SEMINAR ROOM
1 POLICE PLAZA
FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 21
“Where’s your partner?” Olivia asked Fin as she slumped into a seat between him and Elliot. “Terminal back pain again?” If she had to be here, so did everyone else, even hypochondriacs like John Munch, Olivia thought grumpily.
Fin looked up from the paper airplane that had once been his seminar brochure. “Again?”
Elliot leaned across Olivia. “It only seems to act up whenever a continuing ed seminar comes along.”
“It acts up whenever I have to sit in one of these unhealthy first grader seats,” Munch corrected, gingerly easing himself down onto the uncomfortable chair.
Olivia sighed and glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to be here any more than her colleagues did. Not that she didn’t believe in the value of further education. It was just that she had a stack of unfinished reports on her desk and thirty open cases, which didn’t get any closer to being solved while she sat here. Furthermore, the seminar prevented her from spending her lunch hour in the court room’s gallery, watching her favorite A.D.A at work. Today, she lied to herself, she would have worked up the courage to ask Alex to lunch.
Sighing again, she wrestled herself into a standing position and pointed to the back of the conference room. “I’m going for coffee.”
“If you want to live long enough to enjoy your hard earned pension, I’d advise against that, my friend.” Munch raised his index finger in warning. “In more than 25 years on the job, I’ve never been to a law enforcement seminar with even halfway decent coffee.”
Fin smirked. “In 25 years on the job, you’ve never been to a law enforcement seminar, period.”
Over the top of his sunglasses, Munch directed a brief but withering glance at his partner before he turned back to Olivia. “The lack of drinkable coffee is obviously a nationwide conspiracy from law enforcement brass to make sure nothing distracts their officers from the lectures. For the same reason, you’ll never encounter donuts or attractive female lecturers at a law enforcement seminar.”
“Or comfortable chairs,” Elliot added.
Munch threw up his hands in triumph. “Finally, someone’s wising up!”
Olivia smiled half-heartedly and sank back into her chair. Giving up on her caffeine fix, she pulled the now crushed seminar program out from under her. The wrinkled paper announced the title of the next lecture: Special needs and issues of male and GLBT survivors of rape and sexual abuse. Speaker: D. Kinsley, PhD.
“Great,” Olivia murmured. They hadn’t even hired a cop or someone who knew the reality of handling sex crimes to give the lecture. Instead, some antiquated Freudian in a stiff suit would bore them to tears with his academic, impracticable theories.
A young woman carrying a stack of hand-outs approached the podium – the Freudian’s assistant or the poor soul who had the questionable honor of introducing the speaker, Olivia assumed. The woman tapped the microphone to test its volume and nodded. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Dawn Kinsley, your lecturer for the first part of the seminar.”
Olivia’s head jerked up. That’s D. Kinsley?
Nothing reminded Olivia of the academic Freudian she had imagined except the glasses on the freckled nose. Instead of a suit and tie, slacks and a tight sleeveless blouse covered a body that was petite, yet not frail, and slender, but not model-thin. The strawberry-blonde hair wasn’t pulled back into an old-fashioned, but cascaded in curls down to softly curved hips.
So, she’s the PhD, not the assistant, huh? That’s my punishment for stereotyping! Of course, looking at her instead of an old man is not exactly a punishment, Olivia thought, eyeing the blonde speaker appreciatively. However boring the lecture might be, at least she would have something captivating to look at.
The lecture began, and to her surprise, Olivia found herself looking away from the pretty speaker and down to her note pad to jot down interesting details about dealing with male rape victims. The lecture turned out to be informative, practice-oriented, and witty. She even caught Munch bending his aching back to take notes. The psychologist spoke with passion and sensitivity, never even glancing down at her notes. Forty-five minutes were over almost too soon.
“Knew I shoulda tried the coffee,” Fin mumbled when they began to file out of the room with the last of the seminar registrants. “If there’s an attractive female lecturer, there’s a chance the rest of your seminar-conspiracy-theory is bull, too.”
Munch stretched and shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet your meager pay-check on it, partner. Some government employee obviously failed to check the lecturer’s picture, but there’s no way they would overlook a $40 per pound bill for Blue Hawaiian beans.”
