“In a recent study, six percent of the men surveyed admitted to rape or attempted rape. Of the rapists, 63 percent were serial offenders. In all, the serial rapists accounted for 439 of the 483 sexual assaults. We find that the vast majority of sexual assaults on campuses—in fact, over 90 percent—are perpetrated by serial offenders.
“Discussion of campus sex crimes is different in many ways. It involves a lot of gray areas of confused consents, mixed messages, and then there’s the issue of drinking. There are a lot of studies that prove that alcohol is closely associated with serial rapists. It sounds like Brandon may have graduated to date-rape drugs.
“The deeper problem, which applies for courts of law, is that sexual assault on campus often happens in a context that, by its nature, defies easy prosecution. Most campus assaults involve incapacitation, rather than brute force. Most are acquainted in some way. We find that when they know their rapist, they may have had sexual contact before. Add in drinking, and most women assaulted don’t even use the word ‘rape’ to describe what happened,” Bev concluded.
“But you just said it. Brandon has all the earmarks of a serial rapist,” I said.
“I agree. How can I help you?” she asked.
“How do we get the rape kits processed? I would expect they would help show if we’re dealing with the same men; hopefully, Brandon is one of them.”
“I’m really not supposed to do this, but let me call the DA. I would be somewhat offended if a DA from across the country picked up the phone and told me how to do my job. In this instance, though, I believe what you have here shows a pattern that has been missed. Would you be willing to pay for the kits to be processed to get the ball rolling?” she asked.
“If that’s what’s needed, I would.”
“I have to be honest with you, there may not be much of a chance with this. I do have to warn you not to take the law into your own hands,” Bev said.
“Hopefully, I wouldn’t have to.”
“Just know that if anything should happen to Brandon, I am duty-bound as the Cook County State’s Attorney to report you.”
The sad part was she was serious. She was worried about stepping on a fellow DA’s toes, but she would throw me to the wolves. There was something wrong with that.
◊◊◊
When we came back downstairs, Jack and Dad were all smiles.
“We figured out how to spend your money,” Dad said.
“That’s good. I’m sure you have my best interests at heart,” I said.
Dad and Mom both looked at me with concern.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I think I said something that made me look like an ass,” Bev said. “I’m sorry, David. That last part sounded bad. I’ll do everything I can.”
“Thank you,” I said and nodded; I would hope so.
She and Harper were my friends. What I realized was that I couldn’t just sit back and let the system do its thing. When I got the results back, I planned to call the judge. Bev, the other DA, and the police force didn’t have a dog in this fight, but the judge sure as hell did.
I was glad she realized how bad she sounded. But I still didn’t get the feeling she would put effort into this to help me get Tami and Alan justice.
◊◊◊
Chapter 6 – No Need to Suck Up Sunday February 7
Zoe explained to me that we were picking up lunch and eating it at my apartment. Someone wasn’t leaving anything to chance today. I was happy when she let me get our lunch at the diner across from the hospital, which was owned by Kim Sun’s aunt and uncle. I ordered us a box of chicken and, of course, a pie. Zoe picked it out, and she did an outstanding job. They had an apple pie with butterscotch sauce. The sauce was in a separate container, and Kim’s aunt told us to heat both up and then pour the sauce over the top right before serving. Yum!
After we ate, she joined me on the couch.
“Next Sunday is Valentine’s Day. I have to go to New York for the weekend. Do you want to come with me?” I asked.
It was Presidents’ Day weekend, so we’d be in New York for three days. Adrienne had arranged some jobs for me. She hadn’t told me who they were for or what I’d be doing, but it would be something I’d enjoy. If Adrienne said it would be fun, I was in.
“Let me call my mom and ask,” Zoe said.
It was interesting to see the progression of the conversation from Zoe’s end. She started out excited, then things took a decided turn. She got up and walked into the bedroom, and the discussion seemed to get heated.
“Fine!” I heard as a final retort.
I stepped into the bedroom and found Zoe red-faced and breathing heavily.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
Of course, I recognized it wasn’t all okay, but I’d learned it’s sometimes best to get the conversation started so a girl can vent. She gave me a look that I didn’t think I deserved.
“I have to go home,” Zoe announced.
She stomped out to the living room and put her coat on. If she was going to be a brat, I was more than happy to drive her home. We got into the Charger and drove off. She didn’t say a word to me the entire way. When we got to her house, she just jumped out and ran inside. Well, I guess that’s what I get for trying to be nice.
I had to turn in the Charger tomorrow, so I decided to go for a drive. I would miss this car. It was every motor-head’s dream. It was heavy enough that it didn’t get all squirrelly when you pushed it into turns. The Charger was quick and powerful. If you wanted something that would outperform it, you’d need to spend twice what you’d pay for the production version of the Charger, or heavily modify something else. The only knock I had on the Charger was its brakes. I’d planned to upgrade them in the spring.
I pushed the pedal down and felt myself being pressed back into my seat as the Charger began to pick up speed. After my driving classes in LA, I was much more comfortable aggressively driving this beast. I had a blast racing through the county park’s ten-mile serpentine road. Hardly anyone ever drove it, so I wasn’t worried I would run into any traffic. The Charger didn’t even twitch when I would throw it into the corners.
When I hit the countryside, I looked for the nearest county road. If I was going to have some fun, I didn’t need a ticket—the county roads weren’t patrolled much, and I loved driving them. They were laid out in a grid that ran north/south and east/west in one-mile increments. Unlike LA, where I wasn’t sure any road was truly straight, you didn’t need a GPS to figure out how to get somewhere. Washington was the nearest town to ours, and it was eight miles north and three miles east. All you had to do was drive north and then turn right at the eighth intersection. Three more and you would be at the edge of town.
With no crops in the fields, I could see for what seemed like miles. I let the Charger have its legs and was soon well past a hundred miles per hour. Even though there was no traffic, I made a point to slow down near a farmhouse. Farm dogs were often territorial, and I didn’t want to hit one just doing its job.
I drove from one end of the county to the other before going home. I needed to get all my stuff out of the car. In the trunk, I had a gun safe and first aid bag. Well, ‘first aid bag’ was probably a misnomer. Tami had bought it for me, and it was more of a paramedic bag. It had anything and everything you would need in an emergency that could be put into such a kit.
◊◊◊
When I got home, I cleaned out the Charger. Getting the gun safe out was a chore; I expect they wanted to discourage people from stealing them. After I was done, I grabbed the chicken and pie and found Dad watching college basketball. State was playing Iowa, and it didn’t look good for the home team.
“I knew you were my favorite son,” Dad said as I put the food on the coffee table.