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

it a few times before. Wash wasn’t happy. He must think the girl's lying; however, almost everyone lies to the police.  Yet, there's something in Wash's demeanor that made this revelation more unpleasant than usual.  But what Tyrell pondered?

“What’s going on?”

Wash rubbed his face red. “She’s giving us just enough Doc.”

“Just enough, what?” Tyrell didn’t understand.

“Just enough to pacify my question, tick… I don’t know. Perhaps it’s just this case.”

“What about it?”

“It’s the crazy evidence, it’s giving me the...” Wash hesitated. “Never mind, I’m just tired, it’s been a long day.”

“You sure you’re okay?” He’s never seen Wash shaken.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He waved the thought of dog bites aside.

Wash met Tyrell’s eyes. “Get us something we can use, because what she’s telling us ain’t making sense.”

 Wash opened the door but stood in the threshold waiting for Tyrell.

 

Chapter Eighteen

It’s too small. Tyrell thought looking inside the plain interrogation room with its dreary walls and no windows. The only way out was through the door at a young lean officer’s back. It wasn’t big enough for the poor furnishings: a scratched metal table and two metal chairs where a thin teenage girl sat with her head down over her arms, let along the two people that occupied the cramped space. It made him feel claustrophobic.

  “What’s with the guard?” Tyrell asked.

 He’d worked many cases involving children and there was never a need for an officer in the room with a child, unless they were under arrest or under police protection. After what Wash just told him, he wasn’t sure which of those Sara Doe fell under.

 “We’re protecting the chain of evidence until a crime scene tech can get to her.” Wash offered as a weak explanation. “I think she might have blood on her person.”

Yet Tyrell was surprised and shocked. He worried about Sara’s mental state and turned frowning at Wash.   “After everything she’d been through, now she has to remain in your custody under the guise that she might have some of her parent’s blood on her! I’m not telling you how to do your job Wash, but this seemed unusually cruel. Do you have a warrant?”

 “I know, I know!” He saw the expression on Tyrell’s face.  “I’ve got a warrant coming; once I have it, I’ll send for a tech. I can’t go any faster than the clogs of the justice system allow. If there’s more evidence on her person we need to preserve it.” Wash offered. “Ain’t nothing else I can do here Doc.”

Tyrell still wasn’t convinced.

“Look, we found her outside the crime scene, hiding under the house in a hide-a-hole where we also found a bag of bloody torn clothes that matches her size. We’re checking to see if the blood splatter places her in the room at the time of the murder.”

“All that’s circumstantial at best Wash, she was at the mall.”  Tyrell said to convince himself.

“She said she was at the mall.” He did the finger gestures. “At the time this all went down, but she’s not on any of the tapes—what are we to conclude from all that?” Wash explained in a fast cadence when Tyrell's facial confusion didn't change.

Tyrell didn’t respond.

 “Plus the dang girl had a knife.”

“Was it the murder weapon?”

“No, but I think she used it to rip up the clothes. The officer that found her reported, he thought she would turn the thing on herself.” He's pulling at straws to get Tyrell to help him.

 “Now she’s suicidal?” Tyrell found all of this hard to believe. Children do commit suicide every year for one reason or another, but for Sara to try after perhaps witnessing her parents' murder didn’t seem plausible.

Wash rubbed his neck with one thick paw and it turned a rosy pink. “I don’t know Doc. That’s your call, but we can’t have her hurting herself while in police custody, or contaminating our evidence.”

“Presumed evidence, just because you think your evidence points to that fact doesn’t mean they’re there.”

“Okay presumed.”  Wash gave up just as his phone vibrated on his belt. He yanked it off to check the ID, before placing the phone next to his ear.

 "Finally,” he barked.  After a moment he stopped nodding his head in response to the other person on the line. He said, “Okay. “

 Wash hung up. He turned his attention back to the conversation where he left off. “She’s my only witness, Doc. Be prepared to stay here because she’s not leaving until she gives me the answer to my questions.”

Tyrell understood Wash’s position, he needed help to solve this case, but his first priority would always be the child’s well-being.

Tyrell gestured with a slight nodded.

“Good. Man, I need some aspirin.”  Wash stepped aside to lead the advocate to the interrogation room’s door and his client.

 Tyrell halted at the door. “I’ll see what I can do to convince her to tell you what you want to know, but Wash if she doesn’t want to tell me there's nothing I can do.”

