Chapter Text
“This is bullshit,” Crowley growls, throwing his folder down. It bursts open, scattering grim black-and-white crime scene photos across the boardroom table. Eighteen months of detective work. Solid detective work. His detective work. “This is my case. I don’t care who they fucking are, they can’t — ”
“They’re Interpol,” Detective Chief Inspector Beelzebub says grimly. “So yes, they can.”
Crowley glares. “That international fucking organization can’t do shit. I don’t work for them.”
“No,” Beeze says sternly, “you work for me. And I work for Morningstar. And he says we’ve got to cooperate with the bootlicking bastards, and so that’s what we’re going to do!”
Crowley throws his hands up in the air. “But it’s my case!”
“And we’re very thankful for all your hard work,” a smarmy voice interrupts from the doorway. Crowley whips around to stare at the my-shit-don’t-stink asshole walking into the conference room. Perfect hair, wide shoulders, and fucking hell, is that a custom tailored coat? Crowley isn’t being paid enough to deal with this shit. “You did a great job, really. Top-notch. That’s why we’re here. We have some additional information we’d like to share.”
“Oh yeah?” Crowley spits. “And what’s that?”
“This,” the second man walking into the conference room says. He’s shorter than the first guy and rounder, too, with close-cropped curly white hair and vivid blue eyes. He’s wearing a beige-and-white suit as if to contrast the first asshole’s black-and-lavender monstrosity, and he catches Crowley’s gaze even through the sunglasses. To his credit, he holds it.
“Aziraphale Fell,” the man says, stepping forward and holding out his hand. Thrown off his guard, Crowley accepts it. Fell’s grip is smooth and strong without being overpowering. It’s only when he lets go that Crowley notices that he’s holding a folder of his own. Unlike Crowley’s, it’s perfectly in order. Fuck, the pages are probably legible, too.
“Anthony Crowley,” Crowley growls, forced into politeness and not happy about it. In an attempt to regain the upper hand, he leans back against the table and folds his arms. “Detective Inspector.”
Fell inclines his head. “Indeed.”
The first guy waves a hand. “And I’m Gabriel — Gabriel Choir of Interpol — but we aren’t here to talk about me.” He grins with too-perfect teeth. “Tell them, Azira.”
Fell looks between Crowley and Beezlebub. “May I?”
Beeze shrugs and looks at Crowley. Crowley wants to throw a chair. “Fine,” he says. “Fine! I was only about to make the biggest arrest of my career, but it’s fine. Show us what’s in the fucking folder.”
“The key, if we’re lucky, to an even bigger arrest,” Fell says calmly. He walks easily around Crowley and stops at the head of the table, deftly avoiding the scattered crime-scene photos as he opens his folder. “Please allow me to explain,” he continues, laying out paperwork. “You, Detective Inspector Crowley, have been working for the past eighteen months on a particularly stubborn human trafficking case. We know this because you or a member of your team have accessed the Interpol database on several occasions, often to cross-check names and faces with known international associates. You’ve had a couple of hits, but nothing major; mostly you’ve been pursuing local leads. The success of these leads has led you to conclude that the trafficking ring is British in nature, organized here in London.
“You have concluded that they accept the victims of other, more international groups, and then launder those victims through the British system. For example, a shipping container with Person X arriving from the Philippines may arrive at the Port of London. The ring you have been investigating will be present when the container is opened. They will take Person X into their custody, provide them with fake documents, enroll them in a hiring agency, and finally employ them in a restaurant, cleaning company, or other such service looking for cheap, easy to hire labour. This ring will have been paid a significant amount by the international organization and will be paid again by the employment agency. When hiring is low, they partner with organized crime, selling people into a life of prostitution or service. All of this is seamlessly arranged. Because the contacts they use are on the darknet, they are untraceable. No link between groups can ever be made.” Fell pauses in his explanation and looks up from his papers. “Is that correct?”
Crowley doesn’t want to be impressed. He scowls instead. “You know it is.”
