The Perfect Alibi

CHAPTER TWELVE

The door to the coffee shop opened, and Robin looked up from the case she’d been reading. Jeff Hodges paused in the doorway. When Robin saw Jeff, she waved.

Jeff limped over to her table and uncapped the latte she’d ordered for him. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Great. I found a case from Florida that’s on point concerning that jury instruction Kellerman wants.”

“Kellerman is grasping at straws,” Jeff said as he sat down.

“Remember what Regina says,” Robin warned. “No case is over until it’s over.”

Jeff smiled. “Speaking of Regina, we got a postcard from Justice Cloud. They’re in Venice, and he says Regina is having the time of her life.”

“I’m so glad,” Robin said, but she didn’t look happy.

“Hey, cheer up. It’s a beautiful thing they’re doing.”

“I know. It’s just so sad.”

“And out of anyone’s control.”

“I guess,” Robin sighed.

“Think about how happy Regina must be and how happy you’re going to be when you kick Kellerman’s ass.”

Robin smiled. “There is that. And no one deserves it more.”

“Are you referring to your mentor or Mr. Unethical?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Jeff said as he took a sip of the latte. “Now, let’s head to court.”

Rex Kellerman’s case was a mess. The testimony of the police officers and lab techs who’d responded to the crime scene had not made a dent in Everett Henderson’s claim of self-defense. Under cross-examination, the three men who’d been drinking with Greg Schaefer admitted that they and the dead off-duty policeman were heavily intoxicated. They also admitted that they never saw how the fight started and came around the bar only when Henderson and Schaefer were squaring off.

Robin had called her client to the stand—a risky move given Henderson’s lengthy criminal record. But the defendant had been great. Henderson’s girlfriend and drinking companions all swore that Henderson had been attacked from behind by the dead man. The bottle Schaefer used in the fight had been taken into evidence, and Robin was able to show it to the jury. The jagged edges were intimidating, and Henderson had shown the jurors the stitches in his skull. Some of them had grimaced when they saw photographs of the gaping, bleeding head wound before the gash had been stitched up.

On Wednesday afternoon, the defense rested its case, and the judge asked the prosecutor if he had any rebuttal witnesses. Kellerman had looked the judge in the eye and swore that he did not.

When Robin walked into Judge Harold Wright’s courtroom on Thursday morning, the bailiff told her that she was wanted in chambers. Jeff and Robin found the judge in shirtsleeves. He did not look happy.

Kellerman was leaning back in a chair. When he saw Robin, he turned his head so the judge couldn’t see him and smirked.

“Have a seat,” the judge said.

“What’s up?” Robin asked.

“We have a situation,” Judge Wright replied. “Mr. Kellerman wants to put on a rebuttal witness.”

“What witness?” Robin asked. “He’s rested.”

“A witness my investigator located last night,” Kellerman said.

“What’s he going to say?” Robin asked.

“Willis Goins will testify that he was in jail with the defendant. During a recreation period, Mr. Henderson confided that he had made up his claim of self-defense and had bribed his buddies to back him up.”

“I assume Mr. Goins is a solid citizen who is testifying out of the goodness of his heart,” Robin said, barely able to keep her anger in check.

“I haven’t made him any promises,” Kellerman said.

“Just out of curiosity, what’s this paragon of virtue charged with?”

“Burglary and possession of heroin.”

“I see. Can I assume that no one else heard this conversation?”

“It was just the two of them.”

Robin turned to the judge. “The legal term for this is ‘bullshit.’ The Oregon discovery rules were passed to prevent this kind of trial by ambush. They’re very clear. Mr. Goins wasn’t on Mr. Kellerman’s witness list, he’s rested, and I move for an order barring Goins from testifying.”

Kellerman spread his hands and tried to look angelic. “I would have notified counsel, but I didn’t learn about the witness until after court recessed, and I didn’t finish debriefing him until after ten last night.”

“I gotta tell you, Rex, I’m leaning toward granting Robin’s motion. This is awfully late in the game to spring this on the defense.”

Kellerman handed a copy of a case to Robin and the judge. “I’m within my rights to put on a witness if I had no knowledge of the witness when the defense rested. Rocky Stiller, my investigator, got a call from the jail at five thirty Wednesday night and went right over to interview Goins. I’d never heard of him until Rocky called me at home late last night.”

Judge Wright leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Robin waited, her heart beating fast.

Wright opened his eyes. “I’m going to send the jury home. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning with this issue briefed. That’s all.”

