Street Dreams (13 page)

“May I come in for a few minutes?”

“What’s this all about?”

“I’ll be happy to explain everything, but it’s better if we talk inside.”

Reluctantly, she allowed me to cross the threshold. The living room was small but restored beautifully—dark beamed ceilings,
Saltillo tiled floor, textured beige stucco walls, and lots of molding and niches. There was a brown leather couch with matching
chairs; the accent tables were made of heavy dark wood. An upright piano stood in the corner; a sheet of music rested on the
stand. I asked her who played.

“My sister. What’s going on?”

“Thank you for your patience. Can I sit down?”

“Yes, of course.”

I settled into one of the leather chairs. She sat on the couch. “A case I’m working on led me to your sister’s school—the
Fordham Communal Center. …”

“Yes, yes. What about it?”

“I understand Sarah hasn’t been feeling well. How’s she doing?”

The woman was taken aback. “That’s why you’re here?”

“Is Sarah all right?”

“As a matter of fact, she’s not well. She has some health issues. I was thinking of taking her to the doctor’s this morning.”

“I think that might be a good idea.”

“Why?” She became startled. “What’s wrong with her?”

“I honestly don’t know if anything’s wrong with her. Let me tell you why I’m here and then you decide. Several days ago, LAPD
found a newborn infant in a Dumpster behind a nearby restaurant. Perhaps you read about it in the paper?”

“I saw it on the news.”

“I pulled her out. It was pretty scary, but I’m happy to report that the baby’s doing well and is in very good health.”

“That’s nice.” A glance at the watch. “Can we get to the point?”

“I was just wondering if … well, maybe Sarah’s lost a little weight recently?”

The woman’s eyes widened as shock swept across her face. “What!” She stood up and screamed, “Sarah! Get here—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” I gently touched her arm. “Before we get her involved, how about if we talk about this calmly.”

She broke away and started pacing. “I don’t believe this! It’s one thing after another! All I want is a little peace and quiet,
and then …” She plopped back down on the sofa and slapped her hands over her face. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I’m just
so …
tired!”

“It may be nothing.”

“It
isn’t
nothing. It’s
never
nothing! It’s always something! She’s been bleeding hard. I just thought it was a rough period. I didn’t even
think
about pregnancy.” Again she started to pace. “Is she in trouble with the law?”

“Obviously, there are circumstances here.”

“It’s going to be hell! I just know it! I’m going to need a lawyer. I’m going to have to make a court appearance! And I’m
going to look like a total idiot! How could I have not known!”

“She’s a heavy girl. It’s completely understandable. The main thing is to get her medical attention. That’s the reason I’m
here. To help her, not to hurt her.”

She stopped racing about, covered her mouth with her hand, then let it drop to her side. “Of course. You’re being very understanding.”

“Both of you will be okay.”

She looked at my face. “The baby’s okay?”

“She’s absolutely adorable.”

A smile spread over her distraught face. “Thank God!”

“Ms. Sanders … did you know that Sarah—”

“No idea! She never mentioned any boy … any special boy. She mentioned lots of boys. She was
supposed
to be on the pill.”

“Birth control isn’t perfect.”

“Especially if she didn’t take it. It wouldn’t be the first time. She has a bad gag reflex. It’s hard for her to swallow little
things like pills. And liquid medicine makes her gag because it tastes so awful. I should have sterilized—” She cut herself
off and looked away.

“I know that lots of the girls in Fordham are sterilized. I am not judging you, ma’am. It is extremely arrogant for anyone
to judge you.”

“Thank you.” She wiped tears from her face. “Please call me Louise.”

“All right. How about we both sit down, Louise?”

A nod and we reclaimed our respective places.

I said, “So you don’t know if Sarah was having sex or not.”

“Obviously, she was having sex!”

I tried to put this as delicately as I could. “Consensual sex, I mean.”

“Oh my God!” She leaped to her feet. “She was
raped?”

“Louise, let’s not assume anything. It was just a question. That’s why I need to talk to her. That’s why she needs medical
attention.”

She sighed and tried to calm herself. “Do you want to talk to her now?”

“Yes, but not for too long.” As long as she was standing, I figured I should get to my feet. “Our first concern is getting
her to a hospital. I’ll take you there, if you want.”

“You are being so
nice,
Officer Decker.” Again the tears started. “That’s all right. I have a car. What are they going to do to her?”

“I imagine that after checking her out, they’ll take a blood test and verify that she’s the baby’s mother. You know, first
things first.” I hesitated. “Louise, the baby’s biracial.”

She blinked several times. “She’s
black?”

“Part black.”

Silence.

“Thank you for telling me.” She choked on her words. “I’ll go get her. Please be gentle. Despite how it may appear, I love
her very much.”

“Louise, I don’t doubt it for a second.”

She clasped her hands together. “You know, it doesn’t matter to me what the baby is as long as she’s healthy.”

“She’s healthy.”

“That’s all that counts.” A moment’s hesitation. “I’ll go get Sarah.”

By the way the young girl carried herself, it appeared as if her chin were attached to her chest. Though her eyes were squeezed
shut as tightly as humanly possible, tears managed to leak through. Limp strands of blond hair covered her cheeks. Her hands
were white-knuckled, balled up into fists. Her brown smock pulled against her generous breasts. Louise placed a hand on her
shoulder.

“It’s going to be all right, Sarah. You just have to talk to the nice police officer. And you have to be honest.”

No response from Sarah. I said, “Does your tummy hurt, honey?”

A slight nod of the head.

“We’re going to take you to a doctor to fix that, okay?”

Silence.

“Do you know why your tummy hurts?” I pressed on.

