Conflict of Interest Read online

  "What happened then?" Ray asked, covering his partner's silence.

  Dawn cleared her throat. "He had problems... finishing. Of course, he blamed it on me 'lying there like a dead fish.' He shoved the gun under my chin and told me to stop acting as if I wasn't enjoying it. He told me to moan and act excited." She closed her eyes, a few silent tears escaping from under her lids. "I know that many rapists who have trouble ejaculating blame their victims and kill them, so I... I did what he told me to do."

  Oh, God! Aiden wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to scream or run out of the room, but most of all she wanted to shoot the monster who had done this to Dawn. She had heard a lot of awful stories in her seven years with the Sexual Assault Detail, but for some reason this one was affecting her on another level.

  It was Dawn who was brave enough to break the silence. She appeared to be on automatic pilot. "Finally, he finished, but even that didn't seem to satisfy him. He slapped me one more time, and then he went berserk on my bedroom furniture. His eyes... as he trampled on my photos and threw my books across the room... He was so full of anger and hate that I thought for sure that he would kill me. But he didn't."

  Aiden noticed that she didn't sound relieved about that. Suddenly, tears burned in her own eyes. "What did he do next?" she asked as professionally as she could.

  "He kicked a chair out of the way and disappeared through the bedroom door." Dawn exhaled and took the first sip of her tea, which must have been cold by now.

  Aiden exchanged a glance with Ray. "We have to ask you some detailed questions now. Can we get you anything before we start? Something to eat?" she offered.

  Dawn shook her head.

  Rising from her chair, Aiden reached for Dawn's mug. "Another tea, then?"

  "No, I..." Dawn clung to the handle of the mug. "I don't need anything, really."

  Ray looked from Dawn to Aiden. "I'll go," he offered, a friendly smile on his dark face.

  Without further protest, Dawn handed him the mug.

  As Aiden watched the door close, she suddenly understood that Dawn simply hadn't wanted her to leave the room.

  "Sorry," Dawn whispered. "I don't want your partner to think I mistrust him. It's just that I don't know him, and I feel like I know you even when I don't... not really..."

  "It's okay," Aiden said with a smile. "Ray makes much better tea than I do, anyway."

  Soon, Ray returned with tea and coffee, and the interview continued.

  "You said he didn't wear a mask, so you did see his face?" Aiden began.

  Dawn nodded. "Yes. I had the feeling he wanted me to. He turned on the lamp on my bedside table. I think he broke my finger when I tried to lay a hand over my eyes. He wanted to confront me with the reality that it was him who..."

  Aiden didn't question it. She trusted the psychologist's assessment. "Could you describe him to a police sketch artist?"

  A nod from Dawn.

  "And how confident are you that you could identify him in a lineup?"

  "I'd know him, anytime, anywhere," Dawn said without the slightest hesitation. "I'll never forget that face, those eyes." She shivered.

  "You said he was tall. How tall is that, exactly?" Aiden asked.

  For the first time, Dawn looked directly at Ray. "What are you, six feet?" she asked, indicating his tall, lanky frame.

  "And half an inch." Ray smiled gently.

  "I'd say he was a bit taller than that... six-two or six-three." Dawn suddenly hesitated. "I could be wrong, though. I know victims often overestimate the size of their attackers."

  Aiden knew she was right. The rapist completely controlled the situation and overpowered the victim, so it wasn't unusual for the powerless victim to think he was taller than he really was. Still, it made her sad to hear Dawn talk about herself in such a distanced way. "You said he had black hair and blue eyes," she remembered. "Is there anything else you remember about his face? Did he have a beard, for example?"

  Dawn shook her head. "No beard, just some stubble. He had a small scar on his chin... right there," she pointed to her own face, "and another one above his right eyebrow. Given his aggressiveness, I wouldn't be surprised if he had a criminal record with assault and battery."

  "We'll look into it," Aiden promised. It would make their work easier that their victim was a psychologist who knew how the police worked. "Did he smell of anything in particular? An aftershave or –?"

  "He smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. And I could smell alcohol... beer, I think, on his breath." Dawn shivered as if she could smell him right now, right there in the interview room.

  Aiden rested one elbow on the table and fiddled with the unused pen in her hand. "What about his clothes? You remember what he wore?"

  "I didn't really see that," Dawn admitted, "but it was nothing extravagant. Just a white, sleeveless T-shirt, showing off his muscled arms." She rolled her eyes. "His pants were black, I think. I know they were dark."

  "Did he speak with an accent?" Aiden continued with her endless list of questions.

  "No accent," Dawn answered. "He used a bit of slang. He's street smart, but not a college graduate, I'd say."

  Aiden nodded. "What about his age?"

  "A little younger than me. Mid-twenties, I would guess."

  Fairly young, Aiden thought, maybe he's just starting out? "Did he seem insecure... nervous?"