Kellerman walked out and Robin followed.

“This is a chickenshit move, Rex.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. Aren’t we trying to discover the truth here?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Kellerman grinned. “See you tomorrow.”

Robin’s hands curled into fists, and Jeff put a restraining hand on her arm.

“He’s not worth it.”

“I don’t know, Jeff. It might be a fair trade if I were disbarred for breaking Kellerman’s nose.”

“Yeah, well, wait until tomorrow. I have an idea. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

Robin finished briefing the discovery issue at four thirty, then headed for McGill’s to blow off steam. Julie Tapanoe, a young MMA fighter with a four-and-two record, was working the heavy bag when Robin walked in. Julie waved Robin over and asked her if she wanted to spar. Robin was still fuming when they started, and she dropped Tapanoe with a vicious kick to the head a few seconds into the sparring session. Barry McGill was watching, and he walked over when Robin landed another brutal shot soon after Tapanoe got up.

“Time!” he shouted.

Robin spun toward him.

“What’s going on, Lockwood?”

“We’re sparring,” Robin snapped.

“Julie is, but you’re not. It looks like you’re trying to take her head off.”

Robin started to argue. Then she dropped her hands to her sides and looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Julie. I had a rough day in court. There’s this prick of a DA who’s trying to sandbag me by calling a jailhouse snitch named Goins. I’m furious with the DA, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” McGill said. “Now, get your shit together.”

Robin restrained herself during the rest of the workout. As she was walking to the locker room to shower and change, McGill intercepted her.

“The snitch, is his name Willis Goins?” McGill asked.

Robin looked surprised. “Yeah, why?”

“Meet me at the courthouse tomorrow morning at eight.”

Robin was exhausted from her workout and still depressed and angry because of Kellerman’s slimy trick. She didn’t feel like eating out, so she stopped at a supermarket and bought a salad for dinner. Robin ate her salad out of its plastic container without really tasting it while she watched the news on TV. She had just finished eating when her phone rang.

“I struck pay dirt,” Jeff said excitedly.

“Tell me.”

Jeff explained what he’d discovered at the jail, and Robin had a big smile on her face when she hung up.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

When Robin arrived at the Multnomah County Courthouse the next morning, Barry McGill was waiting for her with a heavyset woman in a threadbare coat. Robin judged the woman to be in her early fifties, but she looked much older and had obviously seen hard times.

“Robin Lockwood, Mary Goins,” McGill said.

Robin hid her surprise. “Are you related to Willis Goins?”

“I’m that asshole’s wife,” she answered.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” McGill said, walking off before Robin could thank him.

“How do you know Barry?” Robin asked.

“Church,” Goins answered tersely.

“And what can you tell me about your husband?”

“Plenty.”

The spectator section of the courtroom was packed for the hearing on Robin’s motion to bar Willis Goins from testifying. Judge Wright took the bench and told Rex Kellerman to call his witness.

“Please tell the Court your name,” Kellerman said when a heavyset, jowly man with bushy eyebrows and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair took the stand.

“Rocky Stiller.”

“Are you an investigator with the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office?”

“I am.”

“Have you had any contact with a man named Willis Goins?”

“I have.”

“Please tell Judge Wright about that.”

Stiller turned to the judge. “I was in my office around five thirty on Wednesday evening when I received a call from the Justice Center jail. The caller was Mr. Goins. He said he had information that would help the prosecution of Everett Henderson, so I went to the jail and talked to him.”

“What was the gist of what Mr. Goins told you?” Kellerman said.

“Mr. Goins said he’d had a conversation with the defendant during a recreation period, and Mr. Henderson told him that he was going to say he killed Greg Schaefer in self-defense, but he really hadn’t. Goins said that the defendant told him that he was making up a story so he could win his case and had bribed his friends to back him up.”

Everett Henderson leaned over and whispered in Robin’s ear. “That’s bullshit. We did talk, but it was about sports.”

Robin laid a hand on Henderson’s massive forearm. “Don’t worry, Everett. I’ve got this covered.”

“What did you do after you spoke to Mr. Goins?” Kellerman continued.

“I called you and told you what Mr. Goins said.”

“What did I do after we spoke?”

“You came to the jail around nine o’clock and interviewed Mr. Goins.”

“Were you in the room with me during the interview?”

“I was.”

“What time did we finish speaking to Mr. Goins?”

“It was late, around ten, ten thirty.”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said.

