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Chapter 2 of 6
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Friday June 8th, 9:28 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
When the room was cleared Carol asked, “You two know each other, right?”
“We meet at the Christmas party,” Valerie offered.
“Yeah, and we’ve talked a few times around the office – last fire drill,” I replied.
“Good. So you heard what Mike wants – update known details and to boost the traffic for this story. I’m not entirely sure why this is a hot button for him, but that’s beside the point,” Carol paused to consider her next words, “I think we know why Mike brought you in on this Cassidy.”
I managed to eke out a weak, “Yes…” I couldn’t decide whether that last statement was a dig or she was pissed about being micromanaged on this story.
“Alright, well, you two divide and conquer. Going forward you two can decide your angles and division of work on this one. Valerie will add you to the byline. Questions,” Carol asked. When neither of us replied right away she stood, “I’ll get with Allen and let him know we’re borrowing you for a couple days Cassidy. Valerie, I want to review the updates by 11:30 and we’ll push it up the chain and get the story updated by noon.”
Carol didn’t wait around for a reply and was out the open conference room door before I’d taken a second breath.
Friday June 8th, 9:31 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
“Well, that was awkward,” I offered meekly.
“Yeah, with Lynn out this story got dumped on me. I thought what I had written was insightful and I reported the known facts of the abduction of Gabriella Estrada,” Valerie said with a little confidence, “I’m not sure what more I could have added.”
“I read both yours and Lynn’s stories and they seemed on point. Curious this one has Mike’s attention,” I replied not really thinking about whether I should be sharing that thought.
“I don’t know why the increased interest… I mean, not that it’s not a story that deserves any less attention or… You know what I mean,” she said backtracking her comment, maybe a little worried that I might be offended due to being, you know – a Trans Woman.
I considered my approach for a second and decided to just lay it all out, “Look, since we’re going work this together – up front and all my cards on the table – it takes a bit of work to get me riled up about being Trans. Not that certain situations or triggers aren’t out there, but I’m not a ‘snowflake’ by any stretch. Please, don’t hold your tongue or walk on eggshells around me. If you say something that rubs me wrong, I’m going tell you straight up and politely. If it’s really egregious I’ll let you know and we’ll get to the root of the issue before moving on. I get I’m not the societal norm, but I promise I’m really no different from any of your girl friends or sister – if you have one. Can you live with that?”
Valerie looked relieved, “Oh God, Thank you… I don’t know enough about being Trans or about all the LGBTQ issues, but I do care and… Well, I’m…,” she looked like she was getting flustered, “I really appreciate your understanding of my ignorance,” she looked down at some papers in front of her.
“Just relax, we’ll get through this and I promise it will all work out. So, how do we move this story up in the ‘hits’ and traction department?”
Friday June 8th, 11:44 AM, Phoenix, Arizona
This, this feeling I was experiencing right now, this is how I wanted to feel every day as a journalist. This was a real story I could get behind and maybe build an opportunity to branch out from my usual story assignments. I felt energized and nervous, but alive and anxious to dig into this story.
After Valerie and I had level set our working relationship and gotten past the first pangs of awkwardness, we divided assignments and my first task was to talk with the detective assigned to the Gabriella Estrada case. I knew through the grapevine that it would be next to impossible to get anyone on the phone at the police station, so the in-person approach was how I was going to get anything meaningful from the Phoenix police.
I checked in at the police stations front desk, filled out a form, got a visitors’ badge, and was led to what I guessed was an interrogation room to wait. Single table in the room with handcuff anchors, one-way mirrored window, and a camera in the corner on the ceiling. I assumed the camera was on, though there wasn’t an indicator light of…
A knock at the door made me jump, and as the door opened, I was trying to look calm and put together – I doubt I pulled that off…
“Ms. Ruiz, I’m detective Kovachev, how can I help you,” the man who had entered the room asked.
He had a distinct accent, Eastern Bloc country I would guess, “Detective,” I opened a notebook and tried to guess how to spell his name. I could feel him watching me, he hadn’t sat, just stood at the chair across from me, “Can you spell your name for me, please?”
He moved a hand to his back pocket, pulled out his Anadolu yakası travesti wallet, and removed a business card, placing it on the table and sliding it towards me.