   Wash stepped up to him in a non-threatening manner. “I need you to do more here Doc.  I’m not asking you to violate her rights, but we need her help. Remember those pictures; we got to find this bastard or bastards before they kill again.”

“So you don’t think she did this?”

“Come on Doc. I doubt one man could slice up two bodies in one night, let alone a kid. She’s my witness, although uncooperative, but my only witness. ”

Tyrell nodded. “You think she knows who killed them?”

“I think she knows more than she’s saying.” Wash opened the door.

  “Oh just got word.” Wash tapped his phone.  “Got my warrant, someone will be in shortly to take my presumed evidence.”

 He closed the door after Tyrell crossed the threshold.

                                         

Chapter Nineteen

How long have they’d had you in here.

Tyrell shivered. The confined space wasn’t conducive for three people to move around. He turned his attention away from his own drama to focus on his job.

He spied the officer’s name tag. “Officer Wilburn.”

The officer didn’t reply.

Tyrell still wasn’t comfortable having him present during this stage of introduction.  Dealing with children who’ve seen violence, was bad enough without distraction.  It’s best to present a reassuring presence, but he sensed the young officer’s unease.

The petite girl didn’t look up, not when the door opened, and not now as Tyrell moved closer. “Hello Sara?”

The specifics of her file flashed in his head. Fifteen-years-old mixed heritage, African-American and Native American with brown eyes and black hair, five foot-six inches tall and just ninety pounds, but she looked about eighty even with her oversized clothes providing bulk. No scars or tattoos and no known family.

 She's too small for her age, he kept thinking.  What did they do to you?

Stunted growth was a sure sign of neglect, yet there weren’t any records of abuse in her file. The way this child looks should have sent up a red flag to her case workers.

Tyrell glanced at her attire. Was that Gothic or Emo?

He saw worse-dressed girls that were abused, abandoned and those in unstable homes. Some because they were acting out, others didn’t have a choice. For all her hardship, Sara was dressed like a misunderstood teen.

  Like an emaciated black dove, Tyrell thought.

 What had this child gone through? Tyrell got a bad feeling in his gut.

All of that ran through Tyrell’s mind on his short trek to the table. He could smell dried blood emitting from somewhere in the room from the door. Where it came from he didn’t know for sure, but it's rank now that the doors closed.

Tyrell stood behind the chair across from his client. “Hi Sara.”

He placed her closed file on the table before taking his seat. “I’m Tyrell Rogers, but you can call me Tyrell.”

He waited for a response, but she kept her head down and didn’t reply.

 “I’m here to talk to you about what happened or if you prefer just listen.”

 He paused again looking for any reaction. When none came, he added. “I’ll wait right here until you’re ready to talk- got nothing better to do this early in the morning.”

He pulled a notepad and pen from his pant pocket and began to doodle while he talked. “Guess you’re wondering who I am, and I must say, that’s a good question.  You know, most people don’t know how to ask good questions anymore.”

He shrugged. “I guess living in the digital age; good conversational skills are hard to come by. A sign of the times, perhaps, but to answer your question, I’m a child advocate. Do you know what that means?”

 She still didn’t remark on his one-sided bantering. So he continued. “It means I’m here for you, for whatever you need. Your needs are my needs; your concerns are my concerns.”

 After a moment, Sara raised her head to look at him. A halo of thick brown curls circled the pretty, broad features of her chestnut-brown face. Her sad, mahogany eyes were puffy and red from crying, but she wasn’t crying now.

She’s just a child, Tyrell thought, a scared little girl.

“I ain’t done nothing.” She sniffed. “Why they got me in here like I’m some kind of criminal?”

“Its procedure for them to keep you here, Sara,” he replied. “You’re a witness to a capital crime.”

  He wanted to help Sara through the emotional aftermath of her traumatic event; if he couldn’t help the police solve this case while doing that he would.

 “I told them.” Sara said in a loud whisper. “I told them.”

 “You told them what?” he probed.

  Sara didn’t answer; just stared at him, wiping her runny nose with the back of her forearm.

 “They need to know what happened in your home, Sara.” Tyrell told her.

 “That ain’t my home!” She bristled.

“Okay.” He knew what she meant; most foster children didn’t consider any place, their home.

 “Anyway, I already told them!” She shouted. It's as if she knew someone else listened beside those in the room.

Bright girl, Tyrell thought.