Tragedy
"Mr. and Mrs. Heilshorn, I have to tell you that my strong suspicion is that Sarah-Jane has been physically abused. More than likely by an adult, judging by the size and the span of the fingermarks."
Mr. Heilshorn's left eye glared furiously over her shoulder. "Do you know what you're saying here?" he demanded.
"Absolutely. The school doctor suspected it, and now that I've had the opportunity to talk to Sarah-Jane for myself, I'm convinced of it."
"On what fucking grounds, may I ask?"
"Mr. Heilshorn, there's no need to be abusive. I'm just doing my job, which is protecting vulnerable children like your daughter from physical and emotional harm."
"You're trying to accuse me of precisely what?"
"I'm not accusing you of anything, Mr. Heilshorn. It's not my job to accuse you of anything. My job is simply to assess Sarah-Jane's situation here and if necessary to recommend further investigation into her physical and emotional well-being. Which I'm telling you now is what I intend to do."
"She never gets sick," Mrs. Heilshorn put in. "I give her an excellent diet, the same as me. Plenty of fruit, plenty of vegetables."
"Mrs. Heilshorn, we're not discussing what Sarah-Jane has for lunch. We're talking about the possibility that somebody has sexually abused her."
"From a few fucking bruises? What do they prove? Sarah-Jane and me, we often have a rough-and-tumble. You know, horsing around in the yard, stuff like that. Sometimes I give her piggybacks-so what? I'm her father, for Christ's sake."
Mrs. Heilshorn said nothing but gnawed at her bright scarlet lips and looked anxious.
Holly put her notes away. "I'm going to recommend that you bring Sarah-Jane into the children's clinic for examination by a police doctor. If she really did sustain those bruises from falling off her bicycle seat and horsing around in the yard, we'll soon be able to tell for sure. I can make an appointment now."
"She's a virgin," Mr. Heilshorn interrupted. "I can absolutely guarantee that, one hundred and ten percent."
"Well, as I say, we'll soon be able to confirm it."
"Jesus, I don't believe this. I don't believe that you can walk into my home and suggest that I- Jesus. I mean, what kind of people are you? You got dirty minds or what?"
Holly stood up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Heilshorn. I'm doing my job, that's all. Why don't you bring Sarah-Jane along to the clinic tomorrow morning and we can put this matter to rest."
"I'm going to call my lawyer, I warn you. I'm going to sue you for slander and invasion of my personal privacy."
"Somebody's personal privacy may have been invaded here, Mr. Heilshorn, but I certainly don't think it's yours. Now, do you mind if I have another quick word with Sarah-Jane before I leave? I want to tell her what's going to happen tomorrow."
Mrs. Heilshorn said, "I'll get her," and left the living room. Mr. Heilshorn said nothing but glowered at Holly and intermittently sniffed. Holly used her cell phone to text the clinic and arrange for Sarah-Jane's examination.
"Eleven forty-five okay for you?" she asked Mr. Heilshorn. He gave her a dismissive wave of his hand.
It was then that Mrs. Heilshorn came back in, looking flustered. "She's locked herself in her room and she won't answer when I knock."
"I'm not fucking surprised. You think she's stupid? She knows what's going on here. Trying to say that I molested my own daughter Jesus."
"Her appointment's at eleven forty-five," Holly told Mrs. Heilshorn. "Can you make sure that she's there on time? Here's the address, and here's my cell phone number in case you need me."
Mr. Heilshorn snatched her visiting card and peered at it. "Holly Summers. Well, I can't say that it's been much of a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers. Goodbye."
"I still need to have a word with Sarah-Jane before I go."
"And what if I say you can't?"
"Then I'll have to call the police and I'm sure you don't want a squad car in the street outside your home."
"I'll try knocking again," said Mrs. Heilshorn.
"Jesus."
Holly followed Mrs. Heilshorn up the blue-shag-carpeted stairs to the second-story landing. She tip-toed across to a door with a flowery ceramic plaque sayingSarah-Jane's Palaceand gave a brisk little rap. "Sarah-Jane? Sarah-Jane? It's Mommy again. Can you open the door, please?"
There was no answer. She tried rapping again. "Sarah-Jane, I don't want to have to get cross with you!"
Holly said, "Let me try." She leaned close to the door and said, "Sarah-Jane. This is Holly. I need to tell you something important before I go back to the office. It'll help you to understand what's going to happen tomorrow."
She paused and then she said, "I know this is difficult for you, but you're very grown-up and I know that you can get through it. Do you think you could come out and talk?"
Still no answer. Mrs. Heilshorn looked at Holly and shrugged. "She can be very sulky when she wants to be. You know what they're like at this age."
"I think we ought to open the door," said Holly.
"But she's locked it."
"I still think we ought to open it. Can you ask your husband to come up here and help us?"
"Anthony, will you come upstairs, please? Ms. Summers thinks we ought to open the door."
"Jesus."
But after Holly and Mrs. Heilshorn had knocked again and again, still with no reply, he came stamping up the stairs and beat on the door himself. "Sarah-Jane! Will you stop acting so goddamn childish! Open the goddamn door!"
Silence. Mr. Heilshorn turned to Holly and pointed a finger at her. "If I break this door down, I want the city to pay for it, you got me?"
"Please, Mr. Heilshorn. Just open the door."
He gripped the frame in both hands and gave the door one hefty kick with his stockinged foot, and then another. The door splintered around the lock, and a shove with his shoulder was enough to open it.
Inside, Sarah-Jane's Palace was as neat and as perfect as Mrs. Heilshorn's Palace downstairs. A brass-knobbed bed with a pink satin quilt. A white dressing table with ruched lace skirts around it, and a silver-backed comb-and-brush set. Heaps of teddy bears and floppy-eared bunnies and frogs. Posters of pop stars.
"So where is she?" Mr. Heilshorn wanted to know.
"She has to be here. She locked the door from the inside. Unless she climbed out the window."
Mr. Heilshorn went to the window. "She couldn't have. The window's locked from the inside too." Grunting, he bent over and peered under the bed. "No, not there . So where the hell is she?"
Holly opened the closet door. Inside, on a high brass rail, hung color-coordinated coats and dresses and slacks, all perfectly pressed, and these had been pushed along to one side so that Sarah-Jane could knot a white rope belt around her neck and hang herself. She had used a little red-roofed Fisher-Price dollhouse to stand on, kicking it over onto its side. Her eyes bulged out in a furious stare, and her lips were turquoise. She resembled a grotesque puppet fromSesame Street,rather than the pretty little girl whom Holly had talked with downstairs.
Mrs. Heilshorn let out a terrible shriek, more like a war whoop, and dropped onto the bed with her red-clawed hand held over her mouth. Mr. Heilshorn immediately rushed into the closet and seized Sarah-Jane around the hips to take her weight."Untie her!"he screamed."Untie her!"