Presumption of Guilt

by Rachel Sinclair

  I had read about Jacob Jr. in the file. He was simply called Jake. There was no indication that there was anything amiss about his birth. Nothing in the file about his being adopted. Perhaps there was not a notation in the file because it wasn’t relevant. “So, Jacob Jr. was born 5 years ago, in 2014. What happened after that?”

  Esme shrugged. “Nothing. I mean, I didn’t have to give birth to anymore of Jacob’s children, if that’s what you’re asking. They kept me on, though, even though they never paid me.” She shook her head. “They got another woman to start giving them children. Calista. An immigrant from Syria.”

  “Wait,” Regina said. “You weren’t even being paid? I mean, even after you gave that old coot his kid, you still had to do all the housework around the house, and the cooking and errand running, right? Those greedy old goats never gave you a dime for all that work?”

  Esme just shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t mind not being paid. They fed me pretty well and gave me a place to stay. That was all that I’ve ever asked for from this country – a place to stay and food in my stomach. They gave me both, plus they took me out to the movies once in a great while. I didn’t mind working for them after I gave Jacob what he really wanted. It was better than being deported, believe me.”

  “And were you threatened with deportation even after you were given asylum?” I asked her.

  “All the time. The immigration judge didn’t hear my case for the first six months, so they were threatening me that whole time. Even after the judge approved my asylum application, the Whitmores told me that they could have me deported by planting drugs on me and calling the police. I didn’t doubt that they would do that, so I did everything they asked me to do.”

  Regina shook her head. “Still. That whole thing is way messed up, dude. That’s like next-level messed up if you want to know the truth.”

  Esme nodded her head. “I know. But I got along well with Aria. She was only 15 when I took the job with the Whitmores, so I saw her grow from a teenager to an adult. She bonded with me, you know? She didn’t have a mother, really. Colleen wasn’t very motherly. She treated Aria like a stranger, you know? Aria’s real mother wasn’t around. I don’t really know what happened to her. Maybe she died. Maybe they got divorced. I don’t really know, and Aria didn’t, either. Or maybe she did, but she didn’t want to talk about her.”

  “So, she bonded with you as a mother figure, then?” I asked.

  “Yes. I thought of her more like a younger sister, because I wasn’t much older than her. She was 15 when I came into the family. I was only 18. I had sisters around her age in El Salvador.” Esme looked sad when she said that. “So, I was only 18, but she needed a mother figure, and I was the one around the house doing all the things that mothers do. The cooking and cleaning and that sort of thing. She saw me as her mother.”

  She tapped her fingers on the table, which wasn’t easy to do with her handcuffs, and then she lightly banged the cuffs on the wood. She started to cry again. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but just thinking about poor Aria lying dead in that guest house...Dios mio, she didn’t deserve that. She was young, so young, and so talented. She was a good person, you know? Even though Colleen ignored her, and so did her father – after Jake was born, Jacob only paid attention to him – Aria always stayed sweet. She never complained about anything. I know that she was hurting. She had to be. Her father and her step-mother pretended that she didn’t exist. But she always did her thing. She practiced her piano all the time, even though Jacob and Colleen never came into the room to hear her play, and they never went to her recitals. She was working on composing music, composing a symphony, and Jacob and Colleen weren’t even aware about what she was working on. She got into Juilliard without their help, with a full-ride scholarship.”

  “Tell me how you found out that Aria was dead,” I said.

  Esme got a faraway look, like she was looking right at Regina and me and not seeing either one of us. “I went out to the beach that morning. It was a cool morning, as it is in the wintertime around here. There had been a storm, so the waves were 10 feet high, and the sky was grey. The Whitmore’s house is right close to the water, there’s only a street and a sidewalk between the house and the beach, so I liked to go there before I started my work day. I was out on the beach about 6 in the morning, just picking up seashells and looking for sand dollars – I collect sand dollars – and listening to the seagulls cry. There were some people running on the beach, some people walking their dogs. I always report to work at 7 in the morning, so that I could make breakfast for Jacob and Colleen, and help Jake get ready for school. I headed back into the house at around 6:45, so that I could take a shower before work. I got into my house, the guest house where I stayed, and I found her there. Strangled, lying on the floor. Her tongue was sticking out and her eyes were open. She had a rope around her neck.”

  Esme shook her head, and then looked down at the table. “Poor ninita Aria. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

  “And what happened after you found her?” I asked Esme.

  “I called the police,” she said. “I called the police, and then I went to tell Jacob and Colleen about it. But I called the police first.”

  “And that necklace was found in your sock drawer,” I said. “How did that get in that drawer?”

  “I don’t know, chica. I wish I knew how it got there. But I don’t know. I didn’t even know that Aria had something that expensive, you know? I didn’t steal it. I don’t know where she even kept it.”

  I was starting to get the picture about this family that she lived with. It wasn’t a pretty picture, either. I was going to have to find out what happened to Aria’s mother, and whether that was relevant to the case. I was also going to have to find out more about the father and about Colleen. I would start my investigation with the family, because it certainly sounded as if they were dysfunctional people. To say the very least.