“Oh, perfect, thank you,” I picked up the card read his name, ‘Detective Victor C. Kovachev’, then noticed a cellphone number, “Is it best to reach you via your cellphone,” I asked.
“Yes,” he paused, “You represent the Phoenix Post Intelligencer?”
“Yes.”
“No other affiliates?”
Interesting question, I wonder why he asked that, “No, just the Post Intelligencer. Are you concerned about media outlets contacting you?”
He thought about my question for a few seconds, “We try to control the number of sources we release information to…”
Okay, I’ll buy that. It could be a full-time job having to wrangle the release of information and the need to keep some of the details out of the public domain.
“Anything new with your investigation into the Gabriella Estrada case?”
He was staring at me, “I’m interviewing Ms. Estrada shortly. Do you speak Spanish?”
“I do.” I wondered why he asked me that, was it because I was obviously Hispanic?
“Would you like to assist me with the interview? The hospital can be hit and miss with translators. You would not be able to use everything you hear during the interview, but you would be closer to her story than any other media outlet.”
Oh crap! YES! Yes, I would like to assist! I tried to maintain my composure, “How would this work? We go to the hospital, I ask her your questions, relay the answers, then get permission to publish the content of my story once I’ve written it,” I asked.
“Exactly like that, though you’ll work with our PIO office about the facts you’re allowed to use.”
Wow, this was turning out to be a worthwhile meeting. “I can live with that. When do we meet with her?”
“If you’re free we could head over there now. I can drive and return you to the station or the Post Intelligencer.”
Friday June 8th, 12:39 PM, Phoenix, Arizona
It took twenty minutes for Kovachev to get whatever he needed wrapped up at the station before we headed to the hospital. I texted Valerie while waiting and she was excited about our ‘in’ with the police. She also said the story had been updated on the site – which I skimmed on my phone because I had nothing else to do while waiting for the detective. The wait didn’t dampen my excitement, but I was aching to get this show rolling!
Once in Kovachev’s car, a standard issue unmarked police vehicle, the conversation between us was hit and miss. I pressed for details Mike had said the Times had reported and Kovachev confirmed everything to be accurate. When I’d exhausted my questions about the assaults, I took a stab at his feelings about the defunding of the police. Off topic, but I had plans to put something together on my own and shop the story, if my work on the assaults got positive results.
Beyond just a story idea, I was genuinely curious about how he felt about the defunding. He didn’t disappoint and I appreciated his frankness, though not really surprised by his stance. It felt like he had more to say, but he stopped talking once we were parked and headed to the administration offices.
Once checked in, we waited at least twenty minutes to get a doctor to clear giving us access to Gabriella. Kovachev didn’t look like he wanted to talk, so we sat waiting in silence. When we got the green light to go see her Kovachev stopped just outside her room’s doorway, “Here is a list of questions,” he handed the single sheet of paper to me and I looked them over quickly – I wished he’d have given these to me on the drive over or while we waited so we could have discussed them. Augh!
When it looked like I had finished skimming the list he continued, “Ask a question, translate her reply exactly as she states. I’ll be recording the interview, but her answers may spawn additional questions I might have. Do you have any questions about how I expect this interview to proceed?”
“No… Am I free to ask her questions of my own?”
“Ask me first, but it will be likely you can ask her your questions,” he replied, turned, and entered the room.
I followed after Kovachev, Gabriella was in bed, hooked up to monitoring machines, an oxygen hose at her nose, and two IV-bags – one plugged into her arm and the other in the back of her right hand. She had bruising on her left cheek that couldn’t decide whether to be yellowish purple or deep purple and blue. Her lip was swollen on the left side and there were a few bruises on her arms as well as her wrists – likely from her struggling with her assailant. She had certainly been roughed up, I hoped it wasn’t worse.
Kovachev touched Gabriella’s hand and her head moved slowly toward us, “Talk to her please,” he said softly.
I moved to the opposite side of the bed, looked at Kovachev, then at Gabriella. I cleared my throat, she looked at me and began to cry. Shit!
“No, no… It’s alright Gabriella…,” I spoke gently, Anadolu yakası travestileri softly to her in Spanish.
