For the same reason I always eat the vegetables on my plate first, I went ahead and called him. Better to get it over with.
I gave him a quick rundown on where we stood.
“Shit, Kincaid. With only a six-point latent on the print, you’re toast without DNA. It’s your case, but I’d plead it out quick if I were you. Case like this, you might be able to squeak out a decent deal before the guy realizes you’re shooting blanks.”
“I’ll take it into consideration. Thanks. Anything else?”
“How’s that vice angle going? Didn’t Garcia say something about trying to use the vic to get some intel on pimps?”
“Yeah, Tommy thought it might pan out. Turns out the girl hadn’t been working long. And what she did, she did on her own. I’ve got some pictures she took of some other girls, but it doesn’t look that promising.”
“Yeah, I saw those on your desk when I was in there earlier. Didn’t realize the connection. It’s not too late to pull out, you know. You could still dump the mandatory minimums and send it down to general trial,” he said.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I got off the phone before I said something I’d regret and turned back to my computer. Nothing could take my mind off Kendra. I checked the time so I’d know when I’d waited long enough to check in with Chuck.
After a long 78 seconds, Tommy Garcia popped his head into my office.
“Hey, Sammie. ¿Qué pasa?”
I sighed. “The Derringer investigation’s on hyperspeed. It’s coming together, though. How about you?”
“I’m just over here for a grand jury. Got here a little early, so I thought I’d check in on you. See how your vic’s doing.”
“Kendra. Yeah, seems like a pretty decent kid, actually.” I didn’t see any reason to alarm Tommy with the problem of the keys. “Speak of the devil, though, I’ve got something for you.” I found the photographs Kendra had given me and handed them to him. “You might be interested in these. Kendra’s clique from the Hamilton.”
He flipped through once and then went through them more methodically. “A couple of these girls look real familiar.” He leaned toward me and pointed at one of the girls rubbing against the faceless man with the Tasmanian Devil tattoo. I recognized her as Kendra’s friend, Haley. “This one’s a real piece of work. Holly or Halle or Haley or something.”
“I think it’s Haley.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly tired of the indistinguishable trendy names found among today’s kids. “Anyway, she’s one of the hard-core street kids. She’s about sixteen. Been on the streets at least four years and lives the life in every aspect. Hates the police, caseworkers, anything that’s legitimate.”
“Sounds like she’d have good information for vice.”
“Man, are you kidding? She’s like a matriarch out there. She knows the kids, but she also knows who’s plucking them off the buses and streets to get them into it. Problem is, a girl like that ain’t easy to flip. She’s convinced herself that her life is the one she wants, not just what she got stuck with. She wouldn’t take the road out even if it were open to her.”
“Well, she and my vic were pretty tight. I got the impression that this girl sort of watched Kendra’s back.”
“I don’t know, Sam. From what I can tell, this girl’s all about survival, so unless your vic had something for her…” He faded out. “Hell, I guess it can’t hurt to take a shot. Use your case as the in with her?”
“It’s up to you. I thought the pictures might help you out, but don’t take it as an indication that you need to do anything with them.” Most detectives would be offended if a DA tried to tell them to initiate an investigation, but Tommy was worried about letting me down.
“Yeah, I might give it a shot. I’ll let you know. You need these back?” he asked, holding up the photographs.
“Nope. Hold on to ’em as long as you want.”
As Garcia left the office, I snuck a look at the clock. Thirteen minutes now. Why hadn’t Chuck called?
Just as my self-imposed fifteen minute deadline was about to expire, the phone rang.
Chuck knew to get to the important stuff first. “She’s at home, and she’s fine.” He could hear my relief. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it to her. I think it scared her mom. She’s saying some things are out of place. I’m sure she’s just getting used to having Kendra around all day again. But she’s still spooked.”
“But there’s nothing else suggesting anyone was in the house?”
