but Frieda choosing to remain standing.
Nye set the old-fashioned tape recorder and laid out the preliminaries. Jason watched the man’s face carefully for a reaction, but he was a study in misery, downcast and defeated.
The lorry driver gave his name as Benjamin Stock, living in Canton, Cardiff – a couple of streets over from Dylan’s garage.
‘What were you transporting, Mr Stock?’ Frieda was straight to the point.
‘I thought … I thought this was about my driving.’
‘I think it’s about a lot more than that, isn’t it? Forensics are crawling all over your lorry and they’re making some very interesting discoveries.’
Jason had seen the lorry when he went for his smoke – it was cordoned off in the corner of the car park, right next to Frieda’s battered bike, with not a soul in sight. She was playing him.
‘Please – that bloke before, the one who went in the lake. He said you were after information. I can give you that.’
‘I think you’d better.’
But then Benjamin seemed to regain a semblance of control. ‘What’s … what’s in it for me, like? I mean, I’m happy to help you but if I … there are nasty people involved, see. I got a girlfriend, a kid.’
‘Tell us what we need to know, and we will take care of everything. You want witness protection? I can give you that – if you tell me everything. If not…’ She paused, leaving his imagination to fill in all the potential consequences.
Benjamin winced at the thought. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, but they don’t let on to all of us. I can take you to the spots, get you some other fellas who are involved.’
‘Let’s start at the beginning. To ensure we can rely on your information. What was your latest shipment?’
Benjamin swiped at his forehead, sweat erupting from every pore. ‘I picked … the shipment up in Port Talbot yesterday morning, drove up to Holyhead and went over just after lunch. Dropped … it off outside Dublin, then came back with an empty. I was heading back to Cardiff when I, uh, ran into you.’
‘I didn’t ask you for the route. What was in the shipment?’
Benjamin mumbled something that Jason didn’t pick up.
Frieda slammed her hand down on the table, startling him up and away from the surface. ‘For the microphone, Mr Stock. Do not waste my time.’
Benjamin hugged himself. ‘I don’t look at them. Someone else loads them up and I just drive.’
‘Loads up what?’
He closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see, to remember. ‘Girls. Working girls.’
Jason had never disdained a prostitute, had been in awe of the right hook of quite a few when he was running around Butetown. But herding girls up from their homes, promising them a new life and giving them only ugly, sordid work in back alleys … He thought of Cerys in that position, a more vulnerable Cerys from only a year or two ago, and he wanted to smack Benjamin and all the other bastards until they bled.
‘Trafficking,’ Frieda said, and Benjamin flinched. ‘Call it what it is, Mr Stock. Ignorance is not a defence.’
‘When I first took it up, I thought it was dodgy tellies. Not girls. I didn’t agree to that. But once you’re in…’ He gave half a shrug, like a man afraid to move more than an inch in case the monsters in the dark should see him, catch him.
‘I am offering you a way out.’ Frieda’s voice was softer, kinder, as she slid into the seat opposite him. A friend in the night. She was playing both good and bad cop.
Benjamin nodded quickly, as if he was acting before he could take it back. Nye narrated it for the tape, the first words he’d spoken since the date and time of the interview. He was letting the master do her work.
‘Do your lorries carry anything else, besides girls?’
‘I told you – I don’t look. But I’ve seen boxes a couple of times. The others … they’re local to Neath and to here. They do smaller jobs as well, white van stuff. I don’t know what they’re
Nye set the old-fashioned tape recorder and laid out the preliminaries. Jason watched the man’s face carefully for a reaction, but he was a study in misery, downcast and defeated.
The lorry driver gave his name as Benjamin Stock, living in Canton, Cardiff – a couple of streets over from Dylan’s garage.
‘What were you transporting, Mr Stock?’ Frieda was straight to the point.
‘I thought … I thought this was about my driving.’
‘I think it’s about a lot more than that, isn’t it? Forensics are crawling all over your lorry and they’re making some very interesting discoveries.’
Jason had seen the lorry when he went for his smoke – it was cordoned off in the corner of the car park, right next to Frieda’s battered bike, with not a soul in sight. She was playing him.
‘Please – that bloke before, the one who went in the lake. He said you were after information. I can give you that.’
‘I think you’d better.’
But then Benjamin seemed to regain a semblance of control. ‘What’s … what’s in it for me, like? I mean, I’m happy to help you but if I … there are nasty people involved, see. I got a girlfriend, a kid.’
‘Tell us what we need to know, and we will take care of everything. You want witness protection? I can give you that – if you tell me everything. If not…’ She paused, leaving his imagination to fill in all the potential consequences.
Benjamin winced at the thought. ‘I’ll tell you what I know, but they don’t let on to all of us. I can take you to the spots, get you some other fellas who are involved.’
‘Let’s start at the beginning. To ensure we can rely on your information. What was your latest shipment?’
Benjamin swiped at his forehead, sweat erupting from every pore. ‘I picked … the shipment up in Port Talbot yesterday morning, drove up to Holyhead and went over just after lunch. Dropped … it off outside Dublin, then came back with an empty. I was heading back to Cardiff when I, uh, ran into you.’
‘I didn’t ask you for the route. What was in the shipment?’
Benjamin mumbled something that Jason didn’t pick up.
Frieda slammed her hand down on the table, startling him up and away from the surface. ‘For the microphone, Mr Stock. Do not waste my time.’
Benjamin hugged himself. ‘I don’t look at them. Someone else loads them up and I just drive.’
‘Loads up what?’
He closed his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see, to remember. ‘Girls. Working girls.’
Jason had never disdained a prostitute, had been in awe of the right hook of quite a few when he was running around Butetown. But herding girls up from their homes, promising them a new life and giving them only ugly, sordid work in back alleys … He thought of Cerys in that position, a more vulnerable Cerys from only a year or two ago, and he wanted to smack Benjamin and all the other bastards until they bled.
‘Trafficking,’ Frieda said, and Benjamin flinched. ‘Call it what it is, Mr Stock. Ignorance is not a defence.’
‘When I first took it up, I thought it was dodgy tellies. Not girls. I didn’t agree to that. But once you’re in…’ He gave half a shrug, like a man afraid to move more than an inch in case the monsters in the dark should see him, catch him.
‘I am offering you a way out.’ Frieda’s voice was softer, kinder, as she slid into the seat opposite him. A friend in the night. She was playing both good and bad cop.
Benjamin nodded quickly, as if he was acting before he could take it back. Nye narrated it for the tape, the first words he’d spoken since the date and time of the interview. He was letting the master do her work.
‘Do your lorries carry anything else, besides girls?’
‘I told you – I don’t look. But I’ve seen boxes a couple of times. The others … they’re local to Neath and to here. They do smaller jobs as well, white van stuff. I don’t know what they’re
Similar Books
