How she escaped, p.5
How She Escaped, page 5
I pursed my lips, weighing my options. "So, if I want to question Anthony Stanzel, I need to tread carefully."
"Very carefully," he affirmed. "What proof do you have that it's him?"
"I questioned some residents of his old building, looked up his name online, got a picture, showed it to my client who also worked for him back then, and she confirmed it was him."
Hirsch looked around the restaurant, ensuring privacy. "Keep that to yourself until you can prove it, undoubtedly. Thirty-five years is a long time. And like I said, they're not just elite, they're powerful. Make sure you cross your Ts and dot your Is."
"They've never been suspected of any criminal activity?"
"Not that I know of. And if anyone did suspect something, it was buried. And I mean, buried deep."
The weight of the information hung heavy, but it only made me want to learn more. I'd tread carefully, but I certainly wouldn't back off.
After lunch, Hirsch and I said our goodbyes, planning to meet later in the week with Jayda and Ross. The assumption was they'd accept the part-time positions, splitting their time between homicide and cold cases.
I settled into my car, taking a moment before turning on the engine. I pulled out my phone, dialing the offices of Anthony Stanzel.
"Stanzel Real Estate. How can I assist you?"
"I'm hoping to make an appointment with Anthony Stanzel," I replied smoothly.
"May I ask who's calling?"
"My name is Martina. Does he have time to meet today?"
The voice on the other end paused for a moment. "Give me one second. What's this concerning?"
"It's about a real estate project."
"All right. He has an opening tomorrow at 2 p.m. Would that work for you?"
"Yes, thank you." I provided a few more details, sealing the appointment before ending the call.
As I gripped the steering wheel, I thought, Anthony Stanzel, I'm coming for you. I hope you're ready.
10
PRISCILLA
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS EARLIER
After all this time, he still thought he was better than me. Just because you're born into something doesn't make you worthy. I had fought tooth and nail, refusing to sell my body to get by. I had overcome drug addiction and capture. I'd run from violent johns and clawed my way out of danger countless times. And now this little pipsqueak—not so little, actually. Had he ever heard of a gym or a pair of jogging shoes? He was disgusting. Standing next to his father in a shiny suit, I could barely see the resemblance.
"What's the situation, Priscilla?"
"I spoke to our contacts within the police department. They found your girl. She's not talking to them."
"I can take care of her," the idiot son said.
His father glared at him and said, "Not so hasty, Anthony."
Anthony pressed. "Where is she at?"
"Let's just calm down. We'll figure out a solution. Have you come up with an alibi yet?"
"I'm working on it."
"Well, I think your best bet is an alibi as a way of keeping her quiet. But I don't think another dead body is going to help the situation any. Even a whiff of connection to this family, and you're done for—both of you."
Maurice slammed his fist down on the desk. "This family will not have a single scuff. But the police say she won't talk, and from what you've said, it sounds like maybe she knows better."
"So, we just let her go?" Anthony asked incredulously.
"Yes, let her go. If she wanted to run away, let her run. She's a junkie anyway. She'll probably end up dead of her own accord."
"I'll let our contacts know," I offered.
"Now that the girl is taken care of, what do you want me to do?"
Maurice eyed his son with disgust. "Priscilla, tell him what he needs to do. Anthony, listen to Priscilla." And he left the room, leaving me to deal with the idiot.
"You know I don't take orders from you, right?"
"You heard your father. You absolutely do. I have one main concern: to keep this family's name pristine. And your father has trusted me to do just that. You will obey me and your father, or there will be consequences. Members of this family can have 'accidents.' "
"Who do you think you are? You can't threaten me."
He puffed out his chest, and his hands were balled into fists. I'd like to see him try to take me down. I wasn't some drugged-out prostitute anymore. I was clean, healthy, stayed fit, and knew how to protect myself. He'd be lucky to make it out with his balls intact.
"Look, all we need to do is work together, and everyone succeeds. Now, I'll give you your instructions. Do you think you can follow them?"
"Let me have it."
He said it, but his eyes told a different story. They declared that he was going to do whatever he damn well felt like. He was a loose cannon. No matter how much his father protected him, one had to wonder: how far was he really willing to go to preserve his family name? If you asked me, I'd say the old man should cut his losses. I didn't think Anthony was worth another moment of our time.
But just in case there was any doubt about the girl's cooperation, I decided to have a little chat with her myself. If she was cooperative, great. If not, well, I was going to have to teach her a lesson myself. I wasn't going to let some junkie ruin the future I'd built. I had poured out too much blood, sweat, and tears to end up here. Nothing would stand in my way—not this piece of garbage named Anthony, and certainly not one of his unfortunate girlfriends. I just hoped the girl knew what was best for her. That would be to keep her mouth shut and to run far, far away.
11
MARTINA
Wearing my best black slacks, paired with a turtle neck and a blazer over it, I steeled myself to meet Anthony Stanzel. Inside his office, our hands met in a firm shake. He looked like he did in his pictures online. Tall, with dark hair and beady eyes. He looked more corporate than street hustler. "Thank you for coming in today," Anthony began, a hint of intrigue in his eyes. "I admit I'm a little curious. It just said in the notes that you have some real estate you'd like to discuss."