Fell nods. “It would not surprise you, then, to learn that Interpol has been coordinating with other national police services regarding similar trafficking rings. Some police have, like you, focused on victims when they arrive in their new country, while others are point-of-contact affairs, with the aim of identifying and catching those who entice people away from their country of origin. It would surprise you, perhaps, to learn that a third network exists: an international organizational advice network, not dissimilar to Interpol itself, actually, which coordinates the transfer of victims from their point of origin to their eventual destination. This third network links groups such as your London-based trafficking ring with international smugglers and even organized crime, making sure the transfer of victims is timely, profitable, and seamless. After all, no one likes to see dead bodies carried out of shipping containers, now do they?”
Crowley makes a face. That had been a dark day. “No, they don’t.” He shakes his head and looks down at Fell’s assembled paperwork. There are graphs, lists, and maps, several with cities circled on them. “You’ve found a link between our guys in London and this third network, then?”
Fell meets his eye and smiles. “Yes. In many ways, this third network is a ghost. Whoever they are, they have covered their tracks so thoroughly that we do not even know their name. We simply know that they sit as a spider in the web. They will accept an order for a certain number of victims from London, send out queries to the various smuggling operations they have links to, and facilitate the transfer of the number of victims required. They profit handsomely from both parties.”
Crowley scowls. “That’s dirty.”
Fell nods. “Indeed. Unfortunately, it is also intelligent. In the eight years we estimate they have been in practice, they have made significant amounts of money and forged links with several international trafficking organizations, many of which despise one another. They have also gotten around tightening border controls, advised better forging services, and made our job of intercepting these people intensely more difficult. We estimate they have a small staff, do most of the coordinating themselves, and never, as we said, use their real names. We have been following their fingerprints across the globe without so much as an inkling as to who they might actually be.”
Crowley scratches his nose. “And now you think you’ve identified them?”
Gabriel chuckles. “Oh no, Detective Inspector. Now we finally think we’ve found a way to find a way to identify them. Maybe. If we move swiftly, that is.”
“And that izz?”
Crowley smirks. Beeze is getting impatient, they only buzz when they’re five seconds away from snapping. Crowley has half a mind to drag this out, just to see his D.C.I. tear into Gabriel. That would make his morning.
Fell, unfortunately, gets straight to the point. “Your connection in London is Luke Douglas. He’s the man you are planning to arrest shortly.”
It isn’t a question, but Crowley answers anyway. “Yeah. Let me guess — you want me to let him go?”
Fell raises his eyebrows. “On the contrary, Detective Inspector, I want you to arrest him immediately. Today, certainly, within the next hour, if possible. Time is of the essence.”
Crowley stares. “What?”
Fell smiles. “You see, D.I. Crowley, Luke Douglas has done well. He has all but taken over the London human trafficking operations. He has profited by this, and has ensured that others higher up the food chain have profited as well. He also, as you well know, has — particular interests — which likely drew him to the trafficking world in the first place.”
Crowley grimances. “You can say that again.” His eyes are drawn to the crime scene photos still scattered over the desk.
Edith Lively. She’d been twenty seven when she’d been killed, thrown into a dumpster like so much trash. Crowley had taken point on the investigation.
“Yes,” Fell says, following his gaze. “You followed the trail.”
Crowley scowls. “We got lucky. Edith had taken part in a research study when she was seventeen, her genetic information was on record.” She’d probably done it because they’d paid her sixty quid and had given her a sandwich. Edith had been a foster care kid who hadn’t finished sixth form and had fallen onto hard times. Crowley could relate.
“We realized the name she’d been found under had been fake, followed that back to the forger who’d provided her new documents, and made the link between them and Douglas. It was only while investigating Douglas that we realized he’d gotten involved in human trafficking. He started with runaways avoiding the law, but now he handles everyone coming into London illegally.”
“Yes,” Fell says. “Quite a meteoric rise. He’s only been in operation for a short time but he’s managed to make quite the name for himself.”
Crowley frowns. “You think he had help through this third network? Why?”
Fell hums. “The speed at which he’s moved, for one. His, what should we call them? Proclivities? For another.”
Crowley frowns. “You mean the sex stuff?”
