Loss of Innocence

   
Published 2007  online in "Quantum Muse"                                                                                               



                            LOSS OF INNOCENCE

                                                                             
"Never let your sense of morals prevent you from doing what's right."                                                                   
  Dr. Isaac Asimov


John Wayne was right.  Sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.  It doesn't matter that you don't want to, or that you know it will cost you more than you want to pay.  You know it's the right thing, so you do it.  When the time came, it was hard, but I did it.

My name is Charlie Watkins.  I've been with the Lakeside County Police for twenty-three years now. Eight years as a detective, three with the Violent Crimes Squad.  Now the thing about Lakeside County is, the political shenanigans and treachery here would have gained the admiration of the ancient Roman senate.  These kind of politics inevitably affect the police departments in the county.  Cops, good and bad, have been ruined by it, depending on which way the political wind was blowing at the time.  Still, enough good police work gets done for me to put up with the bullshit and stick with it.  I know that with my political ineptness, I'll never rise higher than Detective Sergeant.

Not that I'm any kind of hero, crusader or, God forbid, a whistle blower.  No, I bend before I break when the pressure is applied.  Enough anyway to keep my rank, but with too much resistance to political agenda to suit the movers and shakers.

My partner, George Samson, is a different matter.  A born political
animal if there ever was one.  It took me fifteen years to make
detective, but he did it in eight.  He was always at some political
function or other, mingling with the elite.  He has studied law
part-time for a few years now in preparation for the goals he has set
for himself.  As a bachelor he can afford to dress like a lawyer and
pursue the fairer sex without undue gossip.  When it came to political
ethics he could bend over backwards under a foot-high limbo bar with the greatest of ease.  Though I was the senior partner, there was no doubt in my mind that he would be my boss one day.  I suppose I ignored his failings to insure his good graces when he was. 

That day we caught the call that nine-year-old Casey Sims was missing
from her home I was driving while George was tidying up his unusually
ruffled appearance.  When I asked about this he showed me a photo of his newest girlfriend.  She appeared to be an extremely attractive girl, and I mean girl.  This was another of his failings.

"Isn't she gorgeous?"  George asked.

"Yes, for a fifteen year old," I said.  "Have you seen her drivers
license?"

"Yes, her drivers license, birth certificate, and her medical exam.
She's legal and safe.  To answer your first question, time spent with
her is guaranteed to leave anyone mussed up."

"She still looks like a fifteen year old."

"Tell me partner," George said with an edge to his voice, "When you were fifteen, did you know any girls who looked like her?"

"Hell, I didn't know any girls who looked like her when I was twenty."

"Objection overruled, case dismissed, counselor."

The Oak Haven Trailer Court was indeed a haven from the oak forest that surrounded it, but it was the last stop on the poverty trail for its dilapidated units and their inhabitants.  The trailer we wanted was 62C at the far end of the court from the entrance.  We passed rusted trailers with peeling paint, cinder blocks attempting to keep them level.  Children watching us had expressions as drawn and cheerless as the adults.  Toddlers in diapers played with broken toys in overgrown yards.  In spite of this, there was an underlying presence of dignity and effort.  A flower box bright with color, a cleared lawn with a vegetable garden, a man painstakingly hand-painting over a bonded rust spot.  There was more of the same, here and there, though it seemed to have passed the Sims' trailer by.  The Sims' trailer was a singlewide antique with what was left of the original paint surrounding bare metal.  It didn't help that it stood on an isolated corner lot next to the communal dumpsters lining the dirt service road. 

Upon our arrival the uniform officers told us that the scene was
actually twelve hours cold.  Though the report was only an hour old,
that indicated when Casey was first noticed to be missing.  The picture
provided by her mother showed an angelically beautiful, blonde child I
would have guessed to be years older.  What is it these days with the
accelerated maturity of little girls?  Hormones in the meat?  Vitamins?
Air pollution?  Evolution?

Loretta Sims was high on something, which we let pass for the moment.
She was in her late twenties, going on sixty, rail thin, her makeup
applied with a trowel.  The tear streaks running through it revealing
her only apparent saving grace.  John Sims was a bloated stump on the
faded, limp couch.  He was wearing a once white t-shirt and naturally
faded blue jeans.  His crude jailhouse tattoos told an old story.  He
was still adding to the empty beer bottles in the cardboard box of trash in front of the couch.

"Mrs. Sims," George said.  "When is the last time you saw Casey?"

"She was playing in the yard about 7:30.  She wanted to show off her new hair bow to the other little girls."

"That was 7:30 P.M. last evening?"

"Yes.  Then I started to feel one of my spells coming on so I took my
medicine.  I must have dozed off, but John was due home any minute."

"When did you get up again?"

