Mary Sullivan and the Coyotes

 This story contains themes of sexual violence, murder, drug abuse, and physical violence.

            “Sergeant Trask, it’s crazy Mary on line 2.”

             “Thanks, Cin.”

             Seargent Charles Trask sighed while staring at the blinking light on his phone. Mary Sullivan had been the bane of his existence for months now. A thin, spry nearly 90-year old, with a halo of white curly hair, Mary looked frail but had a spirit that was tough as nails. Trask bitterly regretted ever giving her his card. Though, in fairness, she had been helpful in catching the gang of kids tagging houses in the West End. Unfortunately, now she fancied herself a regular Ms. Marple, seeing crime and nuisances all the time.

             Plucking up his courage, Trask picked up the phone and prepared for a long conversation with Mary.

             “Hullo, Mary. How are you today?”

             “Doing well, Sergeant Trask, except for the coyotes in my neighborhood. I’ve called about them multiple times, but no one is taking me seriously.”

             Trask stifled a snort. Coyotes, really? What did she think this was? Animal control?

             “Ma’am, I’m in homicide and major crimes. I think you should be contacting animal control. I can get you the number if you’d like.”

             “Not at all, Sergeant. This isn’t an animal control issue. These coyotes are quite dangerous, particularly to the young people in the neighborhood. You really should come check it out. I can give you all the details if you’d just come …”

             “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Trask interrupted, rather firmly. “I can’t do that today. I will send someone as soon as we have availability. If you change your mind about animal control, here’s the number …”

###

             Mary meant well, but at nearly 90, she simply had too much time on her hands and a rather vivid imagination, in Trask’s opinion. Oakwood Corners was in the middle of a crime wave, and Trask had no time to indulge an old woman’s fantasies. His counterparts across the border were reporting rumors of missing girls and sex trafficking rings. Beat cops were reporting an uptick in drug activity. Something major was definitely happening, but the Oakwood Corners PD had little to no leads. The mayor and police commissioner had just authorized a cross-border task force which would be starting today with Trask as the head. Coyotes and other wildlife issues were really the least of his worries right now.

             Trask emailed Cin the latest agenda for today’s initial task force meeting. He proposed starting undercover operations in both the drug and sex trade sectors as a means of uncovering information. They were shooting in the dark right now and needed to at least know who or what they were dealing with. Trask’s proposal would require some major shifts in resources, but without it, the city would need to brace for a crime epidemic. His gut was telling him that a crime syndicate was trying to entrench itself in Oakwood Corners, and if they didn’t stop it now, they never would.

             Officer Brian Cahill interrupted Trask’s train of thought.

             “Sarge, a body’s been found in the West End. A young female. Probable homicide. Medical Examiner and forensics are in route.”

             “Shit. Where?”

             “Crazy Mary’s neighborhood.”

             “Oh no. Let’s go. I’ll try to deal with her if she shows up.”

###

             Sergeant Trask and Officer Cahill arrived at the scene, a vacant lot at the end of Milltown Road. Milltown had, once, been the center of a thriving neighborhood in Oakwood Corners, back when the mills were active and work was plentiful. The area was fairly diverse for its time, with Irish, Italian, German, and Eastern European Jewish immigrants living adjacent to one another, trading goods and exchanging cultural ideas. The Yiddish theater, the German bakery, and the Italian market operated side by side, and everyone loved to end the workday at the Irish pub. As the mills began to close and work dried up, these lively neighborhoods also began to die. Before long, only old-timers like Mary Sullivan remained alongside the new poor who moved into dilapidated houses that had seen better days.

             The vacant lot once held such a house, but it had been condemned by the city and torn down. The lot was now overgrown with Queen Anne’s Lace and pokeweed, an easy place to hide a body. The young woman lay under the weeds, tossed away like garbage. She couldn’t have been more than 14 years old. Hispanic, with long dark hair, rich honey colored skin, and a heart-shaped face, she would have been beautiful when alive. The killer had done a number on her. Trask, whose own daughter was just a few years younger, was furious and slightly sick to his stomach. How anyone could do this to someone so young and innocent, he would never understand.

             “Hi, doc. What’ve we got?”

             “It’s not good, Trask, but I won’t have all the information until I do a complete autopsy. Preliminarily, she appears to have been strangled. There are deep ligature marks on both wrists and ankles, so I would surmise that she was held captive for some time. I also noticed track marks on both arms. Possibly she was drugged by her captors, or she was previously a drug addict. Hard to say in the field. Toxicology should tell me more.”

             “Evidence of sexual assault?”

             “I will need to wait for autopsy to be certain, but given that she was disposed of without clothing, I will certainly be checking for that.”

             Trask gritted his teeth to keep from cursing and responded curtly, “Thanks, doc.”

             The Medical Examiner nodded and returned to her work, gently, almost reverently, reviewing and measuring the body. Trask admired the way she cared for the unfortunate souls homicide brought in this way.

