Range’s left eye twitched as she went with Landry into the interrogation room. He returned to the glass and tucked his hands under his armpits, watching Jazani as the door opened. No reaction. She kept her gaze down.
Pike joined him as Landry positioned himself with his back to the window, forcing the terp into the side chair. “Miss Jazani, you can call me Luther. This is our interpreter, Malala.”
The Madam kept her chin tucked.
“Is there anything you would like to volunteer?”
Malala repeated the question in Pashto.
No response.
“We can help you, arrange for possible immunity if you can tell us who you were working for, and who his boss is.”
Again, Malala relayed the words. Again, no response.
“Listen,” Landry said, his broad shoulders leaned forward, elbows finding the table. “We know the john who runs Roud isn’t kind to the girls. Malala’s face is proof.”
For the first time, Jazani’s gaze lifted. Concern etched itself into her expression as she looked at Malala, then washed away. Head went back down.
“You realize, Kasra,” Landry went on, “that if you do not help us, we will have no choice but to turn you over to the authorities. You will be prosecuted to the fullest extent for the sex crimes committed under your forced direction.”
Still nothing.
Landry laid out a folder. “What about this truck and the girls who went to it? Are they are in trouble?”
Even before the interpreter finished, the madam’s gaze flicked to the photo.
“Interesting,” Pike muttered from beside him.
The interview went on for another couple of hours in which Range had settled against the wall again, watching.
“Can you tell me if they are in trouble, Kasra?” Landry leaned in. “If they are, we can help. But we can’t do that unless you talk to us.”
Her gaze stayed on the image that showed a truck with girls climbing into it. It seemed her finger itched.
“That’s important to her,” Range said. “And the interpreter’s busted cheek.”
Pike grunted. “Like she almost cared.”
“Don’t read into it. Battered face doesn’t sell.”
Malala bent forward and spoke in their language, “It’s okay to tell them. They can help.”
Tentative eyes rose to the terp’s. Locked. Then she curled a lip. “I do not need you to tell me what to say. They will use you like every other man!”
“Okay,” Luther said, touching the terp’s shoulder. “That’s enough for today.”
Malala eased back, but there was not concern or even anger in her eyes. There was … something else.
As Luther and the terp exited, Pike glanced at Range. “Thoughts?”
“I’m going to walk the terp back to the others.”
Pike struck out a hand, catching his arm. “Malala? But nothing was said …”
“Not verbally.”
* * *
