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 they weren't customers?'
'Yeah. I'm pretty sure I would've recognized 'em if they were. I
haven't done it that many times.'
