CHAPTER 4
Melissa
It takes a few days before Declan and I meet up again. I escort Rosana to his office, along with her mother Vilma, and the interpreter who’s assisting us due to Vilma’s limited English.
Declan and Detective Melo stand as we walk into Declan’s office, sitting only once we take our places at the conference table.
“Rosana, Vilma, this is Assistant District Attorney Declan O’Brien, he’ll be handling your case in court,” I say.
“Hi, Rosana,” Declan says as the interpreter communicates the conversation.
I don’t hear well in groups. There’s too much extra sound when more than one person is speaking, which is why today will be challenging with the interpreter present. It’s moments like these I count on my ability to lip read.
I settle in, hoping I don’t miss anything important and smiling at Rosana encouragingly when she glances from Declan to me. We’ve established a rapport over the last few weeks, but it’s taken a few meetings and some brief counseling sessions for her to warm up to me. Like most victims of ongoing and severe sexual assault, she’s defensive and closed off.
I touch her hand lightly when she doesn’t respond. “Nothing formal will happen today. Declan just wants to meet you and perhaps get a feel for how ready you are to testify.”
She tugs her shirt down over her belly as her attention darts back to Declan. She’s a bit overweight and curvy, making her appear older than fourteen. She’s self-conscious about her appearance in general, but it’s more obvious today.
I’m not sure why until she leans closer to me. “Is he a model?” she asks.
I try not to grin because the last thing Declan needs is a bigger ego. “No. He’s the lawyer who’ll be fighting for you in court.”
“That’s not what I mean,” she says, keeping her attention on me. “Was he a model before this thing?”
She’s mumbling, and I’m struggling to hear her. But Declan picked up on what she said without any problems. “No, I just take pretty pictures,” he says with a wink. “But I’m sure your pics are prettier than mine, sweetie.”
He’s trying to be charming, but this isn’t the right way to connect to Rosana. Her awe of Declan instantly vanishes, displaced with anger. “The only person who ever took my picture was Iker, and I didn’t have any clothes on when he did it,” she snaps.
Declan stops smiling, his attention shifting to Detective Melo. “Did you know about this?”
“I do now,” Melo says. “Rosana, this is important. Why didn’t you tell us before?”
She shrugs, her stare fixing on the carpet. “Rosana,” I say gently, trying to draw her attention before she shuts down.
“You shouldn’t have told him,” her mother mutters. If it wasn’t for the interpreter doing her job, none of us would know what she said.
I start to defend Rosana, but Declan chimes in, cutting me off. “She did the right thing in telling us, and if we have proof, I can bring additional charges against Iker.” He looks at Rosana. “It’s illegal for anyone to photograph a child this way. Do you understand? He had no right doing this, and I’m going make sure he’s held accountable.”
Her mother tightens her jaw as the interpreter explains what Declan just said. I keep my attention on the interpreter, hoping Vilma will say more, but like Rosana, Vilma is done talking.
“Rosana, I’m here to help you,” Declan says. His voice is so soft, I have to watch his lips closely while doing my best to zone out the interpreter’s speech. “But if I don’t know everything that happened, or if you’re keeping things from me, I won’t be able to defend you to the best of my ability. Is there anything else Iker has done or said that you haven’t told us or the police about?”
Rosana crosses her arms, shaking her head slowly. I can’t tell if she’s being honest or if she’s staying quiet because her mother told her to. I don’t know Declan well, but if Rosana wasn’t underage, Declan would be throwing her mother out to question Rosana privately.
“Tell me about the pictures he took of you,” Declan says.
Again, Rosana shakes her head. Detective Melo stretches his foot out and taps mine lightly. I don’t want to overwhelm Rosana, but like Detective Melo, I realize Rosana is starting to see us as the enemy. She’s never going to make it through trial like this.
“Rosana,” I say, “I know you don’t want to talk about the pictures or what happened when he took them right now. And that’s okay, we can talk about it when you’re ready. But could you tell us if he took them with his phone?”
She shakes her head.
I hold up a hand when Declan stirs. “When you say, no, do you mean you don’t want to talk about it, or that he didn’t use his phone?”
For a long moment, Rosana sits with her arms crossed, appearing to shield herself from the world. Declan starts to say something, but I hold my hand out, hoping he trusts me enough to take the lead. One of the hardest things about working with victims who suffer severe trauma is you have to be patient. It’s the only way they’ll open and trust. Sometimes, it takes them an outrageous amount of time until they finally speak.
When I start thinking that today won’t be the day she’ll tell us, a thick tear rolls down her cheek. “He used an old camera. The one where the picture comes out of it.”
Which means he wanted a hard copy and nothing we could trace on his phone.
“Did he keep the pictures?” I ask.
She nods.
“Where are they, Rosana?” I ask.
Her gaze goes blank. “There’s a loose floorboard under his bed where he used to sleep. He keeps them there.”
“In the apartment above yours where your uncle rented him a room?” I ask. At her nod, Declan and Detective Melo exchange glances.
“What else is in there?” I ask.