Fell’s voice is dry. “To put it crudely.”
Crowley shakes his head. “Douglas is a sick bastard. He fucks a good number of his victims but it’s more than that. He... does stuff... to them.” He’s been on Douglas’s tail for months, but he still shudders. Edith had been strangled. Forensics had determined her death had likely been accidental, but she’d been tied up and blindfolded. It didn’t seem like she’d resisted, not at first, and she had bruises that were days old. At first they’d thought she’d been kidnapped, but forensics had eventually concluded it’d been a sex thing. Bondage. Then they’d learned that Douglas got into that with everyone he kept for himself — the victims he didn’t sell into regular employment or organized crime, or, at least, not until he was done with them — and he probably wasn’t consensual about it. Again, a sick fuck. Crowley shakes himself. “What does that have to do with this third network?”
Gabriel grins and glances at Fell. For all Choir’s apparent good humour, the look he shoots Fell is downright mean. “Oh, that’s quite the key to everything, as it turns out.”
Crowley watches the lines around Fell’s eyes tighten. His expression, though, never changes. “It has quite a lot to do with the third network. You see, Detective Inspector, we have learned that several highly placed members of the human trafficking world have a particular interest in ‘the sex stuff’ as you call it. It seems they are drawn to trafficking in part for that reason, as it provides them, like Douglas, a steady stream of vulnerable, desperate people who are forced, drugged, or seduced into that world. Those with similar proclivities gather at times to… enjoy their mutual interests. Luke Douglas has recently been introduced to this very exclusive society. He is due to appear at a gathering of such individuals tomorrow night.”
Crowley scowls. “Here in London?”
Fell nods. “We have the address.”
“And you want me to arrest him today so you can take his place tomorrow?”
Fell blinks.
Gabriel barks out a laugh. “You told me he was quick.”
Fell glances at him. “I did.” He looks back to Crowley. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.”
Crowley shakes his head. He doesn’t want to like Fell, but the man is organized, competent, and — fuck it, Crowley’s not going to keep lying to himself — hot. He doesn’t like the idea of him getting involved in this mess. “It’s going to be a gathering of human smuggling scum, all of them into whips and chains and bondage and shit. You really think one of them will turn out to be this mysterious third network?”
Fell presses his lips together. “No,” he admits. “I do not actually expect the third network to be present. I do, however, think that someone who knows them will be there. It is my hope that by infiltrating their world we will be able to secure an introduction.”
“That’s thin,” Crowley warns. “Real thin. How the hell did you figure all this out? Douglas, yeah, we had Edith’s body, and that led back to the facts of the case. How come you know the third network is involved, though? Why do you think these international assholes get together to strangle people on their off hours?”
Fell offers him a thin smile. “Fortuitous coincidence.”
Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“Someone in Interpol happened to recognize a stakeholder during their personal hours,” Gabriel says meanly. He’s smiling like a shark. “They engaged the person in conversation, dangled a few hints — not to mention a good amount of alcohol — and got just enough for us to work with. From there we made the link back to the main players.”
Crowley looks over at Fell. He hasn’t changed his expression, but he’s holding himself very still. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Crowley asks. He regrets the words the moment they’re out of his mouth. He hates giving Gabriel the satisfaction, but for some reason he finds he needs to know. “You’re the one who recognized them, weren’t you?”
Fell meets his eyes. After a moment, he tips his chin up and nods. It’s a very controlled motion. “Yes. I made the connection and followed it up with my team. By that point we’d discovered a particular internet fingerprint. We were able to find traces of that fingerprint in the trafficking cases arranged by the third network, and also in the methods used to organize these clandestine gatherings. We still have no idea who the third network is, of course, but they obviously have an interest in BDSM. All of those they deal with most frequently do as well. We hope that if we can infiltrate their world, we can eventually identify them and then bring them to justice.”
Crowley looks back down at the case files. “And you figure your way in is Douglas?”
Fell nods. “I do.”
Crowley runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I don’t like it. What makes you think infiltrating is even possible? What if someone knows what he looks like?”
