“Two days ago.”
“Doesn’t your insurance provide a rented one in the meantime?”
“They do when I have time to get onto them. So far I haven’t even had time to report it to the cops.”
“When you say stolen, you mean… like… Carjacked? At gunpoint?”
“Heck no!” If they’d given me half a chance I’d’ve nailed the bastards. I got out to buy a paper.”
“I thought your Merc had digital ignition control? Isn’t that supposed to be hotwire-proof.”
“Not if you leave the keys inside.”
Alex looked at him wide-eyed.
“You’re kidding!”
Claymore held up his hands sheepishly.
“I plead guilty to stupidity Your Honor.”
They both laughed and carried on their friendly banter oblivious to the storm that was brewing in the background.
Friday, 5 June 2009 — 10:15
White.
The room was a cold, clinical white. It was supposed to be relaxing as well as hygienic and useful for showing up any evidence samples that might be inadvertently dropped. But stepping into it had the aura of entering something out of science fiction.
“Okay now just hold still,” said Doctor Weiner, holding the third swab between Bethel’s legs.
Bethel held still and forced her mind not to think about what was happening or what had happened. But the harder she fought to avoid it, the more painful the memories that flooded back.
“I don't understand,” said Bethel fighting back the tears. “How many swabs do you need?”
“We try to take several,” said Bridget, the twenty-something detective who was standing with her back to the wall a few feet away.
“But why?”
Bridget could hear in Bethel’s voice, the inner strength that the girl was trying to draw on to dam up the flood of tears that was aching to burst.
“Because sometimes the whole sample gets used up in the test and we may need to do back-up tests or give a sample to the defense in case they want to run their own independent tests.”
By this stage, Bethel Newton had been photographed from all angles, examined by a female doctor and had vaginal swabs and nail clippings taken. They had intended to take combing from her pubic hair, but she was shaven. They had also taken buccal swabs to use as reference samples. Bethel’s body was now — in police investigative terminology — a “crime scene”. And the vaginal swabs and nail clippings constituted “crime-scene samples” or “evidence samples — samples which had come into contact with the rapist and were potentially contaminated by his own DNA.
“I don’t see what good this’ll do,” said Bethel.
“We can distinguish between different contributors. That’s what your reference sample is for. In fact we now have powerful techniques for isolating DNA from sperm.”
“But he used a condom.” She remembered how deftly he had held her down with the weight of his body while putting it on, before he penetrated her. It was like he knew exactly what he was doing — like he had done it before. Some men are experts with bra straps. This man was an expert at rape — and an expert at minimizing the trail of evidence that he left behind. He was what criminal investigators call “forensically aware.”
“We don’t expect to find any identifiable sperm in the vaginal swab,” explained Bridget. “But we have to check anyway.”
Bethel shuddered, but kept her mouth shut. She hadn’t expected it to be like this.
“You scratched him too, don’t forget,” Bridget added. “That could give us a skin sample or even a blood sample and that in turn will give us his DNA. Also we might find traces of the condom itself. He might have thrown it away nearby.”
“And how does that help?”
“Oh, in a variety of ways. For example, condoms are made of a variety of materials, and contain substances known as exchangeable traces, like lubricants, spermicides and powders to stop the rolled up condom from sticking to itself.”
“So what?” said Bethel, bitterly. “How does that help you catch him in the first place?”
Bridget took a deep breath and spoke gently. “Okay, well let’s say we find an empty condom packet by the road near where it happened, if it has fingerprints on it, and if he has a criminal record, we’ll be able to identify him and issue a warrant. And let’s say we find some exchangeable traces from the condom in the swabs we took from you — that means substances like lubricants and spermicides and anti-stick powders — we can compare them for chemical similarities to any condoms we find in the suspect’s possession or for that matter any chemical traces in any condom that he discarded nearby. Or if he discarded the whole packet, we can analyze the exchangeable traces in them and compare them to your evidence sample.”
“So what’ll that prove?” Bethel spat out contemptuously. “That he has the same type of condoms?”
Bridget put a comforting hand on Bethel’s shoulder.
“Evidence is like a jigsaw puzzle, Bethel. If we can put enough pieces together we can nail him. Fingerprints on a discarded packet or condom can link the condom to the suspect. Semen in the discarded condom can link it to the suspect. Matching trace chemicals between the condom and your samples can link the condom to you. The DNA evidence can then strengthen the case against him considerably. And if we can match his DNA to the DNA from those other crimes then before you know it he’s going down on multiple counts of rape! And
Bethel knew that the flattery was part of a well-meaning game. Still, she warmed to the compliment and nodded, pretending to accept Bridget’s logic.
In fact, a bond was beginning to form between them. But this was only natural. From the moment Bethel had staggered into the police station, Detective Bridget Riley had accompanied her.
Bethel had been reluctant to go through the whole rape examination procedure. Several times she had almost backed out of it. But Bridget had convinced her to go through with it, pointing out that the bruises and internal injuries showed that the rapist had used considerable force.
“There’s virtually no danger he’ll be able to argue consent,” Bridget assured her. “They sometimes get away with that in date-rape cases, but this wasn’t a date. Unless we goof-up badly, there’s no way he can use it here. And once we ID the man, if we’ve got a good sample from any of the swabs or nail clippings, the DNA’ll get him.”
“It didn’t help with O J Simpson!” she spat out bitterly.
“That was an exception. The cops were sloppy about how they handled the evidence. That gave the defense a window of opportunity to make it look like there was reasonable doubt. Remember the jurors were still angry over the Rodney King fiasco. But it couldn't happen again.”
“But first you’ve got to catch him,” said Beth tentatively.
“We’ll check his DNA against the California SDIS, and the NDIS in Washington.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s the National DNA Index System.”
Bethel smiled nervously. But then she said something that struck Bridget as rather strange.
“What if his lawyers dig up stuff that they can throw at me?”
Friday, 5 June 2009 — 11:05
“So how big is this Department then?” Andi asked the lean bespectacled man in a light grey suit as they