“A video camera,” she says.
Shit. “Did he ever use on you?” I ask.
She shrugs like she doesn’t know, but I’m sure that she does.
When it becomes clear that Rosana is done talking, Declan turns to the detective. “Go see Botsko, tell him I need a search and seizure ASAP and that I want it in front of the judge within the hour.”
“For just the room?” Melo asks, his eyebrow puckered slightly. He’s pushing for more, but respects that Declan is the one who calls the shots.
“No,” Declan replies. “I want the entire apartment searched.”
“That’s my brother’s apartment,” Vilma says, her voice shrill following the interpreter’s translation. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
It takes some effort for me not to react. She’s trying to protect her brother from what the search and seizure might turn up. I only wish she was that protective of her daughter.
Declan fixes her with a knowing stare and tight smile. “Then he has nothing to worry about, does he?”
Melo excuses himself. I turn to Vilma and start asking her about her hometown in Honduras. I’m trying to keep her here. If I don’t, she’ll warn her brother and God knows who else. Rosana confided in me that she told Vilma about the sexual assault. Vilma, an undocumented immigrant, was scared to get officials involved. Aside from telling her daughter to lock herself in their apartment, she did nothing about the incident, forcing her to interact with Iker at family functions to “keep the peace”.
I don’t like Vilma. Her weakness and ineffective nurturing put her daughter in harm’s way. She reminds me of my birth mother in that respect, and sometimes it takes a great deal for me to remain calm and not lash out at her. But Vilma is afraid, and despite her mistakes and everything she’s done wrong by Rosana, I know she loves her daughter. Even though she does a shitty job of showing it.
“Can I go to the bathroom?” the interpreter says on Vilma’s behalf.
“Can it wait?” Declan asks, staring right at Vilma.
“No,” Vilma says.
Like I suspected, her English isn’t as limited as she told us. Declan smiles. It’s not a friendly smile. “Fine, one of my detectives will escort you just so you know where it is.”
Vilma scowls. “I can go, too,” the interpreter offers.
“I don’t need an interpreter for that,” Vilma says.
Ah, yes, her English is just fine.
“No problem,” Declan says, keeping his smile and lifting the receiver to his phone. “Detective Hernandez speaks plenty of Spanish should you suddenly need an interpreter in the bathroom―Oh, hey, Valencia, it’s Declan. Could you do me a favor? I have the guardian to one of my lead witnesses here and she needs to use the restroom. Do you mind escorting her?” He sighs. “Yeah, ordinarily I wouldn’t ask, but I have this pesky search and seizure request going before the judge involving her brother’s place within the hour, and I can’t spare anyone.” He grins. “Thanks, Valencia. I owe you.”
Vilma’s scowl fades and she begins speaking rapidly. “Am I under arrest?” the interpreter asks for her.
“Not at all,” Declan responds. “Consider it a friendly service here at the D.A.’s office.”
He barely finishes responding before Detective Valencia Hernandez knocks on the door and pokes her head in, smiling brightly. “Hey, Declan.”
“Hey, V. This is Ms. Secco. Would you mind showing her to the restroom?”
“I’d love to,” she says before turning to Vilma and speaking in Spanish.
Vilma walks out in silence, but not before making it clear she doesn’t want Rosana questioned outside her presence. The interpreter meets Declan with a grin. She’s young, clearly impressed and already in love with him.
Declan glances over at me, pausing when he realizes that no, I’m not impressed, and that unlike with the interpreter, his performance didn’t make my panties wet.
I turn to Rosana. “Did you finish your art project?” I ask. “The one with the clay?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet,” she admits. Although she isn’t looking at me, something shifts in her features and she smiles. “I finished the one with the spray paint. My teacher really liked that one.”
“Will you show it to me sometime?” I ask.
“Yeah. But it’s dark,” she says. “I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“Is it darker than the first one you showed me?” I try not to cringe when I recall the sketch she did of a woman stabbing a man.
She laughs and finally looks at me. “You know I was just trying to scare you right, Miss Fenske?”
“Oh, and you did,” I admit, laughing.
“You like art?” Declan asks.
Rosana’s attention returns to the floor. “Little bit,” she mumbles.
No, she actually loves it. I don’t correct her, giving her a moment to connect with Declan.
“You think you can draw something for me?” he asks.
“You want me draw you a picture?” Rosana she asks, her voice challenging.
“Yeah,” he says. “Why not?”
She narrows her eyes, wondering it seems if he’s placating her. “What do you want me to draw?”
“How about me?” he says.
“You?” she repeats.
“Sure. Draw me as you see me,” he says. “Or, I don’t know, on a white stallion with the sun setting behind me. Just be sure to catch my right side.” He turns a little, showing his profile. “It’s my best side.”
It’s taking all I can not to roll my eyes, especially when the interpreter starts laughing. “Oh, D.A. O’Brien, you’re so funny!” she gushes.
Rosana shoots me a quizzical look and huffs. “This is the guy who’s gonna save me?”
She laughs at my smirk. “Just be sure to catch his good side, Rosana.”