Judgement Calls

by Alafair Burke

  penetrates her vaginally and an ally with a foreign object, she can't

  tell what. The doctors say it was probably some kind of stick they

  found splinters. Anyway, they left the parking lot and got onto 1-84

  going east. She remembers passing signs to the airport. After they

  stopped we're guessing they were out by Multnomah Falls at this point

  Suspect One tells Suspect Two to take a turn at her. She thinks he

  penetrated her vaginally and remembers Suspect One telling him to

  finish off in her mouth. Her memory of what happened toward the end

  was pretty hazy. She also thinks they must've taken her purse, because

  she had it with her when they pulled her in the car."

  I felt sick. It's bad enough that people like these men walk on the

  same planet as the rest of us. The fact that they manage to find one

  another and work together is utterly terrifying.

  "Could she describe the suspects?"

  Ray Johnson nodded. "Nothing helpful, just that she'd know them if she

  saw them again. We figure it's a long shot but go ahead and pull some

  mug shots off X-Imaging of guys on supervision for child sods and

  stranger-to-stranger rapes."

  One of PPB's newest toys, X-Imaging is a computerized data system that

  stores all booking photos taken in the state.

  By using the computer to select booking photos corresponding to certain

  MOs, an officer is more likely to get a successful identification from

  a witness than by dumping several hundred booking photos in front of

  her. I could tell from Johnson's voice that in this case, the strategy

  had hit pay dirt.

  "She's flipping through the printouts and hones right in on one guy,

  Frank Derringer. I swear, it was one of the best mug-shot IDs I've

  ever seen. I mean, you've seen how it goes; with that many pictures,

  most wits start to get confused. This girl is just flipping through

  'em left and right and then barn! she nails it. One hundred percent

  certain. "That's him," she said. Pointed right at Derringer's mug."

  Johnson was getting excited now. "We get even more worked up when we

  see that Derringer's the guy we pulled who was just paroled last summer

  on an attempted sod of a fifteen-year-old girl. Unfortunately for

  Derringer, this girl had just started a kick boxing class. As he was

  pushing her down, she popped up and landed a roundhouse kick straight

  to his Adam's apple and got away. He only served a year because it was

  an attempt, but it shows the guy's got it in him.

  "We called O'Donnell at that point and told him what we had. He gives

  us the OK to pick up Derringer. We picked him up last night around

  seven. His parole officer, Dave Renshaw, went out there with us. The

  plan was to arrest Derringer on a parole violation for having

  unsupervised contact with a minor child, then write paper to search the

  apartment."

  I interrupted. "Does Derringer have any cars registered to him?"

  Johnson nodded. "That would've been too easy. We ran him. Only car

  registered to him is an 'eighty-two Ford Escort.

  It was his associated vehicle until a couple years ago, probably when

  he went to the pen. Since then, it comes up as associated with one of

  Derringer's pals. Guy's gotten three DUIs in two years in that same

  car."

  "You know how these guys are," Walker said. "They sell their pieces of

  junk to each other and never bother notifying DMV."

  "So, is that all you had when you went out to the house? The

  victim's

  ID?"

  Walker appeared to share my frustration. "Yeah, that's about it, but I

  don't know what more we could've gotten before we went out. They did a

  rape kit at the hospital, but, according to the victim's version,

  there's probably no semen to get a sample from. Derringer never did

  her. Even if the other guy left behind some pre-ejaculatory liquid or

  they get something from the oral swab, it can take about a week for a

  PCR analysis."

  "What about blood?" If the victim drew any blood fighting, the

  hospital could identify the blood type in a matter of minutes.

  Johnson shook his head. "Nah. The vie was too doped up to put up a

  fight, so she didn't have any evidence under her fingernails or draw

  any blood from them. We did have a couple things to corroborate her

  story. As luck would have it, Calabrese found the victim's purse in a

  trash can by the road about a half mile from where they dropped her. He

  and Forbes were thinking the bad guys maybe dumped the stick on the way

  out. Good thinking, but no luck. But finding the purse showed that

  Martin was remembering at least some details accurately."

  My face must have revealed my skepticism. "I don't want to sound like

  I've made up my mind, but that's pretty weak corroboration, Detective.

  It just shows Kendra was robbed; it doesn't say anything about who did

  this to her. Were there any prints on the purse?"

  "We don't know yet. We've got it down at the lab being looked at with

  the rest of the girl's clothes."

  "OK, so what you guys are telling me is that, at least so far, this

  case turns entirely on Kendra Martin's identification of Derringer. Do

  we all agree on that?"

  They all nodded.

  "So when you went out to Derringer's apartment with his PO, did this

  case manage to get any better?"