Fell shrugs. “There’s no way to be certain, of course. We do know this the first time he’s been invited to one of these gatherings, though. All contact between smuggling operators is done on-line, electronic and untraceable. No photos are shared. This is the opportune time to impersonate him.”
Crowley shakes his head. “It’s risky.”
Fell nods seriously. “It is.”
Crowley presses his lips together. “But you think it’s worth it?”
Fell nods. “I do.”
Crowley sighs. “Fine.” He looks up and meets Fell’s eyes. “Then I’m going with you.”
There’s a shocked moment of silence. Beeze, who Crowley had honestly forgotten was there, speaks first. “Like Hell you are.”
Crowley turns to face his boss. “Beeze,” he says, “I know Douglas’s record like the back of my hand. I’ve been chasing him for months. I know what school he went to, who his best friend is, what phone number he uses. I know details about him that no one could get from just reading my case files.” He looks over at Fell. “Not even you.”
Fell’s gaze is hard. “You can’t take Douglas’s place. You might know him but you don’t know the culture. You also don’t have much undercover experience.”
Jesus, did this guy memorize his entire record? “No, I don’t and I’m not the guy to take point on this, but you need me there. If Douglas is new to this third network then they’re going to be quizzing him. You’ll have a better chance of making it through that if I’m there with you.”
Fell shakes his head. “There’s no one for you to be. We have Douglas only by happenstance. There isn’t another part you can play.”
Crowley shrugs. “Sure there is. I can be your plus one.”
Fell starts. “My what?”
“Oh, come on,” Crowley wheedles. “No one shows up to a party alone. These guys are into bondage, right? Well, who are they going to practice on? I bet you a week’s salary everyone walks into that party with a submissive on their arm.”
Gabriel is grinning. “And that will be you?”
Crowley shrugs, cocking a hip so it rests on the desk. He knows what he looks like. “Seems the easiest way in.”
Gabriel smirks. “You’re absolutely right.” He turns to Fell. “He’s absolutely right.”
Fell is scowling. “It took me how long to convince you the risk was worth the reward?”
“And you convinced me,” Gabriel says with a grin. He drops it to look at Fell more seriously. “I’d feel better if you went in there with a partner.”
Fell presses his lips together and looks back at Crowley. He’s standing very straight, his hands clenched together in front of him. Crowley can see that his knuckles are white. “You don’t know what you’re agreeing to.”
Crowley thinks back to Edith on the slab. “I know enough.”
“You’ll be placing yourself in serious danger.”
“It’s not like I’ll be going in alone.”
“I might not be able to help you.”
“That’s the risk I’m willing to take.”
There’s a grating sound from behind him. Crowley looks back to see Beeze grinding their teeth. “D.I. Crowley,” they spit out. “A word, please?”
Crowley winces and steps towards his boss.
Beeze jerks their head toward the corridor. “Outside.”
Crowley glances over his shoulder. Gabriel has stepped closer to Fell and is saying something too quiet for Crowley to hear. Fell is listening to him but his eyes haven’t left Crowley, they’re watching him with an unreadable expression.
Crowley sighs and turns back to Beeze, following them out into the hall. His D.C.I. has always been a foot and a half shorter than him, but it’s never made them less intimidating. “What the absolute fuck are you thinking?”
Crowley runs a hand through his hair. “Look, okay, I get the way this looks.”
“Really?” Beezes hisses. “Because it looks like you’re jumping off a cliff without a parachute. It looks like you’re volunteering for undercover — likely deep undercover — with a man you hardly know. We have only their word on any of this and Fell has already admitted he has,” Beeze grimaces, “unusual interests of his own. What makes you think that any of this is a good idea?”
Crowley doesn’t say that his gut is telling him this is the right thing to do, because he knows Beeze hates it when he talks about his gut. He tries to frame his argument in terms of cold, hard logic instead, with a side-order of looking good for the Met. “Beeze, listen, we’ve got Douglas. No matter what, we’re going to arrest him, and that’s a good thing. We’re getting a scumbag — a trafficker and a murderer — off the street, and we’re going to put him away for a long time.”
