I wrote this some time ago under another pen name. If you prefer not to read a BTB, you might like something else better.
I knew it was going to be bad when two of the three detectives turned away from me when I walked in. There was a flat panel monitor on the wall rolling static on the screen. The one detective who would look at me told me to sit. We were in a small room. The chair was at the head of the table away with the best view of the screen. The talking detective sat down.
"Look, I'm sorry to have to say this but we need you to watch a video we just got." His name tag said "Ellison" and there was a coffee stain on his shirt down by the belt. "It came in last night and it got to me this morning." He paused a minute and looked away. Was he wondering what to say next or sending a signal to his partners? I couldn't see his face.
"Maybe, it's her ... you know, your wife, but we need you to say so, " Ellison said, turning back to me.
Jaclyn ran off with asshole, no note, clothes and jewelry gone. I reported her missing and the cops had been looking. This was the first I'd heard in months. I told him to go ahead; what else was there to do?
Detective Ellison nodded and one of his deaf-mute playmates pointed the remote and the big screen came on and a video started. At first everything was black, then a picture flipped wildly before they got the camera set up. Now, on the screen was a shiny pair of black maryjanes, thick platforms with high heels. The camera moved up and there were white socks that went over the knee; then came lots of bare thigh. Finally, the camera captured a tiny, pleated plaid skirt that left the girl's pierced navel exposed, something glittery dangling there. A white blouse was tied up to show lots of midriff. Fidgeting the way young girls do, hands plucking at her short skirt, feet in a constant little shuffle, hips in a tiny sway, I was watching a sexy teen tart until the camera showed her face. There was too much makeup and twin ponytails very high on the back of her head, but it was her. I asked them to stop and they did.
The cyber-crime guys intercepted the file during a routine search, Ellison said. The first cut on origin was a Russian syndicate. "We think she may not be in the country right now," Ellison offered. I reached forward and took the Styrofoam cup of water. "The video was taken from a platform that our guys hacked. It runs parallel to commercial porn sites that appear to be controlled by the same syndicate. They send files like this back and forth to their operations here. The videos show girls that they are ... you know, training. We think that they kidnap girls that they want and ship them out of the country. When they're trained, they get send back. Maybe the guy your wife ran off with was a recruiter or she just plain got sold. We don't know much but it's a solid lead."
I looked out the grimy window. I could see the Brooklyn Bridge. Ellison moved his chair across from me to sit face to face. He didn't have a poker face and his anger played across his face. "We're gonna keep right on looking for her ... for Jaclyn, and we'll stay in touch. We're not giving up." Ellison put a strong hand on my shoulder. "We're with you on this. No matter how it goes; we're with you."
He offered me his hand and I shook it. I tried to look him in the eye, but he looked down. His buddies were busy watching the ceiling. That's when I knew. There were more tapes and none of them thought Jaclyn was ever coming home. After I left, I realized that I hadn't said a word.
*****
A couple of weeks passed, and I'd get a call every Thursday, short and awkward. Ellison would tell me that they were watching but there was no indication that Jaclyn would be in the country soon. I came into my building one rainy morning and, while taking off my raincoat, saw Ellison squeezed into a seat. When he saw me see him, he got up and came over. We shook hands and he took me by the elbow.
We were alone on the elevator as we went up. "You know we got more tapes, right?" I told him I figured that out at the first meeting. He nodded, more to himself than me, like he was checking something off a list.
"Yeah, you're right; we held some back that first day. And then there were more that came in. Like maybe seven now. They seem to turn up every couple of days, like progress reports. They're making sure everybody knows how far along your wife is." Ellison barked a laugh. "Hell, even we know ... you get what I mean ...
It must have been my face. "No offense," Ellison backed up, "but it's a fact. We know and they know. Hell, you know too. Your wife is changing, and you need to get used to that. When we get her back, she won't be like she was." My face was stone; I might be angry, sad but the cops didn't need to know what I was feeling. Ellison's a good man and he took pity on me by changing the subject. "Tell me about her."