"Yes, that's correct."
"Please have a seat."
As I settled into the chair opposite him, I remembered the script I had rehearsed. I intended to approach the topic delicately, not wanting to start off aggressively. I didn't plan to confront him directly with statements like, "Is this your former sex worker? Were you a pimp?" Subtlety was the name of the game. However, one look at him and I realized he didn't fit the typical image of a pimp. But they weren't always the oily-haired, bare-chested slimeballs that movies portrayed.
"Thank you," I began, choosing my words cautiously. "I was actually looking at an apartment building not far from here, in the Tenderloin, and your name came up."
His expression changed momentarily, indicating that my statement had surprised him. "I don't believe we have any property holdings in that area," he said, his voice even. "I'm curious as to how my name came up."
"Sure," I responded. "I was talking to some of the residents, and they said you used to live there. I assumed you had owned the building."
He furrowed his brow. "How long ago was this?"
"Thirty-five years ago."
"What was the address?"
"On the corner of Golden Gate and Jones."
He nodded slowly and his face softened. "Golden Gate and Jones… My goodness, it's been years since I even thought about that old place. I was just a kid back then, during my college days. You see, I attended San Francisco State, and I rented an old apartment at the time, trying to prove I was my own man." He chuckled, but it lacked authenticity.
"So, you don't own the building?"
"Oh, no," he replied, sitting up a bit straighter. "I was just a kid back then. Worked odd jobs until I realized that my father's money was far better than a minimum wage job and a dingy apartment."
"Oh, okay. I guess the person I talked to was mistaken then. They assumed you owned the building, but maybe it's that you just lived there during college," I said, acting as if I accepted the reasoning.
"What's your interest with that building anyhow? Are you looking to purchase it?"
"Oh, no, I'm actually looking for a friend of mine. She used to live there."
He studied my face. "So, you're not really here to talk about real estate?"
"Yes and no. You see, I have a friend, a friend of my mother's, who I've been looking for." Slowly, I fished the photograph out of my purse. It showed Victoria and Nancy as young women with hope in their eyes. I could tell by his demeanor that Anthony had secrets, but prying them out wasn't going to be easy. I certainly wasn't going to let him know that Nancy was looking for Victoria. I slid the photo across the desk, pointing at one of the faces. "The girl on the left, her name is Victoria. I'm looking for her."
His eyes darted to the photograph, and for a split second, his body twitched, but he recovered quickly. He slid the photograph back to me. "Don't know her."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Never seen her before in my life."
I challenged him, "Interesting. My mother said she was sure you knew her, that you'd dated."
Fidgeting in his seat, he said, "To be honest, I dated a lot of girls back then. Maybe I did know her, maybe I didn't. I just… I don't remember her."
"So, you haven't seen her in thirty-five years?"
"Ma'am, I'm not sure I've ever seen her. You came in here under false pretenses, which I don't appreciate. I'm very busy, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Clearly, the photo struck a nerve. "I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you, Mr. Stanzel. I actually looked you up, and it seems like you're one of the pillars of the community. You've done so much good for San Francisco. I thought you'd be open to answering questions about my mother's friend."
"Who is your mother?" he asked, skeptically.
"You probably wouldn't know her. Her name is Hetty. She used to work in San Francisco, at a coffee shop. I guess Victoria used to go there a lot, and they became friends."
He shrugged, but I could tell he was trying to place the name Hetty and the coffee shop. He wouldn't because I'd made up the story. He leaned forward, "Doesn't ring a bell. Like I've told you, I don't know that girl, never did. Now, please, if you don't have any questions about the actual real estate dealings of my company, I need you to leave. And if you don't, I'll have security escort you out."
He was awfully defensive for a man with nothing to hide.
Out of my chair, I took a step away from the desk. "That's fine. I'm leaving. Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Stanzel." I smiled, an expression that hinted I knew more than I let on. With confidence, I strutted out of his office.
His defensiveness and obvious recognition of the photo strengthened my belief Anthony Stanzel and Blade, the pimp, were one and the same. A man who abused and sold young women not just for profit but, I suspected, for pleasure. Yet, if he did know Victoria's whereabouts, he certainly wouldn't tell me. But I had to wonder, had he turned over a new leaf since his college days?
Regardless, it was clear I had to look elsewhere to uncover Victoria's fate. The process would be involved, considering the length of time, but one way or another, I was determined to find her, to unveil the truth. And if Anthony Stanzel had any more secrets, I planned to find them.
12
VICTORIA
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS EARLIER
I never trusted the cops. The idea that they wanted to help me get sober and put my life back together seemed farfetched. As much as I wanted to believe him, I couldn't. I told him I was interested in their help, hoping they would leave me be. My plan was to make an escape in a few days, once I'd healed up.
When the pain medication wore off, my body ached everywhere. They had been giving me methadone to help with my addiction. Without it, I wasn't sure if I would make it through the day.