“Miss Lockwood?” the judge said.

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Stiller, who is Terry Powell?”

Robin was watching Kellerman, and she was pleased to see the blood drain from his face.

“He’s another investigator in our office.”

“Nothing further,” Robin said.

“Do you have any more witnesses, Mr. Kellerman?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor.”

“Miss Lockwood?”

“I have two. I’d like Mary Goins to take the stand.”

The bailiff went into the hall and returned with Mrs. Goins.

“What is your relationship to Willis Goins?” Robin asked after the witness was sworn.

“He’s my husband.”

“How long have you been married?”

Mrs. Goins sighed and shook her head. “It seems like forever, but I guess it’s sixteen years.”

“Do you have an opinion about Mr. Goins’s ability to tell the truth?”

Mrs. Goins laughed. “He ain’t got that ability. If Willis tells you it’s high noon, you better get ten astronomers to back him up before you believe him.”

“Now, we’ve had testimony that your husband called the DA’s office and claimed that he and my client were in jail together and my client confessed to making up a story about acting in self-defense so he could win his case. Does this sound familiar?”

“It sure does,” Mrs. Goins said. “He pulls this sh… stuff all the time when he gets arrested. He finds out about a case and gets friendly with the defendant. Then he rats him out.”

“Isn’t that a good thing to do?” Robin asked. “Shouldn’t a good citizen contact the authorities if they know something that will help put a criminal behind bars?”

“Sure, if it’s true, but Willis makes this stuff up. He lies about it so he can get a deal in his case.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s bragged to me about lying to get out of jail.”

“No further questions,” Robin said.

“Mrs. Goins, if your husband is so dishonest, why are you still married to him?”

Mrs. Goins shook her head. “I’ve asked myself that question a lot, but a divorce costs money, and, besides, Willis ain’t around that much. He’s either in jail or gone most of the time, so it’s like a divorce.”

“Mrs. Goins, do you know anything about this case, the case involving Everett Henderson?”

“No, except what I found out when I talked to Miss Lockwood.”

“So, you never talked to your husband about it?”

“No.”

“Is it fair to say that you don’t know if Mr. Goins is lying or telling the truth about his conversation with Mr. Henderson?”

Mrs. Goins started to say something. Then she stopped herself. “No. I got no idea.”

“No further questions.”

“Any more witnesses, Miss Lockwood?” the judge asked.

“One more, Your Honor. I call Jeff Hodges.”

“Mr. Hodges, are you the investigator for the firm of Barrister, Berman, and Lockwood?” Robin asked as soon as Jeff was sworn.

“Yes.”

“Did I tell you that Assistant District Attorney Rex Kellerman wanted to call a rebuttal witness named Willis Goins, who was not on his witness list?”

“Yes.”

“Did I also tell you that Mr. Kellerman told Judge Wright that he learned about Mr. Goins for the first time on Wednesday night when Rocky Stiller, one of his investigators, told him that Mr. Goins had called him earlier on Wednesday evening from the jail with information about Everett Henderson?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do after I gave you this information?”

“I went to the jail and looked at the visitors’ log.”

“What days did you look at?”

“Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.”

“Did you confirm Mr. Kellerman’s and Mr. Stiller’s claims that they spoke to Mr. Goins on Wednesday night?”

“Yes.”

“Did anyone else visit Mr. Goins on any of those days?”

“Yes. Terry Powell visited Mr. Goins on Tuesday afternoon at three thirty and left at four thirty. Then he returned an hour later and spoke to Mr. Goins again.”

“Who is Terry Powell?” Robin asked.

“An investigator in Mr. Kellerman’s office.”

“Did you try to contact Mr. Powell about these visits?”

“I did.”

“What was the result?”

“He refused to take my call. This morning, I went to the district attorney’s office and asked for Mr. Powell, and I was told that he was out sick. I had his cell phone number from another case, and I called it.”

“What happened?”

“The call went to voice mail.”

“No further questions.”

Judge Wright looked angry when he turned to Rex Kellerman. Kellerman’s face was bright red.

“Did you learn about Mr. Goins on Tuesday?” the judge asked the prosecutor.

“I… Well, uh, not exactly, Your Honor. Mr. Powell told me that a prisoner at the jail had some information about the case, but I was too busy to follow up. So, I didn’t know what the information was until Mr. Stiller called on Wednesday night.”

