“I would like to know your name so I have something to call you by,” Anaya said, softly.
Nothing.
“Is there something people call you? It doesn’t have to be your real name.” Anaya said, using a line she’d used many times before.
Anaya knew this girl might fear some reprisal if her legal name was given. Kids in her position often worried about their captors finding them or getting deported. She always liked to give the nickname option as an icebreaker.
The small girl seemed to make herself even smaller as she said, “Mouse. My name is Mouse.”
Anaya was correct. This girl had an excellent command of the English language.
“Mouse it is then. Thank you for that,” Anaya said, satisfied that the first connection had been developed. She smiled at the little girl.
Mouse’s cheeks twitched momentarily, but she did not smile. In the safety of her temporary surroundings, she allowed some of the tension to release. But she remembered that she still had promises to keep.
Chapter 9
Nick pulled into the parking garage of the massive building that rose up in the heart of downtown Austin. He’d already coordinated with the booking sergeant prior to his arrival so they could arrange to have Richard Pentlow prepared. Nick entered through the secured law-enforcement-only entrance to the facility after showing his credentials to the jailer. The bustling movement of police officers, jail personnel and inmates looked like an ant mound that had been poked with a stick. Must have been a busy night.
Nick walked to the main desk area and again showed his credentials. “Agent Lawrence to see inmate Pentlow. I spoke with Sergeant Willis on the phone and he said he’d have him ready for me,” Nick said.
“He’s in interview room number three. I’ll take you to him.” The jailer was friendly but direct. The interview of Pentlow was obviously low on his priority list, and it was evident he wanted to get back to the task of preparing for the morning’s arraignments.
“Busy night?” Nick asked, making small talk as the two walked into the brightly-lit corridor containing a row of closed doors along the right-hand side.
“Pretty typical fallout from a Saturday night,” the guard said and shrugged as if the volume of newly-arrested people was barely a blip on his radar. “Here you go. The room has a camera system that will record your interview. We can get you a copy before you leave. One of our deputies, Dan Shelton, is inside with him and will standby outside the door while you do your thing.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure how long this will take,” Nick said, knowing that every interview was different, and the timeframe was dependent on so many factors.
“Well, he’s set to see the judge at around ten, so you’ve only got about an hour,” the jailer said, opening the door to the interview room.
The county did daily arraignments. A judge would hear any new arrests that came in through the night and early morning hours. The probable cause for the custody would be reviewed and a bond would be set.
“I guess I’d better get started then,” Nick said, with a smile.
Nick entered the room and nodded at Shelton, who exited without saying a word. As the door clicked shut, Nick stood for a moment acclimatizing to the room and the man nervously seated a few feet away. Nick took the seat across from him. The man’s head remained down, the top thinned, with wisps of dirty blond hair laying over his bald spot.
“Good morning, Mr. Pentlow. I’m Agent Lawrence with the FBI,” Nick said, extending his hand.
Richard Pentlow seemed shocked by the Agent’s greeting. Nick knew why. Nobody liked a pedophile and his treatment had probably been less than hospitable since his arrival. Nick knew this and, by design, knew the importance of his outreached hand. Pentlow wiped his clammy palms on his pants and took the agent’s hand, giving it a weak shake.
“How are you holding up? Can I get you anything?” Nick asked, in a tone that sounded genuine.
It was an act. Nick would like nothing more than to reach across the table and choke the life out of the man. He’d learned that would do more harm than good. Kindness and compassion, even when well-faked, were instrumental in developing rapport. The key ingredients to getting a confession. Nick had mastered the ability of putting aside his personal feelings in these investigations. He’d found the appropriate release for that harbored rage. It was not now and definitely not here.
“I’m fine, I guess,” Pentlow said, meekly.
“All right. Well, let’s get the formalities out of the way,” Nick said as he slowly pulled a sheet of paper from his folder.
Nick went through line by line of the Miranda warning, reading it aloud as Pentlow followed along silently. Nick verified that Pentlow understood each piece through verbal confirmation and annotation in the form of his initials. Pentlow signed the bottom of the page, authorizing Nick to speak with him.
“How long have you lived in the Austin area?” Nick asked, catching Pentlow off guard.
People based their idea of what a police interview should look like from poorly developed Hollywood scripts. Television and movies rarely showed this aspect of an interrogation. They cut to the dramatic confrontation, but Nick knew the likelihood of confession was built in these subtle moments of connection between suspect and interviewer.
“Huh? Oh, about three years,” Pentlow answered.
“Where did you move from?” Nick asked. To an outsider, it would appear that Nick was genuinely interested in Richard Pentlow’s life.
“Oregon. Grew up there, but then a job opportunity presented out this way,” Pentlow said, meekly.
Pentlow was comfortable talking about his job. It was a safe area. Nick needed these contextual points to fall back on if the bond weakened at the later stages of the interview.
“Was your wife supportive of the move?” Nick asked, gauging Pentlow’s reaction to the introduction of his spouse into the conversation.
Pentlow gave a miniscule grimace. Too early to tell if the facial tick was related to his present circumstance or a general disdain for his wife.
