“Three. The last one sort of figured it out and attacked him. She nailed him pretty well, right on the beak.”
“Good for her. How was the camera attached?”
“I took a photo here, with my cell,” Seckler said, showing me a close-up of the image. A small device had been set into the panel of laces of one of the perp’s sneakers, held in place when the shoe was tied tightly.
“Nice job. Have a seat in the hallway. My secretary will find you an eager prosecutor as soon as she gets in.”
“Why don’t you just let me steer all this away?” Mercer asked as Seckler left the room.
“’Cause it’s what keeps me sane. Not everything that crosses my desk is a murder or a rape. It keeps things in perspective for me to handle all the daily fallout of street life in the big city. Sometimes it even amuses me. Like what could possibly be so thrilling about taking pictures up a girl’s skirt?”
“And on the downside, what does that perversion lead to? Used to be peeping Toms were the first step in a rapist’s training regimen. From peeping to break-ins to sexual assaults. How many of these fools go on to forcible touching? That’s what you’ve got to worry about.”
“I do. That and how fast our killer seems to be moving.”
“Sorry to interrupt. Ms. Cooper?”
“Yes,” I said. Mercer stepped aside and I nodded to the woman standing behind him.
“I’m Alison Borracelli. You have an appointment with my daughter this morning. At eight thirty, I believe.” She was soft-spoken, with a hint of an Italian accent.
Gina Borracelli. I had completely forgotten the Thursday-morning lineup. I flipped open my diary and saw the notation.
“Yes, of course I do. I’ll be with you in just a few minutes.”
It was only in movies that the detectives and DA caught the big case, and everything else on the table stayed quiet. In real time, rapists continued to attack, pedophiles preyed on kids, victims needed legal guidance and hand-holding, and death never took that longed-for holiday.
“But Gina — she wouldn’t come. She insisted on going to school today instead. She said you didn’t believe what she told you. That you were very tough with her. I came to talk to you about that, Ms. Cooper.”
I wasn’t completely surprised that the sixteen-year-old was a no-show. This would have been my third go-round with the arrogant teenager.
“Give me a few minutes with Detective Wallace, please, and then I’ll be happy to discuss the case with you.”
“I’ve got to get to work myself. Can we do this quickly?”
“Just step out for a moment and let me pull the paperwork,” I said, moving in front of my desk to close the door between us.
“You need me to back you up on this?” Mercer asked.
I stood up and went to the last in a wall-length row of filing cabinets and pulled out the case folder. “Alan Vandomir’s case,” I said to Mercer. “I caught this kid — Gina — in so many lies, that’s why Alan hasn’t made an arrest. She asked me for the chance to go home and tell her mother the real story herself. But she obviously hasn’t done that yet.”
“You get to be the bad guy.”
“Again. It’s wearing thin.”
It was smart to have a witness present when the possibility of confrontation so clearly loomed, and I couldn’t ask for a better one than Mercer.
Gina was a sophomore at an expensive prep school on the Upper West Side, the daughter of two professionals. The accused, Javier Valdiz, was a scholarship student at the same school. On the night she claimed a crime occurred, Gina’s parents had invited Javier to spend the night at their apartment, in her older brother’s empty bedroom, after a party that both kids attended.
Unbeknownst to the Borracellis, on the way to the party, Gina had filled an empty sixteen-ounce seltzer bottle with her father’s vodka. She and a girlfriend had finished drinking the entire thing by the time Gina and Javier returned home.
I went over the facts with Mercer and invited Mrs. Borracelli to sit down opposite me. She knew the claim — that two days later, Gina told her boyfriend that Javier had forcibly raped her in her bedroom that night, while her parents slept in the next room.
I began by asking Mrs. Borracelli to repeat the story to me, as Gina had related it. I listened, but my eyes were still playing with the letters of the alphabet that Naomi Gersh had scribbled on a piece of paper, trying to make sense of them.
“Did you know Gina had been drinking that night?”
Mrs. Borracelli pulled herself up, looking at me indignantly. “No, not at my house. She’s too young, but for the occasional glass of wine with dinner.”
“Would it surprise you to know where she got her vodka, and how much she had?”
“From Javy, I’m sure. From the boy.”
“That’s not what she told me. I suggest you ask her that directly, and check your own liquor cabinet.”
“I would be totally shocked. I’ll ask, but that would shock me.”
“Does Gina have a drinking problem, do you think?”
“All the girls at her school drink, Ms. Cooper. What’s your point? I can’t police her all the time. You think that means she can’t be raped?”
“Not in the slightest. A great percentage of our cases occur when the victim has been drinking. The alcohol intake often makes them more vulnerable. I’d just expect my witnesses to be honest about it. I can’t help girls who won’t be candid with me. A judge and jury won’t help them either.”
“And my Gina — she didn’t tell you?”
“No, she didn’t. It was the other girls at the party — and Javier’s lawyer — who told me. She denied it completely until I confronted her with what her best friend had said.”
Many of these investigations took more time than a straight-forward stranger rape. In those instances, victims had no reason to dissemble. They didn’t know their assailants and hadn’t spent time together, as acquaintance- and date-rape survivors did before the assault. The latter sometimes tried to make themselves appear more “proper”—to family and to law enforcement — by minimizing their alcohol and drug intake, or the amount of consensual foreplay. In the end, there was often a rape charge, but it was muddied by facts the witnesses foolishly tried to conceal.
“What else, Ms. Cooper?” Mrs. Borracelli was arch now. “Gina said to ask you about other things she told you. She said it was easier for me to hear them from you.”
“Why don’t you stay calm, ma’am? Ms. Cooper isn’t trying to give you a hard time,” Mercer said.
“Whose side are you on, anyway?” she asked. “You’re Gina’s lawyer, aren’t you?”
“No, I represent the state, Mrs. Borracelli. My job is to get at the truth, before I take Javier or any individual to court.”
“I want someone to represent Gina.”
“Ms. Cooper will be the best ally your daughter ever had,” Mercer said, “if she’s forthcoming. You think this boy isn’t telling his lawyer everything that happened that night? You think both sides of this story won’t come out at a trial, if there are two sides?”
The expression on Mrs. Borracelli’s drawn face wavered between confusion and anger.
“Did Gina tell you that Javier was wearing a condom?” I asked.
“So, what difference does that make? I’ve read about rapists. How they carry condoms with them sometimes so that they don’t leave their DNA behind.”
“He didn’t bring any along that night. They weren’t his.”
Javier’s lawyer had told me how his client claimed the encounter became sexual. Not that I didn’t often get total fabrications from the defendants. But frequently I got a nugget of truth that broke down some of the elements of the victim’s story.
“Do you know about the little box that Gina keeps in her bathroom?” I inquired.