Materials of D.E.L.I.A. (2-3)

Honestly, I don't dream about Long Island with beer and Eminem tapes anymore. This pile of papers that Elizabeth Crowe dumped on my desk sucked me in like a black hole. Now I have the Laura Smith case in front of me, the girl from Houston, and, damn, these stories give me a lump in my throat. Earl Knight, this stubborn cop, no longer seems like just a bore with lousy handwriting - I start reading his notes, and they hook me. Laura, like Isaac, was an ordinary kid, but life beat her like a boxer in the ring. This is what I fished out of police reports, school records and Earl's fragmentary notes. I hope I didn't screw it up, but honestly, this story won't let go.

Biography of Laura Smith, Houston, USA
Based on police reports, school records and eyewitness accounts, 1985-1995

Laura Smith was born on September 9, 1985, in Houston, Texas, in a working-class East End neighborhood of concrete houses, rusty picket fences, and taco stands. Her mother, Claudia Smith, 22, died in childbirth-a complication common in poor neighborhoods where hospitals are overcrowded and doctors are in great demand. Her father was unknown, unlisted in the paperwork, as if he never existed. Custody fell to Miguel Torres, 25, Claudia's cousin, a truck driver at a construction warehouse. Miguel, a Latino with a thick mustache and a penchant for listening to Mexican ballads on a cassette player, lived in a small house on the outskirts of the neighborhood where the pavement cracked and dogs yelped at night. Laura grew up in a room with faded flowered wallpaper and slept on a mattress that creaked like Miguel's old truck.

Note from David S.: Earl writes in his notes that Miguel was "a nice guy, but broke." How does he know? He probably talked to neighbors, but the reports don't specify. Reading about Laura makes my heart ache - a girl without a mother, without a father, in that seedy East End. Growing up in Brooklyn, I know what it's like to be surrounded by concrete and despair.

Laura attended Milby Elementary, three blocks from her home. Teachers remember her as quiet but bright. She loved to read - she'd steal dog-eared copies of Nancy Drew and Little House on the Prairie from the library - and dreamed of becoming a writer. In notebooks found by police after her death, Laura wrote short stories: about a girl who flies on a cloud and a cat who steals stars. Her teacher, Ms. Elena Gomez, noted in the 1993 school magazine: "Laura is the best writer in the class, but she's shy about reading out loud." Her best friends were Sylvia Rodriguez, the daughter of a burrito stand owner, and Teresa Cruz, whose father repaired cars on the corner. The three of them hung out in the school yard, making bracelets out of thread and gossiping about boys, especially Juan Martinez, who threw chalk during class.

Note from David S.: The school journal is the only source for Laura's friends, but Earl mentions Sylvia and Teresa by name in his notes. Maybe he was interviewing kids? Poor Laura, I can just imagine her sitting with those books, hiding from the world. My sister loved Nancy Drew as a child, too, always dreaming of being a detective.

Laura's life was not a bed of roses. Miguel earned little and was often away on long flights, leaving her with a neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, an elderly Mexican woman who fed Laura bean soup and taught her how to cross-stitch. Laura's clothes were second-hand - jeans with patches, T-shirts with faded Batman and Spice Girls logos. But she didn't complain, at least that's what her neighbors say. Mrs. Alvarez recalled in a police statement (1994): "Laura was always smiling, bringing me flowers from the vacant lot - dandelions, daisies. She said she wanted to write a book about Houston, but not as it is, but beautiful." Sylvia and Teresa dragged Laura to the local market, where they bought candy for 25 cents and watched street musicians play saludas on guitars. Laura sometimes sang with them, imitating Whitney Houston, her idol, since she was also from Houston.

Note from David S.: Mrs. Alvarez's statement is from the police report, but Earl adds that Laura "sang like an angel." Where did he get that from? Maybe from her friends? Reading this gives me goosebumps - this girl trying to find joy in this drab neighborhood, and here I am in my office whining about paperwork.

Since 1993 (Laura was 8 years old), teachers noticed that she began to complain of headaches. In math classes, where she usually shone, Laura would sometimes freeze, clutching her temples, and ask to go out into the hallway. Miguel, returning from trips, gave her ibuprofen, thinking it was because of the heat - in Houston in the summer it was like an oven, 35 degrees. Sylvia recalled (in her 1995 testimony) that Laura once fell in the school yard when they were playing tag, and said: "My head is pounding like a drum." Teresa carried water from the fountain for her, but Laura only waved her off, saying that everything would pass. Miguel, busy with work, did not take her to the doctor - in the East End, a visit to the clinic cost as much as a month's salary.

Note from David S.: Sylvia's statement from the report, but no exact date - Earl writes "1995", but that's after Laura's death, so he must have interviewed her later. Poor girl, she was holding on with all her might, and the adults just gave up. I used to run around with bruises as a kid, but this is different - she was suffering.

In July 1994, Miguel Torres, Laura's caretaker, died in a Houston building supply warehouse. He was 34 years old. According to a police report, on July 12, 1994, around 2 p.m., Miguel was loading concrete blocks onto a truck when a faulty construction crane broke loose. The crane struck him in the head, causing him to die instantly from traumatic brain injury. Police describe his body as being found under rubble, his face covered in dust, with concrete fragments and a cassette tape of Mexican music that Miguel had been listening to in the cab lying nearby. A witness, worker Jorge Gonzalez, called 911, but it was too late. A police photographer captured the scene: Miguel lying in a pool of blood, wearing a work shirt and a cap with the Houston Astros logo.