by Kate Gable
29
I meet up with Thomas again in the break room, not because I want to, but because he's there and certain things have to be talked about. When I look at him through the glass, he looks broken and lost.
I'm sure that he's having lots of regrets for putting his fist through the wall with a suspect, especially one that wasn't being violent or aggressive at all, but this is how Thomas is.
Few people at work know he's had a few disciplinary actions. People who he has arrested have come up and said that he was unnecessary violent with them, but you know how it is when you have a little bit of crack, marijuana, or heroin in your pocket. Suddenly your testimony becomes a lot less reliable.
I walk in and clear my throat. He's facing away, sitting with his back to me. Once he sees that it's me, his eyes flare up.
"I'm assuming you finished the conversation," he says.
"Yes, of course. What else was I going to do?"
He shrugs.
"Why did you do that?" I ask. "Why did you attack him like that?"
"I didn't attack him. I attacked the wall. Listen, if I wanted to punch him in the face, I would have."
I shake my head.
I can't believe that someone like this is still on the force.
He's not particularly good at interrogating. He's not particularly good at investigating.
He just has friends in the right places and he has been here long enough to keep working.
I wouldn't be surprised if in the future, he ends up killing someone who's unarmed for no reason whatsoever.
I can't make any of these thoughts public.
I can't talk to anyone about this, not even Internal Affairs, because that would put a bullseye on my back. Cops watch out for their own and, in this job, you need others to protect you in dangerous situations.
The one thing that Thomas has is a lot of friends. A lot more than I do. It's not that I'm not friendly. It's that female detectives are still not completely trusted by everyone.
Thomas is gregarious, fun, and he knows how to have a good time and cover everyone’s tab at the strip club, the kind of place that the female officers aren’t exactly invited to.
I don't know if this is what it's like everywhere, but this is what it's like here.
"Listen, you don't need to be here and gloat over what happened, okay?"
"I'm not gloating. I'm here to see if you're okay, because clearly you kind of lost it for a moment."
"I didn't lose anything!” He yells back.
"You didn't? So, you meant to put your fist through the wall?"
"Shut up," he growls. "You stupid bitch."
I know that this conversation isn't going to go anywhere productive. He's not in the mood.
“Well, that could have gone better.” Katherine comes in with a casual smile on her face.
She looks almost amused by the situation. She has always seemed to have a sixth sense when it comes to Thomas Abrams because she has never been a big fan.
When we dated, I noticed that she stayed away from me. I wonder how much she knew. She remained friendly, cordial, and professional as always, but not particularly going out of her way to include me in any trips to the bar.
"Listen, I know I messed up," Thomas says, turning around and throwing his hands up.
He's sitting at the white Formica table. He has a can of Coke in front of him. He finishes it with a few big gulps and throws it in the trash. He misses, but then doesn't pick it up.
Katherine and I exchange glances and wait.
Finally, embarrassed for doing something wrong, he forces himself up to his feet and throws it away as if he had meant to do it all along.
That's how it has always been with him. You practically have to shame him to do anything that's right, polite, or according to rules of society.
"You know, we're going to be lucky if Danny doesn't press charges," Katherine says.
She leans against the counter and her pencil skirt scrunches up just a little bit, but it's tailored so nicely that it still looks very form-fitting and exquisite.
Assistant district attorneys don't make a lot of money and usually can’t afford nice clothing like this in addition to rent and everything else that goes in to living in a big city.
She's still paying off her student loans, but she cares about fashion and presenting herself well. Her hair is always styled and her makeup is always flawless.
"Listen, isn't there anything that we can do?" Thomas asks. "I mean, maybe the camera stopped working at that moment and there's no record of what happened."
“Even if that had happened, we have all seen what you did,” Katherine says, crossing her arms in front of her. "What are you asking us to do exactly, Officer Abrams?"
He starts to huff and his face starts to resemble that of a petulant child.
It's like he has been told that the world works one way and is suddenly surprised, but it doesn't.
Maybe he would've never even become a cop if he knew that things were at least moving in the right direction in terms of not being such a corrupt and toxic workplace environment.
A few moments later, Captain Medvil joins us.
"What the hell was that?" he asks, spreading his feet out in a wider stance and placing his hands on his hips in that commonplace cop stance.
"Nothing. It was just a mistake," Thomas apologizes without really apologizing.
"Well, that's completely unacceptable," Captain Medvil barks back. "We don't do that kind of stuff here, you know that. We don't threaten or agitate suspects in a physical way. Do you know why?"
I know what Thomas is thinking. He wants to say because you're a pushover and this department has too many women in it.
Captain Medvil tilts his head and says, "It's not the right thing to do and because suspects like that, they get lawyers and then don't tell us a thing. Then they go and tell their friends that you can just act out, get punched, and then get off scot-free of all your charges because a police officer was violent with you. No, we don't do that anymore. You know that, I know that, hell, you're a young guy. We haven't done that kind of thing in a long time, so don't pretend that you don't know what kind of world you're living in."
