Judgement Calls Read online

  more than that, even if you weren't technically cheating. He had to

  have seen the chemistry; everyone does. You drop that hard-ass force

  field of yours with me and with Chuck, but you never dropped it with

  Roger. And if he was bothered by it, the next guy will be too. So,

  unless you want to be alone for good, you need to decide where Chuck

  Forbes fits into your life. You're not in high school anymore,

  honey."

  I didn't know what to say.

  "You pissed?" she asked.

  "No, just surprised."

  "I know. I get sucked in by you two also, but I worry about you, is

  all. This isn't college, when you could sleep with Chuck on breaks and

  then run back to Cambridge. Make sure you know what you're doing." She

  smiled. "Don't get me wrong. I have noticed how good he looks in that

  uniform of his."

  I returned the smile and said, "At least I'm not writing Mrs. Charles

  Landon Forbes, Jr." in my notebook anymore."

  We quickly changed the subject, but the conversation nagged at me

  throughout the rest of the meal. Roger used to accuse me of being

  ambivalent about our relationship; now Grace was suggesting the same

  thing about my feelings for Chuck. The way I'd always seen it, my job

  was hard enough; the personal stuff should take care of itself.

  Three.

  Work returned to a normal pace the next day.

  I had left several messages on Andrea Martin's machine the day before

  but hadn't heard back from her. This morning, she picked up.

  "Ms. Martin, my name is Samantha Kincaid. I'm a deputy district

  attorney for Multnomah County. How are you?"

  "Could be better, under the circumstances and all."

  "I left a few messages for you yesterday," I said.

  "Yeah, I didn't get 'em till late. I wait tables at the Hot-cake House

  at night. I was planning on trying to call you back later."

  "My understanding is that the police have talked to you about what

  happened over the weekend. Is that right?"

  "Yeah. One of 'em, Mike somebody, called me in the middle of the night

  Saturday. Told me Kendra was in the hospital. I'd just gotten off

  work, but I would've come down anyway. I guess Kendra didn't want me

  there, though."

  "Where is Kendra now?"

  "I think she's in her room. I'm just heading out for my day job at

  Safeway."

  "Did you know where Kendra was on Saturday night when this happened?"

  "No. She runs away so much I've stopped calling the cops on her. She

  just gets mad at me when they pick her up. I'm to the point I just

  want her to come home every night. I figure I got a better chance if I

  give her her freedom. The other way sure wasn't working."

  "So she came home on Sunday afternoon then?"

  "Yeah. She didn't want to. I don't know what's so bad around here

  that she'd rather be out on the street. But the hospital wouldn't let

  her go unless she came here or agreed to foster care. At least she

  picked here."

  "She's been through a lot. She might want your help right now."

  She laughed. "Miss .. . what'd you say your name was again?"

  "Samantha Kincaid. Call me Samantha."

  "Well, you obviously don't know my daughter. She don't want help from

  no one. Always been that way, too. It's like she decided when she

  turned ten or something that she was grown."

  "Did Detective Calabrese explain what Kendra's lifestyle has been while

  she was on the street?"

  "I wouldn't call it much of a lifestyle. But, yeah. That guy and his

  partner a blond guy, real young came by the Safeway on Sunday to break

  the news to me. They told me Saturday night she was assaulted. Guess

  they wanted to say the other stuff in person."

  They probably wanted to watch her response. Kids who run away are

  often the victims of abuse by their parents. If anything would set a

  parent off, it would be learning that their kid has been shooting up

  and turning tricks. They wanted to make sure she didn't seem the type

  to take her anger out on Kendra physically.

  "How has Kendra been doing since she's been home?"

  "Alright, I guess. Like I said, she don't really talk to me."

  "Well, I was calling mainly to introduce myself and to let you know I'm

  handling the case. The police have arrested one of the suspects. His

  name is Frank Derringer. He's in jail for now, but we have to take the

  case to a grand jury within a week, and Kendra's going to need to

  testify for that. I've got it scheduled for Friday. Assuming the

  grand jury indicts Derringer, the court will schedule the case for

  trial. Most cases don't actually go to trial, but if this one does, it

  will probably be in a couple of months and Kendra will need to testify.

  Do you have any questions for me?"

  "Do you know when the cops are going to give Kendra her stuff back? Her

  keys were in her purse, and I don't know whether to get a new set

  cut."

  "I'm not really sure, Ms. Martin. It can take the crime lab a few

  weeks sometimes to finish working on evidence. Depending on what they

  find, we may need to keep the evidence sealed for trial. I can find

  out about her keys for you, if you'd like."