“No. Look, it’s fine, Sam. Even if they took the keys, I don’t see how they’d know where Kendra lives, and it doesn’t make any sense for them to go there just to poke around. I called one of the community safety liaisons out in Gresham, to be safe. He’s leaving the department as we speak to relock the house on the city’s dime. I’m just pissed that I didn’t put it together sooner.”
“It’s my fault. I’m the one who Andrea talked to about getting the keys out of the purse. I should’ve made sure they were in there.”
“No use blaming anyone now. Luckily it turned out OK.” With our temporary panic out of the way, he moved the conversation back to the new evidence. “So, you happy about the case now?”
“Happy doesn’t begin to describe it. I’m ecstatic.”
“You want to grab a bite tonight? Celebrate the good news?”
“I was going to stop by Dad’s tonight.”
“Alright, some other time.” He sounded disappointed, and I was surprised to find myself feeling the same way. When we didn’t want to kill each other, I truly felt at home with Chuck. We’d known each other so long that we were comfortable together in a way we didn’t feel with anyone else. At least, I didn’t. From what I’d heard, Chuck was never lonely for company in the evenings, but given how often his name passed through the rumor mill, it didn’t seem like he’d kept anyone around long enough to get serious.
“You want to come with me? Dad always likes seeing you, you know.” The words were out of my mouth before I reminded myself that, when it came to me and Chuck, there was a cloud for every silver lining.
“Sure. Sounds great. Pick you up at seven?”
“Only if I get to drive the Jag,” I said. If I was going to play with fire, I may as well get some warmth out of it.
Just as I hung up the phone, it rang again. Maybe it was Chuck, having second thoughts too.
“Kincaid,” I said.
It was Judge Leeson’s clerk. Maria Leeson had the unfortunate privilege of being the presiding judge for the Multnomah County Circuit Court, meaning she had to deal with all the miscellaneous shit that none of the other judges had time for.
“The judge wants to know why you’re not down here,” she said.
“Because I’m here. And not there.”
“You better get down here.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“You’ve got a case on the docket. State v. Derringer.”
“For what?”
“Call,” she said. Cases were on the call docket when they were about to go to trial. Before a judge and courtroom were set aside, the parties were supposed to show up and report the status of plea negotiation and whether they were ready to go to trial. We usually sent one DA to the call docket to report information for the entire office. Poor Alan Ritpers was the current call DA.
“I gave all my trial information to Ritpers. The Derringer case just got arraigned the other day,” I said.
“Yep, and that’s why you need to get down here,” she said. “Lopez called yesterday to have the case added to the docket, and Ritpers is clueless. The judge wants you down here. Now.”
I headed straight down, skipping the antiquated and overstressed elevators for the four flights down to Judge Leeson’s courtroom. Lisa was waiting near the defense table and rose when I entered the room.
“My apologies, your honor,” I said. “I wasn’t aware of the appearance.”
“Check your docket, Ms. Kincaid.” Maria Leeson peered down
at me over the top of her half-moon glasses. “Alright, Ms. Lopez, now that we’ve got a DA here who’s heard of your client, tell me again what you’re asking for.”
“Thank you, Judge Leeson. My client is currently in custody, unable to meet bail imposed by Judge Weidemann during the arraignment. He wants a speedy trial, and I’m requesting the earliest available trial date.”
Leeson pointed her glasses down at me again. “Ms. Kincaid?”
“The defendant waived his speedy trial rights at arraignment, your honor. In light of that waiver, the State requests a trial date in the usual course.” Translation: let the defendant rot for a year while I finish getting the goods against him.
“Did you waive at arraignment, Ms. Lopez?” Leeson asked.
“Only because of the limited ability to consult with my client, your honor. I was appointed to the case at arraignment and only had so much time before the case was called. Ms. Kincaid was requesting a no bail hold, so, as you can imagine, my initial discussion with my client focused on the release issue. Once that was decided, I didn’t have much choice other than to make the usual stipulations. Since then, I’ve spoken further to Mr. Derringer. He can’t make bail, and he wants a speedy trial.”
