FIVE

Talk to a Friend - Rain City Drive

SIX MONHS AGO

“Is that a buffalo?” The girl in my interview room shifts on her seat and points at one of the stuffed animals on the table.

“That’s a highland cow.” I reach across the table to bring it closer for her. Caroline is five, which is not my favorite age for forensic interviews because it’s so distractible, but she’s sweet.

“Buffalo!” She grabs the toy and squeezes it to her. “I have one at home. His name is Ben.”

“You have a Buffalo?” I smile. Caroline has blue eyes and wild, curly hair that is barely pulled back into a ponytail.

Caroline frowns at me. “No, Tim is a dog.”

“Oh.” I chuckle, and for a second, I just want to freeze time here. Caroline is in here for allegations that her grandfather, Ken Summerman, was touching her and her six-year-old sister, Morgan. Her sister is being interviewed by one of my coworkers in another room. I don’t want to make either of them relive the horrors they’ve been through. But I have to.

Every forensic interview is the same. I say the same things to the kids—mostly open-ended questions about their family and their lives. Then I ask if they know why they’re talking to me. Then we talk about good touch and bad touch. Then it’s over. Every interview is the same but heartbreakingly different.

While she colors, Caroline talks about how Morgan spends time with their grandfather. About how they’re scared of him and how they run from him and pile toys against the door so he can’t come in. Then she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “He’s a bad man. You’re a cop, right?”

She waits. I look at her and nod.

“So you can get him. Cops get the bad guys.” She turns back to the table and picks up a crayon.

My chest feels tight. I know how often we get the bad guys, and it’s not often.

Caroline rambles on about her toys at home and how she had to get a new bike. Her attention span is only about twenty minutes, which is good for her age. She makes no obvious disclosure.

Morgan takes a little longer, but soon, they’re both back with their mother. When we’re done, I convene with my boss, who interviewed Morgan. He’s an older man with a beer belly and a goatee that’s ugly as hell.

My boss sighs. “Digital penetration. Months ago. You?”

I clench my jaw. “Just that she’s scared of him. She said he was a bad man and asked me to get him.”

My boss shakes his head. He knows as well as I do that there’s no physical evidence we can get from months ago, and that without a witness, things are hard to prosecute. And that six is too young to testify in court. Even if she was old enough, it would be Ken’s word against hers.

I’ve worked in the juvenile sex crimes division for a year. I know how rare confessions are. It makes my stomach turn. I talk to kids all the time, and it’s always the same: it’s the abuser’s word against theirs.

I drank heavily that night. When I come back the next day, I sit in my roller chair and stare at the phone. No one knows where Summerman is, but I have his phone number. I should call. I know I should. But I know how it’s going to go. Denial, denial, denial. Which will bury their case.

So I avoid it. I dust my desk. There isn’t much on it except the decorative fountain I bought to try and bring some life into the space. Ha. As if. This is where life goes to die.

I eat the chicken noodle soup that I packed for lunch. Then, I clean the interview room. The stuffed cow Caroline played with is still lying on its side on the table, with a little pen on its nose. I bring it to the bathroom by my office and clean it off, then take it with me to dry. In my office, I fuck around even more. I even knock out a report that I’ve been putting off.

Suddenly, I remember a piece of advice an old cop gave me: sometimes you have to get on their level.

I swallow. I already know Ken will deny it. Why not try it out?

Finally, right before noon, I make the call. To my surprise, Ken picks up. I don’t start heavy on him. I’ve learned that never works. So I talk to him like I’m his friend. And in all my years in law enforcement, I’ve learned that some people are more lonely than you’d think. They’ll talk to you for hours if only to get things off their chest. Ken is one of those people. He talks about how he’s been living out of his car. I gently press him to tell me about his granddaughters.

“Yeah.” Ken’s voice is scratchy with age. “They like to dance in the toy room with me.”

I hum, “That’s cute.”

“Yeah,” he trails off like there’s something else he isn’t saying.

“Tell me more about the dancing.” I stare at the stuffed animal lying on my desk.

“Well, Caroline is…Morgan is different. She loves to dance. She puts on all these skirts…”

Summerman trails off.

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “So Morgan is different. What about the skirts?”

“Yeah. Like she…likes to dance. Like, to get my attention.”

I nod again. “You know, some people mature faster than others, and there’s nothing right, wrong, or indifferent about it; it’s just a fact. It sounds like Morgan has maybe matured faster than others.” I swallow. The words feel bitter coming out of my mouth.

Summerman makes a small sound of denial, but it’s half-hearted, which piques my attention.

So I press further. “Everyone has a speed at which they mature, and maybe Morgan is faster than other kids her age. Maybe she wants to explore herself and the way she’s feeling. And she’s testing it out with the people she loves and trusts.”