“Exactly,” Beeze growls. “We should keep our noses clean while we can.”
Crowley winces. “Okay, but listen— we never could figure out how Douglas got into the game. We know he went from forging an I.D. for Edith to laundering international victims through legitimate employment agencies. You’ve got to admit, that’s a bit of a leap. Not to mention that he took over from other operations relatively seamlessly. It doesn’t add up. It makes sense what Interpol is saying, that there’s a third party around, arranging things behind the scenes.”
Beeze looks murderous, which means Crowley’s on the right track. “That doesn’t mean you of all people need to go undercover to find them.”
“It means I have to try,” Crowley argues. “You’ve got to admit that I know Douglas like the back of my hand. The party is tomorrow night, that isn’t enough time to bring someone else in and update them on everything I know. Beeze, we’re getting Douglas off the street. That’s good for London, and good for the Met, but imagine if we were to help Interpol take down an international organization? It’d be front page news! Doesn’t Morningstar keep saying we need more positive press coverage?”
Beeze doesn’t look like they’re buying it. “We also don’t need your body found floating ass-up on the Thames. ‘Detective Inspector killed in the line of duty, should have kept his nose out of other people’s business’ is a shit headline to run with.”
Crowley can’t help but grin. “It’d be a fitting epigraph, you’ve got to admit.”
Beeze narrows their eyes. “I admit to nothing.”
“Okay, fine, but as my boss — seriously, as my D.C.I — do you think I can’t do this?”
Beeze sighs. All of a sudden, they look old. Crowley is struck by the realization that it’s been fifteen years since he met Beeze, since he turned his life around. He’d never thought Beeze had aged during any of those years until now. “Fine. As your D.C.I., I know you can do this, but as your friend I want you to think again. This is serious, Crowley. I know you wanted to get justice for Edith, but y ou’ve done that. You can let this go.”
Crowley thinks of lists of people he’s seen, the sheer number of lost souls who bet everything they had on a new life, and winces at the thought of any of them having to live through what Edith had endured. “I don’t think I can. Not now that I know there’s something I can do, I have to see this through.”
Beeze grimances. “This could turn into more than a one night activity, you might be gone for an unknown length of time. We’d be down a detective.”
“It’d give Newton a chance to get some experience,” Crowley says steadily. He manages not to sound gleeful, he knows what Beeze looks like when they’re about to give in. “I’ve only got two active case files open. One of them he can take, the other I can give to Hastur.”
“You hate Hastur,” Beeze points out.
“Which is why I’ll give him the second case,” Crowley says, rocking back onto his heels. “The arrest will be gross and sticky. I’d rather Hastur do it instead of me.”
Beeze blows out a breath. “You’re not going to change your mind about this?”
Crowley shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Fine,” Beeze says. “I’ll go to Morningstar.” They poke a finger into Crowley’s chest. “Your only duty is to survive. Lie, steal, cheat, I don’t care — just get in, get what we need, and get out. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir,” Crowley says smartly.
Beeze crosses their arms over their chest. “And don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” Crowley promises. “I’ve got a good feeling about this, you’ll see.”
Beeze scowls. “You and your feelings,” they snarl. “You’re worse than Anathema. Never figured out why you two stopped dating.”
“We’re too much alike,” Crowley admits. The forensics expert was still a friend, one of the few ex’s he’d stayed close to. “You know me, I need someone that’ll keep me on my toes.”
“Like Fell?” Beeze asks, raising an eyebrow.
Crowley winces. He’d hoped his attraction hadn’t been obvious.
Beeze rolls their eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I only caught it because I’ve known you too damn long.”
“Best years of my life,” Crowley says, too honestly. He clears his throat and steps back, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Not that there’s much to compare them to. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it.”
There’s a smile hiding the corner of Beeze’s mouth. “Probably,” they agree. “Now let’s get this show on the road.”
*
Things shift into high gear after that. Crowley goes back to the conference room to tell Gabriel and Fell that he has permission from his D.C.I. to go undercover. Fell still doesn’t look happy about it but Gabriel grins and congratulates him on what he’s ‘sure will be an illuminating experience.’
