The Blood Red Indian Summer

CHAPTER 7

By the time Des got out to the island Marge and Mary Jewett had already loaded the girl into the back of their EMT van in Mitch’s driveway. Mitch was standing there with an adorable little sun-browned couple who were instantly identifiable as his parents. Mitch had his mother’s dense curly hair and busy little rabbit nose. And his father’s bright, probing eyes. Happily, Mitch did not share his father’s fashion sense. Mr. Berger’s salmon-colored slacks were yanked up so high it was a wonder the man could swallow.

“Morning, Des,” Marge said wearily as Des climbed out of her cruiser.

“Back at you. Feels like I just saw you ladies ten minutes ago.”

“It was ten minutes ago,” Mary said.

Des hopped into the van with the girl, acutely aware of Mitch’s parents watching her. “What have we got here?”

“Collateral damage from that party, we’re figuring,” Mary said. “Meet Jane Doe.”

Jane Doe was an African-American in her teens. She had an oxygen mask over her face and an IV tube in her forearm. She was swaddled in blankets.

“The Bergers got most of the water out of her,” Mary said. “Her lungs sound pretty clear now. We’re oxygenating her and giving her fluids for dehydration. Her blood pressure’s a little low but she’s stable and conscious-although she won’t tell us who she is or what happened to her.”

“All she has on is her underwear,” Marge said, lowering her voice. “Her panties are intact but her T-shirt’s torn. She has fresh bruises on her thighs and around her wrists and throat. Her knees are all scraped up, too. We’ve phoned ahead to Shoreline Clinic for a SANE.” Meaning a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner.

Mary bent down and removed the oxygen mask from the girl’s face. “How are you doing, hon?”

“Fine,” she answered hoarsely. She didn’t look fine. Panicky was more like it.

“Would you like to tell us your name now?”

“I can do that,” Des said, studying the girl with great concern. “It’s Kinitra Jameson. Her older sister, Jamella, is married to Tyrone Grantham.” Des crouched down close to her. “What happened, Kinitra?”

Kinitra wouldn’t say. She just shook her head.

“Were you out on a boat? Did someone attack you? How did you get all of those bruises?”

Kinitra shook her head again, then started to cry-huge, wrenching sobs.

Des turned to Marge and said, “Get her up to the clinic. I’ll be along after I speak to the Bergers.”

“And you’ll notify next of kin?”

“That, too,” Des said as she climbed out.

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, I’m just lucky all over.”

Mary pulled the rear doors shut from the inside as Marge got behind the wheel. The van started its way back toward the causeway.

Des strode toward the Bergers, her pulse quickening.

Mitch was grinning at her in a most unfamiliar way. He looked as if his upper lip had been Krazy Glued to his top teeth. “I guess this is the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” he said, his voice soaring at least an octave higher than usual. “Ruth and Chet Berger, I’d like you to meet the one and only Desiree Mitry.”

“This is a real pleasure, Desiree,” Chet said effusively. “Mitch has told us so much about you. Except he didn’t tell us you were so beautiful.”

“Or so tall,” Ruth said, gazing up, up at her.

“It’s the hat,” said Des, who suddenly felt as if her own top lip had been glued to her teeth.

“Is that poor girl going to make it?” Chet asked.

“She’ll be okay.”

“I marked the spot where we found her,” Mitch said. “Want to see it?”

“Is there anything to see?”

“Not really.”

“Then it can wait. I need to contact her family now.”

“So you’ve got an I.D. on her?”

“I know her. She’s Tyrone Grantham’s sister in law.”

His face dropped. “Uh-oh…”

“Uh-oh is right.” Des turned back to his parents and said, “This is really not how I planned to meet you folks. And now I’m afraid I have to run.”

“Do what you have to do, Desiree,” Chet said. “Besides, the best way to get to know someone is to watch them at work. Not at some artificial dinner party.”

“Which we will, in fact, be having later on,” Mitch pointed out. “Artifice and all. But you’re absolutely right, Pop. It so happens that the two of us met because of her work. Dinner came much, much later. First, she had to make sure I wasn’t a murderer.”

Chet’s eyes widened. “You thought Boo-Boo was a murderer?”

Des blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what did you just-?”

“Nothing,” Mitch blurted out. “He didn’t say anything.”