Judge Wright looked like he could barely contain his anger. “I want to be certain I understand what happened, because there may be serious consequences. On Tuesday, did Mr. Powell, an investigator for the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office, tell you that he had spoken to Willis Goins?”

“Yes.”

“Did he also tell you that Mr. Goins told him information relevant to Mr. Henderson’s case?”

“Yes, but he didn’t say what it was. I didn’t learn the information until after I rested my case.”

Judge Wright stared at Kellerman until the DA broke eye contact. Then he turned to Robin. “Do you have anything you’d like to say, Miss Lockwood?”

Robin had plenty she wanted to say, but she restrained herself. “I think it would be interesting to talk to Mr. Powell, but it appears that Mr. Powell has made himself scarce. In any event, I believe that it doesn’t matter when Mr. Kellerman learned what Mr. Goins had to say. Terry Powell works for the Multnomah County District Attorney’s office and is an agent of the office and Mr. Kellerman. Mr. Kellerman should be charged with knowing everything Mr. Powell knew on Tuesday. Mr. Kellerman can’t put his hands over his ears and then spring a surprise witness on the defense. As soon as Mr. Kellerman learned about Mr. Goins from Mr. Powell, he had a duty to list Mr. Goins as a potential witness.

“In light of what Your Honor has learned from Mrs. Goins and Mr. Hodges, I think Your Honor should bar Willis Goins from testifying in this case.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rex Kellerman stared straight ahead to avoid looking at Robin when Judge Wright read the not guilty verdict. Even though losing to a bitch like Robin Lockwood was unbearable, he congratulated her with a broad smile as soon as the jury was dismissed. A mob of reporters was waiting in the corridor outside the courtroom, and Kellerman gave them clichéd answers about the American system of justice before begging off and heading for his office.

Kellerman knew that news of his defeat had reached his fellow prosecutors because people averted their eyes and no one spoke to him as he passed their desks. Kellerman walked with his head up to preserve his dignity, but as soon as he shut the door to his office, the façade disappeared and he smashed his fist into the wall.

The murder of a policeman by a member of a racist prison gang had been headline news, and Rex had counted on a highly publicized win to make him a front runner when the district attorney announced that he was not going to run again. Now the voters Kellerman hoped would make him the county’s district attorney would think of him as a loser.

Kellerman squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head into his hands. Vanessa Cole, the chief criminal deputy, was putting a campaign team together. He imagined the satisfied smile on Cole’s face when she heard the news of his defeat.

When Kellerman opened his eyes, he saw the time on his wall clock and remembered that he would be fucking Douglas Armstrong’s wife in half an hour. Kellerman had arranged to meet Marsha tonight so they could celebrate his victory in the Henderson case. There was nothing to celebrate now, but sex might help him forget his humiliation for a while.

Marsha was good in bed, but more than the sex, Kellerman enjoyed cuckolding her wimp of a husband. Whenever he and Armstrong met at the courthouse, it gave Kellerman great pleasure to remember the way Marsha’s body felt.

Armstrong’s first wife had died unexpectedly from cancer. A year later, he’d married his secretary. Kellerman had met Marsha for the first time at a bar function. She wasn’t very bright, and she seemed a bit lost amidst all the legal brain power. Kellerman knew she wasn’t a lawyer, but he had asked where she practiced and pretended surprise when she said she was a legal secretary. By the time they’d parted, Kellerman had convinced himself that she was attracted to him. He hadn’t made a move during that first meeting, but he’d filed the memory away for further exploration at a date to be determined.

Nine months later, Kellerman had run into Marsha while she was waiting outside a courtroom where Doug was in trial. She seemed sad, and Kellerman sensed an opening. Not really thinking she’d accept, he asked Marsha to meet for a drink in a hotel over the river in Vancouver, Washington, where they were not likely to be seen. He’d been surprised when she accepted.

At the hotel, Marsha had been reluctant to do more than talk. Kellerman learned that her marriage was not working for reasons Marsha would not reveal. He pretended to be sympathetic, and Marsha agreed to meet him at the same hotel when Doug was in Los Angeles, taking depositions. This time, they ended up in bed. Kellerman was pleasantly surprised by how aggressive Marsha had been, and he’d concluded that her husband left a lot to be desired in the sack.

They had not met again for a month, and their next tryst was less satisfying. Still, the combination of conquering a body like Marsha’s and the secret thrill Kellerman experienced from cuckolding Doug Armstrong had made his experience enjoyable.

