Page 166 of Maddy's Justice

Melanie’s nephew, Dylan, became one of the fifty per cent who successfully complete the Drug Court program. He stayed clean, finished college, and became a productive member of society.

At the Wisconsin compound, the Feds dug up sixteen graves. All of them female and all but two were teenage girls. It would take years to identify them. The teenage girls were all kidnap victims and sold as sex slaves. Eventually, of the fourteen teenagers, eleven were identified by DNA sent by relatives of missing girls.

The adult women were the two missing lawyers, Amy Kempton, and Olivia Harris. Their bodies were so badly degraded a cause of death could not be determined. Cliff Spenser, having made his plea agreement, leaving out his part in it when he identified them to Zane, explained what happened.

The two women were kidnapped by a team sent by Zane and headed by Evan Carlin. Or so he was told. Cliff claimed the people at Stafford, Hughes were appalled with what happened next. The women were taken to Wisconsin, executed, and buried.

This was why the case dragged on as long as it did. Because of the murders, the hunting and disposal of bodies, the prosecution refused to take the death penalty off the table for Zane and Evan. Except, two years after the case began, Zane was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer.

Disbelieving the diagnosis, they flew him to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. They confirmed it. He had barely six months to live. Zane/Cal Simpson was going to cheat the hangman. With that, both Zane and Evan took life without parole pleas.

Before he died, Zane did give them the names of men and women outside the U.S. of those who participated in the auctions. He also gave them the location of the auction house. By then the place had been stripped bare and moved. He refused to give up the names of his hunting guests on the island or Wisconsin.

None of those outside the jurisdiction of the U.S. would ever be brought to trial. With only Zane’s testimony––and he would be dead soon––there was little or no evidence. Instead, the FBI sent agents abroad to have a chat with their governments. Little good came of this except to make it clear these people were to never set foot in America. Although eventually some of the governments of these people would get word back to the U.S. DOJ that many of these miscreants had been harshly, and permanently dealt, with.

Abia and Salma would live happily ever after. Or almost. Even though the girls were never raped, tortured, or physically injured in anyway, the mental and emotional scars would take years to heel and they never fully did. Since their presence corroborated the sex slave business and made dozens of prosecutions possible, they were handsomely, monetarily rewarded. The Feds estimated that since they were responsible for one hundred million dollars to be recovered, they were each given a ten-million-dollar reward. How this was determined was never explained.

The girls were allowed to move to Minnesota where they were legally made wards of Vivian Donahue. Vivian would see to their education and counseling needs. Of course, knowing Maddy Rivers was nearby and saw them often sealed that deal.

Lori Quinn and her clients never did get their money. Their settlement was never written up let alone signed by the parties and accepted by the court. Quinn tried to bring a claim with the lawyer handling the receivership of the former Stafford, Hughes law firm. Marc and Connie both confirmed that an oral agreement had been reached. Even so, Quinn’s claim was last in line behind the tax man, the employees, and a long list of others. The pool of legitimate fees was gone before the unsecured creditors got to the head of the line. This included Marc and Connie’s unpaid fees. In fact, the Receiver tried to get them to return the fees they had been paid. The judge overseeing the case was a lot more sympathetic. He ruled the fees paid were for legitimate legal services not tied to the criminal activities. Marc and Connie were allowed to keep them.

The two people ensnared in this mess who probably made out the best were Mike Strand and Mike Hillsdale. The operators of the Two Mikes Flying Service. Without having heard of the government busting everyone, they landed at a private airstrip outside San Antonio. Upon opening the door and dropping the stairs, they were quite surprised at the greeting party. A dozen fully armed DEA agents were waiting for them. The Learjet and load of drugs were confiscated, and the Mikes were looking at twenty years.

For the next two weeks they cooled their heels in a federal facility in Dallas. Then one day a pair of serious looking gentlemen paid them a visit. These two serious gentlemen were employees of a certain government agency whose initials started with a C an I and an A. It seemed the Mike’s flying ability had been brought to their attention. Their choice was simple. Come work for Air America or twenty years in a federal prison.

The Mikes were released and back in their Learjet flying to an unspecified location that same day. It’s nice to have skills that are always in demand.

Of course, the international slave trade was back in business within a few months. Many of the former participants were frightened away, if only temporarily. The main source of victims shifted away from Mexico and America. Horribly, there was no limit to the supply chain. It now came from Asia and Central Europe instead. As long as wealthy people want something, someone will be willing to supply it.

Javier Lopez was having a quiet beer or two while cleaning several guns. His cell phone rang, he looked at the ID and answered it.

“Yes, jefe?” he said.

“I am out front of your house. I need you for something. Come right now,” Carlos Quintero said.

Javier answered affirmatively. He put on a light blue shirt over his wife-beater T-shirt, stuck a favorite 40 caliber handgun in the back of his jeans and hurried out.

“Hello, my friend,” Carlos greeted Javier when he got in the Escalade.

“Jefe, what do you need?

“It is so sad,” Carlos said. “We have a man who has been indiscreet. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes. He has done something he should not have done,” Javier answered.

“Yes, good, you understand. He needs to be disciplined and I want you there,” Carlos said.

“Certainly,” Javier replied. Except, he could not understand why a line of sweat had broken out on his forehead along his hairline.

The three-vehicle caravan traveled along for twenty minutes into the countryside. In the three-car caravan were a total of twelve men. All armed, including Carlos.

They turned off the paved road onto little more than a dirt track. They bounced along this path for another ten minutes then down into a small, barren canyon. Waiting there were two expensive pick-up trucks and four men. Three were carrying automatic rifles. One of these men was Berto, the closest thing to a friend Javier had. The fourth looked very frightened.

The three vehicles stopped, and everyone got out. Javier recognized the men with the rifles but not the unarmed man. No matter. He was probably the guest of honor.

When they reached the front of the trucks, the two biggest, strongest men grabbed Javier’s arms. A third one reached under his shirt and took his gun. There was a hole dug in the ground and Javier, yelling, and trying to break free, was dragged to it. There he was spun around and dropped to his knees.

“Do you know why you are here?” Carlos asked.

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