Judgment Calls

by Alafair Burke

“Yeah, I got it. Whaddaya doin’ here?”

  “I brought someone over who I want you to meet. This is Samantha Kincaid.”

  Kendra looked at me without saying a word. Then she smiled at Chuck and popped her gum. “She your girlfriend?”

  Chuck looked at me and raised his eyebrows. “No, she’s not my girlfriend. But she is a really good friend of mine, and she’s a DA. She’s going to be handling your case.”

  I held out my hand to her. She shook it but looked down at the floor while she did it.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kendra. I’ve heard a lot about you. Detectives Walker and Johnson tell me you did a real good job helping them at the hospital last weekend.”

  “That’s funny. They told Chuck and Mike I acted like demon spawn.”

  “They might’ve mentioned something like that to me too. But they also said you were very helpful. Do you mind if we come in?”

  She looked at the box in Chuck’s hand. He said, “I thought you might be hungry. The fries are still hot.”

  “Come on in.” She took the box from Chuck. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. It was Sam’s idea, anyway.”

  “Thank you,” she said to me.

  I looked at Chuck. “It wasn’t a problem. Really.”

  The Martin house wasn’t what I expected. I had braced myself for the worst. Unfortunately, I’d gotten used to the fact that an entire segment of the population raises its children in filthy homes that don’t look like they could possibly exist in the United States. Last year, police went to an apartment on a noise complaint and found nine children alone in a one-bedroom apartment. They all slept on the same bare, stained mattress on the bedroom floor. The carpets were soaked with cat urine and feces. The kids had been alone for a week and were living off of dry cat food and some candy bars that the oldest child, an eight-year-old boy, had been given to sell for the school choir.

  Their mothers, two sisters in their early twenties, had left on a meth binge. As they later told police, they lost track of time and never meant to leave their kids alone. It turned out that maternal neglect was the least of the kids’ problems. By the time the investigation was over, police learned that all of the children had been sexually assaulted. Their mothers had accepted drugs and money in exchange for permitting various men to take the children of their choice into the apartment’s bedroom alone.

  From what I’d heard about Kendra Martin’s troubles and her mother’s parenting style, I had expected their house to be a hellhole. I had jumped to the wrong conclusion. The house was cleaner than my own and reflected the efforts of someone trying to do her best without much to work with. A crisp clean swath of blue cotton was draped over what I suspected was an old and tattered sofa. In the corner, a thirteen-inch television sat on a wooden tray table. In a move that Martha Stewart would envy, someone had made a lamp base out of an old milk jug.

  “Kendra, I don’t want to tell you things you already know, so let me start by asking you whether you have any questions about what a DA does.”

  “Not really.”

  “What do you think my job is?”

  “You’re kind of my lawyer, right?”

  “Well, technically my client is the State. But in this case, my goal is to help prove who did this to you and then convince the court to put them in prison for a long time. When we do go to court, I’ll be the one who asks you most of the questions. So in some ways it will be like I’m your lawyer. Have you ever testified before?”

  “No. I got in some trouble after Christmas.” She looked at Chuck. “She knows about that, right?”

  “Yes, I know you were arrested on Christmas.”

  “Well, I went to juvie on that, but no charges were filed so I didn’t have to talk or anything.”

  “You’re going to need to testify this Friday, but you don’t need to worry about that. Friday’s going to be in front of a grand jury: it’ll just be me, you, and seven jurors. The man the police arrested won’t be there, and there’s no defense attorney or judge. I’ll ask you questions, and the grand jurors will listen to your answers. Then they’ll decide whether to charge him. Assuming he’s charged, there might be a trial later on, and that’s more like what you see on TV. Does that sound OK?”

  “I guess.”

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Not so good.”

  “You staying clean?”

  “Yeah, so far. I didn’t really think it would be this hard, though.”

  I could tell she was having problems. She wasn’t as bad off as older addicts I’ve seen withdrawing in custody, but it wasn’t going to be easy for her. I suspected the only reason she wasn’t out using again was that she didn’t have any money and was scared shitless to hit the street again.

  “Is it alright if we talk about what happened?”

  “I guess so. Is it OK if I go ahead and eat?”

  I hadn’t noticed she’d been holding off. “Go for it.”

  She opened the box tentatively and ate the fries one by one, taking small bites and chewing slowly.

  “Had you ever seen either of these men before?”

  “Unh-unh.”

  “So you don’t think they were ever customers of yours or knew you from somewhere before?”

  “I don’t know where they’d know me from. They didn’t look familiar or anything like that.”

  I couldn’t tell if she was avoiding my question about prior customers or if she believed she’d already answered it.

  “So, you’re sure they weren’t customers?”

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure I would’ve recognized ’em if they were. I haven’t done it that many times.”

  Poor girl. She probably justified what she did by telling herself that she wasn’t really a prostitute if she didn’t do it often and stopped before she was older.

  “Was there anyone else around when they were talking to you or when you got pulled into the car?”

  “No. When they stopped the car, I looked around to make sure no one was watching before I started talking to them. I didn’t want to get caught again after what happened on Christmas. I think there might’ve been one homeless guy sitting on the corner, but he looked really out of it.”