Prick .
Crowley would like to stay and think of something really cutting to say back to him, but can’t because he has to arrange the arrest of Luke Douglas. He was planning on making it an elaborate affair, really catch him with his pants down — though hopefully not literally — and parade him through the streets to a police car waiting across the block. He wanted any enterprising up-and-comers to learn what happens when they try and traffic people through Crowley’s city.
He can’t do any of that now. Still, it’s satisfying to take Douglas down quietly in the stairway of the apartment building he owns, a building that’s a type of prison in and of itself. Douglas stashes his victims here until he can launder them, scaring them into silence with the threat of shipping them back home. Crowley thinks there’s poetic justice in slapping the cuffs on him here.
“This is for Edith,” he hisses as he hauls Douglas away. Instead of parading him through the streets, he has to take him through the underground parking lot, but he still gets to throw him into the backseat of the car.
Newt climbs into the passenger side. “Uh, that’s, well, yeah, we’ll, I mean — ” he clears his throat “ — we’ll take him back to lock up now, right, Detective Inspector?”
Crowley sighs. “Yes, Newt.” He’s not going to lie to himself, going undercover is a great way to avoid his junior partner for a couple of days. Maybe he’ll get lucky and this assignment will balloon into a couple of weeks. “Keep the lights off, though. We don’t want anyone getting suspicious.”
He orders Newt to do the paperwork when they’re back at the precinct. Admittedly, he always does that, but this time Crowley’s reasons are honest. He legitimately needs every hour he can get to question Douglas before tomorrow. It’s already a quarter to five. In just over twenty four hours, Fell will be impersonating this scumbag in front of a crowd of even richer scumbags. He’ll need every nugget of information Crowley can get.
Fell, of course, knows that too, so Crowley realizes he shouldn’t be surprised when he steps into the observation boothe and finds Fell waiting for him. He snorts. “I should’ve figured you’d be here.”
Fell raises an eyebrow and clasps his hands behind his back. Crowley can’t help but be drawn to the careful way he moves. It’s just as obvious here as it was in the conference room. Fell’s every motion is controlled, every step seems thought through, as though it’s a complicated dance he has planned out in his head. No, not a dance — a chess game. Fell moves as though he’s six steps ahead of everyone else but is still watching for any change of strategy. It’s a sharp contrast to Crowley’s own uncoordinated, gut-instinct saunter. “There are several questions I would like answers to.”
Crowley nods towards the one-way glass. Douglas is cuffed to a chair in the middle of the interrogation room. “You gonna come in with me?”
Fell shakes his head. “Not just yet, I think. Let’s see what you get first.”
Crowley tries not to feel like this is a test and fails. “Fine, then.” He chooses to smirk and swagger away from Fell, opening the door of the observation deck and stepping into the interrogation room itself. He lets the door swing shut behind him.
“Luke Douglas,” Crowley begins. He’s carrying his file folder in his hands. He keeps his gaze on it until he drops into the chair across from Douglas, throwing the folder on the small table between them. “I’ve been after you for a while, you know.”
Douglas sneers. “Yes, you said. Since that ridiculous girl died.” His face twists in a smirk. “What was her name again? Agnes? Elizabeth?”
Crowley can hear his own pulse accelerate to a roar inside his ears. Fell is just on the other side of the glass, though. With an act of will, Crowley holds his temper in check. “Edith,” he enunciates carefully. “Edith Lively.” He flips open the folder and chooses to smile. “Though you changed it to Rebecca, if I’m remembering right. Rebecca something stupid. Rocca? Ribba?”
Douglas’s expression tightens. “Alliterative names are easier for people to remember.”
“Well, names don’t count for shit if your forging process gets made. Is that why you went into human smuggling, Douglas? Someone finally tell you how to do a better job?”
Douglas snarls. “My methods were impeccable.” He stops himself and leans back. “Human smuggling does make a shit ton more money, though. Do you know what Edith paid me to change her name? I make six times that a day now.”
Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Wow, this is my easiest interrogation ever. You’re awfully talkative for a man without his lawyer present.” He puts the folder down and takes out a lined piece of paper. “Please, feel free to keep sharing information.”
