“We’ll go on Mute unless we have something to contribute,” he said, before hitting the button silencing him and Daphne.
Through the computer, they heard Ryan start the interview, identifying the accused and noting the date and time.
“Do you know this man?” Ryan asked.
Both he and Daphne leaned forward to get a better look at the picture Ryan placed on the table. A black-and-white photo of Malcom Carter.
Weeks glanced at his lawyer, then shook his head.
“Really?” Ryan asked, setting another picture on the table. This one showed Weeks and Malcom standing by a car talking.
Weeks’s eyes dropped, then lifted again. “I talk to a lot of people in my job, I don’t remember all of them.”
Ryan set out a series of four more pictures. In one, Weeks and Malcom were in a car together; in another, they were playing basketball on some unidentifiable court; in another, they were having lunch at what looked like a diner; and in the fourth, Weeks was clearly handing over some sort of drug. Lovell wondered how they’d found the pictures, but figured between HICC and the FBI, it was above his pay grade.
“You’ve been getting paid by Sweet Dreams LLC regularly for the past two years, only in the last month, those payments increased threefold,” the detective said.
Weeks blinked. The first crack they’d seen.
“You don’t have to answer,” the lawyer interjected.
Weeks’s gaze dropped to the pictures again. “I do some construction work for them every now and then.”
“Over the last two years, payments have totaled two hundred grand. That’s more than occasional work,” Ryan said.
“What’s the relevance of this?” the lawyer asked, sounding like a man who knew the case he’d been assigned was about to go sideways.
“Yeah, what’s this got to do with anything?” Weeks demanded.
Ryan and the detective shared a look. She pulled out a file and spread a series of papers across the table, the writing too small for Lovell to read.
“Ron Beeker’s sister is married to Keshaun Low, the driver for Sweet Dreams clients and now known as Ken Low,” she started. “You and Ron go way back to the days of running the streets as kids in Atlanta. You grew up, parted ways, but stayed in touch. When Beeker, who’s been working for Sweet Dreams for five years, needed help in Atlanta, you stepped in to do the job. And don’t bother denying you know Beeker, that’s a fact we’ve already established, along with the fact that the gun we confiscated from you was the same one used to kill him.”
Weeks’s lips thinned as the detective paused, giving him a chance to react. When both he and the lawyer remained silent, Ryan picked up the narrative.
“The help Beeker needed in Atlanta was running people up to New Jersey. Kids, young adults, people who wouldn’t be missed but could be groomed to meet the needs of Sweet Dreams’ clientele.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Weeks said. The lawyer’s eyes sharpened, but he remained silent.
“Human trafficking for the purpose of supplying sex to paying customers,” the detective said.
“Is this a new charge?” the lawyer asked.
Ryan nodded. “The paperwork is in your inbox. Filed twenty minutes ago.”
“Hardly sporting, Chief Warwick,” he replied.
Ryan inclined his head. “And we apologize about that. But the information came in this morning, and we wanted to ensure it was taken into account when he has his bond hearingtomorrow. Everything we talk about today will be in the file provided to your office.”
An annoyed look flashed across the lawyer’s face, but it was also the face of a man who’d been doing his job long enough to know what fights to fight.
“Proceed,” he said.
“As we said, charges have been added to Weeks’s arrest warrant. One of those is human trafficking with the intent to use for sexual crimes,” Ryan said.
Weeks’s eyes darted between the two law enforcement officers. “You’re crazy.”
Ryan cocked his head. “I don’t think we are.” He set several more photos down on the table.
