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The subject shut the locker door with a bang, then hesitated. He tried to pull up his pants and I could see him thinking of making a run. I guess I’m psychic. He pushed off from the bank of lockers and, heading away from me, took one step and immediately tripped and fell hard to the floor with a yowl of pain. He was where I wanted him. I holstered my gun and, kneeling alongside him, pulled his arms around to his back and cuffed him.
“Hey,” he said with his cheek pressed to the floor. “Listen to me. She set me up. I want to tell you what happened …”
“You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney …”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Yes, you are. What’s your name?”
“Tyler. I work here.”
“Tyler what?”
“I’m done talking.”
“Fine. Tyler Doe, you’re under arrest for aggravated assault, other charges pending.”
He spat, “Jesus Christ, what is this? She set me up, goddamnit. I’m telling the truth, okay?”
I finished reading him his rights and he acknowledged none of them. I needed help to get him out of here and the victim needed medical attention.
Where was my backup?
THREE
THE VICTIM LOOKED to be in her late twenties. Her body was marked with fresh contusions and lacerations and the bruises around her neck were livid.
I stooped down and again tried to get a response from her.
“I’m Sergeant Boxer. SFPD. Can you tell me your name?”
She groaned and wheezed. If she’d heard me, she was unable to answer or even look up. I pulled my phone from my pocket and speed-dialed Claire, who was still at our lunch table on the main floor.
When Claire picked up, I said, “There’s an injured woman up here. Yeah, I called it in. Can you come up and take a look? And tell the manager that the locker room is off-limits to everyone but cops and EMTs. Yes, Yuki can come up.”
The victim’s backpack was half buried in a pile of her clothes. I unzipped the bag, saw makeup and pens and an assortment of small office supplies. I rooted around for a moment looking for her wallet and phone, then dumped the whole lot of stuff onto the floor. I opened her wallet and, afterfinding her driver’s license, compared her DMV photo to her face. The woman on the floor was named Mary Elena Hayes, age twenty-eight.
“Mary Elena,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Her voice was raspy, but I could make out what she said.
“He raped us.”
What?
“There’s another victim? Where is she?”
Mary Elena struggled to sit up.
“Lie still,” I said. “Help is coming.”
She croaked, “I’m Loretta. My name is Loretta.” She rolled onto her stomach and sobbed onto the carpet.
Tyler was looking at me from the floor. He said, “Let me talk.”
I said, “Hey! We’ll take your statement at the station.”
Claire and Yuki stepped through the locker room doorway and went directly to the victim. Claire spoke first.