“I guess. Well, not really. She had no friends or family out this way. Since we got here, she’s pretty much become a recluse,” Pentlow said, lowering his eyes.
“That’s got to be tough. How is your relationship with her?” Nick asked, taking an early risk.
He was under a time crunch and needed to extract as much information as he could before the arraignment. The chance of Pentlow talking after that would drop drastically. In Nick’s experience the best opportunity to confront an arrestee was after booking, but before intermingling with the judicial process. Once bond was posted, suspects did not typically feel the need to speak with police. Their initial desperation would be dashed with the injection of a defense attorney’s advice.
“Relationship?” Pentlow showed the first signs of emotion. Anger.
“Not good?” Nick prodded.
“That’s an understatement. All she does is care for her kids. I’m the odd man out in the house,” Pentlow said, spitting his frustration at Nick.
Nick caught something in Pentlow’s statement and inquired further, “You said her kids. Are you not their biological father?”
“Her son and daughter are from two different dads. Not mine. I really do care for them though.”
Pentlow said this last part for effect. He was trying to win Nick’s approval. That was a good thing. It meant that subconsciously he valued Nick’s opinion of him. That could be manipulated to an advantage as the conversation progressed.
“I’m sure you do. I have no question about your dedication. I mean, look at all you’ve done for them. You took this job out here to give them a better life. To give your wife more. Does she appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made?”
Nick asked this by design. He needed Pentlow to see Nick as someone who understood his plight. He’d be more likely to talk to a supportive ear.
“No. She’s treated me like shit since we moved here.” Pentlow paused for a mome
nt and then continued, “Sorry for the language. I don’t mean to sound crass, but it just upsets me.”
The irony was not lost on Nick. A man in custody for raping an eleven-year-old girl had just apologized for cursing. “Treated like shit?” Nick broached.
“Well, it’s kind of personal.”
“I’d really like to understand you better. It’s important to me. Your well-being is important to me,” Nick said.
It was an absolute lie. He wanted to shove his fist down the perv’s throat but that would do nothing to help the case. It would do nothing to help those girls.
“Thank you. Do you know that you’re the first person to treat me like a human being since this morning?” Pentlow said, sadly.
This comment was a verbal confirmation that Nick had struck interrogator gold in the rapport phase of the interview. He could slowly apply the pressure. Slowly break the man seated across from him.
“Richard, we are under a time crunch this morning. You’re going to be seeing the judge in less than an hour.” Nick paused for effect and then continued, “I’m not going to sugar coat this. You’re facing some very serious charges and the cards are stacked against you.”
“I didn’t do anything! I told the cops that I heard a girl scream and I went in to help. I didn’t touch that girl!” Richard said, desperately. His eyes widened, pleading for Nick to believe him.
“If you’re going to stick to that story, then I’m going to leave.” Nick closed his notebook and slid the chair back slowly.
Richard Pentlow’s head dipped and his body slumped. Nick observed this pathetic display of defeat as he made his way toward the door.
As Nick reached for the door handle, he looked back and said, “I’m your only chance at getting you any consideration with the court. This door closes behind me and the opportunities leave with me.”
“Wait!” Pentlow shot a glance at the agent.
“Would you like to talk? To really talk about what happened?” Nick asked, firmly. The feigned kindness he’d shown Pentlow was dissipating.
“Yes,” Pentlow muttered, softly.
Taking his seat, Nick stared seriously at the man in front of him. He sighed, as if annoyed at this game, and began the renewed conversation, “Look, there’re some things you need to understand before we begin again.”
Pentlow nodded but didn’t speak.
“You were caught in a room with an eleven-year-old girl tied to a bed and six others locked in the bathroom. Not sure there’s any way you can spin that to your advantage,” Nick said, holding back his contempt for the man before him. He continued, “Your friends and family will abandon you. The prosecution will destroy you. And prison, well, prison will be a living hell for you.”
“I can’t go to prison! You’ve got to help me,” Pentlow whimpered, rubbing his face wildly as if trying to wake from a terrible nightmare.
“I don’t make the deals,” Nick said, coldly.
“Then what good are you to me,” Pentlow said, lashing out in frustration.
“I’m the guy who talks to the prosecution. I’m the guy who tells them you’re fully cooperating with my investigation. And if you don’t bullshit me, then maybe, just maybe, I can arrange to have you set up in isolation so you don’t have to be in gen pop,” Nick said.
“Gen pop?” Pentlow asked.
“General population. Do you know how many inmates have children? Even the nastiest of prisoners will hate you. They’ll find out what you did. They always do. And when that happens, it’ll be a fate worse than death,” Nick said, allowing Pentlow’s racing mind to fill in the gap. The unsaid threat.
“Maybe I’ll beat this thing. Maybe my attorney will fix it,” Pentlow said, weakly.
“Good luck with that.” Nick shook his head, punctuating the truth in his statement and then continued, “So, back to what I was saying. You need to come clean on this if you want any semblance of court consideration.”
Richard Pentlow let out a long breath and sat silently with his arms folded. Nick waited patiently, allowing the quiet of the room to add its own pressure.
