He considered her for a moment. She was off-script. They hadn’t planned for her to talk business with him, and she hoped she wouldn’t blow what was so far moving along as planned.
“I can see you aren’t a typical driver, Miss Deirdre. What’s your cost?”
“I’ll do you ten percent better than what she was charging you.”
He frowned as if contemplating the offer, but didn’t seem surprised that she’d referred to the person arranging the current deal as female. He took out his wallet and handed Josie one of his business cards. “Be in touch,” he said, and turned away from her.
Josie got into the van and took one quick look back as he led the women into the basement.
EIGHTEEN
Four hours after leaving a cocky Big Ben lording his power over four seemingly frightened women in the Maid’s Quarters, Josie walked into an interrogation room to find Benjamin Dominguez sitting in a chair, bent over at the waist.
He braced his hands on the side of the chair and leaned up slightly to speak. “I have anxiety attacks. It’s a medically diagnosed condition. I need to get to the hospital immediately. I will pass out without medical care.”
“We’re not taking you anywhere,” Townie said. He rolled his eyes at the theatrics and pointed to an empty chair for Josie.
The interrogation room was in the basement of one of the police department substations. She was certain more accommodating rooms were available, but the setting fit the occasion. The room was barely large enough to hold Big Ben, Townie, and two other officers that she’d not seen before sitting in chairs, and another officer who was running a video camera behind a tripod in one corner of the room.
Josie liked that Big Ben had no table to hide behind. When he finally sat up in the chair, Josie looked in disgust at the tears that ran down his splotchy face. His cheap suit hung off his shoulders in a wrinkled mess as he dangled his hands between his legs and scanned the room, noticing Josie for the first time. His anxiety symptoms gave way to a momentary expression of recognition that gave way to fury, before he could resume his pale-faced misery and look away. Josie smiled.
“I’ll remind you again that you have been read your Miranda rights. Do you still wish to waive your right to counsel at this time?”
Ben seemed conflicted. Common sense would indicate an attorney would be the best option, but Townie must have already convinced him that cooperating with the cops would be very advantageous to his situation.
“I don’t want an attorney. But I want the cuffs off,” Ben said. “I’m obviously not going anywhere, with a room full of police officers packed in around me like sardines.”
Townie stood to remove the handcuffs. “You were having such convulsive fits I was afraid you’d harm yourself from all that anxiety. Since you’ve calmed down, I think we’re safe to remove the cuffs. Lift ’em up here, Ben.”
Once the cuffs were removed, Townie and the other two cops who’d also been working the Maid’s Quarters investigation spent the next ninety minutes interrogating him about the operation.
Initially Ben was reluctant to offer anything, but once he gave up the first real morsel, Townie was unrelenting. Josie was impressed with the way Townie would ask the same question again and again with only subtle differences, until Ben would forget he’d denied something and offer up a new detail. Then Townie would take the new piece of information, combine it with something else, and re-form it into a new question. It was like watching a stone sculptor chip away at rock, and then backing away to see the complete picture from a distance. Townie was one of the best interrogators she had seen in action.
Josie sat patiently, listening to the exchange, knowing eventually he’d bring it around to what Ben had referred to as the “suppliers.” She’d talked extensively with Townie on the phone the night before, explaining the transport from Guatemala, Caroline Moss’s involvement, and the two drivers.
Townie finally asked, “How many suppliers do you work with?”
Ben shrugged and then said, “Four or five.”
“So you work with five suppliers?”
“Yeah.”
“What countries do they ship from?” Townie asked.
“Guatemala and Honduras. And all you have to do is get on the Internet and look at where these ladies come from. Then tell me what I give them isn’t better than what they had. Tell me I’m not providing a—”
“Spare me the goodwill lecture,” Townie said. “Ain’t gonna fly here. Start with your suppliers from Guatemala. How many?”
“Just one. The rest are Honduras.”
“What’s her name?” Townie asked.
Once again Ben didn’t seem surprised at the use of the female pronoun. “Lilith.”
Josie jotted the name down on the notepad in her lap.
“How many deliveries do you get from her each month?”
“From Lilith, maybe four or five times since last fall. She’s only been sending me girls for about a year.”
“Did she negotiate the deal for the girls you received today?”
“Yes.”