  I looked over at Chuck. “We canvassed the area and didn’t find any witnesses,” he said. “We found a guy who usually sleeps on that corner, but he didn’t see anything.”

  “Kendra, the police have already told me what they know about what happened. But, if it’s alright with you, I’d like you to tell me in your own words. I need you to be completely honest with me, even though parts of it might be embarrassing. No one here is going to be mad at you or get you in trouble for anything you say.”

  She started from the beginning and told me everything. I never needed to prompt her, and she continued talking even when she was clearly very upset about what happened. Her statement was consistent with what she told Walker and Johnson the night of the assault. She would make a great witness, but unfortunately she did not reveal anything I didn’t already know. I’d been hoping for some new avenue of investigation.

  I told her I understood why she initially kept some information from Detectives Walker and Johnson at the hospital, but that I’d be asking her to explain it to the grand jurors.

  “I don’t even remember much about when they first came into the room. Whatever that doctor gave me had me feeling really sick. I just remember being mad.”

  “What do you remember telling them?”

  “Well, I said I was on Burnside to go to Powell’s. You know the real reason I was there. I just didn’t want to tell them, is all. It’s embarrassing, and I could get in trouble for it.”

  “Do you remember telling them you didn’t know how heroin got in your system?”

  “Not really, but then later on, when they came back with that lawyer guy, he told me he knew I’d lied about it. So I figured I must’ve said it. I didn’t want to get in trouble, is all.”

  “Is that the on
ly reason you lied?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It’s like, I guess I was pretty sure they wouldn’t arrest me or anything since I was in the hospital and all. But I thought if they knew what I’d been doing, they wouldn’t believe me about what happened. Or maybe they’d believe me but not really care, since I, like, you know, kind of got myself in that situation. And I wanted them to believe me and go out and find who did it. So I told the truth about what they did to me, but I didn’t tell them the parts I figured didn’t matter as much. Does that make any sense?”

  “It makes a lot of sense. Are you still doing that? Are you still leaving things out that you think aren’t important?”

  “No. Detective Walker said he’d work on my case even if it turned out that I had been doing something bad before it happened.”

  “Good, because he meant it. I think you’re a very smart young woman and you’ve been brave to tell the truth.”

  She stuck her chin out, rolled her eyes, and tried hard to hide a smile. “Thanks.” She probably wasn’t used to compliments.

  “I know you don’t know us very well, but can you tell us why you don’t like living here?” I asked.

  “It’s actually OK right now.”

  I’d forgotten how frustrating it is to try to talk to a kid. “Why do you run away?”

  “Last time I left was because I was going crazy here. I felt really sick and wanted to get some horse. The doctor says I’ve gotten to where my body wants it, even if I don’t think I do.”

  “Is that why you started in prostitution?”

  “I wouldn’t really call it prostitution. I mean, I guess it’s gotten to that, but that’s not how it started. It was just like I’d hear about somebody who was, like, holding and then I’d find them and try to get some. But most of the time I didn’t have any money. At first, I’d offer to go to the Kmart and, like, shoplift something in return. That was working OK, but then all the stores around here started telling me not to come in anymore.

  “So then, last summer, some guy told me he’d give me the stuff if I’d—you know, if I’d, like, let him put it in my mouth. And that seemed like a way for me to get what I wanted without getting caught stealing or anything. Once I started getting it that way, I started to, like, use even more of it.”

  “When did you start using heroin?”

  “The middle of seventh grade, so like maybe a year ago?”

  “Do kids at your school do that already?”

  “No. Some of the kids smoke pot and stuff.”

  This was like pulling teeth. “So how did you wind up using heroin in the seventh grade?”

  “If I say, are you gonna tell my mom?”

  “Not if we don’t have to.”

  For a second, I thought that wasn’t going to be good enough for her. Kendra looked down at Eminem on her sweatshirt and started rubbing out a blob of ketchup that had fallen out of her hamburger onto his pecs. It was like she forgot we were there. Without raising her head, she said, “Mom already feels real bad that I’m, like, the way I am. She thinks it’s her fault or something for not being with me more. If she knew how it started, she’d, like, really freak out and blame herself and stuff.”

  “You’re very considerate to be concerned about your mom. I know she works hard to keep everything going around here, and I won’t tell her things that you tell me unless the law requires me to.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “It started a while ago. My dad doesn’t live with us. I don’t know him, actually. Mom works all the time, so I’m usually here alone. I don’t really mind. But every once in a while, she has a boyfriend start living here. I don’t know why she dates these loser guys who don’t even have jobs and stuff when she works so hard.

  “Anyway, last year this guy named Joe was staying here with us. He said he was a contractor, but he like never left the house or anything. I guess one day while I was at school, he went nosing through my stuff in my room. I had a little bag of pot hidden in my dresser. I’d only smoked it once. Me and my friend got it from this guy at school, just to try it.