"About seven this morning.  I know that sounds awful but John was
supposed to come home.  I went into her room to get her up for school
and her bed was still made.  She never makes her bed so I started
looking for her, but she was gone," Loretta said, sobbing.

"I know this is tough for you, but we need all the information you can give us.  Now, what was she wearing?"

"A pink cotton dress, with plain white sneakers. and the rainbow colored hair bow I made for her."

"This was a homemade bow?  Something that was one of a kind?"

"It was really a strip of vinyl ribbon.  When we passed the car dealer the other day Casey was so taken with the rainbow bunting, I cut off enough to shape into a hair bow.  The triangles I cut off should still be in the trash outside.  Do you want to see it?"

"Detective Samson," I said.  "Why don't you take Mrs. Sims outside and try to recover some of that vinyl."

They left and I turned my attention to John Sims.  His nonchalance was
beginning to irritate me.

"What time did you get home last evening, Mr. Sims?"

He turned his red-rimmed, glassy eyes upward for the first time since I had been there.

"Hey, I work, ya know."

"So you worked late last night?"

"No, I didn't.  I gotta right to relax after work.  My ride dropped me off for a few at the Playpen Grill down the road."

"What time did you get home?"

"When I was done relaxing."  He smirked.

I had had enough.  I reached and pulled him up with my left hand,
slapping him back into the couch with my right.  To avoid a scuffle and
focus his attention I put my foot between his legs with my heel pressing into his crotch.

What?  Cops shouldn’t act like that?  Consider.  A nine-year-old girl is missing.  The scene is twelve hours cold.  I have a prime and statistically likely suspect with a bad attitude in front of me.  I have to decide quickly to either focus on him or move on.  Grow up.

"Now.  Don't waste any more time, answer my questions quickly and
correctly.  What time did you get home?"

"I stayed till they closed.  Midnight.  I walked, so maybe 12:30."

"Didn't you notice that Casey was gone?"

"I could hear Loretta snoring like a bear when I got in.  When she's
like that she's no good for anything, so I just crashed on the couch.  I never passed Casey's room.  I just figured she was there."

"Or maybe you figured Casey could fill in for her mother, then you
panicked and tried to cover it up?"

"Hey, fuck you, cop!  I ain't no goddamned short eyes!  I'm gonna kick your ass!"

I've seen child molesters when confronted become coy, silent, indignant, even weeping puddles while protesting their innocence.  This guy was really pissed, trying to rise from the couch despite increasing the pressure on his testicles.  He didn't molest her.  I restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, I'm sorry.  I had to ask."

"No good, asshole.  Let's take this outside."

I leaned my face in close to his.

"Listen.  You may have buffed up while in the slammer, but that was a
lot of beers ago.  Just let this be." 

He eyeballed me good but couldn’t maintain it and slumped back into the couch.  I removed my foot.

"All right, I believe you didn't touch her like that.  Maybe she needed a little discipline, maybe you just smacked her around a little, then maybe a little too much."

He glared at me again, but he had lost the steam the booze had given
him.

"Look.  I'm gonna be straight with you.  I'm off parole just a little
over a year.  My temper put me in the joint.  I don't wanna go back.  I
don't even smack Loretta when she needs it.  Ask her.  And she asks for
it, believe me."

"I'll be asking.  For now tell me about Casey.  Was she a discipline
problem?  Did she ever run away?"

"No.  No, she's a quiet kid.  Never any problem really.  Does what she's told without any back talk.  Entertains herself.  She could play with a rock all day if that's all she had."

"Did she have any special friends?"

"I don't know, you'd have to ask Loretta."

"Did she have any male, older friends?"

"No way.  We always warned her about talking to strangers or older boys.  She never would've gone off with a stranger willingly.  Look, my beef was only for assault, I'm not that bad a guy.  I'm not really fond of kids, but Casey is different.  She always sees the best in everything and everyone.  She isn't my blood, but I like her, everyone does.  You can't help yourself with her."

His tears began to flow.

"I tried to protect her, but I couldn't even do that right."

John put his face in his hands and began to sob silently.  George and
Loretta came back inside.  Loretta went to the couch to comfort him with her embrace and her own tears.  So much for first impressions.  My job would be easier if people would just be as they first appear, but they always insist on being more complex.

George had samples of the rainbow colored vinyl.  If she was still
wearing the bow it could be spotted at fifty yards in a crowd.

"Mr. and Mrs. Sims," I said.  "Stay here in case someone calls.  An
officer will stay with you."

I motioned George outside, where we compared notes.  Loretta had had
nothing useful to add.  We agreed that both parents could be set aside
as suspects in Casey's disappearance for now.  A kidnap for ransom
seemed unlikely.  I sent George to give the uniforms samples of the
vinyl ribbon and get an update.  I got out my county map from my car.
The next road to intersect with Rural Route #8 to the east was six miles away.  It only led to other rural routes with private farms.  A mile to the west, the way we had come, was Calumet Highway, which leads north and south to major cities.  The oak forest extended to both roads east and west and south for five miles to the city of Point Summit.

