Judgement Calls

by Alafair Burke

  started to sound like noise when I turned thirty, blaring from inside.

  I rang the doorbell again and then banged on the door. I felt him

  standing behind me while we waited on the porch in silence. When I

  heard the music get lower and footsteps approach the door, I looked at

  him over my shoulder. "That was nice of you. To bring her some

  dinner, I mean."

  "Thanks."

  I couldn't tell what Kendra Martin looked like when she answered the

  door, because her face was obscured by a big pink gum bubble. It

  popped to reveal a thin pale girl with doe eyes and full lips. Her

  wavy, dark hair stopped right below her shoulders. She wore an Eminem

  sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that looked like they'd fit my father.

  So far, she seemed like a typical thirteen-year-old.

  She looked past me at Chuck. "What're you doing here?"

  "I came by to see whether you listened to anything I told you on

  Sunday. What did I tell you about looking out the window to see who's

  here before you open the door to anyone?"

  She shifted her weight all the way to one leg and swung her hip one

  direction and tilted her head in the other. "I guess I forgot this

  time. Anyway, it was you, so it's OK, right?" She twisted a lock of

  hair with her fingers. Obviously Chuck Forbes's magnetism was not lost

  on this new generation of teenage girls.

  "OK, we'll treat that as a test run. But I mean it: From now on, you

  have to look before you open that door. If it's someone you don't

  know, you don't answer. Got it?"

  "Yeah, I got it. Whaddaya doin' here?"

  "I brought someone over who I want you to meet. This is Samantha

  Kincaid."

  Kendra looked at me without saying a word. Then she smiled at Chuck

  and popped her gum. "She your girlfriend?"

  Chuck looked at me and raised his eyebrows. "No, she's not my

  girlfriend. But she is a really good friend of mine, and she's a DA.

  She's going to be handling your case."

  I held out my hand to her. She shook it but looked down at the floor

  while she did it.

  "It's nice to meet you, Kendra. I've heard a lot about you. Detectives

  Walker and Johnson tell me you did a real good job helping them at the

  hospital last weekend."

  "That's funny. They told Chuck and Mike I acted like demon spawn."

  "They might've mentioned something like that to me too. But they also

  said you were very helpful. Do you mind if we come in?"

  She looked at the box in Chuck's hand. He said, "I thought you might

  be hungry. The fries are still hot."

  "Come on in." She took the box from Chuck. "Thank you."

  "Don't mention it. It was Sam's idea, anyway."

  "Thank you," she said to me.

  I looked at Chuck. "It wasn't a problem. Really."

  The Martin house wasn't what I expected. I had braced myself for the

  worst. Unfortunately, I'd gotten used to the fact that an entire

  segment of the population raises its children in filthy homes that

  don't look like they could possibly exist in the United States. Last

  year, police went to an apartment on a noise complaint and found nine

  children alone in a one-bedroom apartment. They all slept on the same

  bare, stained mattress on the bedroom floor. The carpets were soaked

  with cat urine and feces. The kids had been alone for a week and were

  living off of dry cat food and some candy bars that the oldest child,

  an eight-year-old boy, had been given to sell for the school choir.

  Their mothers, two sisters in their early twenties, had left on a meth

  hinge. As they later told police, they lost track of time and never

  meant to leave their kids alone. It turned out that maternal neglect

  was the least of the kids' problems. By the time the investigation was

  over, police learned that all of the children had been sexually

  assaulted. Their mothers had accepted drugs and money in exchange for

  permitting various men to take the children of their choice into the

  apartment's bedroom alone.

  From what I'd heard about Kendra Martin's troubles and her mother's

  parenting style, I had expected their house to be a hellhole. I had

  jumped to the wrong conclusion. The house was cleaner than my own and

  reflected the efforts of someone trying to do her best without much to

  work with. A crisp clean swath of blue cotton was draped over what I

  suspected was an old and tattered sofa. In the corner, a thirteen-inch

  television sat on a wooden tray table. In a move that Martha Stewart

  would envy, someone had made a lamp base out of an old milk jug.

  "Kendra, I don't want to tell you things you already know, so let me

  start by asking you whether you have any questions about what a DA

  does."

  "Not really."

  "What do you think my job is?"

  "You're kind of my lawyer, right?"

  "Well, technically my client is the State. But in this case, my goal

  is to help prove who did this to you and then convince the court to put

  them in prison for a long time. When we do go to court, I'll be the

  one who asks you most of the questions. So in some ways it will be

  like I'm your lawyer. Have you ever testified before?"