As I lay in pain, the friendly nurse returned to my bedside. I attempted a smile. She had been kind to me and genuinely seemed to want to see me get better. It was rare to find someone willing to help someone like me.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore, but better."
"Ribs can take a while to heal. How are your headaches?"
"Getting better. How long do you think it'll be before I can be discharged?"
"Give it a couple of days," she answered gently. "The social workers will come by to talk to you. I know the police said they'd help, but I think it's best if you talk to someone not connected with crime, you know?"
I stared at her name tag, which read "Nurse Gray." It didn't fit her at all. In my eyes, she was more like sunshine.
"I appreciate how kind you've been to me. Thank you."
"You're very welcome," she replied, a soft smile on her face. "It seems like no one's helped you in a long time."
Nodding, I said, "I've been trying so hard. I have a daughter, you know? My mother has temporary custody of her now. I'm trying to earn some money, get an apartment, and get her back."
"I believe the social worker can guide you. There are programs to help you get clean."
"I want to be clean. My baby deserves better."
Nurse Gray patted my arm. "You deserve better too," she assured.
As she left quietly, a small glimmer of hope kindled in me for the first time in what felt like forever. I hoped for a different life. I hadn't visited my daughter, Shannon, in over a month, and I worried she'd forget me. Mom put her on the phone once, but she hardly spoke. I tried not to take it personally. Phones can be intimidating for little ones, like how a voice emanates from an object on the wall. I didn't blame Shannon. She was just a toddler. Oh, how I missed her.
Together, we'd have a good life. I'd get an apartment where Shannon would have her own room. I imagined getting her one of those little beds with pink frills and a canopy. I'd give her everything I'd wanted as a girl. I never wanted her to worry about money or face any bad men lurking in the shadows.
The first time I met a bad man, I didn't know he was bad. He was a neighbor who offered to help my mom with the yard. Grateful, she'd invited him in for lemonade. He seemed real nice. The next time he visited, I was about six years old, and I thought he was one of the nicest men I had ever met and wished he would be my dad. I didn't really know my dad—didn't remember him anyway—he had left when I was Shannon's age.
One day, as Mom was rushing to work without having a babysitter for me, he offered to watch over me. Mama said he was a godsend.
That was when the games started.
They didn't seem too weird at first, but the next time he stayed with me while Mom was at work, it felt wrong. He made me promise never to tell. I didn't want to get him or Mom in trouble, or for her to have to worry about who would watch me while she worked.
Shaking away the haunting memories, I vowed to never let that happen to my Shannon. Never.
A woman in a crisp suit, with glossy hair and bright lipstick, approached. She looked like a social worker but more polished.
"Are you Victoria?"
I nodded. "Hi."
"I'm here to talk about your future."
"Are you the social worker?"
She shook her head, "No. I'm here to ask you about what you saw on the street."
Who was she? Unclear, but I was sure she couldn't be trusted. Though the woman was beautiful, her eyes were devoid of warmth. "I didn't see anything."
"That's good to hear. Now, I'm here to make sure that doesn't change. Do you understand?"
"Yes. I didn't see anything, and I won't remember anything. I swear. I just want to get clean and never turn back. I have a daughter. I have to think of her. I'll do anything to keep her safe."
She gave me a smile—one of satisfaction. She stepped closer, making my heart race. This woman could hurt me; her demeanor screamed it. Instead, she handed me an envelope, "This is for your future, Victoria. Use it wisely. Leave the city. Don't come back. If you do, things are going to be very unpleasant. Understand?"
My eyes widened in fear, but I quickly nodded. "As soon as they discharge me, I'll go. I promise I'll never look back. I won't ever come back to the city."
"Good. I spoke with the nurse. You'll be out in a couple of days. I'll ensure you leave safely. I will arrange a car for you. We can take you home or to the BART station."
"The BART station will be fine." I didn't want them to know where I was going. It was better to run and make sure nobody followed.
"Very well." Without another word, she left my room.
Though she was terrifying, a part of me felt she might've just given me a gift. I opened the envelope, revealing $5000—enough for an apartment. Enough to get Shannon back. A mix of fear and hope swirled inside me. Everything was going to be okay.
13
MARTINA
Packing up to go and meet Hirsch, I was surprised by a knock on my office door. Glancing up, I said, "Hey, Vincent, how's it going?"
"Good. I got some info for you."
I had enlisted Vincent's help with some of the research into Victoria. We were checking all possible leads. We knew Victoria had a daughter named Shannon, born approximately thirty-seven years ago. We also knew that Victoria had lived in San Francisco and was somehow connected to Anthony Stanzel. But with Anthony not talking, our best lead was to pursue the daughter. If we found the daughter, hopefully we'd find Victoria.
"What did you find?"
"Well, 'Shannon' was the 21st most common girl's name that year. So, I did a search of birth records for the year and found eighteen Shannons born in CoCo County. This is assuming, of course, that Victoria had her baby in the county where she lived."
He stood up and wiggled his eyebrows. I could've been annoyed that he was drawing this out, but I wasn't. His behavior meant that he had found something significant.
