Believe, Glynis Rankin [classic literature list .txt] 📗

Tyrell had spent most of it volunteering down at the department of children services as a child advocate. He wanted to spend his night in bed reading a medical journal. There's an informative article on early-childhood trauma and Post-traumatic stress that he was eager to read.

Often abuse and neglect were points of interest during any major crime investigation where children are involved. Tyrell’s extensive background in child psychology and advocacy meant he's frequently called on by the police department for his services.

So when his phone chimed, just as he was about to slide between the sheets, he didn’t hesitate to answer.  “Rogers?”

He threw on a shirt and jeans, grabbed his keys and rushed out the house curious about the foster child of the double homicide couple he heard about in the news.  

   “Guess I’ll find out now.” Tyrell opened the car door. He jogged across the unusually quiet Poplar Avenue to the Criminal Justice Building.

Before entering the front doors, he identifies the presence of a young man hiding in the shadows.

 

                                                                          *

 

“Hey Doc!” The old desk Sergeant had just handcuffed a young man to the wooden beach when he spotted Tyrell walk through the door of the busy Precinct.

“Hello Smith, how’s your night going? It looks busy.” Tyrell smiled, he liked the old guy.

  The Sargent Smith shrugged. “It’s always going to hell around here, Doc. You here for that double?”

Tyrell nodded.

 “They called me in.” Tyrell walked up to the older man.

“Double homicide,” Smith shook his head. “In my day that was unheard of, but they’re all bad when a kid is involved.”

“That’s true.”

The Sargent sighed. He looked at the young man handcuffed to the beach. “This is Rocco Alverza. He’s seventeen with a juvenile rap sheet as varied as they come.”

“Variety is the spice of life.” The boy smiled.

“Why are you here tonight Rocco?” Tyrell asked.

He shrugged. “They tryin’ to frame me for something ain’t do.”

Tyrell examined the handsome young man.  Even though he's sitting down, it's obvious Rocco's unusually tall.  He had dark skin with dark eyes and thick black twist that touched his shoulders. For someone so young, the air around him felt daunting. 

“So you weren’t attempting to elude the police, cause wanton endangerment, or resisting arrest.” Smith shook his head and looked at Tyrell. “The gangs use the younger members to do the heavy lifting to earn their stripes.”

 “I ain’t scared of jail old man!” Rocco yelled undaunted. “Besides, all that’s circumstantial, unless you can prove I did a crime.”

“You were seen running from the scene of a murder.” Smith countered. “Why run if you didn't have anything to hide? Your suspicious action caused the officers to give chase. Once you were caught, you refused to say why you were in the area. That's the reason you're here. What have I missed?

“Don’t mean I did anything!” Defiant, Rocco sat back.  “Last I heard running ain’t no crime. Want to hold me, go right ahead, you still got to prove I did something.”

  Tyrell saw an ageless wisdom flash in the young man’s eyes and something else. He raised an inquisitive brow.

“Sure, kid stick with that.” Smith walked away. “Man, I hate to see kids in here.”

Tyrell paused for a moment. He met Rocco’s eyes. “You think the streets are the way out?”

A crooked smile crossed Rocco's thick lips.

“What? You think just because you’re black you know me?” Rocco bucked. “Walk a fucking day in my world; then come talk to me about another way.” He turned his head. “Step suit!”

Tyrell nodded and walked away.

“If he needs an advocate, let me know.” Tyrell pulled out his wallet and handed the seasoned officer one of his cards.  “Perhaps I can help.”

“Thanks Doc.”  Smith looked down at the card. “If only these kids wanted help.”

“They all want help Smith; it’s up to us, the adults in their lives to find a way to reach them.”

“Dr. Rogers?” An officer called from the back; drawing Tyrell’ attention.

“I guess that’s my cue. Talk with you later.” Tyrell walked past the desk. “Hope the night gets better.”

“Yeah, me too Doc.” Smith turned but didn't notice Rocco staring a hole in Tyrell’s back.

                                                                 

Chapter Sixteen

“This way Dr. Rogers we have a room set up for you.” The officer led him through the front door to the inner offices passing the clutter desks of detectives to a small room in the back.

It wasn’t a room, but the detective’s kitchenette.

“Wash wanted me to give you her DHS file.”

“Thanks.”

The officer put the file on the table and left the room.

The daunting task of an advocate Tyrell thought. He’s spent too many nights in a room like this drinking bad coffee and eating stale donuts just to make it through the night with a child after a trauma. Yet without people like him who represented those individuals whose concerns and interests didn’t have a voice in this system, they would be lost.

