Frank smiled tightly, unable to derive pleasure even from the thought of Fubar's jaw falling to his feet.
11
The phone rang. 'Homicide. Franco.' It was the assistant DA, and she unloaded. Within twenty-four hours, two of Frank's detectives had tried to steamroll her into taking three separate cases based on practically no cause and with equally little supporting evidence. She explained that this was L.A., not some Podunk backwater town, and she needed compelling evidence to get a criminal to trial. Priors and circumstance wouldn't do it.
Frank listened patiently. Pissing off Lydia McQueen was not a good idea. And she was right. If they didn't have solid evidence the detectives shouldn't have gone to her, but it was easy when they were carrying dozens of cases to show the ADA what they had and hope she'd go to bat with it. Frank spent almost half an hour trying to mollify The Queen and then had a talk with Gough about his case. She knew he was suffering from a big case of burnout. He was still a good cop—after all, he'd been doing it for so long—but he'd taken to cutting corners that were best left whole. Frank played on his loyalty to the squad, pointing out that long after he was gone the department was going to have to keep working with the DA's office, and that it would help his colleagues if he went by the book while he was still badged.
Back in her office, the light was blinking on her phone. Hodges, Homicide from the Culver City PD. She returned the call. He was antsy that she was poking around in their cases. She reassured him that she wasn't going behind his back, or being asked to get involved by higher-ups. All the while she was thinking what a paranoid mother he was.
At last she returned to the rape folders. Reluctantly, she dialed the phone number of the first girl on the list. Alissa Aguilar. Frank studied her picture while the phone rang. Finally a machine picked up and Frank left a message saying it was very important that Mr. or Mrs. Aguilar call her back, no matter how late. She left her beeper number.
Making the calls in the chronological order of the rapes, she reached Claudia Menendez' father on the next try. After introducing herself, she explained that since Claudia's assault, they believed her attacker had raped seven other girls and might well be responsible for the murder/tortures of four more. Frank was encouraged by Mr. Menendez' sounds of anger and disbelief, and asked if it would be possible to talk to Claudia again in light of this new evidence.
He was understandably hesitant, and Frank assured him she wouldn't be asking if it wasn't crucial. She had no wish to reopen Claudia's wounds, but his daughter might be able to add something critical that she'd forgotten the first time. Frank heard the frustration in his voice when he said he'd have to talk to his wife, but that they could probably talk to Claudia when she got home from school. Frank left her beeper number, with the appeal that they call her back as soon as possible.
She squeezed the back of her neck. Frank had never worked rape, but she didn't think she'd be very good at it. Handling pain wasn't her forte. Dead was dead, and in homicide she didn't have to deal with the victim's wounds.
An answering machine at the next number took her message. Before she could dial again, Diego came in about an extradition case. Frank was getting him started on the forms when Bobby leaned into the doorway.
'We're all going to the Sizzler for lunch. Want to go?'
Diego nodded, but Frank indicated the case folders stacked next to her.
'Can't,' she said, pulling a ten out of the wallet in her back pocket. 'But bring me back something, a salad.'
'What sort of salad?'
Bobby was very thorough. He would want a detailed list.
'Anything green.'
'What sort of dressing?'
'I don't care. Surprise me.'
'What—'
'Come on,' Diego said, snatching up the money. 'I'll get the friggin' salad.'
The squad room was suddenly quiet, and Frank picked up the phone. The fourth girl was Jessica Orenthaler. The girl's mother answered. She started crying before Frank could even tell her what she wanted. Frank waited her out, listening to the phone ring in the squad room. When Mrs. Orenthaler quieted down, Frank started to explain the circumstances. Mrs. Orenthaler hung up almost immediately.
Contemplating Claudia Menendez, Frank found nothing remarkable about the child's appearance. She was slight and doe-eyed, with a suggestion of a pallor, and Frank wondered if she didn't go outside much anymore. She and Noah sat at an angle from Claudia on plastic-covered chairs, while the girl nestled between her parents on a matching couch. The only hint of her recent trauma was the way she snuggled into her mother like a much younger child might.
Frank made the introductions, explaining why they needed to ask more questions. The previous interviews had dealt mostly with physical factors about the assault, but because she and Noah were interested in constructing a psychological profile of the assailant, they needed to ask some different questions. Frank pointed out that they wouldn't be nice questions. The parents agreed, and Frank let Noah start. There was a gentleness about him that put people at ease, and maybe because he had three of his own, he was especially good at interviewing kids. The girl looked reluctant, but her father patted her leg and she gamely launched into a quiet recounting. Noah had a list of questions, but he waited for Claudia to finish before asking them. He explained that although the questions might seem silly or dumb, each answer told them something about the man they were looking for.
'Can you remember him touching you anywhere else, except for where he grabbed you and hurt you? This is real important, so take your time and think about it. Don't rush.'
Claudia pulled her teeth over her bottom lip and gazed at the coffee table. She shook her head no.
'You're sure?'
Claudia nodded.
'Okay, that's good, that's real good. Another thing that we need to know is if he pulled your pants up before he let you go.'
They could see she was struggling to remember, but Mr. Menendez answered for her.
'When she came back to us her clothes were all on. We thought she'd just fallen down or something.'
'Do you remember pulling your pants back up, Claudia?'
She wagged her head, still puzzled, then said almost in a whisper, 'I think he pulled them up.'
'You think so?' Noah encouraged.
Again she nodded, but they could tell she was uncertain.
'Okay. You're doing great,' Noah smiled. 'Can you handle some more questions?'
He waited for her assent before asking if the man had said anything to her, and her answer was certain.
'I tried to scream, but he had his arm around my throat so tight I couldn't breathe and he told me to shut up or he'd kill me. I was scared so I didn't say nothing else. And I couldn't hardly breathe,' she added apologetically.
'Did he say anything else to you besides shut up or he'd kill you?'
Her brown hair shook emphatically.
'Did he ask you to say anything?'
Again a shake of the brown head. Mr. Menendez was getting restless. Noah said, more to him than Claudia, 'Okay, darling. Hang in there, you're doing really well and we're almost done. Can you answer a few more?'
Again Claudia glanced up at her mom for reassurance and was heartened by a warm smile. The last questions were the hardest for everybody. Noah asked ugly questions as gently as he could, but finally the fear and shame and horror caught up to Claudia. Tears slid down her face, but Noah pressed on, promising her he was almost through.
At last, he reached across the table and cupped her face in his long hand. 'Alright, honey, that's all. You did a really great job. You told us a lot about the man who hurt you. You helped us a lot.'
The girl buried her face against her mother while Noah looked expectantly at Frank. She rose and extended her hand to Mr. Menendez.
'You've got a fine daughter. We're awfully sorry to have stir this all up again, but she's been a big help.'
Mr. Menendez followed the detectives to the doorway, asking specific questions that they weren't free to answer.