  "Not in the least." Dawn vehemently shook her head. "He was cold-blooded, angry, and fully convinced that he had every right to do what he did. There was no room for nervousness or scruples. I wouldn't be surprised if he has raped before."

  Aiden glanced at Ray to make sure he had written down that information. "You said you didn't know him, but did he say or do anything from which one could infer that he knew you or knew who you are?"

  Dawn hesitated.

  Aiden looked into the cloudy gray eyes. Dawn had answered every other question without delay. What was it about this particular question that made her think twice? Aiden was sure that Dawn's reaction was not an attempt to hide something from them. She had seen countless victims, witnesses, and suspects squirming in their chairs, reluctant to admit something damaging or embarrassing to them. What Aiden saw now was not a woman who didn't want to answer, but a woman who wasn't sure whether she could give an accurate answer.

  "He didn't say anything like that, and I don't know why, but somehow, I got the feeling that he didn't break into my apartment by chance." The fingers of Dawn's uninjured hand nervously played with her mug. "But that's only a feeling; maybe I'm just paranoid."

  Aiden shook her head. "Never doubt your instincts, Doctor. At this point, even a paranoid feeling could turn out to be a valuable lead."

  Dawn smiled timidly. "Thanks."

  "Did anything unusual happen in the last few days?" Aiden wanted to know.

  "Unusual?" Another almost-smile from Dawn. "I'm a psychologist, Detective; unusual things happen in my life every day. But if you mean did I notice any strangers lingering around the building or receive any hang-up calls, then no, there wasn't anything unusual."

  "You didn't notice anyone who didn't belong in the building?" Aiden asked again. "Maintenance personnel, meter readers, the cable guy...?"

  "Not that I remember."

  "Does your building have a doorman?" Aiden asked.

  "Yes, but he leaves at midnight." Dawn grimaced. "Cost-saving measures."

  Aiden crushed the empty paper cup in her hand. "You said you had just gone to sleep when you heard him... had you been out or did you stay home the whole evening?"

  "I'd been out with some friends. I came in pretty late and just fell into bed." Dawn looked down onto the table as if her decision to go out that night had somehow led to the rape.

  "Did anything unusual happen while you were out? A particularly persistent guy hitting on you or anything like that?"

  A ghost of a smile flitted across Dawn's face. "No, nothing like that happened. I didn't talk to anyone but my friends the whole night, and I'm sure
no one followed me home."

  "Did anything look out of place when you came home?" Aiden continued.

  "I don't think so, but I'm not sure. I was so tired when I came home that I really didn't look around," Dawn admitted.

  "Okay." Aiden rubbed the back of her neck. "You said something, some kind of noise, woke you up. Any guesses to what it might have been? Was it a door opening or the shattering of glass or...?"

  Dawn shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Nothing as loud as the shattering of glass, though."

  "Did you lock the door when you came home?" Aiden asked.

  A determined nod came from Dawn. "I always do."

  "What about the windows?"

  "God!" Dawn moaned and buried her face in her hands. "I opened the damn window! I let him in! I always leave one window open whenever my cat's not home when I'm going to bed. I practically invited him in!"

  "Hey." Very gently, Aiden touched her shoulder. "You didn't 'invite him in.' Unless you gave him a written invitation, he had no business coming into your apartment even if every door and every window would have been wide-open."

  "Still..." A dozen what ifs stood in the room.

  Aiden sighed and decided to break the awkward silence with the next question. "Did he take anything with him? A necklace, a bracelet, rings... anything?"

  "He wasn't interested in jewelry or money, Detective. This was no burglar who came across a sleeping woman by chance and took the opportunity!" Dawn's voice got louder.

  Aiden raised a calming hand. Like a lot of rape victims, Dawn seemed to shift between blaming herself and being angry with the world and its unfairness. "Most rapists take something with them that belonged to the victim. For the most part, it's not financially motivated, but –"

  "A trophy," Dawn said, a lot calmer now.

  "Yes."

  Dawn pressed her uninjured fingers against the bridge of her nose and thought about it. "I didn't notice anything missing, but it's hard to say with all the destruction in my bedroom."

  "And did he leave anything behind?" Aiden asked.

  "Like what?" Dawn asked warily.

  Aiden shrugged. "A piece of clothing, a tool, a weapon..."

  "No. He didn't undress, and he took the gun with him when he left."

  The gun. Aiden threw Ray a quick glance. They both knew how difficult it was to get a reliable, detailed description of weapons from a civilian. "Can you describe the gun? Was it a revolver? Did it have a breech?"

  "No, it wasn't," Dawn answered without a trace of hesitation. "He had a semiautomatic, a nine millimeter with a grip made of black polymer plastic – a Glock 17."

  Ray and Aiden exchanged incredulous glances. How come a civilian with a nonviolent job can answer a question about weapons with such precision?

  Ray finally voiced their thoughts: "How can you be so sure?"

