“The woman who finds a stranger in her apartment to the little girl who waits for her uncle to knock on the door.”
Rachel nodded.
“Exactly. There are so many different strands to sexual assault, and yet we tend to treat them all the same. Like they have the same cause. The same effect on their victims.”
“And you’re going to change that?”
“Rape is a complex crime and requires a lot more nuance, Mr. Kelly. Not so much in the investigative aspects. But in the treatment of survivors and in prevention. We need to start talking about that.”
We walked the rest of the staircase in silence and stepped into the Drake’s Grand Ballroom. I saw Nicole, floating in a crowd at the far end of a roomful of cocktail chatter. Vince the Modern Cop was with her. They looked successful, happy, and poised for more.
“It was nice meeting you,” Rachel said. “For what it’s worth, your friend Nicole was right.”
“How so?”
“She told me you had a different take on things.”
“You mean for a man?”
“I mean for a person. Believe me, when it comes to sexual assault and Neanderthal thinking, women take a backseat to no one.”
“Really?”
“The ‘she asked for it’ syndrome?” Rachel said. “Fueled by the whispers of countless generations of females. Passing judgment on one another while silently thinking: ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’ Don’t get me started. I have a speech to give. It was nice meeting you.”
And then she was gone, engulfed by a gaggle of women apparently wanting a moment of her time. I grabbed a scotch at the bar and pushed my way toward Nicole.
“What did you think of our chairwoman?”
Diane Lindsay had materialized from the left, riding close, hand resting on my shoulder. If Rachel Swenson looked good- and she did- Diane looked better. She was wearing some sort of dress, cream-colored silk and thin enough to be little more than nothing at all. Her body felt alive, tight, and restless underneath. I liked the way she leaned in when she spoke, as if we were the only people in the room. Or at least the only ones who counted. I especially liked her scent.
“She’s a judge?” I said.
“Yes, indeed. Not a bad-looking one, either.”
“If you say so.”
“You can too, Kelly. Not a sin, you know. By the way, you look hot in a tux.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You ever work with this group?”
“Nicole Andrews and you are buddies, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She didn’t tell you about my project?”
We started to walk, working our way through the room.
“What project?”
“I interview rape victims for the association. Document their stories. Just me, the subject, and a camera.”
“Who gets to see the interviews?”
“Only the subject and whoever else she authorizes. Sometimes it’s just a form of catharsis. They want to get the story out there. Let someone hear it out loud.”
“And sometimes?”
“Sometimes they want other women to watch. To see and hear what happened to them. Seems like it’s a good lesson.”
“Really. How many subjects have you taped?”
“Over three hundred women. Seven hundred hours of interviews.”
“Interesting?”
“You might say.”
“How so?”
Diane stopped and considered me for a moment.
“You really want to know?”
“I asked.”
She moved to a spot along a portable bar, waited for a moment until the crowd cleared, and then continued.
“Among other things, I have on tape at least three women describing in detail how they killed the man that raped them. In two of the cases, the man was her husband.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely. One made it look like a fall down the stairs. The other went down as a home invasion.”
I whistled.
“The authorities know about your project?”
“Each time the DA’s office stepped in and reviewed the footage. Justifiable homicide. No charges filed.”
“Who handled it?”
Diane pointed across the room. Toward a short, bald lawyer, holding an unlit cigar and looking very uncomfortable.
“Speak of the devil,” Diane said. “I have to go powder something. Why don’t you buy the assistant district attorney a drink?”
Bennett Davis sidled over, took Diane’s hand, and reached up to kiss her on the cheek.
“Miss Lindsay. My ten o’clock fix, two hours early.”
Diane looked even better when she was being admired by another man. And graciously so.
“Thank you, Mr. Prosecutor. If you could take care of my date here for a moment, I have to find the ladies’.”
Diane moved off. Bennett took her spot and motioned for a bartender.
“Her date, Kelly? You didn’t tell me about that. Can I get a scotch on the rocks? Thanks.”
Bennett got his drink, swirled the ice around with his fingers, and took a sip.
“No smoke?” I said.
“Not allowed. Fucking cretins. But hey, don’t change the subject. Diane Lindsay. Come on.”
“Nice lady,” I said.
“Yeah, nice.”
“Listen, Bennett. I don’t know if you had anything to do with O’Leary backing off. Nor am I going to ask.”
I held up my drink.
“But if thanks are in order, consider it done.”
“Forget about it,” Bennett said. “They had nothing, and I told them as much. Anyway, it all blew over.”
“Just like you said.”
“Exactly. You get a new girlfriend, and everyone is happy.”
“Everyone but John Gibbons.”
“Yeah, everyone but John.”
“Where is the investigation at?”
“Don’t know,” Bennett said. “The police are working it, but right now we’re hands off.”
I thought about Goshen and his visitors from the DA’s office. Then I thought about the street file and my talk with Vinnie DeLuca.
“You sure about that, Bennett? No one is working this?”
A wrinkle flew into the lawyer’s brow, and he put his glass back on the bar.
“What are you hearing?”
“Nothing,” I said.
Bennett leaned closer and I wondered if he wasn’t a bit drunk.
“Then why are you asking?”