“Really? Because it sounded like… did he just call you-?”

“Pop, I begged you.”

“No, no. I like it large, Boo-Boo. And for the record, Chet, I never thought he was a murderer. Wouldn’t have brought him Baby Spice if I did.”

“Who’s Baby Spice?” demanded Chet, who had some volume control issues. Talked a bit on the loud side. Maybe it was the pants.

“From the Spice Girls,” Ruth said to him. “That English singing group, remember? One of them’s married to David Beckham. The one with those huge, fake boobs.”

Chet shook his head. “Who’s David Beckham?”

“The soccer player.”

“He has huge, fake boobs?”

“No, she does.”

“Who does?”

“Des was referring to Clemmie. Her name used to be Baby Spice.” Now Mitch’s voice had a semi-adolescent edge to it. The poor man was growing younger by the minute. Before long his testicles would be retreating back up into his pelvis. “I’ll be right back,” he said to them, steering Des across the driveway toward her cruiser. “You saw all of those bruises?”

“I saw them.”

“When she came to, she said, ‘Please don’t make me go back there.’ She seemed really, really terrified.”

“I’ll take down your formal witness statement later. Your folks, too. Will they be okay?”

“Are you kidding? They spent their entire working lives in the New York City public school system. They’ve seen shootings, knifings-don’t worry about them.”

Des looked out at the water. “I’m all turned around. Where’s the Grantham house from here?”

“A mile or so that way.” He pointed up river. “The river current sends all sorts of debris our way. Tree limbs, plastic bottles-everything washes up here. She’s lucky she did. Otherwise she would have drifted out into the open Sound. Then again, maybe that’s what she wanted to do.”

“You mean commit suicide?”

“Why else would she go for a swim in the middle of the night-in her underwear?”

“Could be some guy was getting rough with her. She jumped in the water to get away from him but the current was too strong and she couldn’t get back.”

“That plays,” he conceded. “Especially if she was drunk or high. There was a party there last night.”

Des shoved her heavy horn-rimmed glasses up her nose and said, “I don’t like this.”

“I wouldn’t either if I were you.”

She waved good-bye to Mitch’s parents, got in her Crown Vic and drove back across the causeway, stopping when she reached the Nature Preserve. She’d input Tyrone Grantham’s unlisted home number in her cell phone. Chantal answered the phone, sounding sleepy and grumpy.

“Sorry to disturb you so early, Chantal. It’s Resident Trooper Mitry. Is Jamella awake yet?”

“She been up since dawn with her morning sickness. Poor thing hasn’t gone a day without vomiting since she got pregnant. You need her?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’ll go get her.”

Des gazed out across the undulating green meadows of the Nature Preserve, cherishing this fleeting moment of serenity.

“Hello?…” Jamella’s voice sounded guarded.

“It’s Resident Trooper Mitry, Jamella. I’m calling about Kinitra.”

“She’s asleep in bed. You want me to wake her? Chantal could have done that for you.”

“Kinitra’s not in her room. I’m afraid she’s being taken by ambulance to Shoreline Clinic.”

Jamella let out a gasp. “She’s what?”

“A resident of Big Sister Island just found her washed up on the beach there. She nearly drowned, but she appears to be okay.”

“Oh my lord!…”

Des heard noises in the background. And a man’s voice demanding, “What’s going on?”

“Tyrone, they’re taking my baby sister to the hospital! Trooper Mitry, are y-you still there?”

“I’m here. But I’m afraid I have more bad news. She’s pretty bruised up. It’s possible that she may have been sexually assaulted.”

“Are you telling me one of those punks at Clarence’s party raped her?”

“Who raped her?” Tyrone hollered in the background.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Jamella sobbed. “Where’s this place you’re taking her to? No, wait. Baby, you talk to her. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“This here’s Tyrone,” he said angrily. “Where do we go?”

“Shoreline Clinic on Route 153 between Westbrook and Essex.”

“Will you be there?”

“I’m on my way right now. Tyrone, you need to find Kinitra’s wallet with her driver’s license and other forms of I.D. Bring it with you, okay?”

“Is this an insurance thing? Because I got her covered no matter how much it costs.”

“It’s not an insurance thing. It’s an age of consent thing. They need to verify that she’s eighteen.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ll explain everything to you when you get there.”