I stare at the stuffed animal’s caramel-colored hair.

Summerman makes a sound like he agrees.

I press on. We talk for a while about the girls and how they spend their time with him. How they’ve walked in on him going to the bathroom and how he’s told them not to, but the door doesn’t lock. Every time Ken tries to explain away the behavior, I justify it. I tell him he told the kids not to come in, and maybe Morgan was just trying to explore. He agrees that she was just trying to explore.

“Tell me more about Morgan trying to explore, Ken.” I shift in my seat. I can feel the pit stains on my shirt.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t like to talk about it.”

I don’t let him back out. “Well, I don’t think this is something that you need to be ashamed of or that she needs to be ashamed of. She’s exploring her body, and there’s nothing wrong with that. And she’s doing it in a healthy way with the people she loves.”

“Yeah.” Summerman sighs, and the line is silent.

“Tell me more about how she explores.”

“Well, sometimes, she was a lot. I think…you know, sometimes I thought she was, maybe, coming onto me.”

I make a hum and check the digital recorder I have plugged into the phone line. It’s still going. “Sure, I can see it. Tell me about what made you feel that way.”

“She’d, I don’t know, sit on top of me.”

“Mhmm.” I hear voices outside of my office.

“Yeah,” Summerman starts to trail off.

Nope, I won’t let him stop now. “What would she do when she’d sit on top of you?”

“I don’t know. It was like she…I’m not sure, but maybe grind into me a little.”

The voices stop at my office. “Ronan, lunch!”

I give my coworkers my back and keep talking to Summerman. “Okay, so she was exploring with you. Tell me more.”

“Well, it was hard for me. I didn't want to….I didn’t cross any lines.”

There’s a mix of guilt and relief in his voice. Like he’s been needing to talk about this for so long. I try to lessen the moral blow for him so that he keeps talking. “Okay, well again, you love her, she loves you, I don’t see the issue.” My body feels hot, I feel nauseous, and a bunch of saliva pools in my mouth. I hate playing this role. I hate every word that’s rolling off my tongue.

“Right. Well, after, I’d have to…I’d go to the bathroom to…you know…” he trails off.

“Yeah?”

“Well, you know, I don’t like to talk about it.”

Oh fuck no, we’re so close. “You know there’s no judgment here, Ken. This is just human bodies doing what human bodies were meant to do.”

“Well, my wife had left me, and so I was…Morgan was tempting me, so I’d…you know, relieve myself in the bathroom.”

I nod along. “Sure. Of course. You’d jack off in the bathroom. You have needs, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of. So tell me more about crossing lines.”

“Well, you know…” he drags a breath out. “I didn’t want to…I never did it cause…there would be blood. You know, she’d sit on me…down there…but I never crossed that line.”

“All I hear is that you’re a loving grandfather who doesn’t want to hurt his granddaughter.” I glance at the stuffed cow again. It looks back at me with its little marble eyes, and in that minute, the stuffed animal looks…kind.

“Yeah, I do love her.”

“But I’m hearing that with all this temptation…you know Ken, we’re all human. You’re human. There’s only so much a person can take before they give in, you know?”

“I never did… that .”

The silence is full.

“So tell me about what you did do.” I lean back in my seat.

The line is silent, like he’s thinking about it. I fill the silence, “Remember, Ken. You’re human. She’s human. You guys are just doing what bodies are meant to do, and you weren’t trying to hurt her.”

“I really wasn’t.”

“So tell me about what you did.”

He sighs. “This is hard for me to talk about.”

I lean forward in my chair. “Tell me about what you did, Ken. Tell me about how you explored.”

So he does. He tells me about how he slipped up and put his fingers in her. About how it was a mistake, but he never put his dick in her. He said it happened multiple times a week since Christmas.

I can feel my body humming.

By the end of the conversation, Summerman acts like we’re friends. He gets my number so he can call me if he forgot anything, and we hang up.

I sit in the chair, sweating. My pits are cold, and my muscles hum with energy. I glance over at the cow that’s still sitting on my desk and mutter, “I’m gonna be sick.”

Later, the prosecutor agrees on thirteen counts of rape for a victim under 12. A single count would land Summerman in prison for the rest of his life. That high keeps me going for a bit. Finally, finally, I’m seeing justice. I may have had to do a shitty thing, but I’m seeing justice.

But, months later, I check my mailbox on my way back from the microwave. I balance my hot chicken noodle soup and grab the sheet of paper from the prosecutor’s office.

Summerman’s charges have all been pleaded down.

Meaning he no longer has a life sentence.

Meaning he has the possibility of parole to get out and do it again.

Meaning he won’t be labeled as what he is: a rapist.

Meaning that all Morgan will see is a system that doesn’t believe her and doesn’t care.