When George returned, I learned that the canvass of the trailer court
had turned up nothing.  People remembered seeing Casey in her yard, but
no one had seen her leave on foot, by car, or even talk to anyone.

"George, didn't you tell me that you once lived out this way?"

"Yeah.  When this court was new my family lived here for three years
when I was a kid."

"Does this service road circle around to Route 8 or go through to
Calumet Highway?  The map doesn't show."

"It goes through to Calumet."

"I can't see anyone driving all the way through the court with Casey
without her being seen, unless they took the service road.  The hump
could make a quick snatch and be down that road before anyone noticed.
That's the way we're going.  Is anyone checking the woods that way?"

"Yeah.  A couple of uniforms are searching down that road."

"Okay.  According to the map straight south of here the woods end at the Point Summit Mall.  There's a 'Terrific Toys' shop there, which could have been used as a lure.  On the way we'll get the locals to canvass the mall and we'll work our way back through the woods from that side."

"I think we should let the locals handle that and concentrate on a
second canvass here," George said.

"No.  Everything seems to be covered except the far side of the woods. At this point my guess is one of three things happened: she wandered off into the woods alone, got hurt or lost, our hump snatched her here and drove away down the service road, or he took her into the woods.  Whichever, if she is still in the woods the quickest way to find her is to search from both ends."

"I still think..."

"You'll be my boss soon enough.  Today I'm senior, let's get going."

On the way I had dispatch call ahead to have the locals meet us and
begin seeking search volunteers.  When we arrived there were five local
squads at the mall and off duty officers and firemen were beginning to
show up.  We left one local squad at the mall to coordinate and direct
volunteers as they arrived.  George and I headed back north through the
woods directly toward Oak Haven, as the others fanned out over the seven-mile wide area.  George was uncustomarily quiet until we were about a mile into the woods.

"Charlie, you're going to owe me for a new pair of dress boots, these
cost me three hundred dollars."

"How could you spend that kind of money for boots and still be too cheap to keep a twenty-five dollar pair of sneakers like mine in the trunk?  Hey, looks like there's a large clearing up ahead.  I didn’t see that on my map."

"It's the right-of-way for the Midwest Freight Railway," George said as we came into the hundred foot wide clearing with the rail line in the middle.  "It runs southwest to west.  Over there," pointing fifty yards to the west, "is the spur line that goes northwest to Steel City."

As I looked up and down the line I could see trash dumped all along the track.  It ranged in size from plastic bags to couches and major
appliances.

"George, if this trash could get in here so could our hump."

"Yeah, we crossed the westbound track on Calumet Highway.  You could
drive in alongside the track if you had to."

"Well, I hate to say it but if this was a snatch, assault and dump, this is where I would assault and dump.  Let's give this area a thorough search.  You start to the west.  Work your way down this side of the track and back up the other side.  I'll go east to the westward curve and work back this way."

As we began searching, I used my cell phone to contact county dispatch and have them notify the rest of the search party to pay particular attention to the rail tracks when they reached them.  I was turning over a doorless refrigerator when I saw George had broken off his search and was walking straight to the tracks, where the northbound spur began.  I didn't see anything over there but a dirty bundle of pink rags between the tracks.

Pink?

I began to run toward George.  He was stooping by the object and
reaching down with his hands.

"George!  Is that her?  No!  Don't move her!"

  George stood up with his back to me and Casey in his arms.  Her golden hair and sneakers, now visible, dangled limply on either side of him.

"Why did you move her?  You've screwed the forensics now."

George turned towards me, a blank look on his face.  Casey's body must have blocked his view because I could see he had placed his left foot between the switch tracks of the northbound spur.

"George you better.."

In rapid succession the rails screeched together trapping George's foot in his Tony Lama boot, he dropped Casey as his mouth and face twisted into a silent scream, and he began to collapse.  I rushed to him to hold him up.  I could see blood running through the tear in his boot. George's face had gone white and clammy, his breathing was shallow.  Shock had set in rapidly, though his eyes were beginning to focus.  I had seen this kind of shock before.  A moment of excruciating pain, then the massive rush of adrenaline and endorphins eradicating all sensation, allowing the victim a euphoric lucidity.  A leftover survival trait from our primordial past and an indicator of the extreme severity of the damage.  I knelt down to try and pull his foot free.

"No!  Dammit Charlie!  Don't pull on it!  Look!  Over there is the
switch box.  Pull the handle, it'll release the rail."

I tried to lower George into a squatting or kneeling position, but there was no way to do it without putting shearing pressure on his leg.  I took off his suit coat, tossing it aside, and undid his tie to use as a tourniquet.

"Can you stay on your feet?"

