Twenty-five

Pemberton's Jaguar was still parked at the apartment building at twenty to twelve. I snapped a quick photo to lock in the time stamp and then drove back over to the main road.

I checked into a motel and carried my gear up to the room. The place was a bit more expensive than I had anticipated, but it was clean and well situated, and the rooms were quiet. I wasn't expecting to get much sleep, but noise is always a nuissance. 

I set the laptop on the tiny desk and connected to the motel's WiFi service. The health club's website listed their ballet instructor as Tatiana Vishnevsky. They posted her photo, but there was no mention of her background or qualifications.

As I searched, I found information on a ballerina from Belarus with that name. Photos confirmed that it was the same Tatiana. Two years ago, she was performing with a youth company based in Minsk. Now, she was here teaching exercise classes in a gym.

Further research uncovered a revelation. There was a reason why Tatiana looked so young; she was seventeen. 

I double-checked the dates. This changed my perception of the situation significantly.

I can imagine, of course, someone of Pemberton's age divorcing his wife and running off with a younger woman. That sort of thing happens all the time. But with a teenager? That's not a midlife crisis; it's borderline debauchery. What would Pemberton's adoring employees think if they knew where their boss was sleeping tonight?

Ambitious young women sometimes hook up with a wealthy older man for financial security. But not girls Tatiana's age - they're still idealistic about love. They pine for boys and dream of having babies. Unless they've been traumatized by some horrible experience, they don't climb into bed with a man who's pushing sixty no matter how successful he is. 

Then again, something horrible may have happened to Tatiana. Or to her family. They could be desperate, or perhaps she had endured abuse in her childhood. She showed what seemed like genuine affection for Pemberton at the restaurant. Was she working to help someone back home? Was she running away from a horrible past?

How did these two meet, I wondered. And who brought her here? Eastern European brides don't show up unannounced. They're sponsored by organizations, or more likely by organized crime. 

Was Tatiana a sex slave? Was she working off an unpayable debt to some abusive coyote? Was she duped with promises of performing in the West, only to have her promising young life destroyed by criminals from the East?

I couldn't be sure, but that's what it looked like. I couldn't imagine her meeting Pemberton in a coffee shop and falling in love. Something sinister was happening behind the scenes. This would require a change in strategy.

I still planned to confront Pemberton; I hadn't changed my mind on that. But first, I would need to poke some sticks into some dark places to see what kind of reptiles mights slither out. Maybe I could help Tatiana - if indeed she wanted help - but I couldn't take too long on this side venture. I still had a responsibility to Rhonda and her son, and their time was running out. 

It was 1:30 in the morning. I didn't have many hours left for sleep. I shut down the computer, used the toilet, brushed my teeth and set the alarm for four.

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