A chuckle behind them alerted Olivia to the fact that someone had overheard her colleagues’ comments. She turned around and looked directly into the twinkling gray-green eyes of Dawn Kinsley, their lecturer. The faint laugh lines at their corners told her that the psychologist was closer to 30 than to 20 like she had first assumed.
“Sorry,” Olivia said, pointing at Munch and Fin, “they’re not used to being out and about. Normally, we keep them chained to their desks.”
The younger woman didn’t seem offended. Full lips curved into an easy smile that dimpled her cheeks and crinkled the skin at the bridge of her slightly upturned nose, which made the freckles dusting the fair skin seem to dance. “Don’t worry, Detective, I’ve been called worse things than ‘attractive’.”
Olivia studied the gray-green eyes looking steadily at her. “How do you know I’m a detective?” It was disconcerting to think that anyone, even a psychologist, could see through her so easily.
“Oh, I don’t know, could it be the fact that we’re at a law enforcement conference?” Munch chimed in.
Dawn Kinsley smiled at him, but she spoke to Olivia. “The way you stand, walk, and talk pretty much screams ‘COP’ in capital letters. And the way you dress suggests you’re a detective. Special Victims Unit?”
Liv nodded. “Olivia Benson.” She extended her hand.
“Dawn Kinsley, but I guess you already knew that.” The psychologist nodded down at her name tag. Her handshake was as genuine and warm as her smile.
“Hey, Liv!” Elliot, already halfway out of the door, waved her over. “We’re gonna make a run for the nearest Starbucks before the next lecture starts. You up for it?”
Fourty-five minutes ago, she would have jumped at the chance to leave the seminar room, but now Olivia found herself hesitating. “Um…sure.” She glanced down at Dawn Kinsley. “Would you like to come with us?” She surprised herself by asking.
“I don’t drink coffee.” The psychologist laughed at the look on Olivia’s face. “Don’t look so shocked, Detective. I’m a tea drinker, and I’d love to accompany four of New York’s finest, but regrettably, I’ve got an appointment.”
“Maybe next time, then,” Olivia said non-committally, knowing they would likely never see each other again. Suddenly not as eager for a coffee as before, Olivia followed her colleagues out of the conference room.
LIAN’S GROCERY STORE
1224 LEXINGTON AVENUE
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29
Olivia rapped her knuckles against the shiny surface of a watermelon, testing its ripeness. Then she decided that a whole melon would only spoil in her single-household and reached for a banana instead.
She looked up from the fruit when a young man entered her personal space. As a cop, she was immediately aware of anyone violating a 10-foot zone around her. His gaze met hers, and he backed away. Scowling, Olivia watched him as he neared another shopper, who was busy nestling her apples into a shopping bag.
Hey! That’s the psychologist! Buying fruit like the rest of us mere mortals – in my grocery store! Olivia forgot about the strange young man as she studied the psychologist. Wearing faded blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, Dawn Kinsley looked – in Olivia’s opinion – at least as good as in the neatly pressed slacks and the blouse from the seminar. Olivia tilted her head and watched as Dawn pushed back stubborn blonde strands that had escaped from her ponytail. Should I say hello? Would she even remember me?
She hadn’t made a decision yet when her trained cop eyes noticed a hand reaching into the psychologist’s purse. Half a second later, the young man sprinted down the aisle.
Dawn Kinsley seemed to comprehend what had happened almost immediately. She sprinted after him at a speed which would have done any street cop proud and grabbed his shirt, before he could reach the door.
The thief whirled around, towering over the small woman. He raised a threatening fist.
Uh, oh! Olivia sprinted towards them before the situation could escalate further. She grabbed the raised fist, turned the man’s arm behind his back, and cuffed him in one smooth movement.
“That was really dumb, Miss Kinsley,” she said to the staring woman. “Brave, but dumb. You shouldn’t grab a thief who outweighs you by at least 40 pounds without even knowing if he’s armed!”
Dawn Kinsley steadily looked back at her. “He outweighs you, too.”
Olivia straightened to her full height. “But I am armed and a trained police officer!”
“Oh, shit!” At the mention of her occupation, the captured thief started to struggle in Olivia’s grip.
