Part 1: The Fall
Chapter 3
Tuesday, March 9th, 1982
Journal Entry:
I hate him! I hate him! I screamed all night until my throat went raw. I can't get out. He hit me when I tried to run away. He told me he wouldn't feed me until I did as he says.
He touched her. Flower. He hurt her really bad. It's no wonder she's so quiet and still. She's also mean to me when he's gone. She tore up my book.
I just want to leave. Go home. Why did this happen to me?! What'd I do?
Where's my mom? Mommy where are you? Daddy, please! Help me!
The feeling at first was that of being constricted. I couldn't move. I'm standing in a white room, with four walls and no windows and no door. I'm alone. The air was only mine to breathe and when I took a deep breath in, I choked on it. Henry David Thoreau wrote "I love to be alone. I never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude."
In that white room with no way to see the world and no door to invite anyone in, I felt the freest yet at the same time trapped. Trapped not by loneliness but by being alone. The knowledge that my only friends were the walls; I ached for more.
In the solitude, I sought companionship. I willed it to be and in my most desperate of hours, I saw people. Their eyes were like coal. Black as the night. Staring right through me as if I wasn't even there. One of them, a woman, walked up to me, her mouth moved, and I heard a voice.
A deep vibrating hum like that of a jet engine. It was loud. It hurt my head. It throbbed with pain as the rest of the people joined in. My whole body vibrated, shook, as the pain spread to every bone in my body. I went to speak, to yell, but nothing came out. Not even a whisper. All those black eyes kept staring. They didn't turn away. They didn't stop.
Covering my ears, I yelled until my throat rubbed raw and tears stung my eyes. Their voices drowned mine out. Though in a room full of people, I was more alone than I'd ever been. There, but not seen. My voice silenced. Surrounded by the intentional blind and ignorant minded; lonely.
Oh, how I long for solitude.
~"I've seen your face before
In shadows on the wall…"~
The throbbing in my head turned to throbbing in my right leg from the vibrations that tingle up from the wooden floorboard. The nightmare faded as I awoke into the dark bedroom. The time on the clock was 2:30. Shadows moved across the ceiling. Jerking up, I saw white lights bounce from floor to ceiling down the hallway before the shadows rushed into the room as a blinding light sparked waves of stabbing pain throughout my head.
As the saying went "all the world was a stage" and I was suddenly lit up in lights as hands grabbed my limbs from all sides as I was yanked off the bed and shoved to the floor. A rush of air was pushed out of my lungs as I was rolled onto my stomach. I tried not to panic but how could I not? I was terrified. My face hit the floor and pain busted through my skull followed by white hot sparks behind my eyes. I was kicked right before metal handcuffs pinched tightly into my wrists.
The police. I wish I could say I was surprised, but a small part, the part that worried, thought differently. And until I found out what the hell this was about, I worried. I was left there, on the warm wooden floor, eyes locked onto the white wall as I felt the thumping vibrations of the officers walking over the floorboards. Against the bare skin of my back, I signed the words that I couldn't get out of my mouth. Hoping like hell it'd get their attention. It didn't.
Someone grabbed my shoulder and the handcuff, yanking up and back, twisting my arms around as I was rolled onto my knees where I stayed pushed up against the side of the wall. The name tag on the officer's shirt was Baez. A Hispanic male police officer. Baez looked pissed. Upset he had to be babysitting. I wasn't happy about it either.
~"Splinters of broken light
Echos that spear the night…"~
A female plainclothes detective walked into the room. I knew she was a detective from the LAPD badge she flashed. Reading her lips, she asked, "Gil Grissom?"
Yes, I nodded.
"Where is she?"
She? She who? I had no idea what was going on. Why would this lady think otherwise?
When I gave no verbal answer to the question, she said, "We're going to tear this place apart. Do yourself a favor and just tell us where she is."
Wish I could, but I can't. Those answers were in my brain and on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't voice any of it to the detective. I couldn't voice anything to anyone. My hands were signing the words I couldn't speak. The detective wouldn't have known what the fingerspelling or hand gestures meant anyways. Not too many people did know.
I had to use my voice. I tried, or at least I thought I did. My jaw moved up and down, lips made the shapes and tongue hit the back of my teeth and tensed as I felt a vibration in my throat. I thought I said, "I'm deaf."
Probably. I had no idea. I couldn't hear myself.