Thomas shrugs and mumbles something, but it's not legible and it's hard to make out.
When the captain leaves, Katherine follows soon after and we're left alone again.
I don't want to stay here any longer than necessary so I head toward the door, but Thomas rushes up to me.
"You did that on purpose.” He puts his finger in my face and cold sweat rushes down my back.
I have a flashback to what happened before, to him putting his hands on me, threatening me, to all the put downs that he said to me, to all the times that he made me think that I wasn’t good enough.
"You're a stupid little bitch,” Thomas whispers in my ear. "You made me do that on purpose, but you're not going to get away with it."
"What? What did I make you do on purpose?" I ask, taking a little step away from the wall, just in case he slams me into it. "I wasn't even there. You were there all alone and you let your anger and your frustration and all of your emotions out on that guy. When all you have to do to get him to talk is to connect with him, to make him feel safe, to make him feel like you're his friend, but you couldn't do that, could you?"
Now it's his turn to take a little step back. He knows I'm right.
I see his whole body deflate, just a little. I see him.
It's almost as if he's a balloon, just letting the air out of itself.
Being around Thomas is like being around a bomb that's about to explode. You make the wrong move or you say just the wrong thing at the wrong moment and it will explode in your face.
I said my peace, but now I slide carefully parallel to the wall to not agitate him and to not make it seem like an act of aggression.
There's no recording of our conversation here and who knows how he can spin it.
I need to play my cards right. This is a game of poker and it
requires strategy. I walk around him, open the door, walk out, and I don't let out a breath until the door closes behind me.
"What's going on with you two?" Katherine walks up to me and I nearly jump out of my skin.
I exhale in a quick burst and she licks her lips slowly, assessing the situation.
"Nothing. Just... Some professional differences."
"Yeah, it's more than that," Katherine says, tilting her head to one side and crossing her arms across her chest.
I don't know her well and she has always been cordial. The fact that she doesn't like Thomas is a good thing, but I still don't know who to trust.
"Did something happen? Did he do something to you?"
I swallow hard and ask, "What are you talking about? No, of course not." My protest is hardly believable or honest.
She bites her lower lip again, and then calls me into her office.
"I need to talk to you," she says.
As I follow her across the room, past all the cubicles, it feels a lot like I've been called into the principal’s office.
30
Katherine Harris's office is on the other side of the building. It has a beautiful view of the LA skyline. The door is made of dark wood to match the rest of the outside, but inside I find an office that's light and very easy when it comes to décor.
There are no heavy dark colors, there's no ornate furniture, and there's no grandiose artwork. There are three matching pictures on the wall looking out the window.
They are sepia in color and minimalist in style, each one portraying a different type of plant. A cactus, a eucalyptus, and a third one that I can't quite identify.
The focus is zoomed up close and personal, the background is blank, and the frames are all slim in a white ash wood.
Her diploma from Southwestern Law School hangs in a similar style frame on the other side of the wall. Her bachelor's degree from University of Southern California with a major in philosophy is right below that.
"I went there, too," I say.
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” She smiles. “I remember you told me that when we went out for drinks.”
I nod.
We talked for maybe a few minutes. Going out with a group, I always find it hard to get a word in.
There are two wall bookcases, slim and nondescript, reminding me of the IKEA ones popular in the nineties. A sparse number of law books are stacked one on top of another, separated by more cacti and even a few novels.
The desk itself is uncluttered. Just a laptop, an iPad, a small wireless keyboard, and a notebook. On the right-hand side, there's a stack of folders in a plastic organizer.
She sits down on the swivel chair across from me, pointing to the small blue one in the front.
"Wow. This one is surprisingly comfortable," I say, spinning around in a half crescent.
"Yeah. I like it. It doesn't look like it would be so people don't tend to hang around for long."
I smile.
"Listen, I don't mean to call you out on anything. I just wanted to chat," she says. "I thought here we could be a little bit more comfortable."
I nod, not entirely sure what that means.
"Tell me about Thomas." She shifts her weight from one side to another.
Even though she's wearing a pretty tight jacket, she doesn't remove it.
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, to tell you the truth, you didn't seem very surprised by what he did."
"You mean punching the wall?"
She nods.
"I guess I'm kind of aware of his temper,” I say.
"I just wish that someone told me about it,” she points out.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, when I asked Captain Medvil about it, that's kind of what he said. I wouldn't have sent Thomas in there to talk to Danny at all if I knew that."
"I'm sorry. I didn't think it was my place,” I say, feeling like I’m being scolded.
"Of course, it's your place.”
"Things are very complicated with Thomas. I’m his colleague.”
"Things like what? Our reputation is all we have. Especially in this department, people have to know who they're working with,” Katherine says. “Maybe he's not a good candidate to interview and interrogate, but that doesn't mean that he's not a good cop. That doesn't mean that there isn't a place for him to do something else."
