Street Dreams

by Street Dreams

  The girl nodded. She was round and pink and her yellow hair was tied into a ponytail. I glanced at her hands. Her thumbs were short and stubby. She was looking at her lap.

  “Sarah, can I . . .” I stopped myself, hearing my father’s words of warning. Don’t request to do something if you’re going to do it anyway. “Sarah, I’m going to ask you a few questions. It shouldn’t take long.”

  Silence.

  Louise said, “Go ahead.”

  “Do you know how the baby got in your tummy?”

  A nod.

  “Can you explain it to me?”

  She gave me a blank stare.

  Dad broke in. “How do babies get in tummies, Sarah?”

  Her eyes darted about the room. “They teached us in school. They showed us pictures.” She spoke haltingly, as if the words came from her diaphragm instead of her throat. Suddenly she giggled and turned red. “They were real”—again she giggled—“real embarrassing.”

  “They showed you pictures of boys and girls naked?” I asked her.

  “Not real pictures.Drawings.”

  “Oh.” I smiled. “It’s good that you know about it . . . about sex.”

  She giggled. “That’s abad word.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Louise assured her. “It’s okay, Sarah. That’s what making a baby is. It’s called sex—”

  The giggles smothered her words.

  “Did you have sex to make your baby, Sarah?” I said.

  She turned scarlet and broke into unrestrained laughter. “Yeah, I think I did.”

  “Sarah, who did you have sex with?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. I promised.”

  Louise said, “Sarah, you must answer their questions—”

  “No!” The girl’s face became defiant. “It’s a secret!”

  Decker held up his hand to Louise. His demeanor was as casual as a handshake. He smiled at the girl. “Do you have a boyfriend, Sarah?”

  Her face darkened. “No.”

  “A pretty girl like you—”

  “I’m not pretty,” Sarah told him.

  “Sure you are,” Decker said. “All that beautiful blond hair. I bet you do have a boyfriend.”

  She looked away. Her eyes were downcast.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah?Did you have a boyfriend?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “What happened? Did he move away or something like that?”

  Again with the nod.

  Dad gave me the go-ahead to continue the questioning. I tried to follow his line of reasoning. “Was he someone from your school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know why he moved away?”

  “Maybe.” She looked down. “But I can’t tell you. It’s a secret. I can’t tell a secret.”

  Louise exhaled loudly, but Decker broke in before she had a chance to reprimand her sister. “Sarah, I’m going to tell you something. Because I think that you’re very smart—”

  Her face drew tight. “I’m not smart. I’mretarded.”

  “Well, you can be retarded and smart at the same time. So listen carefully, all right?”

  Sarah didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “In this world, there are good secrets and there are bad secrets. The good secrets are things like . . . well, when your sister buys you a Christmas present and doesn’t tell you about it even when you ask. Does that ever happen to you?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, that’s happened.”

  “That’s what you call a good secret. Your sister, Louise, wants you to be surprised, so she doesn’t tell you. A good secret. Do you understand?”

  “A little.”

  “See? I told you, you are smart.”

  Her smile widened.

  “Sarah, bad secrets are when people do bad things to you . . . then tell you not to tell anyone. Those bad secrets . . . those secrets you can tell. Those secrets youshould tell. Especially to me or to Officer Decker because we’re the police. You can tell a police officer those secrets.”

  “They said not to tell the police.”

  “Theytold you not to tell?”

  Both the Loo and I were doing some quick reassessments.

  I said, “There was more than one boy who told you not to tell?”

  Sarah said yes.

  Decker said, “Those boys . . . Sarah, look at me.”

  She lifted her face and glanced at my father. He said, “Those boys are very bad boys. I don’t like those boys.”

  “I don’t like them, too,” Sarah said. “They hurt me.”

  “I’ll bet they did,” Decker said. “Where on your body did they hurt you?”

  Louise looked away, but I could see the tears in her eyes. But Sarah talked calmly about it. “On my bottom . . . They hurt me on my bottom.”

  Dad looked at me to continue, but I gave him a slight shake of the head. This was too important for me to ruin. He said, “Did they put things in your bottom?”

  Tears rolled down her cheek as she whispered yes.

  “I told you they were bad boys,” Decker said. “They were very bad to do that to you. What kind of things did they put in your bottom?”

  She didn’t answer, her eyes squeezed tightly.

  “Was it sex? Like the drawings that they showed you in school?” he asked her. “Did they put the boy’s thing in you? You know what I mean . . . the thing that makes a boy a boy?”

  She turned away.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” Decker said. “You don’t have to talk. Just nod.”

  She nodded.

  “Where in your bottom did they put it?” Dad paused. “Did they put it where you poop or where you pee?”

  Sarah said, “Where I pee.”

  “Those boys . . . ,” I said. “They did sex with you.”

  “I didn’t like it at all. It hurt!”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “It hurt like when the baby came out.”

  “I understand.”

  “Not like with David.” She covered her mouth and abruptly giggled behind her fingers. “Oops.”