Tyrell poured himself a cup of thick coffee, grabbed a stale jelly filled and took a seat. Tonight he would do it again, would give the victim’s foster daughter a voice.

The usual sounds of the station entered the room as Tyrell settle at the cluttered table. He blocked out the sounds and opened the thick folder. It was time he got to know Sara Doe.

Abandoned by her parents at the age of five, a forest ranger, by the name of Clyde Barton, found her wandering the woods in the State Park at night. In his case file, Barton noted that the child had injuries that were probably the results of a fall.  He thought her inability to remember her name was a result of a head trauma, but that was discounted by doctors at the hospital. 

  The local agencies went through the regular means of finding the girl’s family, but when no one came forth, after a few days, the hospital released her to Department Children Services. A social worker started calling her Sara instead of Jane and the name stuck.

Sara Doe’s disciplinary problems started almost the moment of her first placement with increasing frequency and violence. Out-of-control temper tantrums, outbursts resulting in physical exchanges and outright violence against her caregivers had them returning the child often. 

 An altercation at her middle school, which put three children in the hospital with critical injuries, caused Sara to be placed in a juvenile detention center for a year.  After her release Sara entered two more homes before she settled with the Elton’s.  Sara got lost in the murky tentacles of the foster-care system soon after this placement. Now just fifteen; Sara Doe's in police custody waiting to answer questions about her foster parents' murders.

In her short life, this child has had her share of drama, Tyrell thought.

 

                                               ***

Xavier knew the system was made to stop people from finding a way out of the 201 Poplar not those trying to get inside. He found his way in through the ventilation systems. 

Chapter Seventeen

“Detective Wash is ready for you Doc.” The same officer greeted Tyrell from the open door. “He’s got you set up in interrogation room two.”

Tyrell was so involved with Sara’s file that he startled at the sound of his name.

 “Oh, okay.” He gathered the contents of the file spread across the table.

“Good thing I decided to read the highlights. You guys never give me enough time with these files.” Tyrell folded the file closed and stood.    

“Sorry about that Doc.”

 He wished he had more time, but he’d garnered enough to get some kind of idea of her mental state before tonight’s events.

 Besides, this was the first of many sessions he hope to conduct with Sara.

Tyrell  grabbed the folder off the table. “I’m ready.”

He stepped out of the room to follow the officer.

                                                         *

  They rushed down the hall, weaving between and past cluttered detective desks, overweight officers and smelly criminals. All while the officer talked non- stop about the case.

 “You should have seen her Doc; she was all wide-eyed and scared, looking at cops like one of us was the perpetrator. Can you imagine?”

“Was she in the house when it happened?” Tyrell wondered if this officer helped searched for the child.

“I don’t know, but they found her under the house. If she didn’t see what happened, she heard it. I saw that murder room.” The officer visibly shivered. “Poor kid.”

Tyrell didn’t know what to think.  He tried to prepare for what he would see in the eyes of a traumatized child.

                                                        *

They stopped at interrogation room two, where Detective Wash waited his arrival.

“Doc, glad you could come.” Wash held out his hand.

“I’m always available to help a kid, Wash.”

Tyrell shook Wash hand.

They were the same height, but Wash had more bulk to his frame. Tyrell's pleased that a seasoned detective is on the case. He’d worked with the detective before and felt confident Wash would handle this case with professional objectivity.  “A double murder, how's she doing?”

Wash sighed. “Let me show you something Doc.”

They stepped inside the viewing room.  Tyrell could see the two occupants clearly, but turned his attention to the open a file on Wash tablet.

 “I wanted you to see why I called you here. This is what that kid saw.”

 “Shit!" Tyrell yelped shocked. He’d never seen anything so gruesome.  “How can anyone do something so…so?” He didn’t have the words.

“Grisly!” Wash supplied.

Tyrell stared at him, he couldn’t think of a better word so he nodded.

 “We know she saw something, Doc,” Wash stated without preamble. “We got a set of her footprints in the murder room. They led from the kitchen to the laundry room and back.  That’s also where techs found blood in the drain.”

Wash went through the facts of the case with his usual rigid deep southern drawl. After he finished briefing Tyrell, he added.  “We just need you to get her talking.”

 “She hasn’t said what happened?”

That wasn’t unusual; children that witnessed violence often became traumatized and withdrawn. It could take years of coaching to bring some children around, if ever.

 “Oh sure, she’s talking.” The Detective offered surprising him. “But it’s all been Bull."

 The Detective’s response was harsh with quiet control.  “She’s been spinning horsehair for the past five hours, and we need the little lady to get to the truth.”

Tyrell knew that tone, having heard