Ed McBain - Three Blind Mice

There are lights here behind the Chinese restaurant. It is not what anyone would call brightly lighted, but there is illumination enough to provide a sense of security. And besides, there’s a moon. Not quite full, just on the wane. Anyway, it is only a little after ten, this is not the dead of night, this is not a town where a woman alone needs to be afraid of unlocking the door of her automobile in an adequately lighted parking space behind a brilliantly lighted restaurant on a moonlit Thursday night four days before Christmas. Besides, there are three men standing behind the restaurant, smoking. All of them in shirtsleeves. Wearing long white aprons. Restaurant help. She unlocks the door of the car, closes and locks it behind her, turns on the lights, starts the engine, and is backing away from the low fence when she realizes she has a flat tire.

“That was when the nightmare began,” she tells Matthew now. “I got out of the car. I was wearing… well, you read the transcript, you know what I was wearing, the defense made me describe everything I…”

Q: Is it true that you were wearing black bikini panties that night?

A: Yes.

Q: Lace-edged?

A: Yes.

Q: And a garter belt?

A: Yes.

Q: Was this garter belt black?

“Your Honor, I must object!”

Skye Bannister, on his feet. At last.

“Yes, where are you going with this, Mr. Silberkleit?”

“It will become clear. Your Honor.”

“It had better. Witness may answer the question. Read it back, please.”

Q: Was this garter belt black?

A: It was black, yes.

Q: And were you wearing seamed nylon stockings?

A: Yes.

Q: Black, too, weren’t they?

A: Yes.

Q: And a short black skirt?

A: Yes.

Q: A tight black skirt, wasn’t it?

A: Not exceptionally tight, no.

Q: Well, it wasn’t a pleated skirt, was it?

A: No.

Q: Or a flared skirt?

A: No.

Q: It was a sort of tube skirt, wouldn’t you call it?

A: I suppose so.

Q: In any event, it was short enough and tight enough to reveal….

A: Objection.

A: Sustained. Get to it, Mr. Silberkleit.

Q: Were you also wearing black patent-leather high-heeled pumps?

A: Yes.

Q: What color was your blouse, Mrs. Leeds?

A: White.

Q: Sleeveless, wasn’t it?

A: Yes.

Q: Silk?

A: Yes.

Q: With little pearl buttons down the front, isn’t that so?

A: Yes.

Q: Were you wearing a brassiere under this sleeveless silk blouse?

A: Objection, Your Honor!

A: Witness may respond.

Q: Were you wearing a brassiere, Mrs. Leeds?

A: No.

Q: Tell me, Mrs. Leeds, is this the way you normally dress when you’re going out to…

A: Objection!

Q: … do your Christmas shopping?

A: Your Honor, I object!

A: You may answer the question, Mrs. Leeds.

A: That’s what I was wearing, yes.

Q: Thank you, we know what you were wearing, don’t we? But that was not my question.

A: What was your question?

Q: Is this the way you normally dress when you’re going out to do your Christmas shopping?

A: It’s the way I normally dress, yes.

Q: When you’re going out to a mall, is that right?

A: Yes.

Q: You wear a short, tight black skirt with black seamed stockings and high-heeled patent-leather shoes… by the way, how high were the heels on those shoes?

A: I don’t know.

Q: Well, I have here a list of the clothing you were wearing that night, and the shoes are described as having three-inch heels. Would you yourself describe them that way?

A: Yes.

Q: Shoes with three-inch heels.

A: Yes.

Q: For walking around a mall doing shopping.

A: I feel perfectly comfortable in high-heeled shoes.

Q: And no doubt you also feel comfortable in black, lace-edged bikini panties, and a black garter belt, and black seamed stockings.

A: Yes, I do.

Q: And a white silk blouse with no bra under it…

A: Yes!

Q: In other words, you feel comfortable in clothes that can be found in the pages of Penthouse !

A: No! Clothes that can be found in the pages of Vogue !

Q: Thank you for the distinction, Mrs. Leeds. Clothes, in any event, that any man might find provocative and seduct—

A: Objection!

A: Sustained.

Q: Mrs. Leeds, didn’t you specifically go to the mall that night in search of…?

A: No.

Q: Let me finish the question, please. Didn’t you go there in search of adventure?

A: No!

Q: And didn’t you attempt to find this adventure by blatantly flirting with three young boys…

A: Objection!

Q:… who turned down your advances..

A: Objection!

Q: And whom you later accused of having raped you!

A: Objection! Objection! Objection!

She knows how to change a flat tire, she has changed many of them in her lifetime, she is not one of these helpless little women who eat bonbons on a chaise longue while reading romance novels. She takes the jack out of the trunk, lifts out the spare, lays it flat on the ground behind the rear bumper, and then kneels beside the right rear tire to loosen the lug nuts on the wheel. She has removed one of them and placed it in the inverted hubcab, when…

From the very first instant, there is no mistaking the intent.

Someone seizes her from behind, yanking her over backward, away from the wheel. She drops the wrench on the ground. An arm is around her neck, choking her, stifling the scream that comes bubbling up onto her lips. Someone else twists her arm. The pain rockets clear up into her skull. There is no mistaking the intent, this is rape, she is about to be raped. She is falling backward, backward. The man behind her steps away, releases her as she falls. The back of her head hits the asphalt pavement. She almost blacks out, but danger shrills its warning to her brain, and she regains control of her senses at once.

There are three of them.

The three who were standing behind the restaurant.

One on each side of her, holding her arms. The third one behind her, crouching now, one hand over her mouth, the other twisted in her hair. She hears their voices, unintelligible, urgent, everything is happening so quickly, they are speaking what she believes to be Chinese, and somehow — she does not know why — this knowledge triggers the vain hope that she is wrong, this is not a rape, all they want is her money.

She starts to tell them they can take anything in her handbag, but everything is happening so quickly, one of them — he has a straggly new mustache over his upper lip, he is the leader — stuffs a soiled handkerchief into her mouth and then slaps her lightly as a warning against trying to spit it out. Slaps her on the left cheek, using his right hand, he is right-handed, she must remember this, the slap stinging but not bruising…

Q: Isn’t it true, Mrs. Leeds, that when you were removed by ambulance from the police station to the hospital, the examining physician could find no bruises anywhere on your body?