  "I come from a family of cops," Dawn said with a small but affectionate smile. "My father and my older brother were on the job and some of my friends still are. Most of them had Glocks. I grew up around them."

  Were on the job? Aiden noticed her use of the past tense but decided not to ask. Dawn had enough sadness to deal with for the moment.

  With a glance at her watch, which read ten a.m., Aiden asked a few more questions about Dawn's daily routine: Which restaurants, gyms, and clubs did she frequent? Where did she buy her groceries? Which pharmacy and laundromat did she use? They would compare her answers to those of other rape victims. If they were lucky, there might be a connection, a common place where the rapist first noticed his victims.

  Finally, Aiden stretched and looked down at a yawning Dawn.

  Ray closed his notepad and threw down the pen. "We'll have the written statement for you by this afternoon. You should read it carefully to make sure everything's accurate and then sign it."

  Dawn nodded.

  "Do you live with anyone?" Ray asked, and when Dawn shook her head, he continued, "Do you have family or friends you could stay with for a few days?"

  "I think I'll stay with my mother for a while," Dawn answered quietly.

  Ray nodded. "Good. We can have a unit drive you there," he offered.

  Aiden stood up and rounded the table. "I'll drive her home, Ray."

  "That's not necessary, Detective. I can take a cab," Dawn protested bravely though it was easy to see that she wasn't looking forward to driving anywhere with a male stranger.

  "It's no problem. I really don't mind," Aiden said.

  Her partner studied Aiden for a few seconds before he nodded. "Okay. Meet us at the cr... at Ms. Kinsley's apartment as soon as you're finished."

  * * *

  Aiden parked her car in front of Grace Kinsley's house and turned off the ignition. She got out of the car and waited patiently until Dawn had done the same. "A locksmith is going to change the locks in your apartment," she said, silently wondering how often she had told other rape victims the exact same thing, "and a psychologist will call you to make..." She stopped when she remembered that Dawn was a psychologist, too.

  "...an appointment," Dawn finished for her and smiled sadly. "Standard procedure, right?"

  Aiden shook her head. Nothing about this case was "standard" – not for her and certainly not for Dawn. When they stopped in front of the apartment building where Dawn's mother lived, Aiden took one of her cards, wrote something on the back, and handed it to Dawn. "Those are the numbers you can reach me at – the precinct, my pager, my cell phone, and my home number. Don't hesitate to call me – anytime, day or night, okay?"

  Dawn looked at the card, then at Aiden. "Thank you. For everything." She took a deep breath and turned to look at the house.

  Aiden had seen the same hesitation dozens of times before: Dawn was afraid to go in and tell her family what had happened to her. "I could come with you and talk to your family if you want me to," she offered quietly.

  "No, thanks, I'll manage," Dawn said but didn't sound convincing.

  Before Dawn could reach the door, it swung open. "Dawn!" An older, heavier version of Dawn stood in the doorway. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you the whole..." The woman's gray eyes widened when she looked at her daughter and saw the bruises on her face. "Oh, my God! Dawn, what happened?"

  Dawn stared at her with a mixture of emotions – wanting to be left alone so she could pretend nothing had happened and equally longing to be held in motherly arms. A tear rolled down her cheek as she searched for words.

  When Dawn didn't answer, her panicked mother turned to Aiden and repeated, "What happened, Detective?"

  Another Kinsley woman with built-in copdar. Aiden thought absentmindedly. She said nothing, waiting for Dawn to find her voice. She knew how important it was for Dawn, for any rape victim, to say the words on her own. She rested a supporting hand on Dawn's elbow and waited.

  "Mom," Dawn said, her voice a rough whisper, "I was raped last night."

  Mrs. Kinsley blanched. "What? Oh dear God!" She reached for her daughter.

  Dawn's cool, controlled façade crumbled immediately. Sobbing loudly for the first time, she sank into her mother's embrace.

  Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Aiden stepped back. She wanted to turn her head and give them some privacy but found that she couldn't look away from the comforting caresses and the consoling whispers. Aiden had loved her mother, and she was sure that her mother had loved her in her own way, but she had never known the level of motherly comfort that she was witnessing now. It was a healing experience and hard to look at, at the same time.

  With one last glance, she turned and walked toward her car.

  * * *

  Aiden ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. She looked around Dawn Kinsley's apartment, where a crime scene specialist and her fellow detectives were already hard at work. It didn't appear to be the same cozy apartment where she'd had coffee with Dawn just a week ago. The warmth and innocence had been destroyed.

  She crossed the living room and tried to slip on her detective persona a
long with her latex gloves. "Any luck with prints?" she asked.

  The crime scene technician looked up from his work. "I've lifted a few from the bedroom door, the phone, and the window," he said. "Could belong to the victim, though."

  "You should check for prints on the cell phone," Aiden suggested. "The perp threw it out of the window, so we know he had it in his hands."

  "Will do." The crime scene tech continued his dusting.