“Do not make any promises, we need answers and leads. Just ask the questions,” Kovachev said soothingly as if to not tip Gabriella over any further.
That was a little cold. You really are clueless on the dangers we face you asshole. Focus, I can enlighten him after the interview. I sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled slowly, taking her hand in mine. I started by telling her who we were and what we were here for. Kovachev showed his badge when I said ‘policia’ and I explained that I was a reporter there to assist him with questioning because he did not speak Spanish. She nodded slightly as if to say she understood. She didn’t appear to be in pain, likely one of these drips in her arm was for pain.
I looked at the list of questions, but before I could ask the first one, she croaked, “He does not understand us?”
I smiled, “I’m sure he understands some words, but he says he does not speak Spanish.”
She turned to look at him, Kovachev looked at me, “What is she saying,” he asked.
“She asked if you speak Spanish.”
“I can say beer, bathroom, and I know how to count to ten,” he said looking down at Gabriella. He pulled a digital recorder from his pocket and placed it on the bed.
She looked at it and shook her head and whispered, “I will not speak if he is recording.”
“Put the recorder away, she says she will not speak to us if you’re going to record her.”
He looked from me to Gabriella, picked up the recorder, clicked it off, and put it back in his pocket.
“Ask her my questions, please,” he said trying to smile, but certainly not happy that he could not record the interview.
I squeezed her hand lightly, “Do you know where you are?”
She looked confused by the question and replied, “Hospital.”
I smiled, “Yes, but do you know what city you are in?”
She hesitated, “Is this Phoenix?”
I nodded, “You are in Phoenix. When did you get here?”
“Can I speak without fear of being sent back to Mexico?”
I translated that for Kovachev. “She won’t be sent back to Mexico,” he hesitated a second, “I can’t promise her that, but there are enough resources that will be made available to her after what has happened to her that it is unlikely, they will deport her.”
I relayed that to her, she said softly, “I cannot go back to Mexico.”
“I understand, he’s saying you won’t be deported. When did you cross the border?”
It was Kovachev’s third question, but I figured it fit in better in the flow of things than his second question, which was whether she knew who did this to her.
“The sixth… What day is it?”
“Today is the eighth.”
She looked at me trying to gauge her next question, “How long?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but you were admitted yesterday, early morning… So, it hasn’t been but a day and a half here in the hospital.” I know I sounded confused, but I wasn’t sure what she was asking. Maybe she wanted to know how long she’d be out of it.
She shook her head slowly, winced, and set her eyes on me, “No, how long for you?”
Oh! Well, hello dysphoria my old friend! Haven’t talked to you in like a couple minutes. Augh! She could tell I was Trans; did she think my being here was planned? Had Kovachev invited me to assist because I was Trans? Whatever, it is what it is I guess.
“About five years.”
She was watching me, and I wondered what she really had on her mind. She had an air of quiet intelligence about her which made me wonder about how she got mixed up in whatever had happened to her since crossing the border. Kovachev tilted his head, and I took that to mean he wanted to know what was said, so I told him, dumping a little more in the dysphoria bucket. Thanks for that you two.
“Ask his questions before he wonders about my willingness to cooperate,” Gabriella said when Kovachev had looked as though he was up to speed on what had just transpired between us.
Interesting, she realizes there are pieces in play and knows there are processes being adhered to by Kovachev and the system. Did she not want to appear as a hostile witness or victim for fear of being sent back to Mexico? She was playing along – but aware, processing the context of the interview. Based on what she’d just said I was sure Gabriella was educated and more worldly wise than your typical immigrant trying to escape to this country.
“The detective was hoping that maybe you might remember some things that happened to you, even the smallest of details,” I explained. “Do you know who abducted you?” I pointed to the question for Kovachev, he nodded.
“I will handle part of that,” she said.
“I don’t understand, you do know who did this to you?”
“Tell him I don’t know,” she turned slowly too looked at Kovachev, “No se…” (I don’t know)
“She says she doesn’t know who did this to her,” I relayed, but inside I was worried about her knowing who did this to her. What did Travesti Anadolu yakası she mean by ‘handle’?
He nodded, “Are you concerned with that answer?”