~"Is this the fall
Or is this the fall?..."~
That was my reality; had been for my whole life. Ignored and forgotten. Or if seen, pushed around and misunderstood. The wall was cool against my head as I rested there, as the all too familiar pain from my heart dropped deeper into my gut. Helpless. Desperate as I wanted to scream out my frustration. Closing my eyes against the accusations, I tried to calm down and control myself. My breath rattled my chest and shook as I let it out. Trapped. Trapped inside my own body and mind as I couldn't communicate with anyone in the room.
Legend was that King Solomon possessed a magic ring that allowed him to speak to birds and animals, it was a misinterpretation of a biblical passage "he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes," 1 King 4:33. At that moment, I wished to possess such a magic ring, not to speak to birds or animals, but to another human being.
The detective and I stared at one another for a long time as we waited while the police searched the rooms of my father's house. She was probably wondering if I was guilty, as I wondered if they were going to find what they were looking for.
~"Is this the fall..."~
An hour later, Officer Baez pulled around back under a parking garage attached to the Central Jail and got out of the police car, leaving me in the backseat. More police were waiting outside. One of them, a young woman with blond hair, opened the door and peered in. Under dark eyeliner and shadow her lips moved but I couldn't see what she was saying. I could tell she was chewing gum while speaking. Trying to differentiate between a syllable and chew was impossible. I was good at reading lips, but not that good.
Her eyes darted down, and I felt immediately embarrassed. Clad only in my boxers, I was removed from the backseat of the police car and exposed to the whole world. If the whole world consisted of the staff at the L.A. County Jail.
Everyone was talking too quickly while they conversed. It was all disjointing and confusing as I tried to obey their orders while at the same time my head spun from all the fluorescent lights once we entered the jail. I got migraines. There were days when I didn't go outside at all due to all the lights. Two officers grabbed me as I was shown to a room and an awaiting chair in front of a row of desks behind glass. All the walls were white with blue trim around all the doors.
On one of the glass doors, I saw the word 'Booking'. Above another door was 'Single Cell Holding' another had 'Group Cell Holding', and so on. There was another door with the word 'Medical' printed on it. Another glass door read 'Transfer/Release'.
The blond officer's name was Gordon, and she was asking me a question. Behind her was a sign that read: You are at The Los Angeles County Detention Center.
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
Rules of Conduct While in the Booking Process:
- You will be given a copy of charges and will be allowed to use the telephone at the conclusion of the booking process.
- Stay in your assigned seat unless directed by an officer.
- No loud talking. Do not engage in unnecessary conversations with the other inmates in this area.
- Raise your hand if you have a question for the staff.
-Do not lie down on the seats. Keep your feet on the floor.
- Keep your hands in plain sight.
- Do not reach into pockets or other places on your person—
~"I've passed this way before
Walked through the open door…"~
Officer Gordon blocked the sign before I could finish reading it as one of the officers took the handcuffs off my wrists.
/I'm deaf./ Pointing to her lips and then my eyes, I signed, /Read lips./
"You can read lips?" she asked.
/Yes./ Then I mimed writing. I always carried around a notepad and pen just for these moments. You never knew when you had to tell the police you were innocent of a crime.
Officer Baez handed a bag with my wallet in it to one of the officers at the desk behind the glass. She took it and went through the contents.
Officer Gordon asked, "Are you going to cause us any trouble?"
I shook my head and signed, /No./
She picked up a pair of navy-colored scrubs and sandals off a metal rack and handed them to me. I quickly dressed and sat back down before being rewarded with a pen and piece of paper.
"Name."
~"Walked through the darkest night
Throughout the brightest light…"~
All four officers stood around and watched as I wrote 'Gil Grissom' before also putting: 'I have no idea why I'm here. I also need medical treatment. I feel sick. I have a migraine. Can I talk to a lawyer?'
Officer Gordon took the pen and paper and read it over. She spoke something to the other officers who grabbed me once again as I was shown to the medical desks. I was getting tired of being man-handled but there wasn't anything I could do about it. If I yanked away, I'd be hit. I was in too much pain already and I didn't want to add to it.
A male nurse took the slip of paper from Gordon and read it before typing something onto the typewriter. He pulled the sheet of paper and passed it off to someone else. Who passed it onto another nurse who entered through a door.
The male nurse took my blood pressure and temperature. He wrote on a piece of paper and showed it to me. 'Have you taken anything recently? Any prescription medication? Recreational substances? Alcohol?'