             “Sergeant Trask! Sergeant Trask! I need to speak with you, please!”

             “Oh no, it’s Mary,” Trask groaned inwardly. He wouldn’t foist her off on any of his team. He needed them focused on the work. Reluctantly, Trask walked over to the police tape barrier where Mary was waiting anxiously. Her slender frame wrapped in a dark shawl, she reminded him of a Catholic saint from his school days.

             “Hello, Mary. Exciting day on your street, isn’t it?”

             “Why yes, but I have information that might help you.”

             “Really, Mary? What kind of information?”

             “Well, you really need to look into those coyotes I was telling you about.”

             Trask took a deep breath to calm himself. He didn’t want to yell at Mary, bless her.

             “Mary, this poor young woman wasn’t a victim of coyotes. She was murdered.”

             “I know, Sergeant Trask. But I’m telling you, the coyotes were involved.”

             “Ok, Mary. I need to get back to work now.”

             Trask turned to leave, but Mary pulled him back.

             “One more thing, Sergeant. I saw a van last night, on this end of the street.”

             Trask’s ears perked up immediately.

             “What kind of van, Mary?”

             “An old white panel van. You know how I can’t sleep much. My lumbago. Anyway, the van was definitely white, no windows, with a dent on the passenger rear quarter panel. My dear Leonard was a mechanic; did I ever tell you that? I did his books. I know all about vehicle parts! Dear me. Where was I? Oh, the van. Looked like a Ford to me. Maybe a late ‘90s Econoline. It had that shape to it. I couldn’t see a tag. They backed into the lot but stayed there long enough for me to get a decent look at the van. There were two young men in dark clothes, hoodies, in the van. Couldn’t see them very well. Very unusual activity for this neighborhood, Sergeant.”

             “Mary, I could kiss you!”

             “Why, SERGEANT!” Mary blushed. “A simple thank you will do. And please, look into those coyotes, will you?”

             “Thank you, Mary. I will. I promise.”

             Mary may be a little daft and obsessive at times, but occasionally she came through with good information. The vandalism case was a good example. She slept fitfully, if at all anymore, and she was the only one in the neighborhood awake to see the gang tagging the houses on Milltown Road. Maybe she’d done it again with this van tip. It was the only lead they had right now. Sergeant Trask sent the information to Cin and asked her to pull up registrations for late 1990s Econoline vans for him to review when he got back to the office.

###

             The Medical Examiner’s report confirmed the young woman had been drugged at the time of her death, heroin. She’d also been sexually assaulted. Cause of death was strangulation. Sergeant Trask conferred with his peers across the border to determine whether she was a match for any of their missing girls. They confirmed; she was Emma Sofia Quispe Flores, missing from Peru for three months.

             Trask stared at the photo on the screen. Emma Sofia had indeed been beautiful in life, in the joyfully innocent way that young teenagers are—so full of promise. Something twisted uncomfortably inside him, and he vowed to himself and to Emma Sofia that he would find whoever was responsible and make them pay. Officer Garcia from the international task force was speaking, and Trask forced himself to listen.

             “Emma Sofia came from a remote village in the interior highlands. She was not a drug addict. Our investigation indicates that she was seeking passage to the United States, perhaps with a friend named Ana Maria Chavez Rojas. It is likely that both girls ended up as sex trafficking victims, most likely due to unpaid debts to coyotes.”

             “I’m sorry, did you say … coyotes?”

             “Yes, Sergeant Trask. Coyotes smuggle individuals across the border into the United States. Often, they recruit from remote villages such as Emma Sofia’s. If a family does not know the coyote, the risk of exorbitant or escalating fees that are impossible to pay, resulting in slavery, sex trafficking, or forced drug running, are quite high. It seems that these girls landed with immoral coyotes who simply wanted to traffic the girls rather than ensure their safe passage to the United States.”

             “Do the coyotes come into the United States themselves or is there a network here? How does that work?”

             “It depends on the syndicate. We are not certain. Some coyotes can pass through the border. Others work with individuals already in the United States. You will need to work your side of the border to determine what is happening there. I suspect that Ana Maria and other girls are being held somewhere in Oakwood Corners …”

             “And being pimped out. I get it. Also, it looks like we have heroin involved too. A dual threat drugs and sex scheme. Thanks, Officer Garcia.”

             “Let us know how we can help on our end.”

             Trask sat back, stunned. Maybe Mary wasn’t as crazy as she seemed.

###

             Trask arrived at Mary’s decrepit little bungalow at 9 p.m., hat in hand. Mary kept the place neat, but time, and the death of Leonard, had certainly taken its toll. Sergeant Trask made a mental note to help her fix the house up one weekend.

             Mary was usually sitting on her front porch by now, having her evening tea. Mary religiously kept to this habit no matter the weather. She swore a daily tea was the reason for her good health. Trask believed it was an excuse for her to spy on the neighbors. He was disturbed not to find her there tonight. Trask knocked on the door and rang her doorbell repeatedly.