  "No. I got in some trouble after Christmas." She looked at Chuck.

  "She knows about that, right?"

  "Yes, I know you were arrested on Christmas."

  "Well, I went to juvie on that, but no charges were filed so I didn't

  have to talk or anything."

  "You're going to need to testify this Friday, but you don't need to

  worry about that. Friday's going to be in front of a grand jury: it'll

  just be me, you, and seven jurors. The man the police arrested won't

  be there, and there's no defense attorney or judge. I'll ask you

  questions, and the grand jurors will listen to your answers. Then

  they'll decide whether to charge him. Assuming he's charged, there

  might be a trial later on, and that's more like what you see on TV.

  Does that sound OK?"

  "I guess."

  "How are you feeling?" I asked.

  "Not so good."

  "You staying clean?"

  "Yeah, so far. I didn't really think it would be this hard, though."

  I could tell she was having problems. She wasn't as bad off as older

  addicts I've seen withdrawing in custody, but it wasn't going to be

  easy for her. I suspected the only reason she wasn't out using again

  was that she didn't have any money and was scared shitless to hit the

  street again.

  "Is it alright if we talk about what happened?"

  "I guess so. Is it OK if I go ahead and eat?"

  I hadn't noticed she'd been holding off. "Go for it."

  She opened the box tentatively and ate the fries one by one, taking

  small bites and chewing slowly.

  "Had you ever seen either of these men before?"

  "Unh-unh."

  "So you don't think they were ever customers of yours or knew you from

  somewhere before?"

  "I don't know where they'd know me from. They didn't look familiar or

  anything like that."

  I couldn't tell if she was avoiding my question about prior customers

  or if she believed she'd already answered it.

  "So, you're sure th
ey weren't customers?"

  "Yeah. I'm pretty sure I would've recognized 'em if they were. I

  haven't done it that many times."

  Poor girl. She probably justified what she did by telling herself that

  she wasn't really a prostitute if she didn't do it often and stopped

  before she was older.

  "Was there anyone else around when they were talking to you or when you

  got pulled into the car?"

  "No. When they stopped the car, I looked around to make sure no one

  was watching before I started talking to them. I didn't want to get

  caught again after what happened on Christmas. I think there might've

  been one homeless guy sitting on the corner, but he looked really out

  of it."

  I looked over at Chuck. "We canvassed the area and didn't find any

  witnesses," he said. "We found a guy who usually sleeps on that

  corner, but he didn't see anything."

  "Kendra, the police have already told me what they know about what

  happened. But, if it's alright with you, I'd like you to tell me in

  your own words. I need you to be completely honest with me, even

  though parts of it might be embarrassing. No one here is going to be

  mad at you or get you in trouble for anything you say."

  She started from the beginning and told me everything. I never needed

  to prompt her, and she continued talking even when she was clearly very

  upset about what happened. Her statement was consistent with what she

  told Walker and Johnson the night of the assault. She would make a

  great

  GO

  witness, but unfortunately she did not reveal anything I didn't already

  know. I'd been hoping for some new avenue of investigation.

  I told her I understood why she initially kept some information from

  Detectives Walker and Johnson at the hospital, but that I'd be asking

  her to explain it to the grand jurors.

  "I don't even remember much about when they first came into the room.

  Whatever that doctor gave me had me feeling really sick. I just

  remember being mad."

  "What do you remember telling them?"

  "Well, I said I was on Burnside to go to Powell's. You know the real

  reason I was there. I just didn't want to tell them, is all. It's

  embarrassing, and I could get in trouble for it."

  "Do you remember telling them you didn't know how heroin got in your

  system?"

  "Not really, but then later on, when they came back with that lawyer

  guy, he told me he knew I'd lied about it. So I figured I must've said

  it. I didn't want to get in trouble, is all."

  "Is that the only reason you lied?"

  "I don't know. It's hard to explain. It's like, I guess I was pretty

  sure they wouldn't arrest me or anything since I was in the hospital

  and all. But I thought if they knew what I'd been doing, they wouldn't

  believe me about what happened. Or maybe they'd believe me but not

  really care, since I, like, you know, kind of got myself in that

  situation. And I wanted them to believe me and go out and find who did

  it. So I told the truth about what they did to me, but I didn't tell

  them the parts I figured didn't matter as much. Does that make any

  sense?"

  "It makes a lot of sense. Are you still doing that? Are you still

  leaving things out that you think aren't important?"

