Филипп Марголин - The Perfect Alibi

“I understand you were the first responder,” Anders said after the introductions had been made.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring me up to speed.”

Collins took a notebook out of her back pocket and flipped to the relevant pages. “The victim’s name is Jessica Braxton. She’s Caucasian, twenty-two, single, and lives alone.”

“Employed?”

“Not steadily. Mostly low-paying jobs. She clerked at a convenience store, cooked at a McDonald’s. That sort of work.”

“How is she doing?”

“The doctor says her only physical injuries are a black eye and split lip.”

“And her mental state?”

“She was scared and nervous, but she’s holding it together.”

“Will she make a good witness?”

Collins frowned. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you have reservations?”

“Not really. I don’t know if this means anything, but she seemed more nervous than scared. I haven’t been on the force long, but I have interviewed two rape victims, and they were terrified. Of course, I saw them right after the rape and not two hours later, when they’d had some time to calm down.”

“So, she didn’t call 911 right away?”

“No. She says she was disoriented by the beating and the alcohol and very frightened.”

“Did she contaminate the crime scene?” Anders asked.

“No, and she did give us the panties. She says Ray threw them under the bed after wiping himself.”

“Ray?”

“The perpetrator.”

“Okay. So, what about these panties?”

“Miss Braxton told me that she didn’t discover them until she’d called 911. She was going to throw them out when she remembered seeing a crime show on TV in which semen on a pair of panties was used to convict a rapist.”

“Where are the panties?” Anders asked.

“They’re at the crime lab. They also found semen when they did the vaginal swab for the rape kit.”

“Okay,” Anders said. “You did a great job. I’ll talk to you again if it’s necessary. Who’s in with her now?”

“No one. The doctor and a nurse left a few minutes ago.”

When Anders walked into the hospital room, Jessica Braxton’s eyes went wide.

Anders flashed her shield. “Hi, I’m Carrie Anders. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Bureau.”

Braxton stared at Anders’s badge for a moment; then she relaxed. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared.”

“You have every right to be,” Anders said. Anders pointed at a metal chair that was sitting against the wall. “Mind if I sit down?” she asked. “I’ve been on my feet all day.”

“No, please.”

“Thanks,” Anders said as she pulled the chair next to the bed. “So, how are they treating you?”

“Good. Everyone has been very nice to me.”

“That’s great. Do you mind if I ask you some questions about what happened so I can start hunting down the person who did this to you?”

Braxton looked down at her covers. “I don’t like talking about it,” she said quietly.

“I don’t blame you. I’ve never met a woman yet who’s been raped who enjoyed reliving the experience, but I can’t find this bastard if I don’t have your information. So, can we talk? I’ll try to make it quick.”

Braxton thought for a moment before nodding. “Go ahead.”

“I think the easiest way to do this is for you to tell me what happened like you were telling a story. Start at the beginning.”

“There’s a club I like to go to, the Blue Unicorn, and I went there last night.”

“Were you by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I went out back in the alley to smoke, and this guy came out.”

“Did this guy have a name?”

“Ray. At least that’s what he said it was.”

“Did he tell you his last name?”

“He might have, but I don’t remember if he did.” Braxton blushed. “I was drinking and… If I did something illegal, can I get in trouble?”

“Does this have to do with drugs?”

Braxton nodded.

“Not from me.”

“Okay, well, I did snort some coke in the ladies’ room. Between the two, I was a little high.”

“Can you describe Ray?”

“He was handsome. He had blond hair, blue eyes, and an athlete’s build. He was muscular and over six feet tall.”

“Okay, so you’re talking.”

“Yeah, and after a while, he suggested we go to my apartment. I live alone on the second floor of a duplex not far from the club.”

“Is that where it happened?” Anders asked.

Braxton swallowed and nodded. “As soon as we were inside, he hit me in the stomach and dragged me into the bedroom. Then he hit me again, threw me on the bed, and covered my mouth. He said he’d kill me if I screamed, and he asked me if I understood. I nodded and he ripped off my panties and…” Braxton licked her lips and took a breath.

“Did he penetrate you? That’s important in a rape case. We can’t convict if he didn’t.”

Braxton nodded. “He did.”

“Did he use a condom?”

“No.”

“Okay, what happened next?”

“When he was done, he wiped himself on my panties and threw them on the floor. Then he threatened to kill me if I told on him. Then he hit me again and left.”

“You’ve done great, Jessica. I’m going to leave you now. Ray may have done something very stupid. I understand he left semen on your panties and they found more when they did the vaginal swab. That means we’ve got DNA, and that should give us a great chance of getting this bastard.”

Vanessa Cole, Multnomah County’s Chief Criminal Deputy, was a slender, fifty-two-year-old black woman with sharp features and fierce brown eyes. She’d grown up in a wealthy area of Portland’s West Hills and gone to Stanford for college and law school. Cole was known for her smarts and high ethical standards, and stood out from the moment she joined the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office, moving quickly from trying misdemeanors to trying felonies to handling murder cases and then death penalty murder cases.

Vanessa had always been anal. She almost never missed a school assignment from elementary school through law school, and a rare B had caused endless soul-searching. Her office reflected her obsession with order. The case files on her blotter were arranged in neatly squared stacks, and her computer monitor sat in the exact center of her desk.

Carrie Anders knew how much Vanessa detested chaos, and that was why she dreaded explaining the results of the lab tests in Jessica Braxton’s case.

“Have you got a moment?” Anders asked from the doorway to the prosecutor’s office.

Cole looked up from the memo she’d been reading and motioned the detective in. As she took a seat, Anders tried to think of the best way to explain what had happened. She decided to be blunt.

“We’ve got a problem in one of Rex’s cases.”

“Which one?”

“Hastings.”

Cole’s brow furrowed. “That case was open and shut. What’s the problem?”

“A bad one. A woman named Jessica Braxton was raped last week by a guy who said his name was Ray. She met Ray at the Blue Unicorn nightclub. Does that name ring a bell?”

It took Cole only a few seconds to make the connection. “Isn’t that where Hastings’s victim, Randi Stark, says she was when she saw the man who attacked her behind that gas station?”

Anders nodded. “It’s a club she said she went to a lot. Now, get this: Braxton described the rapist she met at the Blue Unicorn as a handsome blond who was over six feet tall and very muscular.”

Cole frowned. “That could be a description of Blaine Hastings. But he’s in jail. So, what’s the problem?”