Shoreline Clinic was a small, highly efficient emergency response facility affiliated with Middlesex Hospital up in Middletown. Des accessed the emergency room directly from the driveway through the ambulance doors and found herself in a bustling bullpen of nurse’s and doctor’s stations. The examining and treatment rooms formed a big U around the bullpen.

The Jewett girls had come and gone by the time she got there. Kinitra was being examined by a doctor. The door to her room was closed. Des, who was several hours shy of sleep, fetched herself a cup of coffee from the nurses’ lounge. Sipping the coffee gratefully, she returned to the E.R. and peeked through the glass door to the admitting desk and waiting area. Tyrone and Jamella were seated out there with Rondell, all three of them looking tight-lipped and grim. There were only a few other people out there at this early hour. By nine o’clock the place would be mobbed.

The door to Kinitra’s room opened now and the SANE, a chubby young redhead, came out clutching the results of the CT100 Sex Crimes Kit-Kinitra’s T-shirt and panties, the vaginal swabs, all trace and biological samples and photographic evidence. Every item was bagged and tagged separately. She led Des over to the nearest counter so that Des could sign for it, thereby maintaining the chain of custody.

“Dr. Tashima will be out in a minute,” the young nurse informed her before she went bustling off.

Des used that minute to lock the evidence bags in the trunk of her cruiser. When she returned Dr. Cindie Tashima was coming out of Kinitra’s room, closing the door softly behind her. Des had worked with Cindie on numerous occasions. She was a Harvard-trained Japanese-American whose parents had been born in an internment camp in Utah during the Second World War.

Right now, she had a very unhappy look on her face. “The Jewett girls told me to expect you.”

“How is she?”

“Stable, comfortable and lucid. Also quite adamant that she wasn’t raped last night. I advised her to consent to a rape kit anyway just for her personal safety. She consented even though she swore it wouldn’t show anything. And it didn’t.”

“Her being in the water like she was would wash away all of the evidence, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s a ‘yes’ as to someone else’s pubic hair. And a ‘no’ as to semen. There should still be traces of it in her vagina even after two hours in the water. But we found nothing when we swabbed her.”

“Say he wore a condom.”

“We found no fresh internal or external vaginal abrasions. Kinitra wasn’t raped.” Cindie let her breath out slowly. “Not last night, anyhow.”

Des frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I found extensive scarring. Someone has been sexually abusing this young woman for months. I’m talking about repeated, forcible vaginal and anal penetration.”

“Damn, this just keeps getting better and better.”

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up,” Cindie warned her. “Kinitra’s also pregnant. Eight weeks along, I’d say.”

“Did she know about it?”

“She knew. Took a home pregnancy test.”

“Does her sister know?”

“Would that be Jamella?”

“Yes.”

“The answer is no. She’s been keeping it from her. Afraid she’ll go nuts. Not exactly mature behavior but Kinitra is a teenager. And Jamella is the mother figure in her life, I gather.”

“You gather right. Exactly what does Kinitra say has been going on?”

“She told me that she’s been in a consensual relationship with a young man and that they happen to enjoy rough sex.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No, I do not. But her sister provided us with valid I.D. that verifies Kinitra is eighteen and, therefore, an adult under the law. If she says she and her boyfriend like it rough then that’s how it is. What happens next is entirely up to her. She would not grant me consent to discuss her condition with members of her family. If I do I’ll be violating her privacy under the HIPPA laws. You and I can discuss it because this is a potential criminal investigation. Or I should say was. If she keeps insisting that no crime took place…”

“Then no crime took place. And I’m out of here. Cindie, she had to know what your exam would turn up. Why did she agree to it?”

“My opinion? It was a cry for help. But don’t ask me from whom or what because I truly don’t know.”

“Well, how is she explaining the events of last night? How did she end up half-drowned on Big Sister Island?”

“She’s refusing to say a word about it. The subject’s off limits. I did take blood samples for the presence of alcohol and drugs in her system. If nothing else, we’ll be able to determine if she was high. I should have those results back from the lab in a few minutes.”

“Are we looking at a suicide attempt here?”

“We could be. Or she may have been trying to terminate. An acute physical trauma such as a near drowning can trigger a miscarriage-although it didn’t in her case. The fetus is fine.”

