The Unflinching Courage of Taylor Cadle

The police said she lied about being raped. Then she hit record.

- Rachel de Leon and Julia Lurie

MELISSA TURNAGE approached the 12-year old girl with the imposing affect of a cop: arms crossed, lips pursed, badge visible, tone skeptical.

"So, you don't know how many times this has happened this week?"

Taylor Cadle slouched on a couch, staring at her lap and picking at her nails. That morning, in the summer of 2016, she had gotten into a fight with her adoptive parents when they took away her phone on the ride to their church on the outskirts of Tampa, Florida. A minister's wife, noticing Taylor's tear-stained face, pulled her into an office to ask what was going on. Taylor hadn't been planning to tell her everything, but it all came spilling out. The minister called the police, and now Turnage, a detective with the Polk County Sheriff's Office, was standing before her.

Taylor spoke tentatively, in barely more than a whisper, as she told Turnage in a recorded interview that her adoptive fa-| ther, Henry Cadle, had been sexually assaulting her for years. The inappropriate touching had started when she was 9 years old, shortly after Henry and Lisa, Taylor's great uncle and his wife, had adopted her. Over time, the abuse escalated. Now, he assaulted her "anytime he gets the chance," she said. She didn't like going with him on errands because it often happened then, on the side of a quiet road that cut through a swamp. Standing outside the car, he would put his privates inside of her privates, she told Turnage. Taylor couldn't say how many times he had raped her, but it had happened just the night before. He did it whenever they drove to get milk, too, which was three times a week.

"That's a lot of driving," Turnage said.

Taylor said nothing.