“Since you have to come out to the house anyway, why couldn’t you interview her there?” Simone wants to know. “It’s not like the case is going to trial tomorrow.”
I don’t care for Simone Carlyle. Fortunately, I’m very good at dismissing people I don’t like.
“I’d like to begin by asking Kennedy a few questions.” I take out the photograph, but don’t slide it across the table yet. “This is an enlargement of the picture we found on Graylin’s phone.”
The girl’s eyes dart over to the picture, then back down at the table.
“I want you to see it because I’m hoping you can provide some details about when it might’ve been taken. Can you handle it?”
It takes a moment, but Kennedy nods.
Simone shifts in her seat. “Is that really necessary?”
“Yes, it is.”
Her husband might as well be a deaf-mute. He has yet to say one word.
When I hand Kennedy the picture she glances at it, winces, then looks away.
“Can you confirm that’s you in the picture?” I ask.
“Yes,” Kennedy says meekly.
“Do you recognize where it was taken?”
“It looks like my bedroom.” Her eyes return to the picture, remaining there a little longer this time. “So he was peeking in my bedroom window?”
“Yes, he was,” her mother says, answering a question that wasn’t addressed to her.
I study Kennedy’s reaction. She doesn’t say more, at least not in words. A tear slides down the right side of her face. “That picture is all over the internet. It’s so embarrassing.”
I want to give Kennedy a chance to compose herself, so I turn to her parents. “Is Kennedy in counseling yet?”
For the first time, Simone drops her icy glare. Percy tugs at the cuffs of his monogrammed shirt.
“Not yet,” Simone says. “We’re still looking for the right therapist.”
“I’m okay,” Kennedy ekes out in a squeaky voice. “I don’t want to talk to some stranger.”
The Carlyles’ delay in getting their daughter into counseling is inconsistent with the loving, protective parents they attempt to portray. Their daughter needs some professional help to deal with this violation.
“Do you have any idea when the picture might’ve been taken?” I ask.
Simone interrupts. “How would she know—”
I hold up my hand. “I need Kennedy to respond.”
Her eyes still avoid the picture. “I don’t know.”
“It looks like you’re about to get dressed.”
“Maybe.” She steals another quick peek. “I think maybe I’d just gotten out of the shower.”
“Do you shower in the morning or at night?”
“Both.”
“Which do you do most often?”
“Mornings, I guess.”
“Do you normally stand in front of the window to get dressed?”
Her eyebrows fuse into one. “But I wasn’t standing in front of the window.”
“I’m sorry. What I should’ve said is do you normally get dressed in your bedroom or the bathroom?”
Simone throws a protective arm around her daughter. “What are you trying to imply?”
Teresa decides to jump in. “There’s a pink sweater lying on the bed,” she says. “Do you remember wearing that sweater recently?”
That’s a great question and one that isn’t on my list.
Kennedy’s pensive expression tells me she’s trying to remember. “It’s one of my favorites. I wear it a lot.”
“Can you remember the last time?” Teresa gently pushes.
Kennedy hunches her shoulder. “I’m not sure.”
“We’d like you to think about it some more when you get home. And if you remember, please call Mr. Martinez.”
She nods.
“Do you know if Graylin knows where you live?” I ask.
“Yeah. I’ve seen him on my block before. He’s best friends with Crayvon, who lives up the street.”
Eight pairs of eyes zoom in on Kennedy. This is crucial circumstantial information. “When was the last time you saw Graylin on your street?”
“I don’t know. He’s at Crayvon’s house all the time.”
Excitement starts to build in my chest. If this kid is a peeping Tom, that changes my perspective of the case. A lot of rapists start out peeking through bedroom windows. “Do you know if you saw him during the week he was arrested?”
Kennedy squints. “Maybe.”
“Was it on a school day or a weekend day?”
“A school day.”
“Do you remember if it was during the day or night?”
“It was probably after school.”
“Did you talk to him when you saw him?”
“No.”
“Did you talk to his friend Crayvon?”
“No.”
“What were they doing?”
“Walking down the street.”
“Have you ever seen Graylin or Crayvon in your backyard?”
“No.”
“Do you know if Graylin has a crush on you?”
Kennedy frowns. “No. I barely know him. But a lot of girls like him.”
“Can you tell me which girls?”
Kennedy rattles off five names which Teresa writes down since she’ll be the one contacting them.
“Were any of them his girlfriends?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have any girls told you about”—I temper my words, fearing a hostile reaction from Mrs. Carlyle—“being with Graylin?”
“Being with him?” The girl looks confused.
What I want to know is whether young Graylin Alexander is sexually active. I’m about to ask her that question when I remember what the kids call it now. “Have you ever heard of him smashing any girls at your school?”
The two adult Carlyles look more confused than Kennedy was a second ago. I’m relieved when they don’t ask for a translation.
“No,” Kennedy blushes. “Graylin’s not like that.”
