Under the Bridge (26 page)

“When she was dragging her in the water, I said, ‘Let's go.'”

“But prior to that, when she was getting beat up, they're gonna say, hey …”

“Why didn't I offer to come and help?”

“Oh,” Bond predicted, “Kelly and her lawyer are going to be eating you alive. You think this is ugly? Hey, we might as well be having a cup of tea here. It's gonna get uglier for you because Kelly's got some highflying lawyers now, and they're gonna say, ‘Hey, my client was there, but this kid Warren, he's got the bad temper. He's tough. He's lean. He's quick.' It's going to be half-true, half-false, but it's going to be enough for the jury.”

“It's going to be a lot of b.s.,” Warren said.

“Oh, I know. They're just gonna do a number on you like you wouldn't believe.”

“Kelly doesn't have any blood on her clothes,” Bond said.

“You go check her Calvin Klein jacket.”

“Okay. We'll try and help you out and come up with this jacket. But do you think she's gonna end up taking the whole rap for this? What do you think?”

“She's gonna point the finger at me.”

“Yeah,” Bond agreed, his voice suddenly sympathetic. “So let's make sure we get the portions of liability right. The person that did the bulk of it should take the lion's share of the punishment. The person that just played a 10 percent or 20 percent role should make sure they get their story told. Because the hardest part is dealing with this in court. It's not dealing with Bruce and me. We're easy guys to deal with.”

“You're nice guys. I know that.”

“Hey, Warren,” Bond said, as if speaking to a good friend, “if she's done the bulk of this and you've done a little bit of it, tell us right now what you've done so we can assess and just see how much trouble you've got yourself in here.”

“The shoes,” Warren admitted. “I put them with the jacket. So there's gonna be two fingerprints right there.”

“Okay, that matches up,” Bond said, encouragingly.

“And where did you put them?” Brown inquired.

“Right by the white schoolhouse.”

“She was ordered to take the shoes off, wasn't she?”

“Yes.”

“And who was doing the ordering?”

“Kelly.”

“Did she resist?”

“No. She said, ‘Take them.'”

“And what did Kelly do next?”

“She started beating her up again.”

“So why didn't Reena resist taking her jacket or shoes off? Was she injured from the fight earlier?”

“She had a little bit of blood on her face.”

“A little bit?”

“But she was still talking fine. She was walking fine.”

“What did she say to you?”

“She didn't say anything to me.”

“I'm sure there were some things said there.”

“But she didn't even know us. I don't know that girl. That was the first time I met her in my life. And the last.”

“Well, you won't be meeting her again,” Bond said gravely. “I agree. That's the last time you'll meet her because she's dead.”

He paused. The men were quiet, and so was the boy. Bond watched Warren attentively. He looked at the clock, and let some minutes go by. He then spoke, his voice friendlier, even more respectful, than it might ever have been. Anyone listening might have thought he was speaking to a person whom he greatly revered: “Warren, I can tell right now that you're about thirty seconds from saying, ‘Guys, this is eating me up. I just want to tell you my involvement. Something happened that was bad. I wasn't the one that caused the most grief.'”

“I wasn't.”

“I know you've got something to say to us right now about what happened down by the beach and you want to say it right now. I can tell that right now.”

Warren sighed, and because he felt understood, even accepted, for the first time, by the two men, the nice guys, he said he would speak now, if only they turned off the tape. Bond's instinct had been correct. Warren was ready.

He told his story then, through tears, in a whisper.

“After Officer Hodginson came, we left Shoreline. We turned left. We went under the bridge. Everyone was down there and there was all this screaming noise. I was close enough that….” He began to cry. “Twice.”

He paused, as if overcome by the darkness of memory.