  "Whatever. I can get a new set cut at the store tomorrow. Am I going

  to have to come to any of these things? I can't afford to take time

  off work."

  "You're certainly welcome to come with Kendra as support, but I don't

  think you'll need to testify until the trial. I'll make sure Kendra

  has transportation to the courthouse when she needs to come down

  here."

  "Alright, then. I better be going. You need anything else?"

  "Would it be OK if I dropped by your home tonight to meet Kendra?" I

  asked.

  "You'll have to talk to her about that. You want me to get her?"

  "No, that's OK, I'll try talking to her later." If Mom didn't care,

  I'd rather just drop in on Kendra unannounced. Wouldn't want her

  running off anywhere. "Feel free to call me if you have any questions.

  Let me give you my direct line."

  "Um, I can't find a pen right now. If I need anything, I can look it

  up, right?"

  I told her that she could, even though I knew she wouldn't.

  I devoted the rest of my day to the routine drudgeries of the drug

  section of the Drug and Vice Division. The DA assigned me to DVD

  because I used to prosecute drug cases when I was in New York. I

  accepted the assignment because I wanted to keep working as a

  prosecutor when Roger and I moved, and the Portland U.S. Attorney's

  Office wasn't hiring. In most people's eyes it was a step down: I went

  from handling cases involving nationwide distribution conspiracies and

  literally tons of dope to prosecuting sad-sack hustlers for dealing

  eight-balls of methamphetamine and as little as a single rock of crack

  cocaine.

  But while I may have lost the prestige of a federal prosecutor's

  office, I had developed a niche as part of the vice section of DVD,

  prosecuting the monsters who lure, coerce, and force women into

  prostitution. The less-experienced DVD attorneys shied away from those

  cases because they w
ere hard to prove, hard to win, and hard to take.

  The career prosecutors who handled the major felony person crimes

  didn't want them because they were viewed as less important than

  murders and other violent offenses. But I felt more rewarded by those

  cases than I'd ever felt prosecuting even complex federal drug

  conspiracies.

  Today, however, my plate was full of drug charges. No surprise, the

  grand jury returned indictments on all four of the cases I presented.

  Most drug-related cases are pretty much the same. The only variation

  tends to be in the type and degree of stupidity involved.

  Usually it was a matter of poor strategy. My daily caseload is full of

  tweekers who agree to let the police search them, even though they're

  carrying enough dope to land them in the state pen for a couple of

  years. Apparently, an undocumented side effect of dope is a gross

  overestimation of one's own intelligence. Dopers become convinced

  they've hidden their stash so well a cop won't find it. They're always

  wrong.

  But sometimes it goes beyond poor strategy to straight-out stupidity.

  In one of today's cases, two men did a hand-to-hand drug deal standing

  two feet from a Portland police officer. What stealth tactic had this

  shrewd officer used to avoid detection? He was part of the city's

  mounted patrol unit, which covered a downtown beat on horseback. When

  the men were arrested, one of them said to the officer, "Dude, I didn't

  even see you up there, man. I just thought it was cool that a horse

  had found its way to the park." It hadn't dawned on them to look up

  and see whether someone might have accompanied the savvy equine.

  Despite all the talk about the modern "war on drugs," the truth is that

  most police don't go out of their way to investigate minor drug

  offenses. They don't have to. There is so much dope out there, and

  the people taking it are so dense, that the cases literally fall into

  the cops' laps, whether they want them or not. The upside is that it

  makes my job easier.

  When I was done getting my cases indicted, I called MCT to see if a

  detective could drive out to Rockwood with me to interview Kendra. I

  wanted to talk to her tonight, before she got antsy and ran away again.

  Grand jury was Friday, and I needed to know what to expect from my star

  witness.

  I try to have a police officer or DA investigator with me whenever I

  talk to someone who will be testifying in one of my cases. If the

  witness ever went south on me, I'd want a person present who could

  testify about the witness's statement, since lawyers are not allowed to

  testify in their own cases.

  Someone picked up after four rings. "Walker."

  "Detective Walker, it's Samantha Kincaid at the DA's office. I'm

  calling about the Derringer case."

  "Sure. What can I do you for?"

  I told him what I'd found out the day before from Deputy Lamborn and

  Dave Renshaw.

  "Oh, hang on a sec. The rest of the guys have got to hear this." I

  heard him put me on speaker. "You want to tell 'em or should I?"

  Figuring I was more likely than Walker to keep the conversation on

  track, I repeated the information about Derrick Derringer's previous

  offer to serve as an alibi witness for his brother and then got to the

  part about Derringer's body hair.