  "No. Detective Walker said he'd work on my case even if it turned out

  that I had been doing something bad before it happened."

  "Good, because he meant it. I think you're a very smart young woman

  and you've been brave to tell the truth."

  She stuck her chin out, rolled her eyes, and tried hard to hide a

  smile. "Thanks." She probably wasn't used to compliments.

  "I know you don't know us very well, but can you tell us why you don't

  like living here?" I asked.

  "It's actually OK right now."

  I'd forgotten how frustrating it is to try to talk to a kid. "Why do

  you run away?"

  "Last time I left was because I was going crazy here. I felt really

  sick and wanted to get some horse. The doctor says I've gotten to

  where my body wants it, even if I don't think I do."

  "Is that why you started in prostitution?"

  "I wouldn't really call it prostitution. I mean, I guess it's gotten

  to that, but that's not how it started. It was just like I'd hear

  about somebody who was, like, holding and then I'd find them and try to

  get some. But most of the time I didn't have any money. At first, I'd

  offer to go to the Kmart and, like, shoplift something in return. That

  was working OK, but then all the stores around here started telling me

  not to come in anymore.

  "So then, last summer, some guy told me he'd give me the stuff if I'd

  you know, if I'd, like, let him put it in my mouth. And that seemed

  like a way for me to get what I wanted without getting caught stealing

  or anything. Once I started getting it that way, I started to, like,

  use even more of it."

  "When did you start using heroin?"

  "The middle of seventh grade, so like maybe a year ago?"

  "Do kids at your school do that already?"

  "No. Some of the kids smoke pot and stuff."

  This was like pulling teeth. "So how did you wind up using heroin in

  the seventh grade?"

  "If I say, are you gonna tell my mom?"

  "Not if we don't have to."

  For a second, I thought that wasn't going to be good enough for her.

  Kendra looked down at Eminem on her sweatshirt and started rubbing out

  a blob of ketchup that had fallen out of her hamburger onto his pecs.

  It was like she forgot we were there. Without raising her head, she

  said, "Mom already feels real bad that I'm, like, the way I am. She

  thinks it's her fault or something for not being with me more. If she

  knew how it started, she'd, like, really freak out and blame herself

  and stuff."

  "You're very considerate to be concerned about your mom. I know she

  works hard to keep everything going around here, and I won't tell her

  things that you tell me unless the law requires me to."

  She thought about that for a moment. "It started a while ago. My dad

  doesn't live with us. I don't know him, actually. Mom works all the

  time, so I'm usually here alone. I don't really mind. But every once

  in a while, she has a boyfriend start living here. I don't know why

  she dates these loser guys who don't even have jobs and stuff when she

  works so hard.

  "Anyway, last year this guy named Joe was staying here with us. He

  said he was a contractor, but he like never left the house or anything.

  I guess one day while I was at school, he went nosing through my stuff

  in my room. I had a little bag of pot hidden in my dresser. I'd only

  smoked it once. Me and my friend got it from this guy at school, just

  to try it.

  "So anyway, when I got home, he's sitting on the couch holding this

  bag. He said he was gonna tell Mom unless I could keep a secret about

  him. And then he goes into Mom's room and brings out his gym bag. He

  had a bunch of pot in there, but he had heroin too. He told me he

  didn't tell my mom or anything 'cause of how she feels about drugs, but

&
nbsp; he'd let me use some. I didn't want to, 'cause that seemed like way

  more major than pot. But Joe said popping wasn't really like shooting

  up or anything and wasn't as big of a deal. And he said if I didn't

  try it, then I wouldn't be in on his secret, and he'd tell Mom mine. So

  I tried it."

  "Is that the only time you used heroin with him?"

  "Yeah, right. He wanted me to do it with him again like a week later,

  then it was more and more, until he was waiting for me almost every day

  after school."

  "Kendra, did Joe ever touch you or do anything sexual to you?"

  "Not really. He'd like touch my hair and stuff when we were high. Gave

  me the heebie-jeebies. He was totally gross. After a couple months, I

  guess Mom found his stash and kicked him out. I was happy he was gone,

  but then I didn't have any way to get the heroin."

  I didn't know what to say. This poor girl had destroyed herself out of

  fear that she would create one more source of stress in her overworked

  mother's life. Now, even after all she'd been through, she still

  worried more for her mother's well-being than her own. I hoped Andrea

  Martin deserved the concern.

  "Before you started being with men in order to get the heroin, had you