  “So anyway, when I got home, he’s sitting on the couch holding this bag. He said he was gonna tell Mom unless I could keep a secret about him. And then he goes into Mom’s room and brings out his gym bag. He had a bunch of pot in there, but he had heroin too. He told me he didn’t tell my mom or anything ’cause of how she feels about drugs, but he’d let me use some. I didn’t want to, ’cause that seemed like way more major than pot. But Joe said popping wasn’t really like shooting up or anything and wasn’t as big of a deal. And he said if I didn’t try it, then I wouldn’t be in on his secret, and he’d tell Mom mine. So I tried it.”

  “Is that the only time you used heroin with him?”

  “Yeah, right. He wanted me to do it with him again like a week later, then it was more and more, until he was waiting for me almost every day after school.”

  “Kendra, did Joe ever touch you or do anything sexual to you?”

  “Not really. He’d like touch my hair and stuff when we were high. Gave me the heebie-jeebies. He was totally gross. After a couple months, I guess Mom found his stash and kicked him out. I was happy he was gone, but then I didn’t have any way to get the heroin.”

  I didn’t know what to say. This poor girl had destroyed herself out of fear that she would create one more source of stress in her overworked mother’s life. Now, even after all she’d been through, she still worried more for her mother’s well-being than her own. I hoped Andrea Martin deserved the concern.

  “Before you started being with men in order to get the heroin, had you ever engaged in any other sexual activity?”

  She blushed and looked down at the floor. “Just kissing and stuff with a couple boys at school.”

  “No older boys?”

  “Unh-unh.”

  “Not Joe?”

  “I said no.”

  “None of your mother’s other boyfriends ever tried to touch you in a bad way?”

  “No. I’d tell you. How come you’re so sure someone tried to get over on me?”

  I knew I had strayed from the open-ended style of questioning used with child sex abuse victims, but it seemed unlikely that Kendra hadn’t been victimized before she began selling herself for drugs. It was possible, but the vast majority of women who become prostitutes were molested as children.

  If she wasn’t molested, my guess is that watching her mother’s own relationships with men had left her vulnerable to abuse before this Joe person ever came into the house and began grooming her. Pedophiles often take their time developing a relationship of trust with the child, sharing secrets and breaking barriers. Once the abuse begins, the child chooses to permit its continuance rather than lose the abuser’s affection. After spending two months using heroin with her mother’s boyfriend, Kendra’s next step was almost guaranteed.

  “I’m not sure about anything, Kendra. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t keeping anything from me, to protect them or maybe your mother.”

  “Well, I’m not. If it’s like you’re thinking someone must’ve done something to me for me to be this way, you’re wrong. I guess I’m just screwed up.”

  “You’re not screwed up, and it’s not your fault. Do you know that? What happened to you is not your fault.”

  “That’s what the advocate person said, too. Mom thinks it’s my fault.”

  “I bet she doesn’t.” I wasn’t so sure about what Andrea Martin thought, but I knew what Kendra needed to hear.

  “She keeps saying I shouldn’t have been out there.”

  “Well, she’s right. It’s good that you’re acknowledging that you made a mistake to put yourself in a risky situation. But that doesn’t make this thing your fault. You see the difference?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Say it’s not your fault.”

  She looked at Chuck, then me, then down at her feet. “That’s kind of dumb.”

  “It’s not dumb,” Chuck sa
id. I was glad he jumped in. I was used to working with women who couldn’t listen to anyone but a man, and thirteen wasn’t too young for it to start. I needed some help.

  She sighed. “It’s not my fault,” she said quietly.

  “Now, look me in the eye,” I said, “and say it louder.”

  She looked at me this time, only at me. “It’s not my fault.”

  This time, she sounded like maybe she meant it.

  “Good girl. You’re going to think this is silly, but whenever you start to doubt that, I want you to look in the mirror and see how pretty and smart you are. Then I want you to say that out loud to yourself and see how confident and strong you look, OK?”

  She rolled her eyes, but she smiled. “Man, every time one of you guys comes over, I get some new thing I’m supposed to remember to do. Look out the window, talk to myself in the mirror. Next time, you’re gonna have me standing on my head and singing the Backstreet Boys.”

  I smiled back at her and then asked why she worked out of the Hamilton, the motel at Third and Alder. She explained that she met a group of teenage girls at Harry’s Place, a shelter for street kids. When it became clear that Kendra was picking up spare money the same way the others were, they told her she should work out of the Hamilton. Apparently, the management there didn’t care about what went on, and enough girls were turning tricks out of the motel that it provided something of a support network. The girls would watch out for each other and pass along tips they’d pick up on the street.

  Kendra explained that she worked sporadically enough that she’d managed to avoid hooking up with a pimp. “They’re definitely out there, though. Haley, this girl I know the best out of that group—she’s older than me—anyway, Haley said she did what I did for about a year before she couldn’t get away with it anymore. The other girls were telling her she wasn’t safe out there by herself, and she got beat up a couple times pretty bad. So she was giving half of her money to some man, but he was supposed to watch her back and make sure she stayed safe.”

  I’m sure this guardian was a real gentleman.

  Kendra’s face lit up as she told me about the girls she’d met on the street, at Harry’s Place, and at the Hamilton. I could tell she missed them, even if she wasn’t missing the lifestyle yet.