I did my best to argue that Lopez should’ve preserved all rights at arraignment if she had any doubts, but we all knew that’s not how it works.
“Alright,” Leeson said. “I’m allowing the defendant to withdraw his waiver of speedy trial rights, meaning he gets his trial within thirty days.” Leeson held a hand up to the court reporter, indicating her wish to go off the record. “You sure about this, Lisa?”
Invoking speedy trial rights was incredibly short-sighted. The requests usually only came from newbies who’d never been in custody before. I was surprised to hear that Derringer couldn’t stick it out while his attorney prepared for trial.
Lopez shrugged. “I’ve advised Mr. Derringer against it. What can I do?”
Leeson arched her eyebrows and signaled for the court reporter to go back on record. “Alright then, let’s set a date. I got a bunch of judges out for spring break in late March, so … that means Judge Lesh two weeks from Monday.”
No way. “Your honor, this is an attempted murder case. There is physical evidence that still needs to be tested. The state needs more than two weeks.”
“Too bad, Ms. Kincaid. I don’t have anything else. If you can’t proceed when the case comes up for call before trial, Mr. Derringer will be recogged.”
I had to be ready for trial in two and a half weeks, or else Derringer would be released on his own recognizance. Lopez’s strategy was a risky one. She was betting that we had only the evidence in the initial police reports. Too bad for her; she placed the bet without the benefit of the new evidence Chuck gave me. A quick trial date was fine with me.
The change in schedule gave me a good excuse to revoke the dinner invitation I had extended to Chuck. I broke the bad news to Dad and worked late instead.
* * *
My pager buzzed the next day around one as I was inhaling fish tacos at my desk. I could tell from the prefix that it was a bureau cell phone.
“Garcia.”
I recognized Tommy’s voice. “Tommy, it’s Samantha Kincaid. You page me?”
“Yeah. I was out riding with patrol checking on hot spots, when whaddaya know; your vic’s friend, Haley Jameson, is sitting with a bunch of the other street urchins outside Pioneer Courthouse.”
At any given time, you could find a pile of homeless kids hitting people up for money by the Max tracks on the north side of the federal appellate courthouse, next to fountain pools decorated with stone beavers, Portland’s unofficial mascot.
“If you’ve got the time to walk down here, I thought your connection with the vic might help me get a rapport with this girl. Otherwise, I’m left saying that I know someone who knows someone.”
I looked at the clock. “I’ve got time. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll be right down.”
* * *
Tommy met me at the southeast corner of the Pioneer Courthouse.
“So tell me about this girl,” I said. “She been through the system?”
Garcia shook his head. “Nothing serious. Couple RJVs, loitering pops. Spent a few nights at juvie, went through LAP a couple times.”
I’d seen plenty of them before. Street kids rarely got picked up for anything more severe than runaway juvenile violations, even though they were often at the fringes of more serious crimes like robberies and assaults. If they had any experience in the system at all, it was usually for curfew violations, public drunkenness, loitering, or runaway juvenile pops. Typical arrests for those kinds of offenses resulted in a night at juvie, a trip back home or a foster placement, and maybe a little court-ordered counseling. LAP stood for Learning Alternatives to Prostitution. The probation department developed the program a few years ago. Participants were supposed to learn legitimate job skills and enough self-worth to stop seeing the sale of sex as a good deal. It might be a good program for someone serious about getting out of the life, but, like most court-ordered counseling, it was treated as a joke by the people forced to go through it to avoid jail.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“OK, here’s how we need to play it. If we single her out of the group, she’s going to use us as a way to get props from her friends. We’ve got nothing on her, so once she calls our bluff, it’s over. I’ll play it nice and tell the group they need to stop blocking the sidewalks. Get them to move on. Maybe we’ll have a shot then at talking to her alone. You act like you’re my partner.”
