'Not serial murder,' Anton said tightly. 'Serial rape.'
Chapter 53
'THIS ISN'T A CONSULT,' I told Sampson. 'It's a favor. To you, personally, John.'
Sampson raised his eyebrows knowingly. 'In other words, you promised Nana and the kids no more fieldwork.'
I waved him off. 'No, I didn't promise anybody anything. Just drive and try not to hit anyone on the way. At least no one that we like.'
We were in McLean, Virginia, to interview Lisa Brandt, who had left her Georgetown apartment to go stay with a friend in the country. I had her case file on my lap, along with three others, women who had been raped but wouldn't say anything to help the investigation and possibly stop the rapist. The serial rapist.
This was my first chance to look the papers over, but it hadn't taken me long to agree with the originating detective's conclusion. These attacks were all committed by one man, and the perp was definitely a psycho. The known survivors were of a type: white women in their twenties or early thirties, single, living alone in the Georgetown area. Each of them was a successful professional of some kind – a lawyer, an account executive. Lisa Brandt was an architect. These were all smart, ambitious women.
And not one of them was willing to say a word against or about the man who had attacked her.
Our perp was clearly a discerning and self-controlled animal who knew how to put the fear of God into his victims and then make it stick. And not just once, but four times. Or maybe more than four. Because chances were very good he had other victims, women too afraid to even report they had been attacked.
'Here we are,' Sampson said. 'This is where Lisa Brandt is hiding herself.'
Chapter 54
I LOOKED UP from the heap of detective files on my lap as we pulled in through a giant hedgerow onto a long crescent-shaped driveway paved with broken seashells. The house was a stately Greek revival, with two-story white columns in front, and looked like a suburban fortress. I could see why Lisa Brandt might come here for refuge and safety.
Her friend Nancy Goodes answered the door and then stepped outside the house to speak with us in private. She was a slight blonde and looked to be about Ms. Brandt's age, which the file put at twenty-nine.
'I don't have to tell you that Lisa has been through hell,' she said in a whisper that really wasn't necessary out here on the porch. 'Can you please keep this interview as brief as possible? I wish you could just leave. I don't understand why she has to talk to more police. Can either of you explain that to me?'
Lisa's friend clutched her elbows across her chest, obviously uncomfortable but also pushing herself to be a good advocate. Sampson and I respected that, but there were other considerations.
'We'll be as brief as we possibly can,' he said. 'But this rapist is still out there.'
'Don't you dare lay a guilt trip on her. Don't you dare.'
We followed Ms. Goodes inside through a marble-tiled foyer. A sweeping staircase to our right echoed the curve of the chandelier dangling overhead. When I heard the chatter of children's voices off to the left, they seemed somewhat incongruous with the formality of the house. I began to wonder where these people kept their messes.
Ms. Goodes sighed, then showed us into a side parlor where Lisa Brandt sat alone. She was tiny but pretty, even now, under these unfortunate circumstances. I had the sense that she was dressed for normality, in jeans and a striped oxford shirt, but it was her bent-over posture – and her eyes – that told more of the story. She obviously didn't know if the pain she was feeling now would ever go away.
Sampson and I introduced ourselves and were invited to sit down. Lisa even forced a polite smile before looking away again.
'Those are beautiful,' I said, pointing at a vase of fresh-cut rhododendron on the coffee table between us. It was easy enough to say because it was true, and I honestly didn't know where else to start.
'Oh.' She looked at them absently. 'Nancy is amazing with all that. She's a real country girl now, a mom. She always wanted to be a mother.'
Sampson began gently. 'Lisa, I want you to know how sorry we are that this happened to you. I know you've spoken with a lot of people already. We'll try not to repeat the background detail too much. Okay so far?'
Lisa kept her eyes fixed on the corner of the room. 'Yes. Thank you.'
'Now, we understand you received the necessary prophylaxis but preferred not to provide any physical evidence in your exam at the hospital. Also, that you're choosing for the time being not to give any description of the man who committed the crime against you. Is that correct?'
'Not now, and not ever,' she said. Her head shook slightly back and forth, like a tiny no repeated over and over.
'You're not under any obligation to talk,' I assured her. 'And we're not here to get any information that you don't want to give.'
'With all that in mind,' Sampson went on, 'we have some assumptions that we're working with. First, that your attacker was not someone you knew. And second, that he threatened you in some way, to keep you from identifying him or talking about him. Lisa, are you comfortable telling us whether or not that's accurate?'
She went very still. I tried to gauge her face and body language but saw nothing. She didn't respond to Sampson's question, so I tried a different angle.
'Is there anything you've thought about since you spoke with the detectives earlier? Anything you'd like to add?'
'Even a small detail might aid in the investigation,' Sampson said, 'and catch this rapist.'
'I don't want any investigation of what happened to me,' she blurted. 'Isn't that my choice?'
'I'm afraid it's not,' Sampson said in the softest voice I'd ever heard out of him.
'Why not?' It came out of Lisa more as a desperate plea than a question.
I tried to choose my words carefully. 'We're fairly certain that what happened to you wasn't an isolated incident, Lisa. There have been other women -'
At that, she came undone. A choking sob escaped her, letting loose everything behind it. Then Lisa Brandt doubled over onto her lap, sobbing with her hands clutched tightly over her mouth.
'I'm sorry,' she said in a moan. 'I can't do this. I can't. I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'
Ms. Goodes rushed back into the room then. She must have been listening just outside the door. She knelt in front of Lisa and put her arms around her friend, whispering reassurances.
'I'm sorry,' Lisa Brandt got out again.
'Nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Nothing at all. Just let it out, that's it,' said Nancy Goodes.
Sampson put a card on the coffee table. 'We'll show ourselves out,' he said.
Ms. Goodes answered without turning away from her sobbing friend.
'Just go. Please don't come back here. Leave Lisa alone. Go.'
Chapter 55
THE BUTCHER WAS ON A JOB – a hit, a six-figure one. Among other things, he was trying to keep his mind off of John Maggione and the pain he wanted to cause him. He was observing an older well-dressed man with a young girl draped on his arm. A 'bird,' as they had called them here in London at one time.
He was probably sixty; she could be twenty-five at most. Curious couple. Eye-catching, which could be a problem for him.