His arms unfolded and Pentlow rubbed his moist hands on his jeans. He looked up but barely made eye contact and said, almost in a whisper, “Okay. I’ll tell you everything. Just please help me.”
Nick wondered if that little girl had pleaded with him while she was tied to the bed in the motel. He swallowed hard, suppressing his overwhelming desire to hurt the man seated across from him. He didn’t give way to this emotion, knowing that it would only stall his chances of finding the men responsible for selling those girls. Nick clicked his pen and waited for Pentlow to begin.
Chapter 10
Rusty Harrison slumped against the side of his Ford Crown Victoria as Jasper lapped at his Evian-filled bowl. He repeatedly ran his fingers through the soft hair atop his partner’s head. The dog’s ears flickered with each pass. Rusty’s eyes were vacant, and he used this quiet moment to try to clear his mind. Seeing the lifeless girl had rocked him to his core. He could still feel her blood on his hands even after rinsing them three times. He looked down, wondering if they would ever feel clean again. He’d seen bad things before and was aware of the aftermath, knowing that feeling would stay with him for a long time to come.
“How are you holding up?” Jones asked, with genuine compassion.
The dark humor of the police had a line that would not to be crossed and dead children topped that shortlist.
“I want a part in this,” Harrison said, looking directly into the eyes of the investigator.
“You’ve done your part. And I really appreciate your help,” Jones said.
“You can use me any way you see fit. I just want to be there when we grab the guy who did this. Jasper has a hankering for assholes like him,” Harrison said through the tension in his jaw.
“I’ll see what I can do. It would be nice to have a dedicated K9 asset.”
Jones’s phone chimed, and he pulled it from his pocket, pressing it to his ear as he stepped away from Harrison.
“Did he talk?” Jones asked.
“Yes. He gave me what he knew, but I think we might get more specifics when we hear back from Digital,” Nick responded.
“Let me guess. Some website with a number and a cash exchange?” Jones said, knowing the pattern for these types of deals.
“Pretty much. It sounds like the description of the handler is close to that given by the manager for the Jose Torres guy who’d rented the room. Pentlow claimed that it was the first time he had done this. A lie, but I do think this is the first time he used this particular service provider,” Nick said, knowing that by the time a pedophile was caught there was typically a long line of undocumented victims.
“Why do you think this was the first time he used this girl’s handler?” Jones asked.
“When I explained that the girls in that motel room were probably being managed by very dangerous people, he was terrified. The fear of reprisal seemed to really shake him,” Nick replied. “He told me that the Torres guy took a picture of his driver’s license.”
“Makes sense. These girls are definitely not locals. It looks like Pentlow’s perversion might’ve crossed paths with an organized trafficking group,” Jones said, stating the obvious.
“Yup. How long until your digital guys have something back?” Nick asked. He was prepared to offer the Bureau’s services but knew that Austin had a comparable unit.
“Top priority, especially with the latest,” Jones responded, realizing he hadn’t yet relayed the information about the dead girl. An oversight, understandable under the situation.
There was a morning breeze and the plastic covering her body flapped, making a rustling sound. A sad reminder of the small child who lay lifeless underneath it on the concrete rise behind him.
“Huh?”
“There was an eighth girl. We ran a track to find her,” Jones said, slowly bleeding out the information. “I called you but realized you were probably at the jail. N
o cell reception.” Jones knew Nick wouldn’t feel slighted but added it anyway.
“How old?”
“My guess is between nine and eleven,” Jones said, quietly.
“Is she willing to talk?” Nick asked, with an air of optimism.
“Can’t. She’s dead,” Jones said. Silence followed. The two hardened men knew there were no offerings to be made. No ease could be given to the harsh reality of the girl’s death.
“How?” Nick asked. Any trace of his previous hopefulness was dashed from his tone.
“Stab wounds. Multiple.” Jones drifted away, deep in thought.
“Jesus. I’m in my car. I’ll meet you out there in a few.”
“Don’t bother. Homicide is here. Their techs have already started processing the scene. It’s still our case, but they want to ante in on the body.” There was a discernible annoyance in Jones’s voice.
Nick had worked with Jones enough to know that having another detective unit poking around his case was cause enough to send the rotund investigator into a brisket-eating frenzy.
“Well, it’s still our case, right?” Nick asked, somewhat rhetorically.
“Of course,” Jones said.
“Then let’s work the shit out of it and find the bastards that did this!”
Nick was rarely animated, but this case hit his hot button. He was fired up. Never good to be on Nicholas Lawrence’s bad side.
Chapter 11
“What do you plan to do with her now?” Bill Parsons asked.
“She needs rest. I’m going to bring her to my office. I’ve got a small bedroom that comes in handy for situations like these.” Anaya paused, her mind drifting back to when she had been in a similar circumstance.
She’d always wished somebody had shown her the same kindness. It was one of the many reasons she had chosen the path she was on now.
She snapped out of her momentary lapse and back to the present. Anaya continued, “Mouse will probably have more to say once she recoups a bit. Sleep is a magical thing, when it comes to recovery.”
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