She didn’t answer, but I noticed that she had turned her knees inward. Her pink cheeks had become damp with tears. I said,
“The baby is fine, Sarah. It’s a beautiful, healthy girl. And maybe one day, your sister, Louise, will take you to see her.”

She raised her head and glanced at me. Then she dropped her chin to her chest.

Louise broke in. “Sarah, who
did
this to you?”

I squeezed Louise’s arm. She exhaled with a
whoosh,
shook me off, and stomped off to the other side of the room. Though I really wanted to ask Sarah about her sexual experience,
I knew my limitations. This little girl required a specialist. As a police officer, I was concerned with only one thing: if
the sex was forced or not. But right now, there were more pressing issues at stake—her health, confirmation that she was the
mother, legal ramifications of her act of child endangerment. I decided to forgo the questioning until I had notified the
proper channels.

And until I talked to Dad.

“I think we should take her to the hospital now. I’ll call up my sergeant and have someone meet us down there. We should probably
get in touch with someone from Mental Health. Does she have a psychologist?”

“She has every single specialist in the world. She’s been well taken care of.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

“Will I need a lawyer?” Louise bit hard on a thumbnail.

“If you have one, it would be a good idea to call him up.”

Another heavy sigh.

I said, “She’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know. She’s always okay. She’s al-ways o-kay!”

“You’ll be okay, too, Louise.”

“Me?” Louise’s laugh was hard and bitter. “Sister, my welfare is another story altogether!”

T
here were pats
on the back from my colleagues and smiles from the brass. There was a time when my accomplishments would have been viewed
with suspicion. But last year, I had played the game, drinking with the guys and girls after hours and attending more backyard
barbecues than I’d care to recount. I kept my mouth shut, bowled in the Hollywood Women’s League, and did my job. The “incident”—as
I refer to it to my therapist—had kicked a lot of life out of me. Bad for the creative spirit, but great for blending in with
the masses.

Sarah was out of my hands now, kicked upstairs to the gold shields and the professionals who made their living by helping
people talk. I was left with the satisfaction of a job well done, and a curiosity about who had fathered this baby girl. I
knew more than Russ MacGregor—the detective who had taken over for Greg—because I had inside information from Koby. If Russ
was decent enough, I’d share the facts.

I was off all Friday and had the day to relax. I Googled Yaakov Kutiel, and thankfully he came out honest. Koby’s public claim
to fame was being part of the hospital’s outreach program for unwed mothers and fatherless children who lived in Central L.A.
For this evening’s
Shabbat
dinner, I kept my look simple: a Kelly green sweater over a black midiskirt and knee-high black boots. Around my neck was
a gold chain; my earlobes sported a set of round pearls. I topped off the outfit with a gray pashmina draped over my shoulders.

Koby lived in the hills of Silver Lake, his street on an incline of around thirty degrees. The address corresponded with a
tiny, square stucco box that peeked out from the boughs of eucalyptus gone wild. I parked in the driveway behind a ten-year-old
Toyota compact, making sure the emergency brake was on. I made the climb up to the front door and knocked, noticing the large
ceramic mezuzah attached to the door frame. I’m not sure what I expected when I came in, but I didn’t expect what I saw.

There was pride inside—a mélange of Art Deco and African decor. Highly polished, rich rosewood tables were mixed with a zebra-print
plush sofa and leopard-print club chair, both pieces embellished with primary-colored throw pillows. Multicolored textiles
with geometric shapes and primitive designs hung on the walls; a bright, bold carpet covered the hardwood floor. Actually,
there were several carpets, because as I looked more carefully, I noticed that they were overlapping. The room was teeny—I
could almost span the walls with outstretched arms—so it was amazing how much stuff he had crammed in there. More amazing
was how well it was put together.

“Wow!” I told him.

He was all smiles. “You like it?”

“Yeah … yeah, I do.”

“Had to think about it?”

“Not at all. It was just …” I shook my head. “Most single guys don’t bother.”

“I like color.”

“I’ll say. But it works. Do you rent?”

He pointed to his chest. “All mine. I have the mortgage to prove it.”

“I’m impressed!” I really was. Home ownership was out of my reach. Despite my supposed austerity, I just couldn’t seem to
save very much. That’s what happens when one has parents as backups.

“It didn’t look like this when I bought it,” he explained. “But the price reflected the condition.”

“You fixed it up yourself?”

“Of course. After the purchase, I was completely broke. I had no choice.”

“You did a wonderful job.”

“As long as you don’t look under all the covering. Why do you think I hang so much cloth all over?” He checked his watch.
“
Shabbat
is in an hour. We should go, no?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a ways to travel.”

He picked up a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. “These are for your stepmother.” He gave me a paper bag. “This is
for you for extended … extending the invitation.”

It was a hand-painted doll from the Ethiopian gift shop. I smiled and thanked him. He told me I looked nice and I returned
the compliment. He was dressed conservatively—dark green suit, white shirt, red-and-green paisley tie—but his yarmulke was
more like a rimless cap that burst with colors.

The first half of the ride was taken up by my success story with Sarah. The next topic was the baby and how well she was doing.
After we had exhausted work, things got real quiet. I turned on the radio to provide audio filler.

Koby got the ball rolling. “Did your father ask about me?”

“Yes, of course. He’s a father.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him that I had just met you a couple of days ago, so I didn’t know much about you.”

“That was a good answer.”

“I thought so. Of course, it didn’t stop him from prodding me about you.”

He waited for me to continue.

“I did tell him that you were somewhat observant and your family lives in Israel. That you’d appreciate a traditional
Shabbat.
”