“After that, everyone left. I don't know if she was unconscious but she was sitting up. She was down by the water. They all left. Kelly's like, ‘Well, we're gonna talk to her. I want to find out exactly what went on tonight. I want to find out if that Reena girl is sorry for all the trouble she caused.' So we went over the bridge, and then we stopped to order her to take her shoes and jacket off. When she took them off, I threw away her jacket and put her shoes on the steps. And then beat her up more until she was woozy, and Kelly grabbed her head. Her head was smashed against a tree.”

“Smashed against a tree?” Brown said, incredulously.

“Yeah. So there's probably blood all over the tree. And then … then she started kicking her in the head and the ribs. I didn't kick her when she was on the ground. And then she, she started choking on blood. And that's why, Kelly….” Still sobbing, he looked down at the wood table, away from his interrogators. “I dragged her for about nine or ten feet, but I couldn't. I didn't want to drag her. I said, ‘No. Let's go.' At least three times. I was telling Kelly, ‘Come on.' At least three times. Why don't we leave. 'Cause I don't want to do any of this. And then I'll have to deal with it right now … but there's no way I can get rid of it….”

“Hard to do, huh?” Brown asked.

“I can't,” Warren said, still sobbing.

“Well,” Bond said, “with what you've told us, you know, you could be charged with being part of the homicide just because you were there. And first-degree murder is when someone is sexually assaulted and then murdered, but I don't think that's the case here.”

“I didn't murder her. And sexual assault? I mean, that's sick. Seriously sick.”

“So where's all her clothes now?” Bond asked.

“They were right by her.”

“Did you go down later and pick up the clothes because you were worried about fingerprints?”

“No.”

“Who have you told about this?”

“I didn't tell other people about it.”

“Well, you told somebody.”

“I didn't tell any friends. I didn't tell anyone.”

“You know exactly who you told.”

“I may have told Maya.”

“And how about Syreeta?”

“Hmmm.”

“How about Syreeta?” Brown repeated.

“I haven't told her anything.”

“You're stalling for some reason here. And don't be stalling just because you don't want to give up a name. This is your life we're talking about. There's one person you told, Warren. I think you know the answer. You have to tell me. Show me you're being truthful and honest.”

“I didn't tell anyone else as far as I remember.”

“Syreeta has met with an officer. So this is your chance.”

“I don't remember, honestly.”

“Do you think there's anyone that actually saw you and Kelly that night?” Bond asked.

“Saw us walk over the bridge?”

“Yeah.”

“Dimitri and Marissa.”

“On a scale of ten, with respect to the death of Reena, how do you think you're responsible? Like, is Kelly eight out of ten responsible and you're two out of ten?”

“Three and seven,” Warren said.

“Three and seven?” Bond said, staring at Warren. “Okay.”

“I know what I did was wrong.”

“Okay.”

“I know I'll get punished for it.”

“Hers is seven. Yours is three,” Bond said, returning to the fraction of responsibility. “What would your three consist of?”

“Kicking, dragging her that ten feet, and being around.”

“How about being in the water?”

“I was never in the water. I never went in. I know I should have—I wish I had—stopped her. I should have left before any of this happened.”

“Oh hey,” Bond said, hoarsely. “Hey, I would have loved it not to
happen because I wouldn't be here. I'd be home with my family. But that's not the case. This has happened.” He sighed and looked down at his notepad. He could sense his partner's desire to end the interview now that they had closed in and won.

“How do you feel?” Bond asked Warren. “You feel okay talking to us?”

“Yeah. I feel a lot better. It's just—I know I'm going down for something that I didn't have a major role in.”

“You feel okay talking to us?” Bond asked again.

“I'm being truthful.”

“You are being truthful,” Bond agreed.

“You guys are being honest with me,” Warren said.

“Yeah, and hey, just between the three of us, and guy to guy, I think there's absolutely no way you sexually assaulted her or intended to sexually assault her. That's guy to guy. I also feel that you, as a rule, don't go around hurting people. That's not your style. And I think you want to deal with this situation. You think, ‘Hey, now that I'm talking to Bruce and John, I feel better.' You feel better in the last ten minutes, don't you?”

