deep.”

“All of them were. Yutzy. Shetler. And Borntrager. They knew too much about the wrong people and they became threats.”

“Shit.”

I hear voices in the background and realize he’s still in his office in Columbus. “Kate, look, I’m about to jump back into this meeting. I think we’re on track. Keep at it. I’ll try to keep up with you, but I’ve got another meeting. In the interim … I called to let you know … Carter Brooks paid for Borntrager’s attorney.”

“They weren’t exactly on friendly terms. Borntrager quit without giving notice. Why would he pay for her attorney?”

“I don’t know, but there’s more. We heard back from the New Mexico Secretary of State’s office. Get this: Brooks is also part owner of The Cheetah Lounge.”

The information lands another blow against my brain. “The missing link,” I say. “Any word on the owner of the house on Lost Creek Road?”

“Still cutting through red tape.”

I’m still thinking about Brooks. “Brooks is in this up to his eyeballs.”

“We don’t know how,” he says. “Or who else is involved.”