Page 18 of Polestar
Bjornson, silent, moved two paces behind her.
Another young woman stood, leaning against the far wall, facing the room.
Numb.
Different.
She focused on this one.
Ana moved toward a table with a water carafe to fill a glass, then approached the young woman.Once she was in front of her, she realized the woman was much younger than she’d initially thought—a teen?Seventeen?Younger?
“Thirsty?”Ana held out the glass.
The girl turned her haunted gaze to Ana, lifted to Bjornson, then back to Ana and the glass.She shook her head.
Encouraged that the girl understood English, she pressed on.
“Can we talk?”
The girl shrugged.
“There’s an empty office we can use,” Bjornson murmured next to Ana’s ear.
She turned to see the open door he indicated.
“There, okay?”Ana asked the girl.
Her gaze flicked toward the vacant room before she pushed away from the wall and preceded Ana toward it.
Still holding the glass of water, Ana straightened her shoulders and drew several steadying breaths as they followed.
You can do this, Ortega.
Set up for conducting business or interviews, the small room held a chair on one side and two on the opposite.
The girl dropped onto one of the two plastic chairs.
Ana set the glass on the table before her, then settled on the chair beside the girl, facing her.
Bjornson moved toward the back of the room, where he stood vigil.
“Do you mind if I record our chat?I’m an investigator.”
Another shrug.
Ana extracted her phone from her pocket, found the voice app, turned it on, and set the device on the table.“I’m Analiese Ortega.What is your name?”
“Sascha,” she mumbled, accent thick.
“Where are you from?”
“Varandey.”
Ana repeated the answers for clarification on the recorder.“Have the authorities contacted your family yet?”
“No.I have none.”
Ana studied Sascha’s face.It was gaunt with a lack of basic needs.Her face and hands bore bruises, cuts, and scrapes.Ana suspected there’d be more under her clothes.
