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Annoyance edged her voice. “He shouldn’t have charged Cogburn so fast. Why didn’t he work him first, work the bartender? Hang back, scope out his routine, snatch him up doing another deal? Pop a charge on him like that, he lawyers up, clams up. He knows Dwier’s got nothing but the kid’s word. And see here, you’ve got the Child Services report. Clarissa Price. Says the minor was reluctant, defiant, uncooperative. Confrontational with parents. Recommends family counseling and yadda-yadda. Dwier needed to sweat Cogburn because his witness was hostile and worthless.”
“Which is something like saying his back was up. Look further,” he said before she could snarl at him, “into the CS report. Price states the boy’s schoolwork has been in steady decline. His attitude at school, and at home, poor. Brooding in his room, picking fights. And so on. The root of the problem wasn’t in buying the Jazz, the root was in the boy, and at home.”
“Maybe so, but the result was the parents overreacted, the cop jumps too fast, social worker mouths platitudes, and the system fails the kid.”
“Is that how you see it?”
“I see Dwier didn’t do his damn job on this one, but I don’t know how I see the whole picture.” She studied the data, absently twirling a lock of Roarke’s hair around her finger. “I know they’re seeing the last part. System fails. But you’re right, this isn’t enough to hide. So there’s more. Let’s dig into Fitzhugh’s sheet.”
Roarke found more blocks there as well. But he had the groove now and broke them quickly. “Minor complainants, Jansan, Rudolph . . . ah here we are. Sylvia and Donald Dukes, filing on behalf of their fourteen-year-old son, Devin.”
“Yeah, yeah, CS rep, Price, investigating officer DS Dwier. Click, click, click.”
“There’s a—”
“No talking,” she ordered.
“Touché,” he retorted, and sat back to watch her work.
“Kid ends up at the health center this time. Sodomized, facial bruising, sprained wrist. Tox report . . . got himself Jazzed again, and chased it with alcohol. Got some body piercing now. Cock and nipple ornaments. Dwier catches it again. But look here, Price tagged him, specifically. Something going on between them.”
She pulled out her memo book, began to take notes as she scanned data. “Doctor determines rape—Stanford Quillens. We’ll see if he pops up again. But they don’t shake Fitzhugh’s name out of the kid for twenty-four hours. Doesn’t want to talk about it. Why do they think you want to talk about it? Gang up on him at home the next day. Price, Dwier, the parents, rape counselor, who’s this? Marianna Wilcox. Should’ve gotten a male counselor. He doesn’t want to spill this to a female. Are they just stupid? Computer, copy text of victim interview to my home unit.”
But she read it through from where she stood. It gave her a sour taste in the mouth, a greasy feeling in the gut. So many of the questions were familiar. The same had been asked of her once.
WHO DID THIS TO YOU?
WE WANT TO HELP YOU, BUT YOU NEED TO TELL US WHAT HAPPENED.
YOU’LL FEEL BETTER ONCE YOU GET IT OUT.
“Bullshit, bullshit, you don’t feel better. Sometimes you never feel better. Why don’t they say it like it is? You’ve been fucked over, kid, and we’re real sorry we have to fuck you over again. Tell us how it was, and don’t spare the details, so we can write it all up and make it real all over again.”
“Eve.”
She shook her head fiercely. “They’ve got good intentions. Most of them anyway. But they don’t know.”
“This boy isn’t like you.” He was standing behind her now, laid his hands on her shoulders and began to rub. “He’s troubled, and looking for trouble. I know about that. Surely he got more than he deserved in that area, but he isn’t like you.”
She calmed, leaned back against him. “Not like you either. You were smarter, meaner, and you weren’t gay.”
“No arguing with that.” He kissed the top of her head. “His confusion over his sexuality is likely the cause for most of his behavior and the consequences of it.”
“That and his parents. You got Donald here, eight years military service. Marines. Once a marine, always a marine. Mom takes the professional mother route. They put you in private schools, three in five years. Pull you out into home schooling two months before the incident with Fitzhugh. He’s got a kid brother here. Three years younger. No problem there, at least that’s showing up on personal data. But they yank him into home schooling, too. Taking no chances.”
“You did note the father’s profession?”
“Yeah, computer scientist. Click, click.” She turned away to get her coffee, remembered it was wine. Frowning a little, she settled for it.
“Devin rolls on Fitzhugh, claims he was picked up at a club after he snuck out of the house. Admits he showed fake ID, admits he was a little buzzed, and that Fitzhugh says how he’s having a party at his place. He goes with him. Most of that’s probably solid, but then it gets smokey. He claims Fitzhugh got him stoned, but the tox level’s too low for the way he plays it. He was zonked, didn’t know what was going on. Fitzhugh got him into the playroom, got him in restraints. He tried to get away, but Fitzhugh overpowered him, knocked him around, then raped him.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time. Wolves hunt sheep. It’s their nature.”
“But it didn’t go down like that here. Dwier had to know it didn’t go down just like that. Maybe it was rape, kid was a minor so consensual or not, Fitzhugh’s a pig. But he didn’t knock Devin around. The father did. You look at Fitzhugh’s sheet. He never beat on his victims. He didn’t use force. He used persuasion, bribery, threats. Trying to make the case with force was one of the reasons they lost him.”
“So you read this as Dwier, probably along with the Dukes and Price, tried to build their case out of straw, and the wolf blew it down.”
She sat on the console. “Lies, half-truths, and lousy police work. I guess that’s straw. I’ll tell you how it went down. Kid sneaks out of the house. Probably he’s done it dozens of time. They try to cage him in, but he’s not having it. He’s not his goddamn father. He’s not his angel-face baby shithead brother. He heads to a club that caters to same-sex orientation. He’s not looking for a girl. Fitzhugh’s trolling and smells fresh meat. Buys the kid a drink, maybe offers him some illegals. Come up to my place, there’s more where that came from. Kid keeps the nice, steady buzz going, and Fitzhugh does what Fitzhugh does. Buzz is wearing off.”