Imagining Marsha naked and waiting made Kellerman feel powerful. He looked at his watch. Marsha had probably arrived at the hotel by now. He would be at least fifteen minutes late. It would be good to make her wait.

When Kellerman walked into the hotel room, Marsha Armstrong was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room from the bed with her coat on. Kellerman stood in the doorway and frowned. Not only was Marsha dressed but she also wouldn’t meet his eye.

“What gives?” Kellerman asked.

“I’m… I wanted to tell you in person,” Marsha said in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Tell me what?” Kellerman asked, trying not to sound annoyed and not completely succeeding.

Marsha looked up. He could see she’d been crying.

“What’s the matter, honey?” he asked with faked sympathy.

“I can’t do this, Rex. I… Cheating on Doug… It’s eating me up.”

Kellerman knelt by her side and took Marsha’s hand. “That’s a natural feeling, Marsha. But we both know your marriage isn’t working.”

“It’s not that. That’s not why I agreed to… to do this.” Marsha looked down at her lap. “When we first made love, I was very depressed. I’d…” Marsha took a deep breath and looked up. “I miscarried, Rex. It was our baby and… and the doctor said…” She started to cry again. “He told us I couldn’t have another baby. And after that, when Doug wanted to make love… I couldn’t do it. And I just wanted to see if I made love to someone else, maybe I could have a baby. But I wasn’t thinking straight, and I know you’ve been kind to me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

“I can see why you’re sad, baby,” Kellerman said, not willing to give up, “but you know I care for you, and we’re so good together.”

Marsha shook her head. “I can’t, Rex, I just can’t.”

She stood and Kellerman stood with her. “This is bullshit, Marsha,” Kellerman blurted out. “We agreed to have sex tonight. I paid for the room. You can’t just walk out.”

Marsha’s mouth dropped open, shocked by Kellerman’s callousness. “I can’t believe you just…” She shook her head and turned toward the door.

Kellerman grabbed her elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You know I care for you. Come on back.”

Marsha wrenched her arm away. “This has been a mistake,” she said. Then she left the room.

Kellerman clenched his fists and cursed. He knew he’d handled the encounter badly, but his sexual frustration piled on top of the humiliation he’d suffered in court had been too much.

Kellerman dropped onto the chair Marsha had vacated. He let his head fall back. First that bitch Lockwood, and now this. No one treated him like this and got away with it. Someone was going to pay.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Doug Armstrong worked late at his office, preparing a case he was hoping to settle in Seattle, Washington. He had plenty of time to prepare, but his work provided an excuse to stay away from home. Until Marsha had miscarried, the Armstrongs’ home had been a joyful place to which he had always been happy to return. But miscarrying had hit Marsha hard, and the doctor’s opinion that she would not be able to have children had driven Marsha into a deep depression.

Doug had waited for Marsha to rebound, but life at home had grown darker and darker. Several months ago, Marsha had told Doug that she wanted him to move into the guest room. Doug moved out of their marriage bed without complaint after telling Marsha that he loved her and would do anything that would help her get better. But the brave face he put on was a mask that hid the horrible way he felt, knowing that the woman he loved could no longer stand his touch.

Doug parked in his garage a little before eight. When he walked into the hallway, he could see Marsha sitting in the living room on the sofa with her hands clasped in her lap. The television—often her only companion—was not on, and the room was lit by a solitary lamp.

Marsha looked up when Doug walked into the living room. There were tears in her eyes.

Doug hesitated before walking toward her. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Me, I’m wrong. The way I’ve treated you…” Marsha began to sob. Her shoulders folded in, and she bent forward.

Doug moved closer, but he was afraid to hold his wife because he didn’t know how she would react.

Marsha looked into Doug’s eyes. “All you’ve ever done is love me, and I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve been so selfish.”

Doug sat next to Marsha and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t understand what you’ve gone through, but I’ve seen how hard losing your child hit you.”

Marsha didn’t reject his touch. She turned toward him. “It was our child, not just mine. And I could see how badly you wanted a child. I had no right to throw you out of our bed. I’ve been a monster.”

Doug took a chance and embraced Marsha. She melted into his arms. After a while, she stopped crying and nestled against Doug. They stayed that way for an eternity.

Then Marsha pulled back and looked at Doug. “Please take me to bed. I need you to make love to me, so I know you forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Doug answered.

Marsha stood up, took Doug’s hand, and led him toward their bedroom.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Carrie Anders found Patrol Officer Maggie Collins waiting in the hospital corridor.