The Asian shop owner hurried down the aisle. “Thank you, thank you, Detective!” He wanted to shake her hands but they were full of struggling thief, so he turned to Dawn. “I’m very sorry, Miss Kinsley. That never happened in my store before! Would you accept some more fruit as a compensation for the scare?”
“No, thank you, what I have is enough, really.” Dawn shook her shopping bag with two apples and a pear.
The shop owner sighed. “She’s another one of those one-tomato-buyers,” he said to Olivia.
She’s single, Olivia translated. And probably as straight as they come.
“I might only take one tomato, but I buy two packets of cookies every time I come in here,” a smiling Dawn defended.
Olivia waited for two uniformed officers to take the thief off her hands, before she allowed herself to chat with the patiently waiting psychologist. “So, do you buy at Lian’s regularly?”
“Regularly enough to get a reputation as a ‘one-tomato-buyer’, it would seem.” Dawn winked.
Olivia had to smile. She liked the psychologist’s wit. “Been there, done that.”
“I live just a block down the street. You want to come with me and have the cup of coffee I had to decline last week?” Dawn Kinsley tilted her head and looked up at Olivia.
“I thought you didn’t drink coffee?”
“I don’t, but nevertheless I make a mean cup. Just like you cops like it - strong enough to be considered black paint in every other occupation.”
Olivia laughed. “Now, that’s an offer I can’t resist!” Asking me to come home with her…tempting me with coffee…is she flirting? Olivia pondered as she followed Dawn down the street. Ha! You wish! That’s just the natural warmth and friendliness of someone who’s comfortable around people.
Side by side, they climbed the stairs to Dawn’s first floor apartment. “Make yourself comfortable,” Dawn called over her shoulder, already heading for the kitchen.
Olivia lifted a brow. Cop or not, she wouldn’t leave a stranger unsupervised in her living room; Nick Gansner had taught her that lesson. Hesitatingly, she stepped across a colorful rug, past overflowing bookcases and shelves full of framed pictures and potted plants.
Orange curtains suffused the living room in a golden light. In the corner was a desk piled high with books, files, and magazines. Above it, a chaotic arrangement of children’s drawings and colorful postcards fought for space with a shelf full of sea shells, a piggy bank, and stuffed animals. A recliner, a rocking chair, and two mismatched chairs completed the furnishings.
It was a bit chaotic, in a charming and paradoxically almost soothing way. Olivia thought about her own apartment, which was neat and nearly void of any personal knick-knacks. Dawn’s apartment wasn’t overly tidy; it had a cozy lived-in feel. It felt like a home, not just a place to eat and sleep.
I like it, Olivia decided as she sank down onto the couch.
Within minutes, she heard the gurgling of the coffee maker. Her hostess returned with a tray and placed coffee, tea, and cookies on the coffee table. “Black, without sugar, right?” She sat in a rocking chair across from her visitor and nodded towards Olivia’s mug.
“Right.” Olivia didn’t ask how Dawn knew her coffee preferences. She seemed to have some sort of sixth sense concerning policemen and -women.
“So, have you recovered from all those attempts to bore you to death?” Dawn looked at her over the rim of her mug, a smile in her eyes.
“Huh?”
Dawn shook a finger at her. “Oh, come on, Detective. I’m well aware how ‘eager’ most cops are to sit in a chair all day and listen to some theoreticians who want to tell them how to do their jobs.”
“Yeah, we just love it,” Olivia admitted with a grin. “But actually…your lecture wasn’t half bad. You’re not just an academic, are you?”
“No. Maybe I’ll go into teaching someday, but for now, I’m pretty happy with what I do – which is counseling survivors of rape and sexual abuse,” Dawn explained.
Olivia looked down into her mug. “That has to be tough.”
Dawn shrugged. “As tough as being a SVU detective, I would imagine. But someone has to do it, and sometimes you feel that you’ve made a difference, and that makes it worth it.”
Yeah. I guess she’s someone who would really understand the job. Silence grew between them, but Olivia didn’t find it uncomfortable.
“I have to admit that I didn’t invite you up without an ulterior motive, Detective,” Dawn didn’t beat around the bush.
Olivia swallowed. “And what motive might that be?” She regarded the psychologist suspiciously.
“I know we hardly know each other, and I normally wouldn’t do this, but…”
Olivia’s eyes became wider and wider with every word. It truly sounded like a come-on. She wasn’t sure what she would do if it was.