  Decker and I exchanged glances. I said, “David was your boyfriend, right?”

  She sighed. “He went away.”

  “But he went to your school before he went away?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know any David,” Louise told us. “What’s his last name, Sarah?”

  She shrugged.

  “We’ll find out,” my father whispered to her. “So . . . you had sex with David. But it was good sex, right?”

  “Well, I didn’t like that sex, either. But David was my boyfriend. It’s okay with your boyfriend.”

  I was trying to organize my thoughts. Two things appeared to be going on—consensual sex with David and then maybe an incident that could have been a gang rape. “Do you know why David went away?”

  She nodded. “Because they put him in the trash can.”

  Again I exchanged looks with my father.

  Decker scratched his head. “Tell me about that. When they put David in the trash can.”

  “They told me not to tell anyone. They said that if I told a policeman, they would kill me.”

  I said, “The bad boys arenot going to hurt you!”

  “You can’t be sure of that!” Louise spoke up.

  Decker said, “Ms. Sanders, why don’t we try to figure out what happened first. Then you can decide how you want Sarah to help.”

  Giving her the choice, empowering her. My father’s skills were amazing. Louise told him to go ahead.

  He said, “Sarah, I want you to tell me what happened. Because that’s what you have to do.” He tried to make eye contact with her. “You’re a big girl now, Sarah. You had a big, strong baby because you’re a big, strong girl. So you can do this. You can tell me what happened. How did David get into the trash can?”

  She started shaking her knee—up and down, and up and down. “We were in the park.”

  “Who was in the park?”

/>   “David and me.”

  “When?”

  “Long time ago. Before David went away.”

  “Like . . . last year?”

  A shrug. “Maybe six months.”

  “Okay. You were in the park with David,” I said. “Which park? MacFerren Park?”

  She nodded.

  Decker said, “Good. Now tell me what happened in the park.”

  “I was supposed to go home right after school. But I didn’t.”

  “I know. You didn’t go home. You didn’t listen to your sister.” Decker looked at Louise. “But Louise isn’t mad at you . . . right?”

  In fact, Louise was furious. But she toed the line, even though she spoke through clenched teeth. “No, Sarah, I’mnot mad.”

  Dad’s smile was endearing. “See? She’s not mad. Tell me about the park.”

  “They came over.”

  Dad looked at me, signaling with his eyes for me to continue. I said, “Who came over?”

  “The bad boys.”

  “Sarah, do you remember how many bad boys there were?”

  “Three or four.”

  “Three or four,” I repeated. “So they came over to you and David?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where were you in MacFerren Park when the bad boys came over to you?” Empty eyes regarded my face. “Were you by a tree, or sitting on a bench, or—”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Oh, okay. You and David were in the bathroom together?”

  She blushed.

  “Were you having sex with David in the bathroom?” I asked.

  “No . . . just . . . you know . . .” She smiled and made chirps with pursed lips.

  “You two were kissing?” I asked.

  “Yeah . . . we were kissing.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “The bad boys came in.”

  “Did the bad boys say anything to you?”

  “Bad words.”

  “What kind of bad words?”

  She looked down. “The F-word.”

  “I see.” My brain was scrambling for the right order to ask my questions. “And after they said the words, what happened?”

  “They hit David hard. His nose was bleeding—”

  “My God!” exhaled Louise. She turned away and put her fingers over her mouth. “This is . . .”

  “Am I doing something bad, Louise?”

  “No.” She smiled and wiped her eyes. “No, you’re doing something good. You’re doing the right thing. Go on, Sarah. Tell them what happened.”

  Sarah dropped her head. “They put him in the trash can. He didn’t like it. He was yelling. But then they turned the can upside down”—she closed her eyes—“and one of them sat on it, so David was stuck inside. And every time he yelled, the boy would kick the trash can hard and tell him to shut up.”

  She was flinching as she related the incident. I said, “And after David was put in the trash can, what happened next?”

  Her voice was as soft as new snow. “They pushed me down and tore my underpants. Then . . . the first one did it . . . the sex. It hurt real bad. I wanted to yell for him not to do it, but I didn’t want to make him mad . . . because when David yelled, it made them all mad. I didn’t want my nose to bleed. So I closed my eyes and didn’t say anything.”

  “That was very smart,” Decker said. “See, I told you, you were smart.”

  Her chin was pressed against her chest, her eyes still shut.

  Decker said, “Do you remember how many boys had sex with you?”

  Slowly, she held up two fingers.

  “Two boys had sex with you.”

  She held up three fingers.

  Louise blanched. I took her hand and squeezed it. Dad said, “Three boys?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, Sarah. Now this is very important. What happened after they were done with the sex?”

  “That’s when they made me promise not to tell. They said if I told the police, they would kill me. I believed them!”

  “Yes, of course. And then did the bad boys leave the bathroom first or did you?”

  “The bad boys did.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I pushed the trash can over to help David. It was real heavy and I hurt from the bad boys and I was crying. . . .”

