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probably from poor peasant families. There’s no record of their fingerprints and unless …” he paused. “Until … we find who did this to them, it will be difficult to identify the victims.”
    “Do you know why they were being smuggled into the country?” came another shouted question.
    “We have no proof at this point, but it seems obvious they were destined for the prostitution business. We’ve noticed a trend toward younger and younger girls. The lowlifes engaged in this sort of activity appear to have decided it’s easier to train kids who have never known anything else for the task. One thing is certain. They sure weren’t brought here to be adopted by loving parents.”
    The adoption of Chinese baby girls was big business in North America. It had always struck Garrett as bizarre. Chinese girls had two ways to get to the promised land of the New World: as the much-loved, adopted children of affluent Canadian and American families, or as prostitutes. There was no middle ground.
    “Who’s in charge of the investigation, Commissioner?”
    Tuttle waved a hand at Garrett. “One of my best men. Garrett Barkhouse. He’s also the man who found the girls and very nearly captured the perpetrators.”
    Garrett winced. The only thing he and Tom had captured was a face full of spray as the high-speed powerboat left them in its wake. He still felt guilty that their appearance on the scene was probably responsible for the girls’ deaths.
    The reporters turned their hungry eyes on the new face, and Tuttle moved subtly away from the microphone, forcing Garrett to take his place.
    “Mr. Barkhouse,” cried one reporter, “Have you traced the girls’ destination yet? Do you have any leads that point to Halifax escort services?”
    “We will be following that line of inquiry. And yes, we do have some leads that I obviously can’t tell you about, as it would also inform the perpetrators.”
    The piercing voice of the tiny reporter rose above the din. “The Deputy Commissioner said you nearly caught the men who did this. Was your handicap responsible for your inability to catch them?”
    Garrett nearly choked. “My handicap has never interfered with my ability to do my job. Just as your voice, apparently, hasn’t interfered with yours.”
    The crowd burst into laughter. It was clear the woman was not much liked by her colleagues. She gave him a venomous look.
    Tuttle leaned in and said, “We’ll keep you informed of any new developments in the case. Thank you for coming.” He gave Garrett a none-too-gentle push and they exited the room as another volley of questions surged after them.
    “Great job,” Tuttle growled as they moved down the hall. “You’ve given Kitty Wells every reason now to dog your ass in this case. She’s tiny, but she’s a pit bull. She’ll make you pay.”
    Garrett shrugged. “She was going to do that anyway. Showing us up is how they get the most out of the story.”
    “So,” Tuttle said, pausing for emphasis, “ do you have any leads?”
    “There’s one or two things I’m going to look into here in the city.”
    “All right. Look into them. I don’t want to know what they are for now. Gives me plausible deniability—like Nixon.” He stopped in front of his office and met Garrett’s eyes. “But you better get something fast.”
    “Fast isn’t going to happen, Alton. Even when we had those SOBs in our sights, we couldn’t catch them because they had outspent us on hardware. We get tips all the time, but they don’t do any good. Somehow we’ve got to catch them in the act. Short of calling out the Canadian Navy for every anonymous phone call, that’s not likely to happen. We’ve got to figure out how to sneak up on these fishing boats. That’s hard to do in a Coast Guard cutter.”
    “You suggesting we need someone undercover?”
    “Wouldn’t hurt, but it’s hardly feasible. They run a closed shop. Tighter than the Mafia ever was. They don’t trust anyone. And