I nodded and mimed writing. He handed me the pen and paper. I wrote: 'I had 2 beers with dinner.'
He wrote back, 'We have to verify by taking a urine sample. We can't give you anything until we make sure it won't counteract with anything in your system.'
'Can I get a lawyer?' I asked again.
He frowned as he wrote his answer, 'Later. Right now, we need to get you through medical.' He gestured for me to follow. I did.
We went into the room labeled 'Medical' where I was given a cup for a urine sample before being shown to the restroom where an officer stood watch. After all that was done, I was put into restraints. The metal restraints were wrapped around my waist as a moment of panic tensed my body. An officer took a step forward and I immediately pushed the fear down and tried to relax. And breathe.
~"Is this the fall..."~
My body shook as I took it all in, watched everything being done, and tried to tell myself that it was just precaution. These police officers didn't know me. They were just doing their job.
I still didn't know what was going on or why I'd been arrested.
Then I was taken to the 'Booking' room and shown to another plastic chair to sit in. There I waited. And waited. What was that expression? Hurry up and wait. It was a long wait. Checking the time on the clock, it was after two in the morning...I woke up around two-thirty. The clock didn't work. Time didn't exist here. There were several people waiting before me who were taken through the booking process and then through the door marked 'Transfer/Release'.
I eyed the door as I hoped that pretty soon, I'd be walking free through those doors and into the morning sun.
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
It was a busy night as more people started to fill up the room. Two men started to argue and had to be separated. Another man started spitting and had to be restrained and placed in a chair with straps with a hood over his head. A woman was trying to fight Officer Gordon and had to be wrestled to the floor and then put into a holding cell. There were drunks and druggies and people with bruises over their faces and scratches and cuts on their arms and legs.
I was going to get sick. I felt the nervous nausea rising up my throat. The overhead fluorescent lights weren't helping. I took a deep breath then another as I tried to force it back down. The last thing I needed was to get sick all over the jail floor. My head kept spinning. Hopefully they'd hurry up with the medication soon. I wanted to get up and leave but knew I couldn't. By the time Officer Gordon walked back over, I'd managed to get through the worst of the nausea.
Like a dog on a leash, Gordon led me through the booking process as we entered a room where I was placed in front of a grey wall. In front of it was a camera. My mugshot was taken and then my fingerprints. Officer Atkins shoved me into another room. His lips were moving but the words were lost in the swirling of the lights and pounding in my head. Vertigo set in and I couldn't hold it down any longer. I spun, hit my knees, and got sick as tears stung my eyes.
~"Is this the fall..."~
Atkins grabbed me hard and tossed me across the room. I hit the floor and laid there, staring at the horribly tiled ceiling, as everything spiraled and spun and pounded. It was too loud. The world was too loud all at once. There was too much to see, too much to think about, and too much pain. I couldn't imagine what it'd be like if I could hear all the loud. There were times when I was glad that I was deaf. This was one of them. There was a buzzing, a ringing, in my head. I heard that.
The world was still tilting as I was pulled from the floor and led to a room where I was searched more thoroughly. I'd never felt more humiliated before in my life. It even topped the time I was kissed by Madeline Hass at recess. Now, thinking about it, it was kind of sweet. Two eight-year-olds, sharing a book on the swing set. A fond memory to think about and smile with warmth.
This was nothing like that. This would never be a fond memory. It was cold. I shivered against the cold as I stood naked in the room, searched and told to spread my legs, before being given back the scrubs to put on. Then the metal restraints once again trapped me completely.
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
Officer Gordon approached and motioned for me to follow her to the property clerks' desk where I was given a sheet of paper with all my information on it along with the pending charges against me. Another sheet was passed for me to sign. It had a list of my personal belongings, which wasn't much. Just my wallet.
The charges were as followed: Resisting Arrest. Obstruction. Kidnapping. Conspiracy to commit child endangerment. Suspicion of murder.
I stared at the charges and shook at the audacity of such lies. Murder? Child endangerment? Kidnapping?! Who had I supposedly kidnapped? Where is she? The words from the detective.
~"Is this the fall..."~
Officer Gordon yanked the invisible leash once again. Back at Medical, I was finally given medication for the migraine. Then I was in a room with rows of chairs, payphones that lined the walls, and there was a desk behind a glass wall where another officer sat.
