Hell Gate

TWENTY-THREE

My SUV was parked on First Avenue, across the street from the medical examiner’s office. Nan and I had just taken the two young women, Olena and Lydia, to view the bodies of the victims at the morgue. One of the Simchuk sisters remained with us to translate, both at the ME’s office and as they settled in to the shelter.

“So far, everybody’s accounted for except Jane Doe Number One,” I said, herding the group across the avenue when the light changed.

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Nan said.

“Let’s hear it.”

“What became of the captain and crew of the ship?”

“They’re in federal lockup. Donny Baynes has them.”

“Are they American?”

“No. Eastern European. I’m not sure if Baynes said they’re Ukrainian, but the captain was pulling the no-speak-English bit on Wednesday. They’re in on trafficking charges and illegal entry, and they’ve all got lawyers by now. The captain had the proper papers to be in command of a ship, just not with the cargo he was carrying.”

“What if that woman-the one no one has positively ID’d yet-was part of the captain’s reward for his safe passage?” Nan asked. “Suppose she spent most of the trip in his cabin, forced to service him.”

“Interesting thought,” I said, as we opened the doors for our charges.

“It helps explain why nobody on board had any contact with her. It also figures she could have been caught up in the physical battle when the guys mutinied. Maybe she was injured accidentally.”

“That’s the most well-placed accidental stabbing I’ve seen in a while,” I said.

“But I’m thinking maybe the captain threw her in the way to protect himself, or maybe one of her countrymen thought she had betrayed the others by becoming the captain’s woman.”

“You need to call Donny so he can get one of his guys working on that,” I said. “It’s a really good idea.”

“I hardly know him. Why don’t you call?”

“ ’ Cause it’s your idea, and I’m driving.”

Olena and Lydia seemed overwhelmed by the sights and smells of New York. They were craning their necks from each side of the backseat as Ms. Simchuk described the buildings we passed on our long afternoon drive up to the northern end of Manhattan.

“I’ll go across Thirty-fourth Street so they can see the Empire State Building,” I told her, “and then through the theater district. Let’s get the business out of the way so they can enjoy the ride.”

“Very good,” Simchuk said.

“The shelter has very tight security. All of the women and children-about twenty-five families-are being protected because they are trying to get out of abusive relationships.”

Simchuk translated and the girls listened.

“That means their access is controlled. There is a nine o’clock curfew for all the other residents, and the police precinct is one block away, so it’s quite secure,” I said. “They will share a small apartment-”

“Excuse me, you mean a room, yes?”

“No, I mean a small apartment. There is one bedroom with twin beds, a separate bathroom, and their own kitchen.”

Olena and Lydia were talking between themselves, excited by the description.

“They each receive a welcome package with some clothing, kitchen utensils, and food.”

“But, Ms. Alex,” Simchuk said, “they are afraid to believe this.”

“It’s true.”

They didn’t need to know how I had fought every point out with Donny Baynes last night in the conference room. He had wanted them each to wear an ankle bracelet to monitor their whereabouts. While they had clearly risked flight before, I couldn’t imagine subjecting them to such humiliation after what they had endured to get here.

Nan took over. “They will not be able to leave the building without an escort, though. A federal marshal will come for them every morning at nine, and will return them here at the end of the day. Even on weekends. We’re trying to get translators to be assigned around the clock, but for tonight, you’ll stay as late as you can, and after that it will be sign language to communicate their needs.”

We were losing our witnesses to the great spectacle of the New York City streets. I took the slow, scenic route, circling Rockefeller Center so they could ogle the enormous Christmas tree and the ice skaters out in full force, despite the cold.

I went up Sixth Avenue and into Central Park, passing the horse-drawn carriages at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance and taking the drive north, behind the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the glass-enclosed Temple of Dendur, which didn’t interest the duo a fraction as much as the endless assortment of bikers and joggers, dog walkers and performance artists, and the carefree attitude so many of them seemed to radiate to the two tired hostages inside my SUV.

“You have to stop at the station house first?” Nan asked as we reached the Heights.

“That’s the way it’s done,” I said, pulling in front of the building on Broadway that housed the Thirty-fourth Precinct.

I double-parked and we all got out, although Olena and Lydia were not pleased about the stop. “Don’t worry,” I instructed Ms. Simchuk to reassure them, “it’s just to let them know where you’re going to be.”

The desk sergeant called up to the squad, and one of the detectives came down to meet us. I told him who the women were and that Safe Horizon agreed to put them up at Parrish House.

“You need us to sit on the place, Counselor? They expecting any trouble from anybody?”

“Neither one of them knows a soul in this country except the people who sailed over with them.”

“And the newspapers say those poor folks aren’t exactly foot-loose and fancy free. Legal limbo, I guess.”

“It’s a horrible situation,” Nan said. “We’re hoping the task force can clear them in a reasonable amount of time.”

“Our only worry is making sure these two don’t decide to run away. I’m kind of on the hook with the feds for that,” I said. “I’m afraid you’ll get the first call if they take it on themselves to disappear.”

“Trust me. They won’t get very far in this neighborhood,” the detective said, “unless their Spanish is really good.”

I didn’t think that language barriers were an issue for these desperate young women.

“I’m betting on you, ’cause it’s my head that’s going to go on the chopping block if they do,” I said. “I’m going to call the shelter’s manager now.”

“Yeah, we got a good relationship with them over there. They’ll send an escort to show you to the house. That’s their rules, even if you know where it is. Sorta lets us know what’s going on.”

He and Nan chatted while I spoke with the social worker who was in charge of Parrish House. She said it would only take her a couple of minutes to walk the block and a half to the station house.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Cooper,” the detective said, stopping at the front desk, “we’ll give the place a little extra attention. I’ll ask the sarge here to tell the guys at every roll call we got some foreign dignitaries we gotta look out for, okay?”

I thanked him and we stayed inside the lobby until the advocate from the shelter arrived and introduced herself.

“Why don’t I walk back with you?” Nan asked. “Alex can follow with the others.”

Simchuk, Olena, and Lydia got into the SUV and I pulled away, stopping at the traffic light. I had to square the block because of the one-way streets that crossed Broadway, and by the time I pulled over in front of the fire hydrant just past the entrance to the large redbrick building, Nan and her guide were waiting on the steps.

It was a quiet residential block, with a small old church across the street and a bodega on the corner. The girls got out and looked around at their new environs, stepping back to let a young black woman with a little boy at her side pass between them as she left the shelter.

“Welcome to Parrish House,” the advocate said to Ms. Simchuk, ringing the buzzer for admission and holding the door open to invite us in. “Please tell them we’re happy to have them here.”

Before the four of us could mount the steps, I saw a dark minivan approaching down the narrow street. It caught my attention because it was so much newer and cleaner than the other beat-up cars nearby.

Ms. Simchuk went first and the girls followed. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the shiny vehicle seemed to be braking near the curb in front of the building, but its windows were so darkly tinted that I couldn’t see inside.

“Let’s go, Alex,” Nan said. “Stop looking for trouble.”

Olena and Lydia turned their heads to look at me when they heard Nan call out my name.

I put my first foot on the step just as lights seemed to burst from within the minivan. Someone was shooting photographs of our arrival.