“How about the identity of this boyfriend of hers?”

“Won’t say a word about him either. Otherwise, she’s a regular chatterbox.”

“You can do a fetal DNA test at this stage, can’t you?”

“Absolutely. We can determine paternity with no risk to the mother or the baby. But she has to agree to it. We can’t compel her. Not even if a crime took place. And she refuses to acknowledge that one has.”

“Does she know that her family’s outside?”

Cindie nodded. “Doesn’t want to see them.”

“Not even her sister?”

“Especially her sister.”

Des opened the door to the small, windowless examining room and went in, Cindie trailing close behind her. Kinitra was sitting up in bed drinking from a Styrofoam cup of what appeared to be a hot tea. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. Her fresh-scrubbed face gleamed in the overhead lights. She looked thirteen.

“Hi, Trooper Mitry.” Sounded thirteen, too. Her voice was all sing-songy and girlish. “Sorry to put you to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all. It’s my job. But Dr. Cindie told me you don’t want to see your sister. How come?”

Kinitra lowered her big brown eyes. “She’ll be mad at me.”

“No, she won’t. Jamella loves you. She’s worried sick about you.”

Kinitra thought it over, her lower lip stuck out. “Who else is out there?”

“Tyrone and Rondell.”

“Well, I don’t want to see them. But I guess it’s okay for Jamella to come in.”

“Is it okay if Dr. Cindie talks to her about your medical condition?”

Kinitra shrugged. “If she wants to.”

Cindie riffled through the forms that were attached to her clipboard. “I need your autograph to that effect right here.”

Kinitra took the pen from her and signed it.

Des told her she’d be right back with Jamella. Then she and Cindie left the room, closing the door behind them.

“Cindie, how long will you be keeping her here?”

“After a near drowning we like to keep them under observation for six to eight hours, then have them come back the next day to be reexamined. There’s a risk they can develop a lung infection.”

“I need you to do better than that.”

“Better as in?…”

“I want her out of that house for a day or two. It’s an iffy situation there. An extended family of in-laws and hangers-on. A party atmosphere. Can you admit her overnight to Middlesex for, say, a psych evaluation?”

Before Cindie could respond, there was a disturbance outside the glass door at the admitting desk. Tyrone had gotten tired of waiting around. He was hollering, screaming and generally acting as if he wanted to hit someone. Little Rondell was trying to calm him down while Jamella pleaded with the woman at the desk.

Cindie watched them, her brow furrowing. “That big one in the orange T-shirt is Tyrone Grantham, isn’t it? The pro football player who’s always beating the crap out of people?”

“He’s married to Jamella. The pint-sized one’s his kid brother Rondell.”

“Am I seeing things or is Jamella pregnant, too?”

“Seven months.”

Cindie promptly got busy at a computer. “I’m going to admit Kinitra to Middlesex for that psych evaluation.”

“I owe you one, Cindie. And you’ll fill Jamella in?”

“You bet. That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Des opened the glass door and motioned to Jamella. “You want to see Dr. Tashima. She’s right over there.”

“Oh, thank God!” Jamella came waddling into the E.R. in a loose-fitting yellow shift and gold sandals, clutching a Prada handbag.

“Yo, what about us?” Tyrone demanded angrily.

“Please remain out here for now.”

“No way!” he roared, barging his way through the doorway.

Des put her hand up against his massive chest and stopped him, lowering her voice. “Tyrone, Kinitra is very upset right now. She wants to be with her sister. Just let this process unfold, okay? I’ll call you when it’s time.”

“To hell with that! I want to know what’s happening right now!”

The folks in the waiting area were missing none of this. Tyrone Grantham was huge. He was black. And he was famous. Already, their cell phones were starting to come out. In three more seconds there would be video of this whole incident. Then the media would get into it-and Kinitra’s privacy would be lost.

“Okay, fine,” Des sighed. “Come with me.”

“That’s more like it. Come on, little man. We’re going in.”

The Grantham brothers followed her into the E.R. Jamella was huddled with Cindie, shaking her head in disbelief.

Des found a small, vacant examining room and ushered Tyrone and Rondell inside. “Wait right here, okay?”

“What the hell’s this?” Tyrone demanded.

