“Detective Daniels,” one points to himself, then, moving his hand toward the other man, “Detective Geary.” For a second I wonder whether I should introduce myself, but he continues almost without a pause. “So, Ms De Souza. You’re an illegal immigrant, I see.”
My indignation momentarily wins out over my fears. “I was brought here by my mother when I was four. I’ve got DACA status.”
“At the moment, you have,” Daniels agrees. “But that could change if you’re convicted of a felony.”
“But I haven’t done anything.” My voice isn’t working too well.Felony?I cough to clear my throat. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
They exchange a look, then the second man speaks, tapping his forefinger on the folder in front of him. “I’ve a witness statement that states you were driving up to a green light, then suddenly slammed your brakes on so the car behind you was unable to stop.”
My eyes widen. “That’s not true.” I look from one to the other. “I was stopped at a red light, as I told your colleague at the scene. The car behind rammed me. Surely there’s something you could check?” I ask the latter hopefully.
“We’ve examined the scene. There’s nothing to support your version of the story.” This from Daniels.
Geary’s looking at me with a tired expression on his face. “Why did you do it, Ms De Souza? Couldn’t get a legal job? Needed the insurance money? Compensation for the injury youraccidentcaused?” He must have noticed the way I’m sitting, breathing shallowly due to the pain in my chest. He’ll have the doctor’s report too.
“You’re wrong,” I object, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. Hoping I sound indignant. “That story you’ve been told iscompletely wrong.” But watching their faces, they’ve already tried and convicted me.I bet their witness is white. Who is it? I didn’t see anyone around until after the crash. It must be the other driver.Thoughts are flitting around my head. There’s something I should be doing, asking for. Mentally I try to get them to slow down so I can grasp hold of a notion and act on it. But along with trying to decide what to do, all I can think about is being convicted. I’d lose my DACA status. And of course, they’ve already found that out. My fingerprints would be on record with all my immigration status information. Is this something they’ve concocted to get an immigrant off the street?
I want to ask about Drew, want to tell them. But if I do, what happens to him? He’ll get caught up in the system.He’s too young to look after himself.I bite my lip. While I’ve still got a chance of getting out, I’ll keep quiet about my brother. Don’t want to lose him and not be able to get him back.I hope he called the number I asked him to during our all too brief telephone conversation that they permitted.But what would Tse care? I only met him the once. What could he do? I couldn’t think of anyone else to get hold of.
“I want a lawyer.” Suddenly I realise what I should have asked before.It’s what the people on TV do.“I’m not saying anything else until my lawyer is here.”
“Have you got a lawyer, Ms De Souza?”
I look down at my cuffed hands, feeling those tears running again. They have zero effect on the men seated opposite. In fact, they start gathering their papers together. “If you don’t have a lawyer, then we’ll have to get a public defender for you. That will take time. I doubt we’ll be able to resume until the morning.”
I’ve got to stay here? All night? What about Drew?
“Don’t I get bail or something?”
Detective Daniels leans over the desk. “You haven’t been charged yet. When we’ve completed our investigation, you will be. Then you’ll go in front of a judge. But between you and me, you won’t get bail. We’ll argue an illegal immigrant is a flight risk.”
“You’re going to keep me locked up?” Now I’m croaking. This morning I left for college as normal. Everything the same as it usually was. Now I’m being held for a crime I didn’t commit. My mind is whirling, unable to come to terms with it.
“That’s the long and short of it,” Detective Geary agrees, almost cheerily. “And if I were you, Ms De Souza, I’d start getting used to the idea that your days in the USA are numbered, and you probably won’t see the country as a free woman again.”
I’m led back to my cell, the door clanging behind me. I sit on the bunk and place my head in my hands.You won’t see the country as a free woman again.This time, when the tears start, they don’t stop.Drew, oh Drew.How many years would it be before I could see him?How will he cope? Who’s going to look after him?
My position is hopeless. Unless I can get them to see I’m innocent, which they seem completely unwilling to do, I’m never going to be free again. I doubt if they care, DACA or not, one more illegal off the street probably pleases them.
Night falls. Lights are dimmed but not switched off. I lie down, my eyes open. Sobs are wracking my small frame.What can I do? Will a court-appointed lawyer be of any help?If he’s one chosen by the police, I very much doubt it.
I’ll never admit I’m guilty, because I’m not.
But that’s what they try to persuade me to do the very next morning. “The position is this, Ms De Souza.” My court-appointed lawyer breaks off and rubs his hand over his bald head. “We might be able to get a deal as it’s your first offence.Admit you’re guilty, and you will be deported. Continue to protest your innocence, and if convicted, you’ll serve time in jail. And then be deported. The outcome is the same, just depends whether you want to go to prison first or not.”
My jaw drops. Admit to something I haven’t done? The person who should be prosecuted is getting away scot-free, and with money from my insurance company.It isn’t fair!
“I’m innocent,” I tell him again, this time more forcefully.
“You have no way of proving it.”
“It’s my word against a white man’s, I presume.”
“If that’s how you want to look at it, yes.” He shrugs, as he doesn’t even try to sugar-coat it.
What can I do? This lawyer isn’t going to help me. From the way he keeps looking at his watch, he’s got more important things to do. Other people he’d rather be representing and helping. Helping? He’s been no help to me at all. Just emphasised I’ll be deported, whatever I plead.
I’ve had no sleep, my heart’s pounding to get blood around my veins, my pulse is racing. I’ve been stressed since yesterday morning, I can’t cope. Can’t think.I just want to be home with Drew.But the chances of that happening seem highly unlikely.