Gordon gave me a booklet to read. At the top was printed 'Los Angeles County Police Department'. Below that was 'Jessup Irving, Chief of Police' and below the name was 'Inmate Handbook'. I was going to be an inmate.
She got my attention and said, "You're on a no-bond hold. You have to wait here. Okay?"
Was that a joke? Where else was I going to go? I nodded anyway. Then signed, /I want to speak with a lawyer. L-A-W-Y-E-R./
My chest was hurting. I couldn't breathe. It suddenly became all too real. Too loud again in my head. I was panicking. I had to calm down. Take a breath and breathe.
She pointed across the room to the desk. "Go see Sargent Jones, give him that paper," she said before leaving as the door shut in my face.
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
Alone. Again. Just breathe, I told myself before turning around to face the room. Walking over to the desk where Sargent Jones sat, I slid the paper through the gap under the glass. Jones signed his name at the bottom, passed papers around, and then a few minutes later I was given a wristband. An officer stepped over and grabbed the wristband and wrapped it around my left wrist.
Looking at it, it had my name and information printed on it like I was some patient in a hospital. Jones handed the paper back and told me to take a seat. With nothing else to do, I sat down and read the booklet.
~"Is this the fall..."~
There was a picture of how to make the beds properly, it said if I needed help to contact the Corrections Officer. There was a section for people with disabilities. I never classified myself as disabled as I was equally as able as anyone else. What separated people was drive. Even people with all five senses could lack the drive or will to do something. I could do everything hearing people could do, just differently. But right then, I was glad to read that I had access to a TTY and could request a translator.
I walked back over to the desk of the Corrections Officer, Sergeant Jones. He glanced up with a neutral expression on his face. He looked uninterested as I showed him the page and pointed to it.
/I'm deaf./ I then pointed to the booklet.
Jones let out a breath and said, "Sit back down."
I mimed writing again but Jones just stared right through me. /I want to talk to a lawyer. I need a translator./
Jones wrote something on a piece of paper and showed it to me. He'd written: 'Sit. Down'.
I hadn't meant for him to write it down. I pointed to myself and then mimed writing again.
He showed me the paper and said once again, "Sit. Down."
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
It was no use. Just like their words, my signs were falling on deaf ears, or blind eyes and an ignorant mind. Assholes. I shook my head and sat back down. I spotted a TTY on a table near the payphones. Getting up, I walked over to use it. As I got closer, I could tell it'd been damaged. There was duct tape holding it together and the screen was cracked, and some of the buttons were missing. There were no lights or words on the cracked display screen. It was broken.
~"Is this the fall..."~
The panic was back. I felt the invisible leash around my neck getting tighter. I was choking as I walked back over to Sargent Jones and pointed to the TTY. Jones held up the piece of paper again that told me to sit down, like a good dog. I tried to be cooperative, but I was angry. And frustrated as my chest hurt. I'd been repeatedly ignored and dismissed. I was hungry and had no idea why I was even a suspect or who was kidnapped and why—
Arms grabbed ahold of my arms as I was forcibly shoved in the wall as my hand was twisted around my back. My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes from the pain. Something hit the back of my legs so hard the force sent me to my knees. Another strike to my back and I collapsed to the floor. It got hard to breathe as an officer used his knee to hold me down as I was once again restrained. Then the pressure was gone as I was lifted by several officers and carried down a long hallway past holding cells full of people.
The cell door to an empty holding cell was opened and I was dropped to the floor. The restraints were removed. The officers backed away out of the cell. The door was shut, and I was alone, again.
~"Or is this the fall?..."~
Time stood still in that room. More time went by as my stomach gnawed away, growling as I grew hungrier. Throat felt raw and itchy due to dehydration. Everything hurt from my head on down to my feet. Tense and tight muscles that throbbed in time with my rapid heartbeat that pulsed in my ears. This was what it felt like to be completely alone in the world. Miserable.
What felt like hours later, the leash yanked. I was escorted away to a police car where I was shoved into the backseat. The sun was barely a whisper on the horizon as the officer drove to a police station. I was pulled to an interrogation room where I sat at the table. The police officer glanced back at me once before leaving the room and shut the door.
~"Is this the fall...?"~
I sat wondering what in the hell was going on before the door opened and a detective walked in. The same woman who'd been in my house. Another man walked in and signed, letting me know that he was an interpreter. His name was David.
The only thing I wanted to know was what this was about. I asked David, /Why did they raid my house? Why have I been arrested? I haven't done anything./
David spoke to the detective, "He wants to know why he was arrested. He also didn't do it."