  The second the words came out, I regretted them. Seasoned cops like

  Jack Walker and Raymond Johnson no doubt were well aware of the

  differences between their approach and a district attorney's. Cops

  just need to make the arrest. The DA is the one who has to prove the

  case to a jury beyond a reasonable doubt afterward, who has to deal

  with a defense attorney gnawing at every argument and challenging every

  piece of evidence. Trying a weak case can feel like getting poked in

  the eye for two weeks.

  Cops learn to live with the difference in perspective. But they don't

  like being talked down to. And I was pretty sure I had done just

  that.

  "No confession, if that's what you're looking for. Damn it, Garcia, I

  thought you said this girl was willing to try a close case. We're not

  even done giving her the facts, and she's already shutting us down."

  Jack Walker was clearly pissed off.

  I chalked up the "girl" comment to generational differences and

  swallowed my pride. No use alienating these guys over a careless

  comment, even one that irritated the hell out of me.

  "Detective, I'm sorry if my tone suggested that I was criticizing your

  investigation, but to be honest I'm a little frustrated by what I am

  beginning to perceive as an attempt to portray the evidence as stronger

  than it really is. Look, if the case is a real dog, I'll figure that

  out, whether or not you lead it to me barking. If it's a gimme, I'll

  notice that too. But I want to decide on my own. With that said, I

  apologize for my smart-ass comment. I should have said exactly what I

  was thinking, and now I have. I hope you haven't made up your mind

  about me, just as I haven't formed a final decision about your case."

  The table was quiet as Garcia and Johnson waited t
o see if I had

  managed to make things worse. Then Jack Walker shook his head and

  smiled. "Well, that was definitely direct. And you're right. I guess

  we were kind of hyping the case up a little." He glanced over at

  Johnson, not so much with a look of blame as like a child who peeks

  over at his partner-in-mischief when he realizes the teacher has

  figured them out but good.

  Walker then looked directly at me, and I could tell we'd entered a

  spin-free zone. "Look, the truth is, the biggest thing we've got right

  now is the girl's ID of Derringer. Derringer denied everything. He

  says he was over at his brother's watching a basketball game and then

  stayed for Saturday Night Live and some beers. The brother's name is

  Derrick Derringer, if you can believe it. Anyway, so far Derrick's

  corroborating his brother, but he's got three felony convictions, so

  there you go."

  "So did you arrest Derringer at his house?" I asked.

  Walker shook his head. "Not us. Renshaw hooked Derringer up on a

  parole violation based on Kendra's ID and took him down to the Justice

  Center for booking. We figured the parole detainer would at least hold

  him overnight, when O'Donnell could decide what charges to file." "And

  what did O'Donnell make of all this?" Detective Walker slumped back in

  his chair, the excitement draining from his face. "That's where this

  whole thing fell apart on us. After we had Derringer hooked up, we

  went back to central to meet Chuck and Mike. They had finished

  processing the scene and were working on the warrant. Just as we're

  finishing up, O'Donnell shows up in a fucking suit to review the

  warrant. He's reading it, just nodding the whole time, not saying

  squat. Then he says, "What about this girl?" So Ray and I explain how

  she started out like a pill but then was a complete ten on the ID.

  O'Donnell didn't like it; said the case rested entirely on the girl.

  Then he asks whether we've run her."

  "You'd finished the warrant and still hadn't run her?" Walker pursed

  his lips and shook his head. "I know, we fucked up. We'd been up all

  night, running around. We assumed she was straight up when she picked

  a sick fuck like Derringer. We forgot about running her. It was a

  rookie mistake."

  Johnson continued with the bad news. When they ran the victim, they

  found a few runaway reports and an arrest for loitering to solicit.

  Worse, the cop who made the loitering pop found a syringe in the girl's

  purse with heroin residue on it. Furious that the detectives had

  miscalculated their victim, O'Donnell had tried to bully her into

  coming clean, but his tough approach only made her dig her heels in

  deeper.

  Walker had to smooth things over with her, and she eventually admitted

  to a nine-month heroin habit that she worked the streets to support.

  "So it's basically a trick gone bad?" I asked.

  "No," Walker said. "At least we don't think so. She admits she was

  walking Old Town, looking for a trick. She'd just finished one up and

  had scored some horse on the street. She figured she'd keep working

  while she was high. Anyway, these two guys pull up and offer her fifty

  bucks if they can high-five her."

  "OK, I've been working vice a few years now, but I still don't know

  what a high five is."