“Yeah. It's still eating me away, what happened.”

“Well, that's good,” Bond said. “It's been eating me away too.”

“I'm scared of
everything,”
Warren said, and his eyes returned to the surface of the table, as if he could will himself to be swallowed up by the dark and sturdy wood. His interrogators were quiet, containing their contempt, and he made a sudden request.

“Can I phone my girlfriend?” Warren asked.

“I think your girlfriend is being interviewed right now.”

“She's here?” Warren said, and he turned his head, as if looking for a nonexistent window.

“I'm not sure.”

The room was silent and airless, and Warren wondered suddenly if he could pass Syreeta in the hallway, just see her one last time. The two men seemed impatient now, and he worried that they no longer liked him. He thought of the police officer, years ago, who had sneered his name,
Glowatski,
as if to say, “Oh you're one of them.”

“I just really wanted to talk,” Warren said. “And tell you guys what happened.”

“Do you want to speak to a lawyer?”

“It's too late now.”

“It's not too late now.”

“I'll speak to a lawyer later on, yes.” He seemed about to speak again, and looked down at the table, and then up at the two men to whom he now confessed.

“I don't have it in me to kill a person. I know what I did is wrong and I shouldn't have done it and I should have phoned the cops as soon as it happened.”

“So when you were by the white schoolhouse, were you thinking, ‘Hey, geez, I might have a problem if Reena rats on me'?”

“Yeah, but I'm not gonna kill a person just 'cause I can get charged with assault.”

“Did it enter your mind that you were deep into this and it would solve your problem if she died?”

“No. It never ran in my mind that I'd kill a person.”

“But how did you feel when you saw Kelly killing her? I mean, did you think ‘That's the end of my problem as well'?”

“No. I couldn't handle watching her. I said, ‘Let's go. Stop. Let's go.' I tried to stop her.”

“Is this the truth?”

“I swear on my grandpa's grave.”

“Your grandpas grave, eh?” Bruce Brown stood up now. His movement was decisive, final, hinting at his contempt. He felt exhausted, as he often did at the end of an interrogation. This too was an odd reward. He now had what he wanted, and yet what a terrible thing to have procured.

Wanting to leave, he turned to the paperwork and told Warren to sign a form, and after Warren signed it, Bruce Brown said the words he was legally obligated to say, words that contained neither hostility nor sadness, though he felt both of these things, greatly and endlessly, then, on that Saturday afternoon. “Warren, you've signed this sheet, you understand the ramifications and the jeopardy that you're in, right?”

“I know I'm in jeopardy. I'm in deep shit. I'm in over my head.”

“Yeah, you are,” Bond said, standing up, refusing to look in the eyes of the small boy. “There's no question. I think that's pretty evident today. But you're in better shape than Reena is,” he said, and he turned off the tape recorder, and headed, directly and rapidly, toward the door.

T
HE
V
ICTORIA
Y
OUTH
C
USTODY
C
ENTRE,
known as YCC, or more informally, as juvie, is located around the corner from a small corner store owned by Chinese immigrants, a purveyor of candy and lottery tickets. The detention center itself, an unremarkable slab of a building, stands somewhat camouflaged by the Department of Public Works office building. Despite its purpose, YCC has no barbed wire or electrical fence surrounding the property. In fact, the only sign of law and order is the daily arrival of a white sheriff's van.

On November 22, in the late afternoon, seven new residents would arrive.

The guards were given special instructions in regard to the new girls: Maya, Willow, Laila, Eve, Dusty, Kelly, and Josephine. They were to be kept separate; they were not to speak to one another.

The guards observed the new girls, the schoolgirls.

“Most of the kids in here have been in and out of juvie since they were twelve,” a guard named Floyd explains. “They all know each other. They're from the same milieu. But these new girls, you could just tell they had never been in trouble before. They probably grew up having barbecues together. And now they're here. They were right out of place and they knew it.”