Douglas smirks. “I know how the game works, detective. You need me for something. You wouldn’t have taken me so quiet if you didn’t want to keep the fact that I was arrested on the down-low.”
“‘On the down-low,’” Crowley mocks. He snorts. “Yeah, right. We don’t need you for shit. We got evidence to put you and all of your associates away. You know how easy it was to find you once we made the connection with Edith? We’ll fold your entire operation like a cheap house of cards.”
“Oh, please,” Douglas sneers. “Smuggling’s an international operation. You got me, so what? There are bigger fish in the sea.”
Crowley shrugs and stands up. “Not for me. I’m Met Police, Douglas. Arresting you is going to make my career. I’m going to get a commendation for this, maybe a raise. Who knows? It’s a good day, anyways.” He picks up the folder and tucks it under his arm. “I’ll send my partner in soon to get the rest of your information. He’s new, but he could use some spit and polish, so feel free to take your time with him.” He steps towards the door.
“No, wait!” Douglas says. There’s a catch to his voice now. “I know things. Important things! You can’t just put me in lock up.”
Crowley resists the urge to grin. Instead he schools his face into a frown and turns back to Douglas. “Why not? I got you, I arrested you, my day is done. I can call your lawyer for you, if you want.”
“No, please,” Douglas says. He sounds desperate now. “They’ll kill me.”
Crowley grins with all his teeth. “Like you killed Edith?”
“That was an accident!”
“She’s still dead.”
“What do you care?”
Crowley forces himself to shrug again and turns towards the door. “Good point.”
“Wait, wait!” Douglas shouts. He’s really sweating now. “Listen. They told me for sure not to get caught. They said I’d make good money, that I’d live like a king, but the moment I found myself in police custody they’d have me killed. You’ve already fucked me, detective. You’ve got to protect me now.”
Crowley sneers. “I don’t have to do shit.” He glances down at the folder in hand and pretends to have to think about it. “Ugh, but fine. Tell me what you know.”
“I don’t know much,” Douglas starts, and Crowley rolls his eyes and turns back to the door. “No, wait!” When Crowley turns around again he goes on. “I mean, I don’t know who they are. We got introduced online. They told me they’d heard of my forging credentials, wanted to know if I’d be interested in scaling up my operation. When I started to ask questions, they asked a few back. That’s when they told me how much money I’d make. They knew I owned that apartment building and they told me how to get set up with an employment agency. They said they could help me launder people through.”
“Quite a jump from forging papers to human trafficking, Douglas.”
Douglas licks his lips. “Yeah, well. They told me there’d be side benefits.”
Crowley scowls. “Let me guess, people like Edith?”
Douglas’s eyes dart to the corners. “They knew I had some proclivities, yeah. Edith was into it, and she couldn’t say no— I could tell the police what her old name was. I was getting bored of her, though, even before I— yeah. These people. There’s so many of them. There’s always one or two who are pretty enough and submissive enough to serve. Doesn’t hurt when you don’t care about gender, either. I get ‘em for as long as I want ‘em and then they go back into the pot. They disappear and I get someone new. It was a win-win for me.”
“Until you got caught,” Crowley points out. “Now apparently they’re going to kill you for it.”
Douglas laughs dryly. “Yeah. Thought I’d have a few years left, myself.”
Crowley shakes his head. “You haven’t told me anything, Douglas. I already knew you were a sick fuck. I still don’t get why this means I should keep you out of lock-up.”
“Yeah, but don’t you get it?” Douglas insists. “They know things. Things I don’t know how they figured out. What I like, how I like it. It’s weird.”
“Lots of things are weird,” Crowley states blandly. “That doesn’t help me find them.”
Douglas looks nervous now. “They told me other stuff.”
“What kind of other stuff?”
Douglas licks his lips. He glances once to the window, and then once to the door. Finally he slumps down in his chair. “You’re gonna need a tape recorder.”
Crowley pulls one from his coat pocket. “I got one,” he says. He hits record. “Start talking.”