The detective didn't answer my questions. Instead, she said to me while David signed her words, "Mr. Grissom, I'm Detective Annie Kramer."
/Why am I here?/ I asked again. I wasn't going to mention that I could read lips. That was my secret. /Is this about my dad? Did you find him?/
The world looked at me and saw a disability. Statistically, deaf people were more likely to be the victim and not the perpetrator. The hearing world viewed us as vulnerable, maybe even stupid, while they felt things like pity for me and relief for themselves. Thank God, they'd say, that they weren't deaf.
I learned very quickly how others saw me. I also saw them for what they were: afraid. I had several options in this room. I could play along and be the weak man and act stupid, or I could show them they couldn't fool me.
I played along. Let them reveal their cards and what they knew, while I did the unexpected. They weren't the ones in control. I was.
"Your father is missing?" Detective Kramer's eyes moved over my face, trying to read me.
/Yes/ I signed. /Arthur Grissom. I filed a missing person's report last night./
"Before we get into that, I have a few questions for you about Saturday night. Tell us about it."
They knew this already. I could tell. She just wanted my side of it so she could twist it. That's what they did, the police, they twisted the truth. /We were at Parker's Bench most of the evening. Me and my dad. We left at two in the morning. I drove him home then went to work./
"Where do you work?"
/My father's warehouse. Monarch Coffee Distribution. He imports coffee. I'm the night janitor./
"Did you drive your car?"
/I don't have a car. I used his. A 1970 Jaguar XJ6 sedan. It's also missing./
"Nice car." Detective Kramer was pressing the button on her pen. The pen opened and closed. She wore a wedding ring on her left ring finger. She also never took her eyes off me as she asked, "Parker's Bench?"
/It's a bar by the port where we work./
Kramer had a file folder in front of her on the table; she'd brought it in with her. "Let's back up a bit, okay? Tell me about that day."
She was trying to get me comfortable, hoping I'd make an error in my version of the story. Substantiated story. Everything was provable. /I slept for most of it. I work nights. I think I got up around noon, then went to the library at two o'clock—No, one o'clock. It takes me forty minutes to walk to the library. I left my house around one. I got there around two. Left after four. Walked home—that was another forty minutes—and then I headed to the bar./
As the sun was starting to set, I entered the house on the corner of Palos Verdes and 13th Street and saw only the light from the small table lamp on. There was no trench coat on the coat rack or shoes by the door. There was no smell of food cooking on the stove or the smell of whiskey from an open bottle on the counter. In place of the usual bottle was a note that caught my attention.
It read: 'I'll be at Parker's Bench.'
I deposited the library book and camera on the desk in my room before leaving the house, locking the door behind me. As I stood on the porch, I saw on the horizon, just beyond the neighborhood, the cranes and lights of the Port of Los Angeles.
I continued my story as I told her, /Drank beer and watched the baseball game with my dad./
I took a sip of beer as I snatched the pack of cigarettes off the counter. They were my father's, but he never not shared. I lit one up as I watched the baseball game that was happening up in San Francisco as the Giants hosted the Los Angeles Dodgers.
/And then…like I said, we left at two/ I finished the story.
It was almost two in the morning when my father stumbled outside. In his hand was a cigarette. Arthur took one look at me and huffed out a breath of smoke. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth before gesturing for me to 'come on'. I followed behind the old man to the Jaguar.
Arthur tossed me the keys. "Drive," he said.
I already figured who the 'she' was they were searching for by the way they were looking at one another. Kramer and David. I purposely didn't mention her to see their reactions, and I got it. Their eyes were untrusting. Lips tight. They had reason to not like my answer. The library book? Was that how they found me?
I shifted in the chair, making myself uncomfortable. This was my game; they just didn't know it.
Detective Kramer leaned on the table and smiled slightly; it wasn't pleasant. It was getting hard to breathe as I let the room creep inside, feeling the isolation. "How long between the time you arrived home before you went to the bar?"
I shrugged. /A few minutes. Enough time to drop the book off. Why?/
"Who was with you at the library?"
David's stare was a hard one. So much for an ally. /Tell me about Sara/ he signed Kramer's words.
Where is she? Sara. I figured correctly. She was the one who was missing. Kidnapped. Child endangerment. Oh, boy, what'd I get myself into now?
