“I don’t believe so. I never heard her name before today.”
“What’s his MO?”
I didn’t answer.
“Stand up and start talking, Ms. Cooper.”
I didn’t want to give away my whole case to Moretti, but I was getting the feeling that it wouldn’t matter much at this point.
“On your feet. That’s good. How did Estevez meet his girls?”
“He’s got a couple of young men on the payroll who scout for him.”
“You know their names?”
“I do, but-”
“Don’t worry. If I need them when I’m questioning Señora Estevez, you’ll give them to me. Scouted where?”
“The usual places, Your Honor. One went inside the Port Authority terminal, trolling for runaways who get off the bus from some godforsaken town a thousand miles away, twenty-four/seven. No shortage of hungry young girls in that hellhole. The second guy waits outside, in the Slade.”
“Not so fast,” Fleming said, scribbling in her book. “What’s a Slade?”
“Sorry. Street name for a Cadillac Escalade. It’s the Estevez pimpmobile of choice. The sweet-talker who was inside the terminal opens the back of the SUV. Shows off the goods-”
“Goods?”
“Whatever he’s promised to the kid he’s trying to hook. If she’s seventeen and likes sequins and high-heel shoes, he’s got some glitzy clothes to show her. If she’s fourteen and wants designer makeup and bubble gum, there’s plenty of that.”
“Then it’s into the Slade and off to meet the wizard. That’s how it goes?”
“On a good night, yes, Your Honor.”
“Pay close attention, Moretti. Pretend like you’re hearing this for the first time. Where’s the meet, Ms. Cooper?”
“Mr. Estevez keeps a separate apartment, just for the purpose of breaking in the young women. Not the address on the court papers, which is his home.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Detectives executed the search warrant I drafted, Judge. Lots of photographs for the jury. Three bedrooms-one for him, another for a female assistant who hangs out there to chill with the girls and prep them for Estevez, and the third for his intended victim.”
“Judge, I don’t even know how to begin to object to what’s going on here,” Moretti said.
“It’s easy. You say ‘objection’ and tell me it’s meant to cover everything that’s being asked and answered for the next hour or so, and I’ll say ‘overruled.’ I’ll say it just once, and you’ll understand I mean it for every time you would have flapped your mouth or even rolled your eyes at me. You don’t represent Josie Aponte, and this hearing is about her conduct. You’re extraneous to this whole proceeding, Mr. Moretti. I’m just waiting to see whether your conscience makes an appearance today.”
“May I continue, Your Honor?”
“Yes, Ms. Cooper.”
“The apartment I’m referring to has been completely soundproofed.”
“Loud music? Parties?”
“Not much of either, Judge. It’s mostly to muffle the screaming.”
“That should have been obvious to me. I must be slipping. You’ve got a rape charge in here?” she said, referring to the indictment.
“In almost every instance, Estevez starts with a sexual assault on the victim. No grooming period, no adjustment. They’re brought to the apartment one at a time, and he makes each one have sex with him.”
“What’s the force? Or is that what you mentioned in the voir dire?”
“No, the trafficking aspect starts later. There are at least two rape charges per victim. One is statutory because they’re all under the age of consent. The other is first-degree. Estevez uses physical force. Smacks them around when they resist, uses neckties and socks to secure them to the headboard, then has intercourse.”
“These girls have injuries? They’ve been examined-?”
“No injuries,” Moretti said. “Not a single one. Not a scratch.”
Fleming looked me. “Is that true?”
“Estevez and his crew don’t let the girls go, Judge. That’s the whole point. First he takes a shot at them, one girl at a time. One sexual assault at a time. Then he and one of his alums from the program-an older woman, like, maybe nineteen-spend a few weeks softening the kid up. The vic’s made to think she’s Estevez’s girlfriend. Clothes, video games, music, a gradual introduction to drugs and alcohol. But they never get to leave the apartment. Not once.”
“Stockholm syndrome,” Fleming said. “The girls form a traumatic bond with the hostage taker. That’s how they protect themselves emotionally.”
“Of course Ms. Cooper will have to prove that.”
“Apparently she thinks she can, Mr. Moretti. Go on.”
“That’s why there’s no medical evidence,” I said. “Nothing contemporaneous to the initial assaults. The second series of events begins after the bonding. It’s the period of coercing the young women to work for him. To be trafficked.”
“A machete and a full-face mask?”
“Accompanied by some powerful verbal threats, and the backup of the posse just waiting to have at them. Then Estevez has them branded and off they-”
“Branded?”
“The tattoo, Judge,” I said. “When they’re ready to turn tricks, he brings in a tattoo artist, to make sure they’re each marked as his property.”
“Is that part of the torture?”
“Most of them view it that way.”
“Oh, please, Ms. Cooper,” Moretti said. “These kids leave home with more tats and piercings than most carnies have by the time they’re forty. What’s one more?”
I reached into my file for some photographs. “The Antonio Estevez logo, Judge.”
I handed one of them to the court officer to pass to Judge Fleming.
She turned it upside down. “What am I looking at? What body part?”
“That’s the inner thigh, about an inch below where Ms. Glover’s left leg meets her torso.”
“And the image?” Fleming said, squinting at the inked area.
“It’s supposed to be a woman in the center, with a man on each side of her.”
“The men are both aroused, it seems to me.”
“That’s the plan.”
“And the words? Do I see lettering?” Fleming said, putting on her glasses.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “It’s all about power and control for Estevez. It spells out, I SHARE MY BITCH. They seem to be the words he lives by.”
“A sentiment that will serve him well in state prison, I’m sure,” the judge said, looking up when she heard the courtroom door open, “where he’s probably hoping that he’s not the one who becomes the bitch.”
It was one of the detectives from the squad, Drew Poser, walking toward counsel table.
“Bring Ms. Aponte right in, Officer. She’s not Ms. Cooper’s witness; she’s mine.”
“I don’t have her, Judge,” Poser said, holding his arms out to his sides. “That’s what I’m here to tell you.”
“Did she give you a hard time, Detective?”
“I mean she’s history. No hard time. No time at all.”
“But she works on the eighth floor,” I said. “She whispered something to the defendant and then she went back downstairs to the office.”
“Maybe what she whispered was ‘sayonara,’ Alex, ’cause she never swiped her ID to get back into our offices from the elevator bank. And there’s nothing personal at her work space. No pocketbook, no cell phone-nothing but an empty desk.”
“So Josie Aponte just quit?”
“I don’t think she worried about giving the traditional two weeks’ notice, Alex. Not once she got exactly what she apparently came here for.”
“I know,” I said, taking my seat at the table and massaging my aching head with both hands. “The entire case file of Antonio Estevez.”