“…I have a favor to ask.”
Okay, so it’s not a come-on. Olivia laughed at herself. Sleeping with a woman like her couldn’t be considered doing her a favor.
“I’ve searched for someone who could speak to my group, and it seems I found the ideal person for the job.”
“Your group?” Olivia repeated.
Dawn nodded. “It’s a support group for survivors who’ve gotten pregnant by rape.”
Suddenly, the coffee left a bitter taste in her mouth. For once, she had been relaxed, not thinking about anything job related, and the question caught her unexpectedly. “I’m in no way ‘ideal for the job’,” she protested, struggling against her rising anger.
“Of course you are!” Dawn rocked forward and touched her hand encouragingly.
Olivia flinched. She didn’t know how or from whom, but she was suddenly convinced that Dawn Kinsley knew about the circumstances of her conception. The thought did not sit well with her. “No!” she repeated. “I can’t give advice to women in that situation. I…I…I just can’t, okay?”
“Okay.” Dawn’s gray-green eyes didn’t hide her disappointment and confusion, but she accepted Olivia’s rejection without pressuring her to change her mind.
Olivia shoved back her only half empty cup of coffee. “I have to go.”
Dawn rose with her. Her smooth brow furrowed as she followed Olivia to the door. “If I insulted you in any—”
“No,” Olivia held up her hand, “you didn’t. It’s just…you…you haven’t insulted me.”
“All right.” For the first time, it seemed as if the psychologist didn’t know what to say.
Olivia slipped past her, forcing herself not to look back. The door closing behind her echoed in her mind for the rest of the day.
APARTMENT OF
OLIVIA BENSON
117 EAST 82ND STREET
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
Olivia fumbled with the key for a few moments, stiff hands and tired eyes refusing to work together, before she finally managed to unlock the door. Everything was dark and silent when she entered her apartment. Only a wave of stale air, a pile of bills and junk mail and two parched potted plants greeted her as the door closed, echoing loudly in the silence.
She had slept in SVU’s crib for the last three days. Today, their hard work had finally paid off. New York City’s inhabitants had one less child molester to worry about.
Exhausted, but content, she threw the mail down onto the coffee table and pressed the ‘play’-button on the answering machine, only to be told that she had “no messages” – not that she had expected any, since she didn’t have many friends outside of the squad.
With a glance at the clock, which told her it was 4:10 a.m., Olivia stepped past the coffee machine and headed for the refrigerator instead. She skipped using a glass and drank directly from the orange juice container. One of the many advantages of being single, she told herself, trying not to think about how nice it would be to come home to a set table, a sympathetic ear, and a warm body in her bed.
She kicked off her shoes and yanked her shirt over her head while she headed to the bathroom. Leaning against the sink, she splashed water onto her face and rubbed burning eyes. The mirror above the sink showed disheveled hair and lines of fatigue on her face. Running her tongue over her teeth and tasting three days worth of coffee and Chinese take-out, she decided a shower could wait and grabbed her toothbrush.
She watched absent-mindedly as water dripped from the faucet. The sound of the falling drops accentuated the silence in her apartment. Out of habit, she reached up to the place where other people might store their bath radio and turned on her police scanner. She was so used to listening to the NYPD radio transmissions that it became a soothing background noise while she brushed her teeth. She barely registered a domestic violence call-out and two DUIs.
The scanner crackled. ‘…at 1228 Lexington Avenue.’
“What?” Olivia mumbled around her toothbrush. Not only was the address in her immediate neighborhood, but it also sounded oddly familiar. Convinced that her tired mind made her imagine things, she returned to her brushing and gargling, when the dispatcher’s voice came through the scanner again: ‘I repeat: We have a 10-34 at 1228 Lexington Avenue. Unclear if suspect is still at the scene. Respond code three.’
She spat a mouthful of toothpaste across the sink and mirror as she recognized the address: Someone had been assaulted – or possibly raped – in Dawn Kinsley’s apartment building. A sudden surge of adrenalin banished her tiredness. She tried to tell herself that there were dozens of other women living at the same address; that it probably wasn’t even a rape; that she wasn’t on call, but a quivering deep in her gut made her abandon her toothbrush and grab her wrinkled clothes again.