“The V.I.P. lounge. If you create a scene out there I can guarantee you it will be the lead story on SportsCenter tonight. Is that what you want for Kinitra?”

“No, we do not,” answered Rondell, who looked totally distraught.

“Is Clarence waiting outside in your car?”

“He’s still in the rack,” Tyrone replied. “Up all night with that Asia.”

“How about Calvin?”

“Naw, he never stirs before noon. There’s nobody out in the car.”

“Did any media people follow you here?”

Tyrone shook his shaved head. “Too early for them. We’re good.”

“Thank you for your consideration, Trooper Mitry,” Rondell said. “We’ll be right here when you’re ready for us.”

By now Jamella had gotten the full dose of bad news about her kid sister. The tears were streaming down her face. “She’s… how many weeks?”

“Eight,” Cindie informed her.

“I-I don’t believe this. She’s never even had a serious boyfriend. It must be a mistake.”

“It’s no mistake.”

A lab technician approached Cindie with a computer printout.

Cindie studied it for a moment before she said, “No trace of alcohol or drugs in Kinitra’s blood. She was clean last night.”

“Of course she was,” Jamella huffed. “My sister’s no party skank. She’s a serious artist.”

Des put her hand on Jamella’s shoulder. “I’d like for the three of us to have a talk together. Do you think you can keep it together in there?”

Jamella breathed in and out. “I’ll try. But who did this to her?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

Des led her into Kinitra’s room, closing the door behind them.

Jamella rushed toward her and gave her a hug, her eyes widening at the sight of those bruises around Kinitra’s throat. “Hey, baby,” she said gently.

“Hey, I’m really, really sorry about all of this.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I let you down.”

“How did you let me down? You didn’t let me down.”

“Trooper Mitry wants to ask us some questions, okay?”

“Questions?” Kinitra had a puzzled expression on her face. “What about?”

Jamella settled into a chair, her fists clenched, eyes fixed on the floor.

Des leaned against the closed door with her arms crossed. “About what happened to you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jamella gave her a hard stare. “You have to talk about it.”

“No, I don’t. And don’t look at me that way.”

“What way?”

“Like you think I’m some kind of ho.”

Jamella’s face tightened. “I don’t think that, baby.”

“And stop calling me ‘baby.’ I’m all grown up.”

“Okay, okay. Just… chill out for me, will you? I got Tyrone out there about ready to kill somebody. I’m sitting here, size huge, trying to wrap my mind around what in the hell has happened a-and I got you all of a sudden giving me an attitude like I never, ever… Just, p-please…” Jamella broke off with a sob. Des went over to the sink and got her a tissue. “Sorry, it’s my danged hormones. I cry all of the time.” She dabbed at her eyes, sniffling. “Just tell us what happened, okay?”

“It’s private,” Kinitra snapped.

“Girl, there’s nothing private about some dog raping you!”

“Why don’t we back this up a little bit?” Des suggested, keeping her voice low. “How long have you two been living with Tyrone?”

Jamella stiffened. “Why, what’s he got to do with this?”

“Not a thing, as far as I know. I’m just trying to get a sense of your situation. Walk me through the past, say, twelve months.”

“Twelve months is like a whole lifetime ago,” she said. “Kinitra and I were still living in the same apartment in Houston where Moms raised us. I met Tyrone when his team flew down to play the Texans last season. He came to the club where I danced and did choreography. I waited tables and slung drinks, too. Whatever it took to keep a roof over our heads. Not just me, either. Kinitra busted her booty every day after school at Walmart. Anyhow, he asked me for my number. We started texting back and forth. And then we started seeing each other,” she recalled, warming to the memory. “When I got my chance to tour with Beyonce he’d pop up wherever I was on the road. Or if I was home he’d fly down to Houston and we’d hang. I knew his reputation. And I’m real careful about who I get involved with. I told him from the start that I have my sister to look out for, my career. I am a serious person. Demonstrate to me that you are serious or go home. And he did. He respected me. After six months or so he asked me to move in with him in Glen Cove. It’s near where the team practices. A lot of his teammates have places there. I said to him, I have a sister, remember? He told me to bring her along. I said, I am not going to uproot her unless we’re talking about marriage. And that’s when he showed me this.” She held out her left hand so Des could admire her huge diamond engagement ring.

