“We are police officers, ma’am. I’m Detective Mozambe and this is Detective Orzo. We’d like to talk to you about your daughter. We understand she’s been missing.”
“The police were already here. Don’t you talk to each other?”
“I know, ma’am, but we are carrying out our own investigation which may be connected to your daughter’s disappearance. We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
She waved us in. Two open sores stood out on her arm-looked like they needed treatment. We made ourselves comfortable on pillows. She hiked her dress up to her knees as she sat down, exposing more sores on her ankles.
“Would you like some tea?”
“No thank you, ma’am.” Too hot without aircon.
Bright blankets covered the tent walls, and the tent’s ceiling was concealed behind more blankets that were tied to the center post and slung out to the corners. A cookstove in one corner had a stack of dishes sitting next to it. Bedrolls were lined up along the wall. I counted six. No other furniture. The surroundings felt childhood-familiar.
Mrs. Wolski scratched at her ankles. I caught a whiff of rot. There was no mistaking that smell.
Mrs. Wolski said, “What you want to know?”
Maggie said, “Please tell us what happened to your daughter.”
“Shamal’s gone.” She fanned her face-the heat suddenly too strong for her. “My husband took her with him to the work tree and she-”
Maggie interrupted. “Work tree?”
“Sure. You want work, you go to the work tree. My husband, Dominick, he goes there every day. If he gets lucky, some rich people come needing a hand for the day. When they do, we eat good that day. How come you never heard of the work tree? You ain’t some rich girl now, are you?”
“I don’t live on this side of town.” Nice cover.
“Anyway, he took her down there with him. She needs to get out of the house, you know. He was waiting by the tree, and she got bored, so he let her wander around a bit. She always been good at taking care of herself. After a while, he starts to wondering where that girl is. He tried to find her, but he can’t find her nowhere. We ain’t seen her since.”
“How many children do you have?”
“Four.”
“Did any of the others go to the work tree with your husband?”
“No, he only took Shamal. She’s the oldest.”
“Can you think of anybody who might have taken her?”
“I think it was that man that came here. I didn’t trust him.”
I asked, “What man?”
“I told the other officers about him.”
“I know. I’m sorry to make you go through it again. Could you please tell me about this man?”
“He was going door to door, trying to find people to work the mines.”
“Was he with Universal Mining?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. I suppose he could have been, but he didn’t look all fancy like an offworlder.”
“What did he say to you?”
“I tried to shoo him away, but Dominick invited him in. He told us how they had good jobs out in the mines. I asked him, ‘Why do you want a fourteen-year-old girl?’ He told me they needed all kinds of people; not everybody was going to be a miner. They needed cooks, maids, waitresses… He said they could find a good job for her. Something that she liked to do-all depended on what she was interested in.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him no. We ain’t interested. Sure, it all sounded good, but I had a funny feeling about him. I didn’t trust him straight off.”
“Did he leave when you said no?”
“He left. He went on next door, but not before he got my husband all fired up. Dominick kept telling me how good it would be for Shamal. He told me how happy she’d be, because she’d have all this food and money. I told him food and money don’t make up for losing a mother. That ain’t a fair trade for a child. When she’s older, she wants to go, I’ll kiss her good-bye, but she’s too young to be away from home.”
“And you think this man could have taken her?”
“Yes, I do. I think he made that whole story up about working in the mines. Like I said, he didn’t look like no offworlder. I saw it on the news…how men that like raping little girls and boys make up some excuse to get into your house and see your kids. It’s like they’re shopping. They remember the ones they like and come back for them. I think he came back for Shamal.”
“Did you tell all this to the officers who talked to you a few days ago?”
“Why do I have to say everything twice with you people? Yes, I told them, but they kept trying to tell me that she ran away. I know my daughter…she did not run away.”
“Did you get the man’s name?”
“No.” Her eyes misted over.
“Can we talk to your husband?”
“He went to the work tree first thing this morning. He’ll still be there if nobody hired him today. He’s broken up about Shamal. I’ve never seen him so upset. He even started drinking again. I have to chase him out of the house in the mornings. We got three other kids to feed, so he’s got to keep working.”
I had Maggie jot down Abdul’s name for her. I told her he’d treat those sores. Maybe the rot hadn’t fully set in yet.
There had to be fifty people under that tree-some leaning up against the trunk, others sitting on wide boughs, legs dangling, watching traffic roll by. My deadbeat father used to spend most of his days under this same tree, supposedly looking for work, but mostly just pissing time away. A few were already moving off, the setting sun a sign that there was no more work to be had today. We walked under the umbrella of green foliage just as raindrops began to patter on the leaves above. We stepped over sleeping bodies and approached a trio of chatting men.
I put on a friendly smile. “Do any of you guys know Dominick Wolski?”
The shortest of the three stepped forward, his sleeveless T showing off a scar tattoo of a naked woman in sunglasses. He was too poor to afford the real thing, so he’d had it burned into the skin with a makeshift branding iron. “You mean Nicky? Yeah, we know him.”
“Is he here?”
“What you want with him?”
“Mrs. Orzo here needs him to lay some tile in one of her bathrooms.” I tried to make it look like I worked for her.
“You don’t need Nicky. I can do tile. I’m the best tile man out here. Isn’t that right?” His buddies agreed. The rain was finding a way through the leaf canopy. Large drops fell on our heads and shoulders.
“No. She wants Mr. Wolski. He did her mother’s bathroom, and she wants hers done the same way.” I threw in an eye roll to show how crazy rich people were.
“He isn’t here.” He looked at Maggie. “You take me to your mother’s bathroom. I’ll look it over and do yours the same way. You won’t be able to tell the difference. I’ll give you a good price.”
“No,” she said, turning on an I’m-better-than-you voice. “I want Mr. Wolski. Tell us where he is.”
“He doesn’t work anymore. I’m your man.”
“Tell me where to find him.”
“You think I’m lying? I told you he doesn’t work anymore. He’s been hanging out at PT’s.” He pointed down the street to PT’s Lounge. “You wait and see, he’ll tell you he doesn’t work anymore.”
She walked away without thanking him, playing up the rich-bitch persona. I slipped him a few pesos and followed her out into the now pounding rain.
He yelled at our backs, “I’ll wait right here for you. When he tells you he doesn’t work anymore, you come back.”
PT’s Lounge had the aircon running low, just enough to take the heat down a notch from smothering to uncomfortable. There were about a dozen tables scattered around, half occupied by men drinking and playing cards. We headed for the bar, a window covered in chicken wire with a slot at the bottom for passing out the hooch.
We waited our turn, three men ahead of us. Shine looked like the house specialty. Each customer passed a tin cup and a couple coins through the slot. The woman behind the bar took the coins and scooped out a cupful of mash. Her face was scarred-up from a botched plastic surgery. There were hacks all over Koba that lasered up faces. Make you look like an offworlder-guaranteed. Maggie gave her a pitying look, probably feeling guilty that she’d been able to afford getting her own fake face properly done. The burden of being rich.