  Walker couldn't help himself. "Can you believe what a fucking waste of

  time and money that is? Everyone knows these guys never change. They

  just get off having someone watch them watch that smut. But the system

  manages to find the money to pay some doctor to handle these guys'

  Johnsons, when it could use the money to keep them in the pen where

  they belong."

  I heard Ray Johnson nearby. "How many times I gotta tell you that you

  make my workplace hostile when you call something like that ajohnson,

  man? So, Kincaid, what's the doctor say about Derringer's broken

  pecker?"

  I certainly didn't know what it meant. "Look, five different shrinks

  could probably come up with five interpretations. What's important is

  that we know Derringer shaved within a few days of the attack. That's

  big. Any news on that end?"

  "No," Walker replied. "The lab's still working the rape kit and the

  other evidence. No leads on who this second guy is. Ray's looking at

  Derringer's known associates from before he went to the pen, but

  nothing yet. So far, Derringer's only calls from the jail have been to

  his brother. He's playing it cool."

  "Alright, let me know if you get anything new. Also, I need one of you

  to come out to Kendra Martin's with me tonight. Grand jury's on

  Friday, and I want to prep this girl while she's still on board."

  "Geez. I really want to help you out on this one, since you're going

  out of your way for us. But my anniversary's tonight. The wife's got

  the whole night planned: dinner, some dance thing. She'll kill me if I

  cancel on her."

  "Don't let me mess up your marriage. It doesn't really matter who

  goes. I just need a witness."

  "Hold on. Hey, Ray. Can you run out to Rockwood with Kincaid tonight

  to interview the Martin girl? She wants to get her ready for grand

  jury on Friday, and she needs a witness."

  "Depends what you mean, can I go? I can go, if it needs to be done.

  But Jack, you know my mama flew up from Call today. She's probably at

  my house waitin' on me as we speak. What kind of boy am I to go on OT

  while my mama's in town? Can I go out with her tomorrow, or does it

  have to be tonight?"

  I heard another voice farther in the background. "Go home to your

  mama, Ray. I'll go."

  Uh-oh. I knew that voice. "That's alright, Jack," I said hastily.

  "It's probably better to go out there with someone who's already met

  Kendra. It can wait until tomorrow."

  "It's up to you, but Chuck can go. He's met the Martin girl too. He

  and Mike went to talk to the mom on Sunday and stopped by the house to

  check on Kendra." He yelled into the background, "Hey, Chuck. You get

  a pretty good rapport with the girl?"

  I heard something; then Ray came back on the line. "Yeah, he says

  things went real good. He took over some CDs that were donated by the

  rape victims' advocates."

  There was no easy way out of this one. I wanted to talk to Kendra

  tonight, and Chuck made as much sense to take along as anyone. "If

  he's willing to go, that works for me. Can you ask him to meet me in

  front of the Martin house at seven?"

  He was waiting for me with a Happy Meal in one hand. He held the box

  up as I got out of my car in front of Kendra Martin's house. "Mommy

  Martin didn't strike me as the type to make sure there was a pot roast

  on the table by supper-time. I figured Kendra might want something to

  eat. I would've picked up something for you, but then I pictured you

  trying to run it off at midnight."

  "Very funny." Call me an extremist; I have a tendency to couple large

  meals with monster runs. It had been two months since we'd seen each

  other, and he was already trying to pull me into our flirtatious


  rhythm. I was determined to make this quick, but as I started walking

  to the front door, I realized he wasn't following.

  I turned around and walked back to where he still stood with a grin on

  his face. "What the hell's so funny, Forbes?"

  "Oh, so it's Forbes now?"

  "Hey, you've always called me Kincaid."

  "Yeah, well, you've always called me Chuck. Am I supposed to call you

  something different now too?"

  "You can call me whatever you want, as long as you keep your smart-ass

  comments to yourself while I interview Ken-dra Martin."

  "They teach you those manners at Hah-vud?"

  "Give me a break. Last time I checked, that little park we call the

  waterfront was still named after your daddy."

  "Yeah, and look at all the good that being the governor's son has done

  me. Driving fifteen miles out of my way on my night off for your

  interview, standing here with a McMeal for your witness. The last time

  I checked, Kincaid, you and I were still friends. Would it kill you to

  at least say hi to me before we head in for work?"

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "No, it wouldn't. You're

  right. Hi. Hi, Chuck. It's nice to see you. Now can we go do my

  interview?"

  "Yes. And it's nice to see you too."

  I rang the doorbell. I could hear obnoxious music, the kind that