‘Dispatch, this is unit one-eighteen. That’s 10-4. I’m en route; E.T.A. two minutes,’ a patrol unit responded via radio.
Even knowing help was on the way, Olivia didn’t stop. She had long ago learned not to question her instincts. She dressed with the automatic movements of someone who had been called out at unholy hours of the night a thousand times. Within minutes, she was on her way back into the night time air.
APARTMENT BUILDING OF
DAWN KINSLEY
1228 LEXINGTON AVENUE
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
Olivia pulled her car into a parking space beside the squad car, whose blue and red lights were coloring the night. A uniformed police officer stopped her before she reached the door to the apartment building. “Sorry, Ma’am.” He blocked the entrance. “Do you live here? Do you have any identification?”
She silenced him by shoving her badge into his face. “Detective Benson, Special Victims Unit.”
“Wow, you guys are really fast tonight! I’m Officer Trent with the one-nine.”
Olivia wasn’t in the mood to exchange any chit-chat or to explain her fast arrival at the scene. “You responded to a 10-34. It was a sexual assault?”
“Yeah.” The officer nodded. “It—”
“Which apartment?”
“2B. My partner’s up there.”
Olivia clenched her hands to helpless fists for a second. It was Dawn Kinsley’s apartment. She didn’t wait for the elevator and took the steps two at a time. She stopped in front of the door to 2B, afraid of what she might find on the other side.
A loud knock brought her face to face with another uniformed officer staring blankly at her.
“Benson, SVU.”
“That was fast,” the young officer unknowingly echoed his partner and stepped aside to allow her entrance. Olivia could see his relief at not having to deal with the victim himself. She knew that patrol officers had little if any training in dealing with rape survivors. He followed her back in and pointed over his shoulder, while he glanced down at the notebook in his other hand. “The victim’s name is—”
“I know her name,” Liv interrupted. She took a second to compose herself. Inhaling deeply, she stepped into the apartment.
The half-open bedroom-door showed crumpled sheets, a knocked over lamp and random objects scattered across the floor. The detective in Olivia began to automatically process the crime scene, but then she stepped past the bedroom-door and entered the living room, immediately spying the psychologist.
Dawn Kinsley sat on the same couch where she had shared coffee and tea with Olivia just six days ago.
Olivia almost didn’t recognize her: Dawn’s gaze, which had always calmly rested on the person she spoke with, now darted around the room. One of her formerly steady hands fluttered across the side of her swollen face, while the other hand clung to the blanket someone had wrapped around her shoulders to hide her torn clothing. Dawn’s naturally fair face appeared even paler in contrast to the bruises on her cheek.
The woman on the couch wasn’t the competent rape counselor Olivia had met a few days earlier, but a shattered rape victim.
Olivia cleared her throat to announce her presence and sat down on the edge of the couch, close enough to be an available, soothing presence, but far enough away that Dawn didn’t feel threatened. “Hey, Miss Kinsley…Dawn.” She made her voice as gentle as she could.
Dawn’s head shot up. “H-hello. I…I’d say it’s nice to meet you again, but under these circumstances…“ She looked away, wiping at the tears in her eyes as her body began to tremble.
Olivia swallowed. She had the sudden urge to hold Dawn’s hand or lay a protective arm around her, but she kept her distance, knowing that it could do more harm than good at this point. She didn’t want to scare Dawn even further. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Someone broke into my apartment….a…a man.” Dawn pressed her lips together. “He had a weapon and…he struck me.” Her fingers traced the marks on her right cheek.
Olivia nodded encouragingly but didn’t interrupt.
“He…threw me down…onto the bed, and then he…” Trembling eyelids closed for a second. “He raped me,” Dawn whispered. She looked at Olivia in disbelief. “Detective, he…he…”
“I know,” Olivia murmured. She moved a little closer to Dawn, but not yet close enough to touch her. “Did you know him?”
Dawn shook her head.
“Okay. Can you describe him?” Olivia knew she had to maintain a professional distance and ask the standard questions, but it was hard when you knew the person who sat trembling across from you.
“He was tall and muscular and…heavy. Black hair. Angry, blue eyes.”
