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“We understand that you suffered a head injury, so it’s possible that things could actually be clearer now than when you initially provided your statement to the detectives. Just relax, and relate exactly what you remember about the night of October 3rdof this year to us, okay?”
I nodded.
“We're going to record this interview for the purpose of preserving your testimony for evidence. We must make sure that you understand that this is being taped and say so for the record.”
She turned on the recorder, stating today’s date, time, people present, case number, and parties to the case. She asked me to state my name for the record.
“Tylar Jamie Preston.”
“And Ms. Preston, you have agreed to allow this interview to be taped as future evidence as required, is that true?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Okay, in your own words, tell us what you remember about the night of the attack in your cottage at Sinclair Stables.”
“I remember that it was a Wednesday night. I wanted to stay up and watch the season opener of a television show. I maybe watched the first 15 minutes of it and then dozed off. When I woke up later, the show was off and the 11 p.m. news was on. I turned the television off, switched off the lights in the living room of the cottage, and went to bed.”
I paused momentarily collecting my thoughts from that horrible night. “I remember that the window in my bedroom was opened because it was still fairly warm out and I liked the fresh breeze coming in to my room.”
My mouth was getting dry which often happened when I was stressed or nervous. Detective Ryan got up and went to a small refrigerator in the conference room, retrieving bottle of water for me. I thanked him, took a sip, and continued.
“I recall that I thought I was dreaming. In my dream I thought it was a former...lover touching me on my thighs and my hips,” I said, blushing. “I was dreaming of him or at least I thought that I was. I was kind of lucid. I felt my panties being pulled off, but again, I thought it was part of my dream. At some point, I realized that I wasn't dreaming; that someone was in my bed with me.” My hands were shaking as I lifted the bottle of water to my lips, taking another drink. “He was assaulting me with his fingers…down there.”
“Where, Ms. Preston?”
Oh God, she was going to make me spell it all out in technical terms. I'd have to push through this. “He was thrusting his fingers in and out of my vaginal area, scratching me.” I said pointedly. There it was out. The worst part of it was out.
“Go on,” she prodded.
“I was still half asleep, still kind of thinking it was someone else.”
“Who, Ms. Preston? Who did you think it was in your bed that night?”
Oh no. This was humiliation I didn’t need. I hadn’t gone into all of that in my statement at the hospital. Why had I chosen to do so now?
“Like I said,” I continued, “I was half-asleep and when I realized it wasn’t a dream, I considered that my boyfriend, who I'd recently broken up with, was there with me; that it was him touching me, Trey Sinclair.”
“Did your boyfriend or ex-boyfriend make it a habit of coming into your cottage while you were sleeping and crawling into your bed?”
No! Why's she making it sound likeI'm the one on trial?
"No, not at all,” I answered tersely, “I suppose in my half-dream state, it was simply wishful thinking.”
There does that answer your question?
“Then I heard the voice. He, Charlie, asked me if I liked it. He called me a bitch, I think, and then he called me ‘Sissy.’”
“Does the name ‘Sissy’ hold any significance to you, Ms. Preston?”
Why did I think she was asking me questions for which she already knew the answers?
“Yes. I'd received some threatening notes from someone calling me that name.”
“Anything other than that?”
“About eight years ago, one of my mom’s boyfriends had called me by that name. He came into my room when I was sleeping and took my pajama bottoms off and started touching and putting his finger inside me. I screamed and my mother came into my room and made him leave.”
“Why had he called you ‘Sissy’ back then?”
