Page 15 of Feel Me

“Tell me about the pictures he took of you,” Declan says.

Again, Rosana shakes her head. Detective Melo stretches his foot out and taps mine lightly. I don’t want to overwhelm Rosana, but like Detective Melo, I realize Rosana is starting to see us as the enemy. She’s never going to make it through trial like this.

“Rosana,” I say, “I know you don’t want to talk about the pictures or what happened when he took them right now. And that’s okay, we can talk about it when you’re ready. But could you tell us if he took them with his phone?”

She shakes her head.

I hold up a hand when Declan stirs. “When you say, no, do you mean you don’t want to talk about it, or that he didn’t use his phone?”

For a long moment, Rosana sits with her arms crossed, appearing to shield herself from the world. Declan starts to say something, but I hold my hand out, hoping he trusts me enough to take the lead. One of the hardest things about working with victims who suffer severe trauma is you have to be patient. It’s the only way they’ll open and trust. Sometimes, it takes them an outrageous amount of time until they finally speak.

When I start thinking that today won’t be the day she’ll tell us, a thick tear rolls down her cheek. “He used an old camera. The one where the picture comes out of it.”

Which means he wanted a hard copy and nothing we could trace on his phone.

“Did he keep the pictures?” I ask.

She nods.

“Where are they, Rosana?” I ask.

Her gaze goes blank. “There’s a loose floorboard under his bed where he used to sleep. He keeps them there.”

“In the apartment above yours where your uncle rented him a room?” I ask. At her nod, Declan and Detective Melo exchange glances.

“What else is in there?” I ask.

“A video camera,” she says.

Shit. “Did he ever use on you?” I ask.

She shrugs like she doesn’t know, but I’m sure that she does.

When it becomes clear that Rosana is done talking, Declan turns to the detective. “Go see Botsko, tell him I need a search and seizure ASAP and that I want it in front of the judge within the hour.”

“For just the room?” Melo asks, his eyebrow puckered slightly. He’s pushing for more, but respects that Declan is the one who calls the shots.

“No,” Declan replies. “I want the entire apartment searched.”

“That’s my brother’s apartment,” Vilma says, her voice shrill following the interpreter’s translation. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

It takes some effort for me not to react. She’s trying to protect her brother from what the search and seizure might turn up. I only wish she was that protective of her daughter.

Declan fixes her with a knowing stare and tight smile. “Then he has nothing to worry about, does he?”

Melo excuses himself. I turn to Vilma and start asking her about her hometown in Honduras. I’m trying to keep her here. If I don’t, she’ll warn her brother and God knows who else. Rosana confided in me that she told Vilma about the sexual assault. Vilma, an undocumented immigrant, was scared to get officials involved. Aside from telling her daughter to lock herself in their apartment, she did nothing about the incident, forcing her to interact with Iker at family functions to “keep the peace”.

I don’t like Vilma. Her weakness and ineffective nurturing put her daughter in harm’s way. She reminds me of my birth mother in that respect, and sometimes it takes a great deal for me to remain calm and not lash out at her. But Vilma is afraid, and despite her mistakes and everything she’s done wrong by Rosana, I know she loves her daughter. Even though she does a shitty job of showing it.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” the interpreter says on Vilma’s behalf.

“Can it wait?” Declan asks, staring right at Vilma.

“No,” Vilma says.

Like I suspected, her English isn’t as limited as she told us. Declan smiles. It’s not a friendly smile. “Fine, one of my detectives will escort you just so you know where it is.”

Vilma scowls. “I can go, too,” the interpreter offers.

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