Page 23 of Gates of Tartarus

“Time people don’thave, Maddox.” I point to a photo of a corpse in front of me. “We’re missing something. And none of it is going together or making sense. Puzzle pieces might be a mess, but they’re still parts of a larger picture. I feel like we have fifty puzzle pieces from fifty different puzzles andnoneof them will ever go together.”

Together we take a long look at the chaotic organization in front of me on the table. Like an old television detective, I had an actual fucking board propped up on a small stand with different pictures and sections. The only thing I’m missing are strings running from place to place. It’s ridiculous, but it’s working for me. Maddox, heroically, suppresses a smile.

“Is this your... mind map or something?

I nod sharply.

“Cool. Okay, let’s look at it laid out.” He puts on a faux-jocular voice, like a 1940s movie character. “Hunt down the bad guys, see?” he says, waggling his eyebrows, making it impossible to stay as angry.

“You’ve actually done a good job here,” he says under his breath. “Okay, let’s go. England –” he points to their section on the board. “Maela, Emlyn, Seef… There are actually two more people on their team. Kavi and Jorge.” I crane my head back and stare at the ceiling in frustration.

“How am I supposed to… I don’t even know all theplayers?”

“Valid point, Kai. Let’s just keep going, okay?” Shoulder to shoulder, we proceed. “So, St Cosmas trial, Maela pops. Connects to Elizabeth Cole that way, right? Maela sees Ratko, who isn’t in the game anymore, Magda, Rhea... Tennireef between their team and ours. Well, Cole between their team and ours too, I guess. On our side, Gomez – why is she…?” I wave at him, and he nods, “Okay. Explain in a minute. So Gomez… trafficking victims. Snake, sickle, and hourglass… drug gangs and drug running... Bianchi, who’s out of the game. Chantalle?” He quirks his head curiously. “You think she’s involved?”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t. But she’s a good friend to have, I think.”

He looks through the neat piles in front of him. “Okay, so... this pile is tracking the snake? And here is the sickle... and the hourglass. And then... What’s this? Ah, evidence of drugs. But the drug use doesn’t line up with the tattoos, not exactly. And here is trafficking. But what’s this? This is trafficking too?” He looks at me quizzically.

“Well, that’s interesting, right? Because we had drug runners separate from trafficking. But when I really started looking into the trafficking victims, like their individual reports, things got interesting. We’ve been grouping them in ‘drugs’ and ‘human trafficking’... kind of putting ‘human trafficking’ synonymously with ‘sex trafficking’. Which, yeah, makes sense.But, and here’s where things take a turn,I’m not convinced thereisany sex trafficking. Like, at all.”

I lift up various reports detailing the trail of dead victims. “Something Chantalle said struck a chord with me. She said they’d found dead bodies shot up, right? But that whoever was doing it was more interested inbodiesthan bodies. Like, not interested in Chantalle’s trade atall. So then I went back through everything. No sign of sexual abuse…” I place a file before him, then another and another. “No sign here, no sign here, no sign here. Most of the victims don’t have an autopsy done – they’re all Jane Does or John Does or whatever. No money really in city budgets to research the COD of some junkie whore, right? There are over 2,000 untested rape kits from victims in Seattle alone whoreportedthe sexual assault. 2,000! And that’s with police reports, known victims, and everything.” I shuffle the papers, pulling out a list that’spageslong, and pass it to Smith.

“This is the current list of untested kits. Just sitting rotting in a storage unit. The SPD doesn’t have the time or energy, and frankly doesn’t care, about unreported cases. So, ifno one’s looking, if there are no families of victims to answer to... and there are easy outs with the track marks… How hard are they going to look for answers? Add to that that it’s notjusta Seattle thing... Well, who's going to connect a few hundred, even a few thousand cases from around the globe? Why would you suspect anything? 542 people were murdered in Chicagoalonethis year! Why would you ever connect a few from a city in Washington with a few from a city in Massachusetts, for example. So we end up with an unknown pile of connected bodies, tied together only by track marks. And we have no way to separate the ones that we’re looking for from anyone else.”

I push a much smaller stack towards him. “The ones whodidhave autopsies – no signs of abuse at all.Otherthan these few... Riley Beckett among them. So she doesn’t fit the usual MO. We assumed she was a lynchpin, some kind of Rosetta Stone. But she’sactuallyan outlier. Her, and this other girl…” I shuffle the papers in front of me to find her photo, “... two of onlysevenwho have been reported as having been violated. Seven out of how many we don’t know. But all seven reported were Stateside. I don’t have access to the Brits’ info, so that’s something you can check with the mystical Seef.”

We sit and stare silently at the piles before us, the gaunt faces of corpses staring back in silent accusation.

“So... where is this going in your head? What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking things aren’t what they appear here. Why do they need so many people for drug running, though? Usually it’s less is more on that. And they wouldn’t waste product on this many people… I just don’t know. We don’t have a body count, not a real one, which is throwing things off. And then there are the arms-dealing affiliates, the gang affiliates… but those are... they seem more and more like distractions. Just... distractions from what, you know? And what do the tattoos mean? What do they signal?”

A warm, familiar energy washes over me, and I smile slightly, still looking at the papers spread out in front of us. Maddox raises an eyebrow and says almost ruefully, “Tanaka on his way?”

I jerk to face him, surprised.

“Your face,” he says, by way of explanation. “Whenever he’s on his way, or nearby, something in you lights up a little.”

I flush, unsure of what to say, not used to being so exposed. Obviously, I’ve been letting my guard down with the team somewhat if Maddox can see all that, and his lips twist into a facsimile of a smile. “It’s okay, Reed. We all know you’ve been partners for ages. It makes sense that he’s your favorite.”

The odd wording strikes me, and I reply, confused, “It’s not about favorites, Madds. It’s about... I don’t know. Friendship.”

The nickname slips out unintentionally, and the faux smile turns into a small, real one. “Friendship?”

“Yeah. I know I’m safe with him. I know he’s got my back. And I’ve got his. It’s like you and Seef.”

“Seef?” he asks, surprised. “Not Walker?”

“Well, yeah, of course Walker. But when you’re talking to Seef, there’s... I don’t know. Like,moreofyouthat comes out. Like a part that isn’t always there. Walker too, yeah. But in a different way. Hideo – he’s my rock, you know? When I’m with him... There are three people I trust in the entire world. And he’s tops.”

A strange, incredibly sad look comes over Maddox’s face, and he is about to speak when the door opens. I turn, inexorably, inevitably, towards Deo, smile already appearing, and I hear a soft mutter beside me, “Yeah, but Seef doesn’t make my eyes glitter.”

I want to respond, but Deo’s already there, coffee in hand, sliding between me and Maddox, and he commands my attention.

“Hey. Where were you this weekend? I almost came out to Vashon to check on you.”

I laugh a little, almost choking on my coffee. “You?” I ask incredulously. “Come out to Vashon?”

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