             “Mary? Mary! It’s Sergeant Trask. Are you home?”

             Trask stumbled backward and almost fell off the porch as the loud boom of a shotgun blast echoed through the neighborhood. He immediately drew his weapon and moved stealthily toward the sound, which seemed to come from the back of the property. A woman began to scream inside the home next door as the shot gun reloaded, chk-chk.

             “Dispatch, we have gunfire at Mary Sullivan’s place. Please send backup.”

             “Oh Lord, I hope Mary hasn’t gotten herself into any trouble,” Trask thought to himself.

             Reaching the back of the tiny alley between the two houses, Trask carefully peered around the corner, first into Mary’s backyard, seeing nothing. Then he looked over into the other yard, gun pointed always in front of him. Trask immediately saw the body of a young man lying prone across the property line between the two homes. He had a 9-millimeter handgun still clutched in his right hand but otherwise appeared to be dead from a shotgun blast to the chest. In the far corner of Mary’s neighbor’s yard, Trask saw a dented white panel Ford Econoline van, half-hidden under a tarp.

             “Dammit!” Trask hissed to himself. “Dispatch, I have found a possible match for the Ford Econoline van at the house next to Mary Sullivan’s. Please escalate backup. Also send EMTs. Suspect down.”

             Boom! Another shotgun blast exploded inside Mary’s neighbor’s home. Trask raced up the back porch stairs and inside, covering himself as best he could as more screams emanated from inside the house. The back door was open, so Trask entered, cleared the kitchen and then turned to the sitting room where he encountered Mary Sullivan holding a kneeling young man hostage with her shotgun aimed at his head.

             “Mary! What in the hell are you doing?”

             “Sergeant Trask, so good of you to come. Finally. I tried to tell you about these coyotes. I got one of them. This one was just going to give me the keys to where the girls are, right?” Mary shoved the shotgun into the young man’s face.

             “Yeah, ok, settle down! Here’s the keys.” The young man pulled a set of keys from his pocket with a shaking hand and tossed them onto the floor. “First room on the right, down that hall. The large key opens the door. The small key unlocks their chains. Just hurry and get her the hell away from me.”

             The young man inched away from Mary, as she continued to poke the gun at him.

             “I think you will find that he will tell you whatever you want to know, Sergeant.”

             Trask looked from Mary to the young man, shook his head in disbelief, and grabbed the keys. In the little room on the right, Trask found 6 hysterical girls, including Ana Maria, Emma Sofia’s friend. None were older than 16. All had been drugged and raped repeatedly by the men the coyotes brought into this makeshift brothel.

Backup and EMTs finally arrived to assist. The surviving young man was arrested and would be interrogated by Trask back at headquarters. Mary’s shotgun was confiscated.

“But it was Leonard’s!” She protested.

“I don’t care, Mary. It’s evidence in a crime scene now. You know I could charge you for breaking and entering, kidnapping, and a host of other crimes.”

“It was self-defense! Those two tried to break into my home, Sergeant. I shot a warning shot, and I think I got one of them as they were lurking on my back porch, trying to pick my locks. Go check, and I think you will find some of his blood on my property. I followed them with the shotgun to make sure they left. At the time, I wasn’t sure what happened, but I wanted to make sure I scared them good. I saw the one young man fall at the property line, and I realized he must have been hit. Then I saw the van and heard those girls screaming from inside the other house and, well, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to them, so I followed the second guy. I guess that probably wasn’t wise. But the back door was open when I arrived. I just had to help them. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“No, Mary, it wasn’t wise to go in on your own. But I should have listened to you as well. Next time, I will. I’ll have a chat with the District Attorney.”

As the girls were being led from the scene, one turned to Mary and said, “I knew you’d come. I prayed for you. You appeared to me every night. I could see you through the window. Santa Muerte …” And she kissed Mary’s hand.

###

Santa Muerte, as Trask later discovered, is a skeletal folk saint often venerated by the poor, migrants, and ironically, police officers, for protection and justice. Thin, wiry Mary with her halo of white hair, wearing one of her shawls, and drinking tea at night on her porch could easily be mistaken for a skeletal saint, he supposed, particularly to a scared young girl high on heroin. In any event, Mary certainly came through for them. The girls had been reunited with family. The District Attorney had no intention of prosecuting Mary, in large part because the surviving coyote sang like a canary in exchange for protection from both Mary and the gangs waiting for him across the border. Also, Mary had a list of every vehicle make, model, and tag number that had visited the brothel house since the coyotes moved in. All the johns were going down too. Trask and his team had a date with Mary on Saturday to fix up her property, after which Trask was invited to stay for tea. He was looking forward to the tea but not telling her that she couldn’t have the gun back. Mary Sullivan was formidable, even if she wasn’t a saint, and Trask wanted to keep her happy regardless.

“I should have known better than to doubt Mary Sullivan,” Trask smiled as he closed out his file on the coyotes.