I suspect I’m not getting the truth. I need to know the real deal without Kennedy filtering the facts for her parents. Since Percy is a non-entity, I address my next question to his wife and prepare for the coming firestorm.
“Is it okay if we take a few minutes to talk to Kennedy alone?”
“Absolutely not.” The response isn’t a surprise, only the fact that the words come from the voiceless Mr. Carlyle, not his abrasive wife.
I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger, then stare across the table at Mr. Carlyle. “As an attorney, I’m sure you understand the need for me to get honest responses. Kennedy is likely to speak more candidly with us without her parents present.”
“Kennedy, is that true?” Simone asks. “Would you feel better talking to the prosecutor without us here?”
Kennedy shakes her head. “No. I’m okay if you’re here.”
“See,” Simone says with a smirk. “We have a very open relationship. She tells us everything.”
Lady, if you only knew. I hear that delusional statement from parents so often it no longer fazes me. In reality, kids don’t tell their parents a thing. I certainly didn’t and neither did they.
Percy checks the Breitling on his wrist. His watch had to cost upwards of five grand. “Please continue. You’re not interrogating our daughter without us present.”
I find his use of the word interrogating almost offensive. I’m not a cop. I’m here to right a wrong. This would be a whole lot easier if they would join my side of this fight.
“That’s fine for now,” I say, “but when she testifies in court, we’ll need to—”
“My daughter won’t be testifying,” Percy says with deadly finality. “You don’
t need her testimony. That boy had the picture in his possession. That’s a slam dunk case for possession of child pornography. The distribution charge is superfluous. No need to unnecessarily traumatize Kennedy by putting her on the witness stand.”
“We also have the criminal threat and invasion of privacy charges. We’ll definitely need—”
“My wife can testify to any resulting harm.”
Simone looks adoringly at her husband. “I agree.”
I know I won’t gain any ground if I push the issue now, so I don’t. I ask a few more questions about Graylin, then end the meeting.
The Carlyles have only been gone a couple of minutes when Percy returns to the conference room and closes the door behind him.
“Kennedy and Simone are in the ladies’ room.” He glances over his shoulder as if he’s worried they’ll walk back in and catch him talking to us. “I wanted to speak privately with you. The governor is about to appoint me to the superior court bench. If some reporter found out about this case, the publicity would be a further invasion of my daughter’s privacy. We need you to resolve this as soon as possible.”
“I’m doing everything I can to move it forward.”
“Then cut the kid a deal and be done with it. Kennedy needs to move on with her life.”
Mr. Carlyle seems far more concerned about his pending judgeship than his daughter’s well-being.
“That poor kid,” Teresa says once he’s gone. “Mama and Papa Carlyle won’t be picking up any awards for parents of the year.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I guess they are a bit uptight.”
“Ya think?” Teresa’s wry smile quickly turns somber. “I’m not feeling Papa Carlyle. He’s hiding something.”
“He’s obviously worried about his judicial appointment getting waylaid.”
Teresa shakes her head. “It’s more than that. He didn’t open his mouth until you mentioned questioning Kennedy alone. And there’s no excuse for them not having her in therapy yet. There’s something going on in that house that he doesn’t want anybody to find out.”
“What are you saying?”
“C’mon, Miguel, we’ve both been doing this long enough to know that the picture-perfect family on the outside, is rarely as perfect on the inside.”
The door reopens and all three of the Carlyles bolt back into the conference room.
“Kennedy just confided something to us,” Simone says, her face flush. “Something you need to address A-S-A-P!”
“What happened?”
“Go ahead, baby,” Simone says, “tell them.”
Kennedy opens her mouth, but only a sob comes out. She collapses into her mother’s arms.
“You were right,” Simone says. “Kennedy doesn’t tell us everything. That boy had somebody call my baby last night and threaten her to drop this case. If that doesn’t prove he’s guilty, nothing will.”
CHAPTER 38
Graylin
I get excited when I find out my attorneys are here to visit me. I didn’t even know they were coming today. Nobody in my unit gets as many visitors and phone calls as I do.
When I step into the room, I know something bad has happened because Ms. Jenny and Ms. Angela have sad faces. I’m wondering if they’re going to tell me that prosecutor has already convicted me. My dad is on speakerphone, which gets me even more worried.
“What’s the matter, Ms. Jenny? Is something wrong?” I immediately start wondering if somebody died. “Are my mama and my granny okay?”
Ms. Jenny tells me to sit down. Her sad face is scaring me.
“They’re both okay,” she says. “We’re here because somebody called Kennedy at home and threatened her. Was it you?”
I shake my head. I didn’t do it, but I know who did.
Ms. Jenny is staring me down like she’s trying to tell whether I’m lying. “Did you ask anyone to call Kennedy?”
“No. I swear I didn’t.”
“Do you know who might have called her?”
I rub my hands together. “Um, yeah. My friend Little Slice said he would take care of things for me. But I didn’t know he was going to do that.”
“Who the hell is Little Slice?” my dad yells. “I told you them thugs in there ain’t your friends!”