It was the last part I couldn’t go for. I was pretty sure my boss wouldn’t approve of one of his deputies impersonating a police officer. When Tommy was through teasing me about always following the rules, we agreed I’d fall back while he tried to break up the group.
He wasn’t in uniform, so a couple of the less savvy kids didn’t realize Tommy was a cop as he approached them. “Hey, man, spare some change?” one of them asked.
“Not today, dude.” Tommy flashed his badge. “But I do have a tip for you. Mounted patrol should be coming by in a few minutes. Why don’t you guys hightail it out of here before they give you a hard time.”
The one I was pretty sure was Haley piped up. “What do you care?”
“Honestly? I don’t care whether you go to juvie or not. But the officers doing the rounds today are coming up on reporting time, and I got a bet with a buddy at the precinct that their unit’s not going to meet their enforcement quotas this month. Listen to me or not. It’s up to you.”
That did the trick. The kids slowly started getting up, collecting their blankets and bags, and walking in separate directions in smaller groups. Haley started to cross the street to Pioneer Square. “Haley, hold up,” Tommy called after her.
She swung around toward us, throwing a large handbag over her shoulder and placing her hands on her hips. “I knew you guys were full of shit. Give me a break. Alright, man?”
Tommy held his hands up in mock surrender. “We’re not here to hook you up on anything. We wanted to see if you could give us some help with something.”
Hands still on her hips, she rolled her eyes and laughed to let us know that the notion of cooperating with the police amused her. She nodded in my direction. “Yeah, and what’s she here for, fit me for my Girl Scout uniform?”
I had some damn good tacos going soggy on my desk. The last thing I needed was for some twit to patronize me, but I did my best to keep the anger out of my voice. “I’m Deputy District Attorney Samantha Kincaid. Sergeant Garcia and I were hoping you could talk to us about something that happened Saturday night to a girl you might know, Kendra Martin. Take a minute with us, and we’ll buy you some lunch. You could probably use a bite to eat.”
She raised her eyes toward Tommy with anticipation. He picked up on the cue. “Twenty bucks to hear us out. Up to you whether you stay after that.”
The cash worked. We sat w
ith her on one of the brick steps in Pioneer Square and explained that we were investigating the assault on Kendra Martin and thought she might have heard something on the street about it. We didn’t tell her that Kendra had told me that they were friends or that I had pictures of her getting it on with the Tasmanian Devil guy. She stared at us through hard eyes, lips pressed into a straight line, as we described the violence inflicted upon Kendra. I thought I saw her take a quick downward glance and a small swallow when Tommy told her that a man named Frank Derringer had been arrested and charged.
Tommy made a soft play to get information from her. “Anyway, I’ve asked around the patrol officers and they tell me you know about as much as anyone does about what goes on with the kids down here. If you can give us anything on this guy Derringer, or any other guys who might be into doing this kind of thing to a girl, we’d keep your name out of it.”
“I don’t believe you, but since I don’t know nothing about it, it don’t make a difference, does it?” Haley pulled the twenty bucks Tommy’d given her from her front pocket and shook it in front of her as she stood to face us. “Thanks for the twenty bucks, though. Losers.” She made the shape of an L on her forehead with her thumb and forefinger, just in case we missed her point.
We didn’t try to stop her as she walked away. It was clear that we didn’t have whatever it might take to get Haley Jameson to betray the life she’d committed herself to.
“Lost cause”—Tommy sighed—“but, hey, at least we gave it a shot. I’ll flag it in PPDS for someone to call me if she gets popped for anything down the road.”
“Tommy, I know we were only using the case to get a conversation going with her about vice, but I got the impression she knew something.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Possible. Guy like Derringer might get around. But if there’s something there, we’re not getting it from that girl.”
6
I usually spend the day before a trial at my dining room table, reviewing the entire file and practicing my open. I broke from habit for Derringer. The case centered around Kendra Martin, and anything I could do to boost her confidence on the stand would do far more for us than a review of the file.
Judgment Calls Page 10
