Midnight Crossing (27 page)

She took a deep breath and wished she knew how to pray. She would have said a prayer. As the chief of police in a small-town city department, working undercover was not her specialty.

She knocked on the door and a man with a gruff voice yelled, “What?”

Josie put her hand on the sticky doorknob and turned. The space was the size of a bathroom and seemed to serve as both a custodian’s supply closet and an office with a small wooden desk. The bald gaunt man with a goatee in a three-piece suit did not fit the voice that had bellowed out at Josie.

“What?” he repeated.

“I need to see Big Ben.”

“Why?”

“I got a delivery.”

“Of what?”

“Women.”

“Who are you?”

“Who are
you
?” she asked back.

The corner of his mouth lifted and he rolled his chair away from his desk a bit, finally seeming to take her seriously.

“I’m Big Ben.”

“Well, then I’m Deirdre.”

“Bullshit.”

She let the corner of her mouth lift but said nothing.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“In my van. In the lot.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“I’m waiting on five.”

She smiled, cocking her head slightly. “Well, now you get four.”

“Deirdre makes five,” he said.

“Deirdre’s getting the hell out of here.”

Josie pitched the manila envelope onto his desk, and Big Ben dumped the contents onto the pile of papers in front of him. He flicked through the documents to find the driver’s licenses, studying each one, mumbling the girls’ names and their weight and eye color, commenting on their appearance. He spoke with a light Mexican accent, drawing out some words, clipping others. He held up one of the licenses and read off the name. “Susita. What’s she like?”

Josie shrugged. “She’s all right. A little attitude.”

A gold tooth glinted when he laughed, giving him the appearance of a cartoon character. “I knew it. I know these mamas before they ever walk into my life, just by their picture.” He tapped the photo on the license. “This little mamacita needs to be trained.”

Josie smiled and nodded. He was referring to Sheila. Trained? “She’s a tough one.”

He stroked his goatee and eyed Josie. “Tough, huh? She won’t be tough for too long. I guarantee you that, my friend.” He laughed and stood from his desk. “Let’s go.”

He brushed past Josie and into the hallway. She followed him outside, where he peered into the parking lot and spotted her van. “Pull it around behind the building.”

He started to walk away and she said, “Hey! What about my check?”

“Don’t be rude, mama. Meet me in back.”

*   *   *

Josie climbed into the van and was peppered with questions. The undercover officers were wired, but they had no audio of Josie’s communication, nor could they communicate with each other once they entered the building. Josie’s transmission was only connected to Townie.

“I spoke with one man who identified himself as Big Ben. Tall, middle-aged with a goatee and a cheesy three-piece suit.” Josie turned in her seat to look at Sheila before driving the van around back. “He singled your driver’s license out and asked about you. I said you had an attitude. I think he’s looking forward to messing with you.”

One of the others, a Hispanic woman with big hair and a loud laugh, gave her grief. “Oh, girlfriend. He picked the wrong UC to mess with. Sheila will rip his ass good.”

*   *   *

The mood in the van would have seemed lighthearted to someone outside of law enforcement. But Josie knew it was nervous energy. Any situation with criminals involving innocent people, money, guns, and drugs could end in disaster in seconds flat. Everyone in the van knew that one wrong move could put their lives in jeopardy.

The back of the apartment building was down a sloped drive that ended in what looked like a loading dock and the building’s basement. Josie stopped the van where Big Ben was standing beside the basement door stroking his goatee. She opened the van’s side door and four women stared out at her, eyes wide, looking terrified, playing their parts well.

“Ladies. Welcome to the beautiful United States of America. My name is Big Ben and I’ll be your tour guide. We’ll get you set up in your lovely room and then I’ll introduce you to your trainer. For now, let’s see which one of you lovely ladies will rise to the top.” He held up one of the driver’s licenses. “Contestant number one. Juanita! Come out here and let me see you.”