“Good, that’ll help us look for him.” She touched Dawn’s forearm fleetingly. “I’ll take you to the hospital in a second, okay? Can I get you anything or do anything for you before we go? Should I call anyone?”
“No, but…I’d like to change.” Dawn looked down at her torn T-shirt.
Olivia sighed. “You can’t, at least not yet. I’m sorry, but it’s evidence. How about taking a new set of clothing with you to the hospital, so you can change after your examination, hmm?”
“I…I can’t go in there.” Dawn pointed a trembling finger at the bedroom.
“It’s all right,” Olivia soothed. “I’ll do it.” She stepped over a fallen chair, shattered ceramic figurines, and books with torn out pages, careful not to touch anything that might be evidence. The glasses Dawn had worn every time Liv had met her lay on the bedroom floor, the frame broken and one glass shattered.
Olivia picked out a comfortable looking sweatshirt, loose fitting pants, and a pair of warm socks. As she added panties, she bitterly shook her head. She had fleetingly dreamed about seeing the charming psychologist’s underwear – but these definitely weren’t the circumstances she had fantasized about. Even harmless flirting with Dawn Kinsley was no longer a possibility. Everything had changed tonight.
She returned to the living room with the bundle of clothes under her arm. Her heart lurched at the sight of Dawn fumbling with her shoes, her fingers trembling too much to manage the laces.
Olivia wordlessly placed the clothes aside and knelt down in front of Dawn, tying the laces. “Anything else?” she asked.
“Can I brush my teeth?”
Olivia bit her lip, feeling bad that she had to deny Dawn that simple request. “No, sorry. That could destroy evidence. I have to talk to the officer for a minute, okay? It won’t take long.”
The cop, who had wisely retreated to the kitchen, looked up as she entered. “She give a description?”
“Tall, muscular, black hair, blue eyes. I’ll have her work with a sketch artist later, but for now give out a BOLO for a suspect fitting that description to all precincts.”
The officer nodded and took a few notes.
“Are there any witnesses or is Miss Kinsley the one who called us?” Olivia asked. She looked back to the couch to make sure Dawn was still okay on her own.
“A neighbor called it in. He saw her lean out of the open window and thought she was suicidal at first. Turns out she wanted to retrieve her cell phone. The perp threw it out the window. It’s dangling from the fire escape.”
Olivia’s brow furrowed. Breaking into the apartment, ripping out the phone line, throwing away the only other means to call for help…that sounded like a planned attack, but the destruction in the bedroom didn’t speak for a controlled offender. Time to think about that later; Dawn’s the top priority right now, she told herself. “Secure the premises without destroying possible evidence and take the neighbor’s statement. I’m taking her to the hospital.”
She crossed the room toward Dawn, making some noise as she approached her to avoid startling the wounded woman. “Are you ready?”
Dawn struggled to her feet without answering.
LENOX HILL HOSPITAL
100 EAST 77TH STREET
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
Olivia sat next to Dawn in a small, curtained cubicle in the Lenox Hill emergency room, which was busy even at 5 a.m. The emergency personnel hadn’t tried to let them wait in the corridor when they saw the gold shield clipped to Olivia’s belt and the grim expression on her face.
“I guess I was really lucky that you were on call tonight,” Dawn said, after the nurse had left in search of a doctor. As a rape counselor, she knew that many victims without life-threatening injuries had to wait for their treatment and were often questioned about the rape in the middle of the corridor, while nurses and doctors rushed injured patients past them and worried family members paced nearby.
Olivia tilted her head in a vague nod. She didn’t want to discuss the reason why she had caught this case, preferring for the moment to let Dawn believe she had been on call tonight and was here for strictly professional reasons.
“So…I know it’s hard to talk about…but…” She found herself uncharacteristically reluctant to question Dawn about something that would be painful for her. “I have to ask you some specific questions about the attack so the doctor will know what kind of evidence he’s to look for. Let’s start with the easy part…I know you didn’t shower, brush your teeth or change your clothes after the attack, right?”
Dawn nodded.
“Did he penetrate you?”
Another nod. “Vaginally, nothing else, but he kept trying to kiss me. I don’t think he wore a condom,” Dawn answered, already anticipating Olivia’s next question.
