“Did the hat say ”Con Ed“ on it, specifically? Did it have any lettering on it?”
“No. It didn’t say anything.”
“Did he have any kind of identification that he showed you, like any tag on his shirt or anything he pulled out of his pocket?”
Katherine was avoiding eye contact now, admitting, with regret, that she hadn’t asked for any ID, she had just assumed he was telling the truth.
“I let him in and he walked right into the kitchen, where my lunch was on the table, and he opened the stove and looked in. And I kept talking to him as he looked, and I said I didn’t ever report a problem with my oven even though the gas had been kind of poor. It’s an old building everything needed repairs at one point or other. Then he said, ”Maybe you could get your husband to come out here and give me a hand with this.“ Katherine paused and winced as she went on, ”So I told him, “I don’t have a husband I mean, maybe I can just help you.”
That’s exactly what he wanted to hear, as Mercer and I were well aware. Home alone. “That’s when he stood up from the oven, turned around and faced me. That’s the first time I saw the knife.”
“Take a breath, Katherine,” I said, leaning over to put my hand on top of hers.
“You’re doing fine. Just take it easy I know this is difficult to do.”
“It was a long knife it had a long, narrow blade. I think he pulled it out of the tool belt he had around his waist.
It seemed like it was fifteen or sixteen inches very, very long. He grabbed me and held the knife right in front of my face. He told me not to make a sound or he would cut up my face. Then he said he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he wanted.
“So he walked me into the bedroom and told me to undress with my back toward him, to take all my clothes off and get on my knees. That’s when he made me do oral sex on him.”
When she stopped, Mercer offered her a glass of water, and as she sipped it I talked softly to her.
“You’re doing fine, Katherine. I’m going to interrupt you from time to time to ask for some details. The questions may sound stupid and trivial, but I need to ask them. You may know some of the answers, and you may not remember others. Just tell me what you can, okay?”
She nodded.
“Did he undress himself, Katherine, or did he just expose his penis?”
“He didn’t undress completely. But he did take off his jeans and the heavy belt. He kept his shirt on. And he wasn’t wearing any underpants.”
“When you say ”oral sex,“ you mean he made you put your mouth on his penis?”
“Yes, yes, he did. He kept saying he’d kill me if I didn’t.
Then he told me to stop. He picked me up, he lifted me up, and he put me on my bed. He pushed me down on the bed face up and he put a pillow over my face.“
“Was he talking during any of this, Katherine, or was he not saying anything at all?”
“Yes, he talked. He talked a lot of the time. But, but… I really can’t remember too much of what he said. It was disgusting.”
I leaned in to try to get her to look me in the eye. There aren’t many honest people who can lie when they look you right in the eye just the pathological types. I knew Katherine Fryer could tell me exactly what her assailant said to her if I forced her through it.
“Katherine, you can remember the things he said to you you may not want to, but I know you haven’t forgotten them. And as unpleasant as it is, and as much as it may make you mad at me, I want you to say every one of them to me. They’re part of his signature, Katherine; they’re part of what will help Mercer find him, because he’s probably said them to someone else and he’ll say them again the next time. And there will be a next time unless we stop him. It’s what helps him get off on this stuff, so it’s one of the ways you can get back at him. Please help us with this, trust us.”
“Do you want me to leave the room, Katherine?” Mercer asked, hoping it might make her more comfortable.
“No, no it’s not you. It’s just, well, it makes me nauseous to think about. I’m not a prude or anything, but…”
Again, Katherine Fryer braced herself and went on with her story.
“It was odd,” she continued, ‘because he kept going back and forth between the sexual stuff and asking me where my money was. When I undressed, he told me I had big breasts he told me he liked that. Then he went right on saying he wanted my money and my credit cards. I pointed to my pocketbook. Once he had me on the bed with the pillow on my face, that’s when he really talked a lot.
“He wanted to know if his prick excuse me, that’s his words I’m using now if his prick was bigger than my boyfriend’s… Was it better for me?… Why did I have such big breasts and a little pussy?… Then, in the middle of that, how much money was in my wallet? Then, right back to how good my boyfriend was in bed. And then he kept saying that he would kill me if I didn’t make him come.”
Mercer caught my eye as Katherine rested her forehead in her hand. We had more than enough to know it was the same guy as in the earlier cases. He was trying to tell me to wrap it up so he could take her on to headquarters.
Even the ending was identical. After the rape and robbery, he bound Katherine to the bed with an extension cord, stuffed a dishcloth in her mouth, and replaced the pillow over her head. He ripped the telephone cord out of the wall, and she heard him rummage around in her dresser drawers before the final sound of the front door as it shut behind him. It took more than one hour for the determined young woman to free herself from the cord he had wrapped around her wrists and summon help from a neighbor.
I was glad Mercer had signaled me to cut the interview short. Katherine Fryer was running on empty, and I had found an outlet for my own predicament in trying to lose myself in her case.
“Okay, Katherine, we’ve given Miss Cooper enough to keep her busy for a while. Let’s get some fresh air and walk over to headquarters. We’ll let you stop talking and start sketching.” Mercer Wallace stood up and opened the office door, determined not to let me wear out his witness.
‘I’ll call you later, Coop see if we can figure out where to go from here.“
I thanked Katherine and explained that I would be available to her for any kind of help she needed.
“Keep a pad next to your bed,” I urged her.
“More detail will come back to you. Like it or not, you’ll have flashbacks triggered by conversations you hear or reminders you see on the news or TV shows. Write down anything else you remember, no matter how insignificant it seems to you, ‘cause Mercer and I will want to know it.”
We exchanged good-byes and the two of them walked around the corner to the elevator bank. As soon as they were out of view, Laura blurted out, “Battaglia called from his car. He’s on his way back to the building and he wants you waiting for him in his office when he gets there.”
“Great. If I’m not back in an hour, send reinforcements.”
The walls lining the corridor into the executive wing of the office were covered with portraits of a century’s worth of New York County District Attorneys. Grim-vis aged no-nonsense men, most of whom had held office without ever being troubled by the presence of women lawyers on their staffs. I walked the gauntlet below their icy stares as I headed in to face Battaglia, sure that they would come alive to talk behind my back about the terrible scandal I had visited upon their successor.
I reached the desk of the D.A.“s executive assistant, Rose Malone, a great-looking woman in her late forties, who had started in the office secretarial pool as a high school graduate but had been hand-selected by Battaglia to run the front office and had done so for almost twenty years.
She and I had spent long hours together throughout my tenure in the office, and we were good friends. Rose was the best gauge of the boss’s moods, and a great ally on the occasions when I needed one.
“You might want to save that request until tomorrow,” she would say, on a day the D.A. had been criticized on a particular case action by the Times editorial page; or, “Go right in, Alex he was so pleased with the verdict your team had on that gang rape.”
“Good morning, Alexandra,” Rose said, courteously this time. Cool, it seemed to me.
“That’s terrible, what happened to Miss Lascar. Are you doing okay?” she went on.
Once I assured her that I was fine, she told me to go right into Battaglia’s office, and went back to her word processor. No chatter, no gossip, no mood summary, no advice. If Rose was cool, then the District Attorney would
