Linda Fairstein - The Bone Vault

“But she did resign eventually?”

“Several months later, just around the Christmas holidays. I found her note in the file,” he said, walking back to his desk. “She was anxious to get out of town before the New Year. If I remember correctly, there was a big ice storm predicted right about the time she was supposed to leave. It didn’t surprise us that she wanted to get out before it stranded her here.”

Mike Chapman rolled his eyes at me. “Yeah, Ms. Cooper decided to hibernate during that one, right? It was a killer.”

I had tried to put the images of last December’s frigid encounter with a greedy murderer out of my thoughts. Mercer got us back on track. “Between August, when she told you about the rape, and the end of the year, did you notice any change in her behavior?”

“Everyone I knew had a change in behavior, Mr. Wallace. After September eleventh.”

I breathed in and bit my lip, remembering the devastating aftermath of the terrorist attacks.

“Maybe that’s why I minimized Katrina’s distress. We were all so incredulous. So frightened and self-absorbed. She just never pulled out of it. Things like that episode with Lloyd. And her lack of spirit, her general malaise.”

“What malaise?”

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you three investigators about what occurs. The rape changed Katrina’s whole life. She didn’t trust anyone after that. Wasn’t able to stay here late and work. Had trouble getting to the Cloisters, because she didn’t want to walk or bike through the park, yet she didn’t have the money for cab fare every day. What is it called? PTSD?”

Post-traumatic stress disorder. Many victims of violent crime suffer from it for months or even years after an attack. Symptoms vary widely, from sleeplessness and eating disorders to weight loss and dysfunctions of every kind. There are scores of survivors whose recovery is fast and full; they never forget the attack but have the emotional and physical resources to move forward. There are far too many others without the support system to regain the stability of their former lives for months or even years after the occurrence of the crime.

“Who told you about that?”

“Her counselor, actually. As soon as Katrina told me, I asked her whether I could speak with the woman who was helping her deal with the rape.”

“Do you know who she is? Her name, I mean?” The medical record in the file Mercer had seen had a check mark next to the box that said Katrina Grooten had refused an appointment for follow-up psychological care.

Bellinger was still standing at his desk, flipping through his Rolodex cards. “Loselli. Harriet Loselli. Would you like her number?”

“I got that,” Mike said. “What I’d like is to hear her talk for once without that miserable, whiny, you-cops-are-all-insensitive-bastards recording that goes off from her weaselly little mouth whenever one of us hits the emergency room with a victim.”

There were superb rape crisis counseling units at hospitals all over the city, run by experienced psychologists and social workers, staffed with volunteers who went out on cases at all hours of the day and night. How did Katrina wind up with Harriet? The most obnoxious, ignorant, and self-centered of the crew, she was unlikely to have dealt with the depth of Katrina Grooten’s problems and concerns.

“Did you actually speak with Loselli?”

“Yes, Katrina gave her permission to talk with me.”

“About these psychological reactions?”

“Not really. My main concern was her physical condition.”

Mercer put down his pen and we all focused on Bellinger. “What do you mean?”

“From the time she disclosed the rape to me in August, I began to keep an eye out for her. When I knew she was going to be working late, I sent her home in a car. If I noticed she wasn’t eating, I’d bring an extra sandwich for lunch. By midfall, I’d certainly say by October, I didn’t think she looked very well at all.”

“Did you speak with her about it?”

“I don’t know about your office, Ms. Cooper, but we’ve got pretty strict institutional guidelines about sexual harassment. Puts a supervisor in kind of a catch-22 position. ‘You’re not looking very well today, Katrina. Seems to me like you’ve dropped a few pounds. That old spark I used to see fly when we discussed the one-point-three-million-dollar purchase we expected the museum to make on a tapestry from Bordeaux, it just isn’t there in your eyes anymore.’ Uh-uh. Only gets a guy in trouble. I talked it over with my wife and she told me it was none of my business. Leave it alone.”

“Did you tell anyone else?”

“Sure. Pierre Thibodaux. He’s the boss. I put it right in his lap. I told him I thought one of our rising stars had a problem and needed our help if we were going to hang on to her.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. You know what his response was? When I told him that she had been raped leaving work a few months earlier, he told me to forget about our telephone conversation. He told me that he wanted me to destroy any records I was keeping about the fact that she had been assaulted.”

“What?” Chapman asked.

I whispered to Mercer the same word that Bellinger spoke aloud: “Lawsuit. All he was concerned about was the museum’s potential liability. ‘Pierre,’ I said, ‘this girl is suffering. There’s something seriously wrong with her, and someone here needs to intervene.’ He refused to deal with that aspect of it. It’s all about money to him, all the time. He kept insisting that Katrina was probably setting up a case to sue the museum.”

“I don’t get it,” Mike said, looking at me.

“Sure you do. Cloisters employee working late, probably to make a deadline for a research project or exhibition.” Bellinger nodded in agreement as I talked. “Leaves the museum alone and is attacked, still on the grounds. No one is ever caught or charged with the crime. Victim suffers from generic psychological ailment. Maybe she’s going to feel better some day, after lots of expensive therapy. Maybe she’s not. Museum dangles half a million dollars in front of her nose to keep her quiet. Don’t scare the tourists, don’t upset the coworkers.”

“Did Thibodaux know the girl you were talking about was Katrina Grooten? I mean, did you mention her name?” Mike was clearly drawn back to the reaction when he had shown her photograph to the director, who claimed not to recognize her.

Bellinger thought for a few moments. “I’m not sure whether I did. Pierre had met her a couple of times. But that would have been at group meetings or large social occasions. I’m not sure I thought he would have known her. It shouldn’t have mattered who she was, frankly, once I brought the gravity of this to his attention.”

“Anyone else you told?”

“Yes. I tried two of the women next. Thought that might strike a responsive chord with the sisterhood.” Bellinger shook his head as he spoke. “They both knew her from the planning sessions for the big exhibit. Eve Drexler, who’s Thibodaux’s assistant, and Anna Friedrichs, who’s the curator in one of the other departments at the Met.”

“Yes, we saw both of them yesterday. How did they react?”

“I was foolish to think that Eve would do anything to cross Thibodaux. She listened to everything I told her and asked me to keep her informed. But she basically advised me not to worry about it. It was just a ‘woman’s problem’ and Katrina would get over it.”

“And Anna?”

“She was good. She’s the one who urged me to call the counselor. Anna had noticed the changes, too. She felt the phone call would have more weight coming from me, since Katrina worked directly for me. So I called.”