Ed McBain - Three Blind Mice

A: I knew they worked there.

Q: How did you know that?

A: They looked like kitchen help.

Q: Isn’t it possible that you weren’t afraid of getting raped at a quarter past ten because there was no one there to rape you at that time?

A: Oh, they were there, all right.

Q: But not when you say they were there.

A: Objection!

A: Was that a question, Mr. Aiello?

Q: I’ll rephrase it. Your Honor. What time was it when you claim to have seen these three men?

A: A quarter past ten ! How many times do I…?

Q: While they were washing dishes in the restaurant kitchen!

A: No! While they were raping me on the hood of the goddamn…

Q: Objection!

A: Sustained. Please answer the question, Mrs. Leeds.

A: That’s the only time I ever saw them. The only place I ever saw them. While I was being…

Q: No further questions.

But of course there were further questions.

She was sitting out by the pool when Matthew arrived at three that afternoon. Green maillot swimsuit to match her eyes, reddish-brown wedge-cut hair catching the late-afternoon sunshine, a green terry band across her forehead, a faint sheen of perspiration on the sloping tops of her breasts above the suit’s bodice. She asked if he’d care for a lemonade. Or something stronger. She herself was having a gin and tonic. He said that sounded good, and she went inside to prepare it for him.

He sat watching the fields and the distant yellow-grey sky. The rain had not yet come today; someone must have forgotten to set the alarm. Jessica was back not five minutes later. She had wrapped a short filmy green scarf around herself, knotted it above her breasts. She handed him the drink, and then sat in the chair opposite his. The drink tasted cold and tart and sparkly. Especially after hours of reading transcripts in a room streaming sunlight.

“I’m sorry to bother you this way,” he said, “but I have some questions.”

“No bother at all,” she said. “With Stephen in jail…”

She let the sentence hang.

“I was reading the trial transcript this afternoon,” he said.

“Something, wasn’t it?”

“You know why they were acquitted, don’t you?”

“Sure. Guilt.”

He looked at her.

“Not theirs ,” she said, “ ours . Our massive American guilt. For the horrors we committed in Vietnam. This was compensation for that.”

“Well, maybe so,” Matthew said. “But I think there was a more practical reason.”

“And what was that?”

“Time,” he said.

“Time?”

“The jury couldn’t reconcile the contradictions of time.”

“The three of them were lying,” she said. “About everything. Including time.”

“How about the chef? Was he lying, too?”

“He was a friend of theirs. Yes, he was lying.”

“And the police?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The police dispatcher who testified at the trial said that he took your call at twelve-forty A.M… ”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And that the responding police car — that would have been David car — reached you some five minutes later…”

“Those seem to be the correct times, yes.”

“But, Mrs. Leeds… the mall closed at ten .”

“Yes?”

“And you yourself testified that you began changing that flat tire at a quarter past.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you see what confused the jury?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“You called the police two hours and twenty-five minutes after the attack started. And during that time…”

“During that time, I was being raped !”

“That’s what the jury couldn’t accept. The duration of the rape.”

“That’s how long it lasted.”

“Mrs. Leeds, the movie broke at eleven o’clock…”

“I don’t give a…”

“… people would have been walking back to…”

“… damn about…”

“… their cars, they’d have seen…”

“… the goddamn movie !”

They both stopped talking at the same moment. Jessica’s eyes were blazing. She picked up her drink and took a long swallow. Matthew watched her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” she said. “ You don’t accept the contradictions of time, either. Isn’t that true?”

“I’m only trying to understand what happened.”

“No, you’re trying to find out who was lying, me or those men. I’m telling you I was consecutively and repeatedly raped for more than two hours, yes!” She shook her head angrily and then took another swallow of the drink. “But what difference does it make?” she said. “They were tried and acquitted, so what difference does it make if I was raped or not?”

“No one for a moment ever questioned the fact that you were raped.”

“No, they only questioned whether or not those three bastards could have done it. Okay, they reached their verdict. Not guilty. So who cares anymore?”

“Patricia Demming does.”

“Who’s Pa — oh, the State Attorney.”

“Yes. I feel certain she’ll be calling you as a witness.”

“To what ?”

“To your own rape.”

“Why?”

“Because she has to show that your husband killed those men in a blind rage. And the best way to do that is to have you describe the rape all over again.”

“Can she do that?”

“Sure. To demonstrate motive. Moreover, she’ll try to show that the verdict was a just one. She’ll say those three innocent little boys did not in fact rape you, could not possibly have raped you at the time you say they did.”

“But they did!”

“She’ll say you saw them at eight o’clock, while you were parking the car…”

“There was no one there when I…”

“Exchanged a few words with them…”

“No, no, no…”

“… and remembered them incorrectly as the men who later raped you. She’ll play that rape trial for all it’s worth, believe me. If she can convince the jury that those men were indeed innocent as found, then she can also convince them that your husband’s crime was doubly heinous. Not only did he commit foul and bloody murder, he committed it in error. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to tell me everything that happened that night.”

“You read the transcript, you know what…”

“Can you tell me again what happened?”

“I told it all.”

“Please tell it again, can you?”

She shook her head.

“Can you?”

She kept shaking her head.

“You’ll have to tell it again in court, Mrs. Leeds. She’ll make sure of that. I want to be ready for her.”

Jessica sighed.

He waited.

She turned her head away, avoiding his eyes.

“I got out of the mall at ten o’clock,” she said, “and walked over to the restaurant. It was still open at ten… a little after ten, actually, by the time I reached the car…”

She has parked it behind the restaurant, which is shaped like a pagoda, and which in fact is named The Pagoda. The car is an expensive one, and this is four days before Christmas. With all the traffic in the mall’s lot a dented fender is a distinct possibility, and so she has chosen this deserted spot behind The Pagoda, alongside a low fence beyond which is undeveloped scrub land. As she walks toward the restaurant, the mall’s parking lot is rapidly emptying of automobiles, except for those parked row after row outside the movie-theater complex at the far end. It is ten minutes past ten, she supposes, when she places in the trunk of her Maserati the several Christmas gifts she’s bought.