“I understand you were the first responder,” Anders said after the introductions had been made.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring me up to speed.”

Collins took a notebook out of her back pocket and flipped to the relevant pages. “The victim’s name is Jessica Braxton. She’s Caucasian, twenty-two, single, and lives alone.”

“Employed?”

“Not steadily. Mostly low-paying jobs. She clerked at a convenience store, cooked at a McDonald’s. That sort of work.”

“How is she doing?”

“The doctor says her only physical injuries are a black eye and split lip.”

“And her mental state?”

“She was scared and nervous, but she’s holding it together.”

“Will she make a good witness?”

Collins frowned. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you have reservations?”

“Not really. I don’t know if this means anything, but she seemed more nervous than scared. I haven’t been on the force long, but I have interviewed two rape victims, and they were terrified. Of course, I saw them right after the rape and not two hours later, when they’d had some time to calm down.”

“So, she didn’t call 911 right away?”

“No. She says she was disoriented by the beating and the alcohol and very frightened.”

“Did she contaminate the crime scene?” Anders asked.

“No, and she did give us the panties. She says Ray threw them under the bed after wiping himself.”

“Ray?”

“The perpetrator.”

“Okay. So, what about these panties?”

“Miss Braxton told me that she didn’t discover them until she’d called 911. She was going to throw them out when she remembered seeing a crime show on TV in which semen on a pair of panties was used to convict a rapist.”

“Where are the panties?” Anders asked.

“They’re at the crime lab. They also found semen when they did the vaginal swab for the rape kit.”

“Okay,” Anders said. “You did a great job. I’ll talk to you again if it’s necessary. Who’s in with her now?”

“No one. The doctor and a nurse left a few minutes ago.”

When Anders walked into the hospital room, Jessica Braxton’s eyes went wide.

Anders flashed her shield. “Hi, I’m Carrie Anders. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Bureau.”

Braxton stared at Anders’s badge for a moment; then she relaxed. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared.”

“You have every right to be,” Anders said. Anders pointed at a metal chair that was sitting against the wall. “Mind if I sit down?” she asked. “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“No, please.”

“Thanks,” Anders said as she pulled the chair next to the bed. “So, how are they treating you?”

“Good. Everyone has been very nice to me.”

“That’s great. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened so I can start hunting down the person who did this to you?”

Braxton looked down at her covers. “I don’t like talking about it,” she said quietly.

“I don’t blame you. I’ve never met a woman yet who’s been raped who enjoyed reliving the experience, but I can’t find this bastard if I don’t have your information. So, can we talk? I’ll try to make it quick.”

Braxton thought for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead.”

“I think the easiest way to do this is for you to tell me what happened like you were telling a story. Start at the beginning.”

“There’s a club I like to go to, the Blue Unicorn, and I went there last night.”

“Were you by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I went out back in the alley to smoke, and this guy came out.”

“Did this guy have a name?”

“Ray. At least that’s what he said it was.”

“Did he tell you his last name?”

“He might have, but I don’t remember if he did.” Braxton blushed. “I was drinking and… If I did something illegal, can I get in trouble?”

“Does this have to do with drugs?”

Braxton nodded.

“Not from me.”

“Okay, well, I did snort some coke in the ladies’ room. Between the two, I was a little high.”

“Can you describe Ray?”

“He was handsome. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and an athlete’s build. He was muscular and over six feet tall.”

“Okay, so you’re talking.”

“Yeah, and after a while, he suggested we go to my apartment. I live alone on the second floor of a duplex not far from the club.”

“Is that where it happened?” Anders asked.

Braxton swallowed and nodded. “As soon as we were inside, he hit me in the stomach and dragged me into the bedroom. Then he hit me again, threw me on the bed, and covered my mouth. He said he’d kill me if I screamed, and he asked me if I understood. I nodded and he ripped off my panties and…” Braxton licked her lips and took a breath.

“Did he penetrate you? That’s important in a rape case. We can’t convict if he didn’t.”

Braxton nodded. “He did.”

“Did he use a condom?”

“No.”

“Okay, what happened next?”

“When he was done, he wiped himself on my panties and threw them on the floor. Then he threatened to kill me if I told on him. Then he hit me again and left.”

“You’ve done great, Jessica. I’m going to leave you now. Ray may have done something very stupid. I understand he left semen on your panties and they found more when they did the vaginal swab. That means we’ve got DNA, and that should give us a great chance of getting this bastard.”