/What's going on?/ Ignorance. Poor deaf guy had no clue what was going on. He's not smart enough to put two and two together to get Sara's the one's who's missing. /Why are you asking about Sara? Is this about her? Is she okay?/
As we sat in silence, I thought about Saturday afternoon. The last time I saw her.
Detective Kramer asked, "How old are you?"
I let myself go numb as I answered, /Twenty-five./ Reality setting in.
She nodded and said, "Tell me why a twenty-five-year-old man is going to the library with a ten-year-old girl."
My back started to sweat as I had a hard time breathing through my nose. /Do I need a lawyer? I think I need one./ Panic.
"He's asking about a lawyer," David said to Kramer.
For the first time since entering the room, Kramer took her eyes off me. Addressing David, she asked, "Did he request one?"
"He asked, 'Do I need a lawyer' and then he said he thinks he needs one. Has anyone read him his rights?"
"I didn't. He doesn't know he has the right to an attorney," Kramer said.
My Miranda Rights meant nothing. She was also right. I didn't specifically ask for one. It was a test. It was also grounds for immediate release once in front of a judge. I assumed this was being recorded, if not, David was not only a witness but an accessory.
Kramer smiled, saying, "Mr. Grissom, I'm just gathering the facts in this case. You're helping us understand the timeline of what happened. That's all. If you're innocent, you have nothing to worry about. The way I see it, you have two options. You can cooperate with us. Once we're done, you can leave. Or don't, and you'll be taken back to jail immediately. Do you want to go back to jail, or will you continue helping us?"
I wiped my hands on my jeans before answering, /I want to help./
"Okay. Tell me why you were hanging around a child that's not yours."
/One day, at the library, I caught her stealing. Her parents weren't around. I walked her home, to a motel. I wanted to let her parents know what had happened. Her mother slammed the door in my face. A week later, she was back at the library. She walked. I thought…/ What was I thinking? /I wanted her to be safe. She was walking all by herself, through that neighborhood. It's dangerous. I only wanted to make sure she got home safely./
"So, you started walking with her to and from the motel. Correct?"
/Yes. Is Sara okay?/ They didn't answer my question.
"Have you ever touched her?"
Touched her how? As I thought about how to answer the question, the detective asked it again. I rushed the response, /No./
Kramer gave a nod and asked, "You never held her hand or grabbed her arm?"
I remembered the bruises on Sara's arms. The bruises on her mother's face. /I never hurt her./
"That wasn't what I asked. Did you ever hold her hand, or—"
/I've held her hand. Yes. While crossing the busy intersections./
"So, you lied about not touching her."
God, she was good. I almost smiled but held the panicked face of someone being railroaded. I stared at the detective and shook my head. I hadn't meant to lie. Honest. I knew her game. She was making it seem like I had lied. /That's not what I meant. When you asked the question—/
"Mr. Grissom, did you lie about not touching her?"
/Not intentionally/ I combated as the sweat started to roll down my back. It was hot in the room. /Is Sara okay? Did something happen to her? That's all I want to know. Is she okay?/
Kramer asked, "What time did you drop her off at the motel?"
I had to push out the air in my lungs to ease the nerves. /It was after four. Close to four-thirty, I think./
"You're not denying that you were having a relationship with Sara. You're not denying that she runs away with you on Saturdays," Kramer said.
/We weren't running away—/
"We've got your notes, the book that you checked out for her on your library card. How did you think we found you? You've been meeting a ten-year-old girl—"
/Please, just tell me. Is she okay?/ Put this poor man out of his misery already and answer the question. I was also right that it was the library book that sent the police to my doorstep.
Kramer glanced at David before telling me with very cold eyes, "She's missing."
That's when I let it in. The pain and sorrow I felt with the knowledge that she'd been taken. I shut my eyes against it, trying to deny the truth. Pushing deep breaths in and out, I reopened my eyes. /How could—/ I stopped myself as I fought down the grief. And it was the grief that I felt. I wanted to apologize to her. I was so sorry.
Kramer opened the file folder and laid out the notes that Sara and I had written to each other. "You wrote her notes?"
/She likes to ask questions. She's very smart for her age./ In front of me was the note with the day and time for us to meet at the motel so that I could walk with her. /That note was meant for her mother./
It had to have happened after I'd dropped her off. Had someone been in the motel room already, or did they follow her inside? Did I see anything? Had I taken the suspects picture? I hadn't developed the photos that were on my Nikon 35mm film camera yet. Was it Green Pickup Man? Mr. Red Shirt?