"He's a detective," I say, leaning back in my chair with a smirk on my face. "If he can't interview people, there isn't much of a place for him to do anything."
She smiles out of the corner of her lips. Her face is slim with high cheekbones and perfectly arched eyebrows.
There's a pleasantness to the expression on her face though. She isn't cold or distant. She's someone that you can relate to even though she is quite beautiful.
"I got the sense that you and Thomas were close?"
"I don't know how to answer that question," I say.
"Did you ever date?"
I want to lie. Maybe it would be my best professional interest to do so but something tells me to trust her.
"I'd rather not talk about that," I say. "Things were a little bit complicated and it's better to just leave it alone."
"Not if you have previous knowledge of him being violent and aggressive."
I freeze up. She knows something, but what?
How could she? I didn't tell anyone about it.
"Look, Kaitlyn, we haven't had much of a chance to spend time together. If I tell you this, then I need to swear you to secrecy. Can I trust you?"
"Yes, of course,” I say, shaking my head.
She narrows her eyes like she doesn’t believe me.
"If you were to tell anyone about this, then we would have a real professional problem on our hands. It would be your word against mine and I will deny it, I hope you know that."
"Deny what?"
"Do I have your word?" she asks again.
"Yes." I nod, staring straight into her wide brown eyes, feeling my hands getting clammy and cold.
"Well, the thing is that Thomas is not a very nice person and I have a feeling that you know that."
It's almost as if my blood starts rushing through my veins.
Everything stops.
The world even stops spinning. The only constant that remains is a strange buzzing sound somewhere in the distance and with every passing moment, it gets louder and louder.
"I'm not sure what to say," I mumble after a very long pause.
"Thomas and I have history," Katherine finally says. "We dated a long time ago and things didn't go well. This was before I even went to law school."
"Oh."
"I had just graduated. I took a year off. I was working doing legal defense kind of stuff, trying to figure out if I wanted to go to law school or not. I just took the LSAT exam. I was doing all the applications. We were dating and... Well, not really dating."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"We were friends. We knew each other. I went out to a bar with him and his friends and someone slipped me something."
“How do you know?" I gasp.
"I had never drank much and I didn't drink that much then, but I blacked out and I couldn't remember what happened. I woke up in a stranger’s apartment. I later found out that it was Thomas and his friends. He swore that nothing happened…only I had tearing."
"Tearing?" I ask.
"Yeah. You know, vaginal tearing,” she says without missing a beat. “He swore that I just fell asleep and nothing happened.”
"Did you go to the police?"
"Nothing like that had ever happened to me. I never knew. I've heard of women being hurt and I've heard of women being beat up by their boyfriends, but I never thought it could happen to me. When it did, I was so distraught, lost, and just uncertain of everything. I couldn't imagine going to the police and what would I even tell them? I guess I should have, but all I wanted to do was take a shower. All I wanted to do was just not have it happen."
"I'm really sorry," I say, leaning forward over her desk.
I put her hand in mine.
"What happened? What happened after that?" I ask.
Katherine exhales deeply, intertwining her fingers, and then saying, "I took a shower. I examined myself. I noticed that I had a small tear, not enough to warrant stitches. That night, some of the memories came back. Not clear ones, just guys all around me. I couldn't see their faces. It's hard to talk about it.”
I look at her. If she's holding back tears, I can't tell, but I know that she's telling me the truth.
This is one of the hardest things she's ever gone through.
She doesn't know me well, but she's taking a chance. She saw something in me that she recognized in herself and in her relationship to Thomas, and she doesn't even know the half of it.
"Why are you telling me all this?" I ask.
"I want you to know who he is, even if I have no proof. Even if I won't tell people about it publicly. I saw you two together and he has his eye on you."
"It's not what you think." I sit back, putting my hands in my lap.
"What do you mean?" she asks. Now it's her turn to reach over the table for my hand.
"We were together for a while."
"You were?"
"Yeah. He didn't treat me very well. I wish I had taken him more seriously at the time. Kind of the usual bullshit: Putting me down, calling me sexist, terrible names, and making me feel bad about who I was as a person."
"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. What happened?"
Katherine flips her hair from one side to another. It's chestnut brown and looks like it'd been blow dried by an expert. Mine on the other hand falls a little bit flatter, without that luster and with a bunch of dry shampoo.
"What happened?" she asks again.
31
I run my finger over the smooth soft plexiglass of her table. It's made to look like glass and it's doing a great job at the masquerading. I like how white it is, how clean.
There's a little pop of color in the bottom of the marble pot interlaced with gold that’s holding a small succulent.
I reach over and touch one of the leaves, wanting to disappear into it.
Having this conversation with someone who really understands where I’m coming from feels strange. Sydney knows the details, but as everyone who has ever been abused or hurt knows, most of the time you're embarrassed to talk about it.