The woman with the loud laugh climbed out of the van looking timid and scared. Big Ben pointed to the wall next to the entrance door and had her stand there. “Arms to your side,” he said. They all stared at the woman, who looked away, possibly searching the parking lot for the backup undercover minivan, but more likely humiliated at being treated like a piece of property.

“Not bad. Drop a few pounds, fix that mess of hair,” he said. “Now turn around, slowly.”

She did as instructed. Josie knew the women would thoroughly enjoy watching the handcuffs click tight around the man’s wrists.

This went on for at least fifteen minutes as Big Ben took each girl out of the van and assessed her physical qualities in front of the others, making it clear that he was in charge.

“Okay, ladies. You’re all mine now. Let’s set you up in your room, where you can pick out some clothes. Then you get your first lesson on cleaning toilets and keeping your mouths shut.” He turned to Josie and pulled an envelope out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and handed it to her.

Josie held the envelope in the air. “I bet I can make you a better deal,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t make deals with the drivers.”

“I’m not your typical driver.”

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.”

“How much did you pay her for the four girls?” Townie asked.

Ben turned in his seat and pointed at Josie. “Ask her. She took the envelope.”

Townie had opened the envelope when Josie and Dell had arrived at the police station, and they’d found four one-thousand-dollar bills.

“I’d like to hear it from you,” Townie said.

“A thousand per head.”

“How does she contact you when she has a load ready?”

“She calls me.”

Josie felt the skin prickle on her arms. She hadn’t expected a phone connection. It would be easier to trace.

“On what phone?”

Ben gave Townie a scathing look. “The phone you took from me.”

“This one?”

“That’s it.”

Townie passed it over to him. “Go ahead and pull up Lilith’s contact information. Let me see it.”

Ben scrolled through, found what he was looking for, started to hand the phone back to Townie, and stopped. “Not until I get some guarantees. How do I know you won’t take everything I’ve given you, and then you’ll arrest me anyway?”

Townie laughed and grabbed the phone from him. “Ben. You’re already under arrest. You’re going to jail, pal. We were just providing you an opportunity to come clean before we put you away.”

Ben’s face turned an angry red color. “You told me I’d help my case if I talked to you without an attorney.”

“And you did. We appreciate the information greatly. And so will the prosecutor.”

Big Ben came unhinged, yelling and swearing and demanding his attorney. Josie left the room feeling flattened. They’d finally gotten around to the information she needed and Townie had let the interrogation die out.

Josie stood in the lobby and talked to Dell on the phone while she waited to debrief with Townie. Dell was sitting in his pickup truck outside in the parking lot waiting for her to finish.

Townie finally came out of the booking area holding the phone in the air.

“I know you’re disappointed with the end of that interview, but this’ll make up for it.” Townie powered up the phone. “This is Big Ben’s. Entered as evidence. Guess whose number is in his contacts.”

“Tell me it’s Lilith,” Josie said.

He grinned and handed her the phone. Not only was the name Lilith in his contacts, but she saw that the phone number utilized the area code for Arroyo County. Josie opened her phone and took a photo of the contact information on Big Ben’s phone.

“That what you needed?” Townie asked, smiling, knowing it was.

“The trick will be tying the so-called Lilith to an actual person.” Josie handed him the phone back and shook his hand. “I appreciate you letting me sit in on the interview. It was impressive, the way you worked him over.”

“Slow and steady. Best advice I ever got as a new investigator.”

*   *   *

Dell drove the first four-hour stretch to Artemis while Josie spent the time making calls to every law enforcement contact she could think of who might have information that could tie a phone associated to a Lilith to a human trafficking scam associated with Caroline Moss. She realized the name was most likely a fake, but it was a connection she would pursue until it dried up.

After several futile hours Josie opened a search engine on her phone and typed in
Lilith
+
“Caroline Moss.”
Surprisingly, several links appeared, and Josie clicked on one that took her to an obituary for Lilith Ann Rockwell, who had lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She scrolled down and read that the woman passed away ten years ago, and was survived by her daughter, Caroline Ann Moss, of Artemis, Texas.