"Well, I'd have to guess."
"Go ahead, guess."
"From the way she dresses, I'd say she's probably walking sexy."
"What about her dress?"
"She don't wear dresses."
"I mean the way she dresses, what she wears, Harry." I was getting impatient.
"She don't wear no brassiere."
"Sometimes or always?"
"I never seen her that she didn't wear nothing under her blouse or sweater or whatever, even going to work."
"Did you find that sexy?"
"Yeah, yeah."
"Did you find that provocative?"
"How do you mean?"
"Did her lack of a brassiere make you think things or want to do things?"
"You bet."
"Do you find all women of that age make you think things or was there something special about Miss Widmer?"
"Look, she is a real special-looking dame. She's got class the way Grace Kelly has class, you know what I mean? Not cheap. Class."
"That attracts you."
"It makes me want to poke my thing in there to see if it's real."
"How do you think she thinks about you?"
"Now?"
"Before all this happened."
"I don't know she noticed me except to nod. I was embarrassed, to tell the truth."
"Embarrassed?"
"Yeah, well I was often wearing overalls, right? I mean if I was wearing a business suit and a tie I'd a felt better about what she might be thinking."
"Did you feel, Harry, that she was beyond your reach?"
"Yeah, in a way, but I tell you, any dame walks around with tits like that is looking to get them grabbed, right?"
"You said the second time, when you and the janitor paid her a visit, that she was more cooperative."
"Yeah, she took her top off. Wouldn't you call that cooperative?"
"Maybe she thought that would interest you both."
"It sure did."
"Maybe, Harry, she was stalling until help could come."
"Stalling? I'd say she was moving things along. Listen, I never met a dame that'd volunteer a strip that wasn't a whore. Anyway, I don't pay for pussy. I don't respect anybody has to."
"Let's stick to the subject, Harry." I could have caved in his skull. "Would you say the janitor instigated the second visit?"
"What?"
"Put you up to it."
"Jason? I was the one told him. Listen, I don't want to get old Jason into dutch."
"Not even if it helps your case?"
"I'm not that kind of guy."
"But you thought that by bringing him along, if he had a piece of it too, you'd be convincing everybody that Miss Widmer'd ball anyone who came along, right?"
"Right."
"So you were thinking of your defense?"
"Sure."
"Why did you think you'd need a defense?"
"Be prepared, I say. To tell you the truth, I was surprised as hell when she did something about it. Most dames don't say nothing."
"Harry, how many women did you rape before this?"
He was silent.
"That's it," I said. "If you're tempted to lie, just don't answer."
"I'm not lying. I never raped nobody. Listen, Mr. Brady, you ever meet a woman you weren't married to who just invited you in? They all need a little sales talk, a little pressure, some more than others."
"What do you mean by pressure?"
"You know, what they like, you threaten them a bit, you joke about it or maybe you don't joke about it, you twist an arm a little, just as a reminder."
"A normal part of the mating game."
"What's that?"
"Never mind. You've had women resist like Miss Widmer?"
"Sure."
"But never call the cops before?"
"That's right."
"How many women?"
"Exactly?"
"Estimate."
"A dozen?"
"You asking or telling?"
"About a dozen. Maybe two dozen."
"Harry, I don't know if I want you testifying in your own behalf. I'd have liked to have you tell the story the way we plan it together, understand? Let's go back. You said you were thinking of your defense. Does that mean you thought you had done something wrong?"
Harry laughed real nervous like. "Look, Mr. Brady," he said, "don't you think you're doing something wrong whenever you have sex? I mean with anybody?"
"We're talking about you, Harry, not me. Keep to the subject. You said Miss Widmer tried to talk you out of it. What did she say?"
"Like I said, all dames try to talk you out of it. Christ, Mary even used to. She still does once in a while, and I'm her fucking husband!"
"What did Miss Widmer say to try to talk you out of it?"
"She said I could go to a prostitute or something like that."
I'd had enough. I got up to go.
"Wait a minute," he said. "What's all this talk about? How's it going to do me any good?"
"Well, Harry, you're the customer. You're entitled to hear it the way I hear it. Let me play it back to you. You met her on the stairs many times. She said hello to you first. You never said hello to her first. When she walked ahead of you, it was your impression that she walked provocatively. You couldn't help noticing that she never wore a brassiere. You found that provocative, too. Naturally. She looked very ladylike to you, yet very enticing. You had the impression that she wanted it. You had the impression she wanted it not just from you, which is why you brought along the janitor the second time. You thought you were doing something she wanted. You get the picture?"
Harry seemed very pleased.
"We'll have a chance to go over this again, Harry."
"You sure know how to put things, Mr. Brady," he said. "I'm glad you're my lawyer on this case."
That remark would cost the stupid idiot at least an additional thousand dollars, which I better hit him for before he goes to jail.
Thirty-six
Thomassy
You sometimes forget that policemen are government workers, meaning no significant economic motivation, lots of useless paperwork, a life of time spent waiting for something to happen or someone to move a process along a little. To survive, a policeman like a doctor has to immunize himself against the waves of rage and rancor splashed at him by perpetrators and victims alike. A chief of police, who as a young man probably had a surfeit of vitality, is eventually as discouraged as a beat slogger. I pity them. You can't talk to a cop man to man. You're either a supplicant or a superior.
Which leads me to the duty sergeant at the precinct that was holding Koch.
"That psychiatrist needs a psychiatrist," he said.
"What's the problem?"
"He acts like we done something wrong to bring him here."
"Sergeant," I said, "this isn't one of my usual clients or your usual clients. He's a senior professional person and being in this place is like his suddenly finding himself on Mars. I want to talk to him in a private room."
So Koch and I were led to a cubicle on the second floor, where he tried to say six thousand things at once. Trying to calm him down reminded me of the time my car's engine wouldn't shut off when I took the key out and kept shuddering for minutes till it finally collapsed into silence. For the moment I was the psychiatrist and he was the patient. When he was finally quiet, I asked him what he was thinking.
"In Vienna," he said, "my passport was stamped with a red J." His voice fluttered. "Please, Mr. Thomassy, I have never been in a place like this. Get me out of here. I beseech you."
I didn't want to be beseeched by anybody. I told him the routine.
"Listen carefully, Dr. Koch. You had to be booked because an action of yours injured another person. The circumstances are what the judge will listen to, not a policeman. I will get you down to night court and ask for bail. But I need to know the facts. Just the facts, if you can."
"I realize you are being very helpful to me," he said. "I am just a stranger to you."