  I knew it had to be bad when Walker and Johnson looked to Garcia for

  help and raised their eyebrows. Garcia averted his eyes while he told

  me. "It's when a girl gets on all fours and one guy does her from

  behind while she blows the other one." I was about to ask why the hell

  it was called a high five until I got a mental image of two naked guys

  on their knees giving each other a high five.

  I rolled my eyes in disgust. "So they ask her to work for both of

  them, basically, and she goes with them?"

  Walker eagerly accepted the invitation to change the subject. "Not

  according to her. She says she told them to meet her in the parking

  lot of the motel at Third and Alder. She rents a room there when she

  works. She assumes they've got a deal and starts walking to the hotel.

  That's when Derringer pulls her into the backseat.

  "The rest of it happened pretty much like she said originally. When

  the car was stopped and Derringer was undoing his pants, she tried

  getting out but the guy in front pushed her back in. They told her she

  wasn't going anywhere and she may as well shoot up what was left in her

  purse, so she did. Thing is, she says it never dawned on her they were

  gonna kill her until Derringer started to choke her out. But, my

  thinking is, she knew it at some level when they pulled her back into

  the car. She was just trying to get it over with. She said she

  injected so much horse, the assault didn't hurt that bad, and this guy

  really worked her over."

  Ray Johnson shook his head. "Man, you should've seen O'Donnell. I

  don't know if you guys are tight, but he can be one tight-sphinctered

  prick. He got all moralistic and lectured the entire team about our

  obligation to be 'cautious wielding the stern hand of the law." "

  Johnson's nerdy white guy impersonation pretty much nailed Tim

  O'Donnell.

  "Anyway, it was bullshit," he continued. "O'Donnell had us clean up

  the warrant to include the new information and then signed off on it,

  saying he was gonna kick it out of major crimes territory if we didn't

  find anything that changed his mind. We found some porn, but nothing

  damning. So, he's planning on filing it today as an Assault Three and

  assigning it to precinct detectives for general follow-up before grand

  jury."

  I couldn't believe it. All you had to prove for assault in the third

  degree was that two or more defendants acted together to injure another

  person. It didn't begin to portray the savage acts that had been

  committed against Kendra Martin.

  "Assault Three? That's it?" I said.

  Johnson nodded. "I know, ridiculous. He says the ID's weak, plus the

  defense can say the whole thing was a consensual trick, that the girl

  cried rape so her mom wouldn't find out she was turning tricks for

  smack. Said he was only issuing the assault because of Derringer's

  prior. He basically called the girl a piece of trash."

  "And you guys don't think she is. You think she's telling the

  truth?"

  Walker looked at me and tilted his head slightly. "Ms. Kincaid, I

  really do. It's almost in her favor that she lied to us at first.

  Shows she still knows that working's shameful, not just a

  matter-of-fact thing to her. Maybe that logic doesn't make any sense

  to you, but I think she's basically still a pretty good kid. We pissed

  O'Donnell off by not reading the case right, but he's taking it out on

  the case, and this Derringer dirtbag is going to get the benefit."

  "I agree that Derringer needs to be done, but I'm not sure how I can

  help you."

  I wasn't surprised that Sergeant Garcia had a suggestion. He had the

  respect of his fellow officers because he was a smart cop and a good

  guy. In a bureau where most black and Latino officers stall out at
the

  front line of street-level enforcement, administrative staff promoted

  him because he had a political savvy so smooth that its targets never

  even knew they'd been had.

  "The way I see it, this girl could be a good link for Vice. She's

  young and probably knows a circle of working girls we don't have access

  to. If we can earn her trust, she might be able to lead us to some of

  the pimps we haven't been able to latch on to, the guys who are turning

  out the real young ones.

  "I'll call O'Donnell like I don't know much about the case but think it

  might have potential with Vice, then ask if he minds me getting MCT's

  OK to approach the vie as a potential informant. At that point I can

  sell him on letting a DVD attorney take the case, so they have a head

  start if the vie winds up developing other contacts for us. And then

  I'll seal the deal. "Unless," I'll say, 'you want to keep the case

  yourself and help me flip any vice contacts I work." "

  Johnson was impressed. "Tommy, my man, you oughta run for president.

  That is slick. You in, Kincaid?"

  "I don't mind taking the case, but here's the problem: it still needs

  major help. The rape kit's not back, the victim's clothes are still at

  the lab, Derringer's alibi needs work, and we still don't have the

  driver. If this case is filed as an Assault Three, it's outside MCT

  jurisdiction. You know the precinct detectives aren't going to do the

  follow-up that's needed."

  Garcia was a step ahead of me. "I'll make another call to O'Donnell,

  telling him that you want to file the case as a major crime so MCT can

  keep working on it, but that MCT understands it might get bumped back