“The two of us came north and moved into his place last February, I think it was. There was still snow on the ground. Within a few weeks I was pregnant. We got married in July. Tyrone really wanted our popsy to be there to give me away. I told him Popsy hadn’t been a part of our lives for a long, long time-because he was either in jail or because Moms wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Popsy’s no angel. Not that he’s a mean or bad person. He tries to do the right thing. He’s just weak. Lacks will power, you know? Tyrone hired someone down in Houston who found him living in a homeless shelter. Tyrone flew him to New York for the wedding and he’s been with us ever since. It’s worked out real good for him. He and Chantal fight like crazy, but that’s family, right?”

Des looked at Kinitra and said, “So Tyrone has been pretty nice to you?”

“He’s been real nice. Wants to produce me and everything.”

“How about Rondell? Has he been nice to you?”

“I guess.”

“Do you have feelings for Rondell?”

“Get out! He’s a total Urkel.”

“How about Clarence?”

“Cee’s a pest but he’s harmless.” Jamella glanced at her kid sister. “Right?”

Kinitra nodded. “And kind of lame. He keeps saying he’s a sound engineer but I know more about the studio than he does.”

“After the commissioner suspended Tyrone,” Jamella went on, “we decided it would be a good idea to get away from his teammates and all of their friends. A lot of them are no-good punks from the neighborhood, if you ask me. So we ended up in Dorset.”

“Which brings us to last night,” Des said to Kinitra.

“I already told you,” she responded crossly. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Did you go to Clarence’s party?”

“Hell, no!” Jamella answered. “I don’t let her near those sort of people.”

Des looked at Jamella and said, “Please let her answer for herself, okay?”

“Fine. Whatever, you say.”

“I was working at my piano on some things,” Kinitra allowed grudgingly. “Until Clarence got in that fight and all hell broke loose. Things settled down after a while but I felt, I don’t know, kind of wired. So I had myself some wine.”

“You had some what?” Jamella demanded.

“Wine,” she repeated hotly. “Do you have a problem or something?”

“ I do,” Des said. “Dr. Cindie just told us that there was no trace of alcohol in your system.”

“I can’t help what her test said. It’s wrong. I also smoked some reefer.”

“Okay, now I know you’re lying,” Jamella said angrily. “You’ve never been near weed in your life. Who are you protecting?”

“Nobody!”

“This is bull. I am not going to listen to this.”

“Where did you get the reefer?” Des asked her.

“Found it in an ashtray out on the patio.”

“What were you doing out there?” Jamella wanted to know.

“I went outside for a few minutes, okay?”

“Who with?”

“Nobody!”

“Don’t you lie to me! Did that no good Cee get you high?”

“No!”

“So you got high by yourself?” Des asked her.

“That’s right. I got high by myself. A-And it was real warm out so I decided to take a swim.”

Des nodded. “Makes sense. You didn’t bother with a bathing suit?”

“What for? It was late. No one else was around. Plus I was high, like I said. That’s how I scraped my knees. I tripped on some rocks on my way down there. The water felt great. But I was so high that I swam out too far, I guess, because I got caught in the current. I swam and I swam but I couldn’t get back to shore. I was lucky I found my way to that island.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Girl, were you trying to kill yourself out there?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Look at me,” Jamella ordered her. “ Were you?”

“No, I was not trying to kill myself.”

“You mentioned those scrapes on your knees,” Des said. “How about the bruises around your wrists and throat? How did you get those?”

“I figured from when they did the CPR on me or whatever.”

“The folks who found you told me that the bruises were there before they called 911.”

“They’re wrong.”

“They also told me you came to for a second and cried out, ‘Please don’t make me go back there!’”

Kinitra lowered her eyes, swallowing. “I really don’t remember that. I must have been delirious.”

“Okay, I’ve heard enough of your bull,” Jamella blustered at her. “Tell us who attacked you right goddamned now. Was it the same dog who got you pregnant or was it someone else?”

Kinitra reached for the Styrofoam cup of tea on the bedside table and took a sip. She wouldn’t say.

Des said, “You told Dr. Cindie that you took a home pregnancy test.”

She nodded. “A few weeks ago.”

“And you don’t tell me?” Jamella cried out.