Huh, concerned? Not if she’s going to track this fucker down and ruin their day – then no. I shrugged at him, looked back at her, “Can you tell us where you’ve been since entering the country?” That was his fourth question.
“A place called Gila Bend for food and a house,” she paused to think about that, “They said it was in Buckeye. I don’t remember much, but I remember being in an old hotel room somewhere remote, the road was very rough with many holes, I don’t know where. I don’t recall how far from the house in Buckeye, but I remember being in a car shortly after dinner on the sixth…”
“Why do you think the hotel was old?”
She thought about that question before answering, “The smell. Much graffiti on the walls. It was a big building and looked to have many rooms. A dog was barking all the time outside somewhere nearby.”
Okay, probably stale or whatever, “The detective says you were drugged.”
“I am sure I was,” she said quietly.
“Do you remember much else? Can you describe any of the persons who did this to you?”
“I was very out of it; my mind and body were paralyzed. I couldn’t…,” she stopped for a moment and began to cry.
I took her hand again, then looked at Kovachev, “She crossed the border, went through Gila Bend and then to a house in Buckeye. She says she doesn’t remember anything other than being taken somewhere, an old hotel possibly, somewhere remote and over rough road. It smelled, had graffiti on the walls – so someplace abandoned I’m guessing. She can’t describe her assailant.”
“Did you tell her about being drugged?”
“She knows,” I replied squeezing Gabriella’s hand.
“Does she know it was GHB?”
“I doubt that. Why would that matter,” I asked.
“Wouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t have known it was administered; it could help with any guilt feelings she might have.”
“Guilt? You think she feels like she deserved this and being drugged is her get out of guilt free ticket,” I asked a little more gruffly than intended. Gabriella looked at me as though she was trying to understand the conversation I was having in English with Kovachev.
“That is not what I am saying, but whatever she walked into may have already been set up to exploit her. It usually is when these kids cross the border and get mixed up with the wrong people.”
I felt Gabriella squeeze my hand, “What is he saying?”
Kovachev looked at me. “She is asking what we’re talking about,” I said giving him an icy stare.
“Next question,” he chided.
“Are,” I began in Spanish, paused to look at him, pointing to the question, “You want me to ask this question,” I asked in English.
He nodded.
“Are you a sex worker,” I asked her in Spanish.
She turned to look at Kovachev, “No!”
“You did not do this kind of thing from where you came from?” That was the next question on his list and I was kicking myself for not reordering them before this began.
She was still looking at Kovachev, “No!”
“She wasn’t a sex worker prior to coming here,” I relayed, even though I had pointed to the question I had just asked her. He nodded for me to continue.
I didn’t want to ask, but it was Kovachev’s script and pushed on, “You said your name is Gabriella Estrada. There wasn’t any ID found in your backpack and the fingerprints they took do not tell us who you were before your transition. There is no record of you having lived in Mexico; you came from and lived in Mexico, correct?” I noticed the word ‘backpack’ had caught her attention – had Kovachev?
She looked around the room, “Is my backpack here?”
“Yes, I think so. Is that it,” I said pointing toward the sink area.
She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and then answered the question. “There would be no record of me with any government agency, I have never been in trouble. I came from and lived in Mexico before crossing your border.”
“I think they want to know who you were before your transition,” I said tentatively.
“That is not something I will share.”
I looked at Kovachev, “She said she’s never been in any legal trouble and will not share who she was prior to her transition. She came from and lived in Mexico.”
“Continue,” he said dryly.
I asked the rest of his questions, which produced vague answers or that she didn’t remember. She did say she was eighteen, which was younger than I had originally thought, but maybe that made sense with some of her answers. She looked to be early on in her transition, I wondered how long she had been transitioning.
Kovachev seemed to listen to our exchanges, but something was up with him, I could feel it. He asked if I had any questions I wanted to ask.
I looked at him and decided to cut him out of the conversation. Do and ask for forgiveness after the fact, that’s how I was going to roll.
“You are not the only woman this has been done to Gabriella,” I paused because there was no easy way to get to where I was going. “In just under two weeks you’ve become the third Trans woman to be assaulted in the Phoenix area. Each came from Mexico. Can you remember any details, something spoken or some act or pattern of behavior? Anything could help lead them quicker to who did this possibly.”
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