  “When you were on the beach that morning, did you see anybody you knew? Did you say hello to anybody at all?” I asked her.

  She shook her head. “No. I just saw people walking about, walking their dogs, jogging. People on the boardwalk. People starting to line up on the street next to the beach. But I didn’t know any of the people I saw.”

  “So there was nobody who would have been able to give you an alibi, then?” I asked her.

  “No. I thought about that when they arrested me. I tried to think if I saw anybody I knew that morning, but I didn’t.”

  I looked over at Regina. “Do you have any questions for her?” I asked her.

  “No,” she said. “But I’m sure I’ll come up with a bunch of them after I start my investigation on this mother.” She patted Esme’s shoulder lightly. “You’re an amazing woman,” she said. “All the crap thrown at you, and you’re still standing. You’re still on this side of the dirt. I’ve got to hand it to you.”

  Esme smiled at Regina. “You too, right? You’ve gone through some things, too, haven’t you?”

  “You don’t know the half of it, sister,” she said. “I’ll be back, sooner rather than later. I have to ask around, see if there’s anybody who might know something about what happened to this girl. You never know. Sometimes rich girls like that who don’t have parental supervision end up knowing people on the street. They get their drugs from the same people that the trailer-trash people get them from. Not that this Aria was into drugs, but I’m going to rule that out before I do anything else.”

  “So, does this mean that you’ll take my case?” Esme asked me hopefully.

  “Yes. I will.” I took a deep breath. “I’ll take it pro bono. I can afford to do that. But it’s conditional, of course. If I find out that you’ve lied to me about anything, I’m off your case. No questions asked.”

  “I’m not lying about anything,” she said. “I only wish that I was. I wish that none of this was true. But I can’t say that, because it’s all true. Every word of it.”

  I looked at m
y watch and saw that it was 8 PM. “Well, Regina, what do you say that you and I grab something to eat and we can start work on this thing tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” She nodded at Esme. “Peace,” she said.

  I motioned to the guard, who came out to get Esme. “Do you think that I can bond out?” she asked me.

  “I doubt that I can get a bond that you can afford. Plus, I don’t think that you’ll have a place to stay even if you do bond out. You obviously cannot go back to your house. That's a crime scene. I can try, but you’re going to have to come up with quite a bit of money to get out.”

  Esme looked resigned. “Well, it was worth a shot. I’ll be seeing you sometime soon, hopefully.”

  “You will see us soon,” I promised.

  At that, Esme was taken back to her cell by the guard. She hung her head and shuffled her shackled feet and looked back at Regina and me one more time.

  When I left the jail, I immediately went to the courthouse to put in my Entry of Appearance on her case. I was committed now. No going back.

  I didn’t know what to think about it all. I only knew that I was about to embark on a case that was going to change my entire life.

  Hopefully, my life would change for the better.

  But that was not a guarantee.

  Chapter 7

  Homeless Woman

  The woman shuffled her feet while she stood by the side of the road with a specially-made sign. “Will work for food” was way too played, in her mind. She went with refreshing honesty, hoping that people might give her money if she came right out with it. Her sign said “I need money for alcohol and cigarettes. I won’t even try to lie.” She needed money not for food, but for alcohol. Cigarettes. The things that made life on the streets worth living.

  She remembered one sign, on the Fourth of July, when she went on the beach to spend the day with her kids. The sign said Help me get high on the Fourth of July. The sign was held up by a long-haired hippy-type, and the sign disgusted her. Why didn’t that man just get a job? Did he have to advertise to everyone on the beach that he was one of the dregs of society, that he was proud of the fact that he apparently spent his life toking it up instead of actually contributing to the economy? In California, medicinal weed was legal at that time, but not recreational. This guy looked pretty healthy in her eyes. He didn’t look like somebody who was disabled. He certainly didn’t look the type who would have been able to get his medical-weed card. But, then again, it seemed that anybody at all was eligible for one of those cards. If you had a hangnail, you got a card from some doctor Feel-good. It shouldn’t have been that way.

  That was then. Now, recreational pot was legal and everybody seemed to be doing it. Including her. After all, she saw that guy on the beach some 15 years ago. A lot had changed since then, to say the very least. At that time, she had it all. A family. A daughter, a son, an adoring husband. Looking back, she only thought that he was adoring, but he really wasn’t. He only pretended that he was, but, when it came right down to it, he was in love with the idea of her. The perfect idea of the pretty blonde housewife, who spent her days, while the kids were in school, getting perfect manicures and pedicures in perfect little day spas, drinking a perfect glass of wine while closing her eyes and imagining her perfect home in the perfect neighborhood. Then she would meet with her friends in an exclusive restaurant on one of the beaches in La Jolla or Del Mar, maybe Coronado, the “better” beaches with the “better” people and the “better” food. She wouldn’t be caught dead in a place near Mission Beach or Ocean Beach or Pacific Beach, because that’s where the riff-raff went. The people who didn’t have the money to spend $50 on a lunch consisting of a rare cut of prime rib and a glass of wine or three.