“How could I? I knew you’d freak. Just like you are right now.”

“Because I’m your sister and I love you! What is this, are you trying to punish me or something?”

“Why is this about you? Why does everything have to be about you?”

“Ladies, let’s try to lower our voices, okay?”

“You tell her to stop lying to me, and I’ll lower my damned voice!”

“Kinitra, are you planning to have this child?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Jamella put in.

“Which you don’t!”

“Girl, what about your musical career?”

Kinitra shrugged. “Stuff happens.”

“But you have a gift. You have dreams.”

“Those are your dreams, not mine.”

“They’re what?”

“Does the baby’s father know that you’re pregnant?” Des asked.

“No.”

“Is he the same man who attacked you last night?”

“I wasn’t attacked. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Jamella said, “Your doctor told me they can give you a paternity test. I want you to have that.”

Kinitra stuck out her chin. “No way. And you can’t make me. This is my thing.”

“Is it true that you’re presently in a consensual relationship?” Des asked her.

“That’s right. But don’t ask me his name because I’m not going to tell you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it’s personal.”

“She’s lying again,” Jamella said. “She hasn’t had a boyfriend since she was thirteen.”

Kinitra let out a harsh laugh. “Like you’d know.”

Des said, “Dr. Cindie found signs of forcible vaginal and anal penetration when she examined you. You have all kinds of scarring down there. Care to talk about it?”

“That’s just how we roll.”

“So you like it rough?”

Kinitra smirked at her. “The rougher the better.”

“More lies,” Jamella said, fuming. “Girl, who are you trying to protect?”

Kinitra sighed wearily. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. What’s the point? You don’t believe me anyway.”

“Okay, if that’s how you want it,” Des said. Clearly, the girl wasn’t going to give up anything else. Not with her sister present.

“Can I take her home now?” Jamella asked.

“I’m afraid not. She’s being transferred to Middlesex Hospital for overnight observation.”

“What for? She’s fine. Aren’t you, baby?”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Kinitra said offhandedly.

Which totally flabbergasted Jamella. “Wait, you’re good with that?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, if the doctor thinks I should.”

She stared at her kid sister long and hard. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

Des led her back out into the E.R., closing the door behind them.

“I swear, I don’t even know who that person is.” Jamella’s voice sounded hollow. She was badly shaken. “It’s like she’s turned into somebody else. Lord, what happened to her?”

Tyrone came charging across the E.R. toward them with Rondell on his heels. “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded to know. “The doctor won’t tell me. The nurses won’t tell me. I swear, if I don’t get some answers I am going to tear someone’s head off!”

Jamella let out a sob. “Some punk raped my baby sister and got her pregnant, that’s what. She’s going on eight weeks already.”

Rondell let out a gasp. “Oh, my God…”

That vein in Tyrone’s forehead was beginning to throb. Then he let out a lion’s roar of pure rage and drove his giant fist through the door of the supply closet next to Kinitra’s room.

Everyone in the E.R. stopped what they were doing and stared at him. It wasn’t every day that the Incredible Hulk showed up in their work space.

The security guard who was on duty next to the ambulance doors rushed over and said, “Sir, I’ll have to ask you to control yourself.”

Not a chance-Da Beast was loose. He picked the guard up and hurled him bodily against the wall. The man crumpled to the floor, dazed.

“ No, Tyrone!” Jamella cried out.

Now a pair of husky young orderlies rushed over and attempted to subdue him. Good luck with that. Tyrone sent one orderly flying across a nurse’s desk and kicked the other’s legs out from under him. Then, his massive chest heaving, Tyrone whirled and-discovered that his forehead was flush up against the nose of Des’s SIG-Sauer. He froze instantly.

“Are you listening, Tyrone?” Des kept her voice quiet as she stood there holding her weapon to his head.

“I-I’m listening,” he panted.

“Dr. Cindie has her hand on the telephone at this very moment. If she has to call for back up, you will be looking at the business end of a criminal assault investigation-not to mention a lifetime ban from the NFL. Do you understand what I’m saying? Nod your head if you do. I won’t shoot you.”

Slowly, he nodded his head up and down.

“Is that what you want?”

Now he shook his head.

“You’ve got a pregnant wife standing here who has just gotten the shock of her life. Jamella is freaking out right now, okay? She needs for you to be a husband to her.”