I flinch. I almost forgot my dad was on the phone.
“He’s in my unit. His real name is Dontay. His dad and Apache are friends. He’s been looking out for me. That’s the only reason nobody bothers me anymore.”
“Apache? How’d that fool even know you were in there?”
Ms. Jenny asks me a whole bunch of questions about Little Slice. She asks me to repeat all of my conversations with him. She says what Little Slice did has made things worse for me.
I don’t understand how things can be worse since I didn’t do anything.
“Certain charges make it possible for the prosecutor to transfer your case out of juvenile court,” Ms. Jenny says. “Intimidating a witness is one of those charges. The prosecutor has filed a motion to have you tried as an adult.”
“Are you friggin’ kidding me?” my dad yells.
I don’t understand how I can be tried as an adult when I’m a kid. “Why do they want to do that?”
“So they can put you in an adult prison!” my dad shouts.
I don’t say anything for a long time because I’m still trying to understand. “But I’m only fourteen.”
“They wouldn’t put a fourteen-year-old in an adult prison,” Ms. Angela says, then turns to Ms. Jenny. “He’d go to the Youth Authority, right?”
She nods. “Yeah. And it’s not called the Youth Authority anymore. Now that they’re under the Department of Corrections, it’s the Division of Juvenile Justice.”
My dad is so mad it sounds like he might have a heart attack. “I don’t care what they call it. It’s still prison!”
“But I didn’t threaten anybody.”
“The prosecutor will claim that you asked Little Slice to do it,” Ms. Jenny says.
“But I didn’t. Why can’t I just tell the judge that?”
“That’s not going to fix it, Graylin,” Ms. Jenny says, her voice extra soft. “Now we have to have what’s called a fitness hearing. The judge will decide if your case should be transferred to adult court.”
“This ain’t right! You also told us he’d be going home!” my dad shouts at her through the phone, even though it was Ms. Angela, not Ms. Jenny who said that. “And now you’re telling me they’re gonna try my son as an adult. What in the hell am I paying you twenty grand for?”
Ms. Jenny starts saying a lot of stuff to calm down my dad, but it’s not working. I’m not listening anymore because I can’t stop staring at Ms. Angela. She’s not saying anything and that’s freaking me out. Ms. Angela is always telling me everything’s going to be okay. Now, she won’t even look at me.
When I get back to my unit, I go straight to my room. I’m really, really mad. At everybody. Especially Little Slice. I don’t understand how that prosecutor can do this to me when all I did was save a stupid picture to my phone.
During recreation time, I find a bench where I can sit by myself. Yesterday, when my granny called, she said she was praying for me three times a day and told me to pray too. I close my eyes and look up at the sky. I try to pray, but I can’t. I’m mad at God too.
I open my eyes and see Little Slice coming toward me. All I want to do is wail on him like I did Tyke.
He props his foot up on the bench. “What up, bruh?”
Ms. Jenny told me not to have any more conversations with Little Slice, but I can’t help myself.
“You got me in trouble! You didn’t tell me you were going to call Kennedy. You made my case worse!”
“Dude, what you talkin’ ’bout?”
I tell him everything Ms. Jenny told me and how they’r
e adding a new charge against me for intimidating a witness.
“Hold up, bruh. I didn’t call that ho, but I did put one of my boys on it. What happened? Did she drop the case?”
“No! And now that prosecutor thinks I threatened her even though I didn’t do anything!”
“Dude, that ho is lying. My peeps know what to say and what not to say.”
“Well, I’m the one in trouble now. That prosecutor is trying to get me tried as an adult.”
“Whoa. That prosecutor’s going deep in your ass.”
I want to sock him in the jaw.
“But if I was you, I’d be glad. At least now you have a chance of gettin’ off.”
I look at him like he’s crazy. “You’re buggin’.”
“No, I’m serious. If you get transferred to adult court,” Little Slice says, “your peeps can post bail and get you outta here. But the best thing is you get to have a jury. I’d rather go with a jury than a juvie judge any day. Ninety-nine percent of the time a kid loses in juvie court cuz the judge decides everything. But if you have a jury, all you need is one juror to believe you and you get off with a hung jury. So I don’t know why you lookin’ so sad.”
I replay everything Little Slice just said. I would be better off with a jury. If I testify, I can tell them that I didn’t do it. All I have to do is get a few mothers or even some teachers on the jury. When they find out I’m a good student, they’ll believe me.
“I can see the wheels spinning in your big water head,” Little Slice says, laughing. “But I’m tellin’ you right now, your attorneys are gonna fight you on this. They ain’t gonna want you to be tried as an adult.”
I feel my sadness floating away. “My attorneys told me I get to make all the decisions about my case.”
“Yeah, but your dad and your attorneys ain’t gonna be down with this,” Little Slice continues. “But you gotta stand up for yourself.”
What Little Slice is saying makes sense. I would be better off in adult court. And that’s exactly where I’m going.
Abuse of Discretion Page 14
