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The problem is that men who are being tortured sometimes tell us stories they think we want to hear. This is especially true of men who have few bargaining chips. Asking the same questions over and over in different ways will tell me if his story holds up, so we don’t waste time chasing bullshit.
“Not a native French speaker. Did I get that right?”
He nods.
“Paolo approached you about a month ago while you were on your way home from a club. What color are his eyes?”
“Like I said. It was late, and he was wearing dark glasses and a beanie pulled low.”
“In all the times you spoke with Paolo, he never let his cousin’s name slip? Think, Andre. Think like your life depends on it, because it does.” It’s important to keep hope alive at this stage of the interrogation. But that’s all it is, hope. Andre is not getting out of here alive.
“No. He called him his cousin. Never used his name.”
“What about when you talked to the cousin?”
“He just said he was Paolo’s cousin.”
He might not even be Paolo’s cousin. He might have introduced himself that way to get Andre to do his bidding. Or Andre could be lying.
“I only talked to him twice. The first time was when he told me to go to the hotel. And then when he said I needed to go to a different hotel. But I never got there because the guards grabbed me.”
My guards grabbed him.
I lower the prisoner until he’s on his feet, then give him a few sips of water. Not because I’m inclined to show him mercy, but because I want him to believe that he’ll be rewarded for cooperating.
Andre rolls his shoulders, something he couldn’t do when he was off the ground.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He nods.
“Keep answering my questions and you’ll buy yourself some grace.” I give it a moment to sink in. “Why did Paolo’s cousin want you to collect information on the woman in the hotel?”
“He didn’t say. Only that it was very important.”
“I want you to listen very carefully to my next question. What do you think they wanted when they had you check out the clubs? Not the kind of information they asked you to gather. You already told us that. But why did they want it?” He might know shit, but everyone has hunches, and those hunches can sometimes be useful.
“I told you. I don’t know.”
I pull out my knife and wave the blade under his nose to refresh his memory. “How about when they asked you to get information on the woman at the hotel. You never wondered what they were going to do with that information?”
His head flops to the side, and he shuts his eyes.
I move toward the lever that will raise him up off the ground. He grunts.
“I wondered whether they were going to steal money, or if—”
“Or if what, Andre?”
“If they were with the trafficking ring.”
Fucker. He was willing to feed them information, knowing they might snatch her. I take a few steps back so I don’t end this bastard now, before we have everything we need from him.
“You were going to provide information about an innocent woman to men who you believed might be flesh traders?”
“I didn’t know she was innocent. I needed the money.”
My phone rings. Will Clarke. Just what I need.