“The trooper’s right, big man,” Rondell spoke up nervously. “You don’t want to be upsetting Jamella. Think about your baby.”

Tyrone steadied himself. His breathing returned to normal. The crazed look in his eyes faded away. “You’re right. You’re totally right. I’m okay now,” he told Des. “And I’m sorry.” He went over to the security guard and helped him to his feet. “Hey, man, I’m real sorry. I just got some bad news is all. Are you hurt? You need anything?”

The guard grunted that he was fine. So did the orderlies after Tyrone had helped them up, apologizing profusely. Everyone seemed to be fine. No harm, no foul. Des holstered her weapon. The E.R. returned to normal.

Tyrone put an arm around Jamella, his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

“No, I am not okay,” she answered in a small voice. “My baby girl was attacked last night.”

“By who?”

“She won’t say.”

“Well, was it the same guy who got her pregnant?”

“She won’t say, Tyrone.”

Rondell shook his head in disbelief. “Such a sweet, innocent girl. Who would want to hurt her?”

Tyrone looked at Des. “You don’t suppose this is about me, do you?”

“I don’t suppose anything at this point. What are you suggesting?”

“Some bastard trying to hit me where it hurts. Like that sleaze Plotka.”

“There’s no way he could get onto our property,” Rondell reminded him. “We’ve got that fence all around.”

“Actually, you do have a security problem,” Des informed them. “I intended to phone you about it this morning. There’s a hole in your fence between you and the Joshuas. Mitch discovered it last night when he was escorting Mr. Lash home.”

Rondell frowned at her. “You’re suggesting that someone could have snuck onto our property last night through this hole?”

“Not someone,” Tyrone said tightly. “Plotka.”

“But how did he get into our house?” Rondell wondered. “We have a security system. I checked it personally before I went to sleep.”

Jamella said, “Maybe she went out for a swim like she told us. Maybe the bastard was out there waiting for her.”

“She wasn’t taking any swim when I went to bed,” Rondell countered. “She was in the recording studio.”

“What time was that?” Des asked him.

“I was in my office until well after one o’clock. I couldn’t sleep after all of that commotion.”

“How about you two?” she asked Tyrone and Jamella.

Tyrone said, “We were asleep by twelve, weren’t we, baby?”

“I know I was,” she said. “I’m just so tired all of the time.”

Des mulled this over. “Even if it was Stewart Plotka-and I’m not saying it was-he wasn’t anywhere near Kinitra eight weeks ago, was he?”

“Could be he was,” Tyrone argued. “He did hang out at that Dave amp; Buster’s where him and me got into it. She was there with us a bunch of times. And it’s not far from my place in Glen Cove.”

“He lives in Forest Hills, Queens,” Rondell added. “That isn’t far from Glen Cove either.”

“Are you going to talk to that bastard?” Tyrone demanded. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

“We’ll talk to him,” Des said. “Keep your distance, understand?”

Rondell said, “I’m slightly confused about something. Can’t the doctors simply administer a DNA test to determine who the father is?”

“Yes, they can,” Des affirmed. “But only if Kinitra consents to it. And she’s refusing. She won’t even acknowledge that a crime has taken place. Says she’s been in a consensual relationship.”

“She hasn’t got any man,” Tyrone shot back. “Just her music.”

“That’s what I told the trooper,” Jamella said. “There’s nobody.”

Des looked at Rondell. “How about you? You spend a lot of time around Kinitra. Seem pretty fond of her.”

Little brother cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Of course I’m fond of her. She’s like a sister to me.”

“And how about Clarence?”

“Cee knows I’d break his fool neck if he touched her.” Tyrone glowered at Des. “And don’t you be looking at me. I’m a happily married man, not some animal.”

Des said, “Someone has been sexually assaulting that girl repeatedly for weeks, maybe months. It’s my belief, despite what she told us, that she was assaulted again last night. I believe she had reason to fear for her life. And I believe she’s still afraid. Therefore, I’m going to request the assistance of the Major Crime Squad.”

Jamella looked at her searchingly. “Will your people figure out who did this to my sister?”

“They’re very good at what they do. They’ll get to the bottom of this.” Des mustered a reassuring smile. “Whatever this is.”