  “You must have been very scared,” I said.

  “I was!”

  “But you don’t have to be scared now because you’re safe,” Decker said. “Sarah, I want you to tell me this. When you pushed the trash can over, was David all right?”

  She shook her head no.

  Decker rubbed his face. “Was he moving?”

  “His face had lots of blood on it.” She started to cry in earnest. “I wanted to help him. But I promised I’d keep it a secret. I didn’t know what to do!”

  “You did the right thing,” my dad said soothingly. “What did you do after you saw David’s face?”

  Her crying got stronger. Louise put her arms around her sister and let her cry on her shoulder. “It’s all over, Sarah. Don’t worry, it’s all over.”

  But everyone in the room, including Sarah, knew it wasn’t over.

  Decker kept his voice even. “Sarah, did you leave David in the trash can?”

  She sobbed loudly. “I ran home. I washed myself. I was real scared.”

  “Of course, you were.”

  We waited until she had cried it out. It took quite a while. Finally, she looked at me. “I went to school the next day. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t come to school anymore. I want to ask Mr. Klinghoffner about it, but I’m too scared.”

  “Then how about if I ask him for you?” I said.

  “Thank you.” She smiled with wet eyes. “I don’t see him anymore. Maybe he didn’t like that the other boys had sex with me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the reason,” I told her.

  “I didn’t want to do it. They made me.”

  I told her I understood. “What did these boys look like?”

  She closed her eyes. She was conjuring up something. “Maybe two were Mexicans.”

  “Mexicans?” I repeated.

  “Yes. Like the janitor in the school. His name is José. He’s Mexican. But he’s a nice Mexican. Sometimes he gives us candy and treats. The bad-boy Mexicans were mean.”

  “Did they speak Spanish?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “So you think that two might be Mexicans,” Decker said. “You said there were other bad boys. What about them? Can you tell me what they looked like?”

  Again she closed her eyes. “One was bald. He was the meanest one. He hit David first.”

  “Was he white-skinned or black-skinned or brown-skinned?”

  She made a face. “Not brown like José, but not pink like me. The not-bald one had lots of pimples. The bald one was the meanest. He didn’t have pimples.”

  “And the other two were Mexican?” I asked.

  “Yes. They had black hair and dark skin and looked like José, the janitor at our school.”

  “Anything else?” Decker said.

  “No.”

  Decker said, “Sarah, do you think if I showed you pictures that maybe you could pick out the bad boys to me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ms. Sanders, we’d like to bring Sarah in and show her some mug books. See if she could pick out anyone.”

  “Perhaps a little later, Lieutenant Decker. We have a court case on Wednesday. I need to settle things before I have her go through another ordeal. I hope you can understand that.”

  “Okay. Later then.”

  It was my turn to get some information. “Sarah, was David a black person?”

  Sarah glanced at her sister. Louise said, “It’s okay, Sarah. You can answer the question.”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Louise.”

  “What are you sorry for?” Louise asked her.

  “ ’Cause I liked David. You said to
stay away from black people. That they do lots of bad things. But David was nice. He wasn’t mean . . . except he did the sex. But he was nice about it.”

  By this time, Louise was bright red. After all she’d gone through, I decided to give her a little solace. “Everyone makes judgment calls, Louise.”

  “I’m just trying to keep her safe. . . .” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “I haven’t done a very good job.”

  “Walk a mile in my shoes,” I said.

  She laughed loudly. “You should have been a therapist.”

  Sarah said, “Is my baby okay?”

  “The baby is fine,” I told her.

  “Can I see her?”

  Louise said, “We’re working on it, Sarah.”

  I said, “Louise, is it possible for you to bring Sarah down to the Hollywood Station tomorrow just to make a statement? That way we could get something going.”

  Louise said, “I don’t think so, Officer Decker.”

  “No mug books,” I told her. “Just let her repeat her story to Detective MacGregor, because he’s in charge. We’ll worry about identifying the perpetrators later on.”

  Her sigh was heavy. “Lunchtime—twelve-thirty. I’ll give you twenty minutes. Then I have to get back to work.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll clear it with Detective MacGregor and call you if there’s a change in plans.”

  “Your cooperation will be favorably looked upon by the judge,” Decker told her. “This is not for pressure, Ms. Sanders, just to let you know.”

  “Right.”

  The sarcasm was evident. We all stood except Sarah. Dad extended his hand to the girl. “Thank you for talking with us, young lady. Tomorrow, Louise is going to bring you to the police station to talk with Detective MacGregor. Do you remember him?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “You’ll need to tell him exactly what you told us.”

  “Okay . . .” Sarah was tentative.

  “Don’t worry,” Decker said. “It will be easier the next time you talk. I promise. You’re a very good girl, Sarah.”

  “Mr. Man?”

  We all smiled. Louise said, “His name is Lieutenant Decker.”

  “I thought her name was Decker.”

  “We both are Decker,” I told her.

  “Oh . . . you’re married.”

  “Father and daughter,” Dad explained. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”