/If you think I might have seen something, I didn't./
Kramer asked, "Did you ever drive Mr. Sidle's car?"
I glanced at David to make sure that I understood the question, before shaking my head. /Who's Mr. Sidle?/
"Sara's father."
/I only drive my father's car./
Kramer was annoyed. "Mr. Sidle is also missing. His car was found in the parking lot. We found blood in the trunk." She pulled a photograph from the file and slid it over so I could see it. It was a palm print. "We also matched these fingerprints to your prints."
The prints were on the trunk hood of the car. I shrugged. /I don't know. I don't remember ever touching his car, but I could've while picking Sara up. I always had to wait for her to come down. I could have used it as leverage to stand from tying my shoe or something. I've leaned against several of those cars./
"We think someone took Sara after they murdered her mother and possibly her father."
I stopped breathing as my whole body tensed at her words. Sara's mom was dead?! That stunned me. I really was hoping that Sara had just ran away. That could be the case. Maybe she ran away. /I didn't do it./
"Sara is missing. Her mother is dead. Her father is missing. Your father is missing. All over the course of the same weekend. The only one not dead or missing is you. Now, you see why I might think you know more than what you're saying."
/I don't./ There was a twisting in my gut as my mind raced to figure out what to say to make them believe me. Trapped once again. Shaking my head in desperation, I signed my story once again, /After the library, I dropped my book off at home and went to the bar. I watched the baseball game. Jerry Reuss threw a no-hitter. At two, we left. I dropped my dad off at home. I went to work./
"What did you do Sunday?"
I closed my eyes as I fought off the anger as I thought about Sunday.
It was getting too loud in my head again. My eyes were hurting from reading lips. Head hurts from the stress and the lights and not enough sleep. I was angry because Detective Kramer was accusing me of something I didn't do. I'd been warned. My dad had told me many times not to trust anyone. That they would take advantage of me. They would lie to and against me, steal, and betray me. They would break my heart. He had been right.
I answered, /I was with a woman. Catherine. 1203 Wilcox Avenue. Apartment 2A./
"You drove your dad's car to meet her?"
/No. I left the car at home so my dad would have it if he needed it. I took a cab. We were together all day. I left after one in the morning to go to work. Took another cab. Monday morning, my dad is a no show at work. He always gets in at five-thirty in the morning. We have breakfast together. When he didn't show up, I looked for him. Catherine helped. By Monday evening, I filed the missing person's report. She took me home and we had dinner. I cooked. She left before midnight./
"Why didn't she stay?"
Guilt and sorrow settled in my heart as I thought of her. We had a good time together, but she didn't love me. I didn't know if I loved her or not, but there was an ache inside as I answered, /She has a boyfriend. She called him that night from my house. They talked. Worked it out. She left to meet up with him. After she was gone, I went to sleep. Next thing I know, you're raiding my house. That's all I know. Can I go now?/
Hours later, I stared once again at the locked door and the cinder block white walls of the jail cell. There was a metal bench against the wall. I sat, closed my eyes, and I pushed out a deep breath as I shook from the uncertainty.
Words by Van Gogh entered my head. The painter had once written: 'In the springtime a bird in a cage knows very well that there's something he'd be good for; he feels very clearly that there's something to be done but he can't do it; what it is he can't clearly remember, and he has vague ideas and says to himself, 'the others are building their nests and making their little one and raising the brood', and he bangs his head against the bars of his cage.'
I never wanted to know what it felt like to be that caged bird.
They assigned me a public defender named Louis Baker. He was a small guy with tiny hands and beady eyes behind a thick pair of readers. Little specks of freckles on his face and threads of hair sprawled over his bald head in a comb over.
While Louis struggled to get out his own name, I knew what I had to do. There was an interpreter near the front of the courtroom where the Judge sat in judgment. The Honorable Daniel Wilson.
Judge Wilson asked, "Mr. Grissom, do you understand the charges against you?"
/Yes, Your Honor. I understand. I also plead Not Guilty. I also want to file a grievance with the court for being denied a lawyer during interrogation./
Judge Wilson picked up his pen and tapped it on the bench. "We're not here to—"
/I know what we're here for. I've been falsely accused of crimes I didn't commit, while being denied my rights./
Judge Wilson eyed me while asking, "You know what I'm saying?"