"Do I have a choice!  Just hurry."

I went to the switch box.  It looked like a basement Square D electrical box on a short pole.  The handle was padlocked into position.

"It's padlocked.  I'm gonna call for help.  I'll hold you up until
someone gets here."

"No!  No time!  The Steel City freight express will be here any minute.  Shoot the lock off!"

I fired a round with my .38 Chiefs Special.  No effect.  Again.  Still no effect.

"Dammit Charlie!  Use a real gun.  Here."

I rushed to take his offered .44 Colt revolver and returned to the
switch box.  I aimed to fire on the padlock.

Rainbow?!

I looked back toward George, toward his coat lying on the ground.

Rainbow?!

I walked toward the coat.

Epiphany:  A sudden striking understanding of something.  I have
since tried to find a word that means the same and incorporates horror.
I haven't found it but I know how it feels.

"Charlie!  What the hell are you doing!  Shoot that fucking lock off!
The train is coming."

I picked up the coat and stared at the inside pocket.  Tucked tightly
behind his I.D. wallet was half of a rainbow hair bow, the other half
exposed and burning into my brain.  I pulled the bow out.  It had dried
blood on it.

"Yes, George.  You know that train is coming, don't you?  Like you knew these tracks were here and who they belonged to."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

I held out the bow for him to see.

"What?  The hair bow?  It was next to her.  I picked it up.  So what?
Get me out of here!"

"Yeah, you picked up evidence like some civilian gawker and stuffed it behind your I.D.  Just like you picked up her body to explain any of
your forensics on her."

"You're nuts Charlie!  Whatever you're thinking, get me out of here then we'll talk about it."

I went back to the switch box and paused, gun in one hand, bow in the
other.

I looked at George.

"I think maybe you're just where you belong.  Why were you at the
trailer court last night, George?  To see an old friend?  A relative?
An informant?  Whatever, you saw Casey didn't you?  You gave in to the
impulse, didn't you?  Showed her your badge?  Just wanted to talk,
maybe?  Be close to her.  No harm meant.  But, then she was in the car
and you were driving.  Too late to back out then?  You tried to seduce
her but she got scared?  Did she fight?  Scream?  Huh George?  You
figured this train on the way now would cover your tracks?  It should've worked, but you just had to have a souvenir, didn't you?  What were you gonna do, George?  Give it to one of your adoring adolescents to help relive the experience?  Jesus, George!"

George's blank expression and tightlipped silence told me I was hitting the mark.  I had seen that look enough times before.  I had so wanted to be wrong.

The faint sound of a train whistle broke George's silence.

"Charlie," he said, speaking in the slow and even Hostage Negotiation 101 voice.  "Shoot off the lock and throw the switch.  Get me loose then we can work something out.  Make a deal."

"A deal?"

"You're running out of time here Charlie.  I say you got this whole
thing wrong, but let's say you're right.  So what.  You get me loose.
You tell your story.  I'll tell mine.  Let others sort it out.  It's how we do business every day.  You know you're not going to leave me like this on purpose, but you might wait too long.  Can you live with that?"

"You want a deal?  Okay.  You're right, we make deals, but we get
something in return.  I want to know why.  That's my deal."

"Charlie, anything I say now would be under duress.  You couldn't
use..."

"Do you really want to play shyster, right now?"

"Okay, you fucking boy scout.  You saw her.  She was beautiful, a vision of purity.  I had seen her there before.  This time she smiled and waved.  I couldn't resist.  Don't look like that.  You saw where she came from.  What she had for parents.  What do you think she'd be like in three or four years?  That con would have her peddling her ass out on the street, or she'd be giving it away to some unwashed punk with track marks.  Right then she was precious, later she would be nothing.  Just another cheap ass, junkie slut.  I saved her from that, Charlie.  She only had one thing of value.  After I took that she was nothing.  Nothing, Charlie!

"Now you tell that to whoever you want once you get me out of here.  The people who count will take my word over yours.  But don't worry, I won't hold it against you.  I know you Charlie; you don't really have a choice about this.  It's not in your nature to leave me like this."

I hated that he was right.  He would have an answer for everything and he would be believed.  I would have no real evidence now.  I hated the idea that one day his name would be spoken with respect and reverence by the law enforcement elite and civilians alike.  That the truth of what happened here would never see the light of day.  Even so, as hard as it was, I did what I had to do anyway.

I have paid for that choice dearly.  I still pay for it.  Oh, I still have my rank, but I'm watched.  No one wants to get too close.  They try not to let me hear the whispers, or see the looks.  I can live with that.  It's the other that's hard.  I still see the poor savaged body of that little girl in my dreams.  I can still hear the arrogant voice of George coming from behind me.  First the anger and threats, then the begging, and finally the screaming until the train whistle drowned him out altogether.


                              END