the phone closer and got ready to dial.
“Bill, she’s a minor. We’re not supposed to interview her without her parent or guardian present. We did that once with that stripper kid, and it made me really uncomfortable.”
“That’s ’cause he stripped you.” I just kept staring at him. “Are you a cop, or her fucking lawyer?”
I stood my ground. “I’m trying to be an honest cop.”
Bill came out of the chair and this time I did step back. “Franny, you are really pissing me off. Take her a goddamn Coke.”
“All right, but I’m going to formally register my protest.”
The vending machine ate my dollar and burped out a can of Coke. I continued on to the interrogation rooms. The walls were a particular shade of puke green, and they seemed to hold the scent of flop sweat, alcohol, vomit, and blood. The girl was seated at the table, hands cuffed behind her back. I sat down the cold can of Coke and unlocked the handcuffs.
“Oh, you must be the good cop,” she said sarcastically, but her voice quavered on the final word.
I didn’t answer. Just pulled out the chair, swung it around, and straddled it, resting my arms on the back. “Officer Chen is calling your folks.”
“Just my mom. Dad took off four years ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it was because of me,” she said, in answer to a question I hadn’t asked. Her tone was casual, but I watched the bottom lip of that vulnerable mouth quiver slightly.
Cop Frank saw the opening. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?”
Cop Frank knew what he was supposed to say. It’s not necessary. We’re just having a friendly talk until your mom arrives. It’ll go better for you if you cooperate. But Lawyer Francis answered, “Yes, you should have a lawyer. Are you requesting one?”
She shook her head. “No, we can’t afford it.”
“There are public defenders,” I said. I figured Captain Mendelberg and a D.A. were behind the one-way glass cussing me out.
The joker girl said, “Yeah, and they suck.”
I couldn’t argue with that. There were always exceptions, but most P.D.s were young, overworked, and underpaid. Or angry attorneys from white-shoe law firms forced to do pro bono work. Then I remembered I knew one of the exceptions. He’d been a year ahead of me at Columbia and he was a joker; Charles Santiago Herriman. He was smart and had been inculcated by our Con Law professor Dr. Pretorius with a strong sense of outrage.
I wrote out Herriman’s name on my notepad and ripped off the page. “Here, this guy is good. Have your mom ask for him when she calls the P.D.’s office.”
“Okay, thanks.” The girl took a sip of Coke and glanced at the wall. Her upper teeth sketched her lower lip. “I was at a party. At Barrington Prep.”
I knew the school. It was a place where wealthy families sent their sons to prepare them for their future positions as legacies at Ivy League universities. “Sort of a long way from home, weren’t you?” Barrington was up the Upper West Side near Central Park.
She nodded. “I’m on the debate team at school. We debated Barrington last month. I met this boy…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “We’d been tweeting a lot, and we liked a lot of the same things—books, music—and I beat him in the debate so he knew I was smart. He invited me to a party.… Todd picked me up.” Her eyes filled with tears and her snout nose was a vivid red. She rubbed a hand across her nostrils, and snot gleamed on her skin. “I’ve never been in a Ferrari before. I felt so special…” Her voice trailed away, and her eyes filled with real tears that alternated with the red gunk. “But it was a Pig Party.”
My spine stiffened. It had begun at colleges where frat boys invited the ugliest girls they could find, and gave prizes to the boy who brought the worst. It was a nasty game and apparently it had filtered down to the high school level.
“I wanted to leave, but they said I was
“Bill, she’s a minor. We’re not supposed to interview her without her parent or guardian present. We did that once with that stripper kid, and it made me really uncomfortable.”
“That’s ’cause he stripped you.” I just kept staring at him. “Are you a cop, or her fucking lawyer?”
I stood my ground. “I’m trying to be an honest cop.”
Bill came out of the chair and this time I did step back. “Franny, you are really pissing me off. Take her a goddamn Coke.”
“All right, but I’m going to formally register my protest.”
The vending machine ate my dollar and burped out a can of Coke. I continued on to the interrogation rooms. The walls were a particular shade of puke green, and they seemed to hold the scent of flop sweat, alcohol, vomit, and blood. The girl was seated at the table, hands cuffed behind her back. I sat down the cold can of Coke and unlocked the handcuffs.
“Oh, you must be the good cop,” she said sarcastically, but her voice quavered on the final word.
I didn’t answer. Just pulled out the chair, swung it around, and straddled it, resting my arms on the back. “Officer Chen is calling your folks.”
“Just my mom. Dad took off four years ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it was because of me,” she said, in answer to a question I hadn’t asked. Her tone was casual, but I watched the bottom lip of that vulnerable mouth quiver slightly.
Cop Frank saw the opening. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?”
Cop Frank knew what he was supposed to say. It’s not necessary. We’re just having a friendly talk until your mom arrives. It’ll go better for you if you cooperate. But Lawyer Francis answered, “Yes, you should have a lawyer. Are you requesting one?”
She shook her head. “No, we can’t afford it.”
“There are public defenders,” I said. I figured Captain Mendelberg and a D.A. were behind the one-way glass cussing me out.
The joker girl said, “Yeah, and they suck.”
I couldn’t argue with that. There were always exceptions, but most P.D.s were young, overworked, and underpaid. Or angry attorneys from white-shoe law firms forced to do pro bono work. Then I remembered I knew one of the exceptions. He’d been a year ahead of me at Columbia and he was a joker; Charles Santiago Herriman. He was smart and had been inculcated by our Con Law professor Dr. Pretorius with a strong sense of outrage.
I wrote out Herriman’s name on my notepad and ripped off the page. “Here, this guy is good. Have your mom ask for him when she calls the P.D.’s office.”
“Okay, thanks.” The girl took a sip of Coke and glanced at the wall. Her upper teeth sketched her lower lip. “I was at a party. At Barrington Prep.”
I knew the school. It was a place where wealthy families sent their sons to prepare them for their future positions as legacies at Ivy League universities. “Sort of a long way from home, weren’t you?” Barrington was up the Upper West Side near Central Park.
She nodded. “I’m on the debate team at school. We debated Barrington last month. I met this boy…” She cleared her throat and tried again. “We’d been tweeting a lot, and we liked a lot of the same things—books, music—and I beat him in the debate so he knew I was smart. He invited me to a party.… Todd picked me up.” Her eyes filled with tears and her snout nose was a vivid red. She rubbed a hand across her nostrils, and snot gleamed on her skin. “I’ve never been in a Ferrari before. I felt so special…” Her voice trailed away, and her eyes filled with real tears that alternated with the red gunk. “But it was a Pig Party.”
My spine stiffened. It had begun at colleges where frat boys invited the ugliest girls they could find, and gave prizes to the boy who brought the worst. It was a nasty game and apparently it had filtered down to the high school level.
“I wanted to leave, but they said I was
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