  That’s what her husband loved. He loved that she was fit. She did a Pilates class three days a week, and alternated that with a personal trainer who charged her $500 per session. When she had her son and her daughter, three years apart, she bounced back from her pregnancies each time and was fitting into her size 3 pants within a matter of days after she pushed those kids out. She was disgusted with the women who used their pregnancies as excuses to get big as a house. Didn’t they know that most of that “baby weight” was really excess fat and that they wouldn’t be able to lose it once they have the baby? Half the time, the women who got fat with their pregnancies looked exactly the same after the baby was born as before it was born. That wasn’t for her. She ate only enough to survive and feed her developing child, and no more. She carefully weighed and measured her food on a scale and obsessively tracked every single calorie in her My Fitness Pal app, both during her pregnancy and after she had the babies. She couldn’t afford to make herself throw up, which was how she managed to not gain an ounce before, despite eating so many slabs of prime ribs and drinking so many glasses of wine during so many lunches with friends. She actually had to clean up her act, so she limited herself to 1500 calories per day all during her pregnancy, and only gained 15 lbs with both her daughter and her son, and was back to her skinny self in no time.

  Now, she didn’t even like to look in the mirror. She was only 42, but she knew that she looked much older than that. During the rare times that she scraped up enough money to treat herself to a Chinese buffet, she was always asked if she needed a senior discount. At first, she was outraged by that presumption. So outraged, in fact, that she complained to the manager and loudly shouted that she would never come back. In the back of her mind, though, she knew that she would be back, because she was as addicted to greasy egg rolls, sweet and spicy orange chicken and rich fried rice, plus everything else offered on the buffet, as she was to Jack Daniels and Marlboro Reds. Plus, she could get a meal that would tide her over for days when she went to the Chinese buffet, which was important, because there were many days when she just didn’t eat because she couldn’t afford to.

  She stood on the street corner, holding up her sign that honestly said that she needed money to get cigarettes and alcohol, and people actually did give her money. They would slow down, handing her the dollar bill or the occasional five through their window, and nobody actually propositioned her to do something more for that money.

  That was another way that she knew how unattractive she was - nobody propositioned her. Her skin, once so smooth and pale, was now just a mess of wrinkles that were the color of griege. Griege, she had found out, was a combination of beige and grey, and that was the color of her skin. Her body, once muscular, flexible and strong from her daily workouts, was now just skin and bones. Her blue eyes, once so clear and bright, were now bloodshot and hollow. Her blonde hair, once so silky, thick and strong, was a mousy brown and was patchy at best. She had bald spots all over her head. She used to cover up the bald spots with a knit cap, but on days like today, when it was over 100 degrees, she couldn’t stand that. When she was high on heroin, she would dress up in a coat and hat, no matter what the weather was, because she was always freezing when she was on that junk. But she hadn’t been able to afford a fix in a long time, so she hadn’t been taking to wearing a hat, clothes and gloves in 100 degree weather for awhile.

  She always worked a certain corner in Point Loma, because the people in this area had money to spend, and she was less likely to be told to move along than in other rich areas, such as La Jolla or Del Mar. I mean, she was still told to move along, even on this street corner, but she usually just moved on down the street to a different street corner and stayed there until she was asked to move along again. That was her game, going from one street corner to the next, always staying one step ahead of the police, before catching the bus downtown to join the rest of the homeless population who lined the sidewalks, sleeping in sleeping bags, many of them with a dog by their side. She could never get a bed in a shelter, because she didn’t have kids, which meant that she was put in the back of the line, and she never seemed to manage to get to the shelter on time to get a bed. The beds went quickly, too quickly, and, occasionally, she got lucky, but she was now used to
sleeping on the streets, so it wasn’t that bad anymore. Nobody bothered her, and, like everyone else around her, she was tucked into her sleeping bag by 7 in the evening, and usually slept through the night, usually in a drunken stupor.

  She coughed, putting her hand to her mouth, and saw a spot of blood on her hand. She didn’t know what that meant, but she knew that it wasn’t good. She was sure that it had something to do with the packs and packs of cigarettes she smoked every day. She used to go to the Public Library to hang out, because San Diego had a brand-new one that was state of the art and huge, so she could find a cubby-hole corner and hide. But she would have a nicotine fit after only a half hour, so she would try to light up inconspicuously, but some busy-body would always turn her into the library cops, so she was asked to leave. This happened several times, and she was banned from the place for six months. She couldn’t even walk in there now without being asked to turn right back around. Now, she preferred just to stay outside, because she could smoke non-stop out there if she really wanted to.

  Finally, it was sundown, and she decided that she would try her luck on the beach. She would go down and listen to the waves crash while trying to get close to whoever might happen to be making a bonfire, and put her sleeping bag down. Sometimes she got lucky and nobody asked her to leave, so she was able to listen to the crashing waves all night long. Most of the times, though, she was kicked out sometime around 2 AM, at which point she found a bus and went to her usual place downtown.