I nodded. Then I revealed my secret. /I can read lips. That's how I know that Detective Kramer and her interpreter, David, conspired to deny me a lawyer during questioning. Also, per law, all interrogations are recorded. I was never read my rights, not before, during, or after./
I finally looked over towards the prosecution side of the aisle. Standing behind the A.D.A. were Detective Kramer and David. They were all red faced from embarrassment and were quite astonished to the fact that I wasn't as stupid as they thought.
/They have no direct evidence linking me to any of these crimes/ I told the Judge.
Judge Wilson asked the prosecutor, A.D.A. Thompson, if there was any evidence to prove that I had committed the crimes.
Thompson said, "Judge, we need more time–"
Judge Wilson said, "You have the time to gather evidence for your case, but you do not get to keep a man in jail with none whatsoever. As for the grievance brought before this court, I expect to have the recording of Mr. Grissom's interrogation in my chambers by the close of the day. No officer of the law has the right to trample over a man's right to an attorney. Case dismissed."
Honorable Judge, indeed. I smiled as I turned to face the detective. She was furious. So was I, but I also understood the pressure they were under. A little girl was missing. I was the last person to see her who might be able to point them in the right direction. But if life has taught me one thing, it's that I couldn't trust anyone, especially the police.
I stepped up to Kramer as she said, "Whatever you want to say—"
/Once, I had a teacher take a book away from me. She said I couldn't read it. I said, 'Why? I'm deaf, not blind. I'm also not stupid'. You remind me of her./
David spoke my words as Kramer worked her jaw. She said, "You played us." David didn't sign her words as I read her lips just fine.
/I didn't ask for an interpreter, but yet you assumed that I needed one. So why was it that when I asked about a lawyer, you intentionally denied me one? You knew you were wrong./ Before I was escorted away by the Bailiff, I told her, /I didn't do it. I hope you find out who did. I'll pray that Sara's found alive./
I had to go back to jail to obtain my wallet and be officially processed out. It took the rest of the day, and by that evening I walked out into the smog filled air and twilight sky as a free man.
Waiting under the bright white light of a lamp post, and leaning against the black Toyota Celica Supra, was Catherine.
As I stopped in front of her, she presented me with a new pocket-sized notepad and pen. I wrote, 'What are you doing here?'
She answered, "They told me you were being released. Thought you'd need a lift."
'Where's your boyfriend?'
"Leaving me alone, for now. I told him I needed time and space. We'll see how that goes." Even though she wasn't my girlfriend, she was proving herself to be a friend. "Police came by to see me. Asked me questions. I guess I was your alibi."
'There's a missing girl. Sara.' I knew I had to do more than pray. There was one thing I knew for certain, and it was that prayer never got me a damn thing. 'Are you going back to Las Vegas?'
"Not yet. Thought I'd stay here a while. See what sort of trouble I can get myself into."
I nodded as I wrote my next question. 'Then you'll help me?' I asked hopefully.
"Help you do what?" she asked.
If I wanted something done, I had to do it myself. And I wanted Sara found. I wanted her to be alive. I wrote the words then showed it to her. 'I need to find her.'
I needed to apologize.
Catherine's eyes widened as she said, "Are you nuts? We can't—"
Anticipating her refusal, I had already written my response and put it in front of her face. She batted it away, but I showed it to her again. 'Yes, you can.'
She glared at me and said, "We're not the police. How'd you expect to find her?"
I didn't know. I wrote a message to her on the paper as the growing fear and uncertainty settled in my chest. I had to do something. I wrote, 'Stop thinking about what you can't do. I never do that. I always think about what I can do. And I can do this. I can find her. I know I can.'
She shook her head as she glanced around the parking lot. "What's in it for me?" she asked. "Besides finding a lost girl."
I told her, 'I get to be your chauffeur. I know the city better than you.'
She rolled her eyes as I grabbed the keys out of her hand. I rounded the front of the Toyota to the driver's door as she just smiled humorously as she got in the passenger side. It was a 5-speed manual. She thought I wouldn't be able to drive it. Starting the engine, I felt the vibrations under my feet and in my hands as I gripped the leather steering wheel.
First thing's first, I needed new clothes. I caught sight of her admiration as I smirked, gave a wink, and then released the parking brake. I pressed the clutch, shifted gears, and then hit the gas as I headed towards home.
TBC…
Disclaimer songs mentioned/used: "2:30" and "The Fall" by Flock of Seagulls.
Part 2 is up next.