Jon Talton - Powers of Arrest

And he knew.

He said, “What happened next?”

“Oh, she shoved off in a few minutes.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah,” he said. “She did that sometimes. Other times, she had male company, if you know what I mean. But she told me she liked to go out on the river by herself to relax. I’m really sorry about what happened to her.”

“What about this man? What did he do after he talked to Officer Gruber?”

“He stomped away, real mad. After that, I don’t know. My fishing buddies showed up and I launched my boat.”

Will took a deep breath. “Have you seen that man around here before?

The old general squinted into the sun. “I don’t pay much attention to the guys. But, yeah, I’ve seen him.”

Will climbed back into the car, a curious expression on his face. Cheryl Beth had completed the calls to her bosses.

“Now I’m about to start calling students and ruin their semesters,” she said glumly.

“Hold off,” Will said. He pulled over the computer that was mounted on his dashboard and started typing rapidly. “Now, if only the computer-aided dispatch system is working.” Lines appeared and he scrolled through. He typed in keywords and a blank screen appeared.

“What?” she said.

He laid it out for her. Then he went through it a second time, more slowly. She felt a coldness creeping up her legs, no matter the warm air coming in the windows. Will had his cell at his ear.

“I want you to meet me somewhere.” He gave the address. He mouthed to her: Dodds. “I don’t care if you’re going to the ballgame, they’ll probably lose anyway.” She heard Dodds’ deep and angry voice floating out of the phone. “Well, get there when you can.”

He put the phone down and turned to her. “What if I let you off?”

“No way,” she said. “I’m a witness under your protection. I’m coming with you.”

“Good.”

He sped out of the marina parking lot and regained Kellogg Avenue, turning west. At the first intersection, he flipped on the siren and the emergency lights. They drove that way across town. Sometimes the speedometer hit eighty.

The forlorn brick building in Lower Price Hill looked abandoned. Its front windows were covered in old plywood and the second story curtains looked ancient. But Will parked in front and got out. She picked her purse off the floor and followed him.

After several minutes of banging on the door, it opened and a wisp of a girl with red hair stood there. She wore shorts and a NASCAR T-shirt.

Will said, “Can we come in, Jill?”

“Why?”

“Because we need to talk.”

She reluctantly stepped aside and they walked in. The interior smelled of mold and cabbage. It was dark, which was to be expected from the boards over the front windows. A couple of old lamps provided illumination. The living room was painted a faded burgundy and filled with too much furniture, all of it shabby. Family photos were scattered atop the mantle above a fireplace that probably hadn’t been used in decades.

Still, Cheryl Beth was struck by the young woman’s beauty: the flame-colored hair falling to her shoulders pin-straight, a face with perfect features, and flawless fair skin. She seemed out of place here.

Will sat in a wooden rocking chair, while Cheryl Beth sank down to the boards of an old sofa, fearful of what the fabric might transmit to her clothes. Her Coach purse was wildly out of place. The girl settled next to her, clutching small hands in her lap.

Will waited a long time before he spoke. Then: “Jill, you told me that you were raped near the church down the street. Do you remember that?”

She gave a slight nod. “Yes.” Her voice was faint.

“You said the suspect was black.”

“Yes.”

“And that we never caught him.”

She stared into her lap and repeatedly fluffed out her hair.

“Isn’t that right, Jill?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cheryl Beth heard the soft Appalachian twang in Jill’s voice, looked around at the raggedy surroundings, and thought, There but for the Grace of God … The only thing missing was a second-hand crib and crying baby. She thought of all the girls in her high school that had gotten pregnant and never gotten out of Corbin.

Will was plainly uncomfortable in the rocker. He rearranged himself and leaned forward.

“But that never happened, did it?”

“These niggers yell at me all the time, ‘hey, baby,’ they yell. They follow me. They try to break in here…”

Cheryl Beth winced at the slur but sat there watching.

“But a black man didn’t rape you, did he?” Will’s voice was soft and soothing, inviting confession.

She sighed. “No, sir.”

He asked why she told him that.

She faced him and flushed. “Because I was afraid.” Her voice sounded grown up and battle-scarred.

After another long pause, Will said, “You don’t have to be afraid, Jill. Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

The silence lasted minutes, with the girl staring at a large mirror on the far wall. Cheryl Beth could hear the old building breathing and settling, as if every brick and piece of wainscoting wanted to tell a story, every one tragic or worse. When Jill began to speak, her voice breaking the quiet startled Cheryl Beth.

“It was last fall. October. I like to ride my bike, and when I can do the hill, I like to go to Mount Echo Park. It’s got the best views of the river and the city, even if all the loaded people over in Hyde Park have never been there. I like it that way. It’s peaceful. I always thought of it as my park…”

She looked at Cheryl Beth, who gave her best reassuring smile.

“It was Saturday afternoon and starting to get dark. The days were getting shorter, and I was in the park later than I thought. Nobody else was around. I’d stopped for one last look at the skyline, when somebody tackled me. Knocked me off my bike, knocked the air out of me. I was mostly surprised at first, and then scared. He started dragging me by my hair. I screamed but no one was around. He picked me up and held me by the throat, and he had a knife in his other hand. I’d never been so scared in my life.

“He said he’d kill me if I made another sound. He was going to rape me, he said, and if I went along, I’d live…”

The room was warm, but she wrapped her arms around herself.

“So I went along. He pulled me into the trees and made me take off my clothes. He was really picky. Wanted me to fold them. Then he made me turn away from him, and he pulled my hands back behind…” Her voice faltered.

“Take your time,” Will said.

“He handcuffed me. And I started to panic, but he held the knife to my throat and said if I wanted to live, I’d better settle down. He said the handcuffs turned him on, and he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“What happened next?”

“He raped me. He pushed my face into the dirt, pulled my legs apart, and did it from behind. It went on a long time…God, forever. He was calling me every awful name: cunt, whore, little bitch. Said that I was asking for it, riding out there by myself. When he stopped, he made me stay that way, bent over, on my knees. I couldn’t hold out my hands. It hurt. It all hurt. Then he was back for more. ‘You got lube?’ he asked. I didn’t even know what he meant at first. Of course, I didn’t have any. ‘Too bad for you,’ he said and laughed.”

She shuddered. “Then he raped me that way.”

Cheryl Beth resisted the urge to gather the young woman in her arms. She stopped herself from clawing at the worn fabric of the sofa arm. She rearranged her purse to the middle of her lap, anything for something to occupy her hands.

“When he was done,” Jill said, “he made me get dressed. My knees were scraped. The side of my face was bruised from being shoved down on the ground, and I felt blood from my behind. Then he handcuffed me again. He said he was going to drop me off, away from the park.”