Olivia’s stomach twisted as she heard the clinical response to her question, once again reminded of the fact that Dawn Kinsley normally dealt with rape in a professional capacity, like Olivia did. It seemed like Dawn tried to get through this by acting as if she was speaking about one of her patients and not about herself.
The nurse returned to their curtained off cubicle. She handed Dawn a blue hospital gown. “Please stand on this sheet of paper,” she pointed to the floor of the cubicle, “while you undress. Put your clothes in the paper bag on the table; the panties go into the smaller bag.”
Dawn looked at Olivia. She seemed almost afraid to let Olivia out of her sight.
“I’ll be right here, outside the curtain, waiting for you, okay?” Olivia stepped back, but kept eye contact.
Dawn exhaled and closed the curtain behind her.
Olivia turned her back to the cubicle and bobbed up and down on the balls of her feet in an effort not to pace back and forth. She heard the rustling of paper and then, just for a second, quiet sobs.
After a minute, Dawn reappeared, looking even more fragile in the blue paper gown than she had before.
Olivia gazed down into stormy gray eyes. “You okay?”
Dawn nodded.
The nurse guided Dawn to the examination table.
Silently, Olivia took up position beside her.
A doctor with a clipboard came in and started asking questions while the nurse took photographs of the bruises on Dawn’s face and body. “When did you have your last period, Miss Kinsley?” he asked matter-of-factly.
“Uh…I’m not sure…maybe two weeks ago…it could be three. I’m really not sure.” Dawn shrugged helplessly.
The doctor raised his brows but didn’t comment when he saw Olivia’s warning stare. “Have you had recent sexual intercourse?”
Dawn laughed bitterly. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”
Olivia touched her hand with a single finger. “He means voluntary sexual intercourse.”
“No.” Dawn bit her lip. “No, I haven’t.”
The doctor scribbled some notes on his clipboard. “What form of birth control do you normally use?”
Once again, the camera flashed, and Dawn closed her eyes. “I don’t use any.”
Olivia took Dawn’s hand in hers and squeezed it soothingly when she heard Dawn’s defensive tone of voice. It seemed like the matter-of-fact question had come across as if the doctor had accused Dawn of not properly ‘preparing’ for the eventuality of a rape, but it had probably been just Dawn who had read the accusation into the doctor’s question, because she’d begun to wonder whether she couldn’t have done anything to prevent the rape. Olivia knew that many rape victims blamed themselves for aspects of their rape, feeling like they hadn’t been careful enough, hadn’t paid enough attention to their surroundings, hadn’t fought back hard enough and hadn’t found the right words to stop the rapist. It seemed that Dawn Kinsley, professional background aside, wasn’t so different from other rape survivors.
The doctor put the clipboard away and opened the rape kit. “We need two oral swabs for a DNA sample,” Olivia explained, holding out the swabs to Dawn. “Do you want to do it yourself?” Olivia knew that many victims experienced the rape kit examination almost as a second violation. Once again, they didn’t have control over their body; it still didn’t belong to them but was a crime scene, a piece of evidence. Being intimately examined by a total stranger while telling him details that you would much rather forget was humiliating. Therefore, Olivia tried to give victims as much control over the examination as she possibly could.
Dawn took the swabs without a word and rubbed them across the inside of her mouth, before she handed them back to Olivia, who sealed them into an envelope.
The doctor took Dawn’s hand, and she flinched. Olivia stepped closer to her, both for comfort and to hold a sheet of paper under her hand while the doctor scraped underneath Dawn’s fingernails, and then cut them. Her gaze still on Dawn, Olivia put the clippings and scrapings into another envelope and sealed it.
“Okay. Could you lie back and spread your legs a little, please?” The doctor placed a towel under Dawn’s buttocks and combed through her pubic hair, searching for foreign hairs. “It will hurt for a second – I need to pull some of your pubic hair as a control sample.” Soon, another envelope was sealed and labeled.
The physician took two more swabs and stepped between Dawn’s bent legs. Dawn jerked.
Olivia enclosed Dawn’s trembling fingers gently in both of her larger hands. She kept her gaze on Dawn’s face, not looking down to watch what the doctor did.
Dawn squeezed her eyes shut and moaned. “I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she whispered. She was used to being the one to help rape victims, not a victim herself.
“Just a little longer,” Olivia murmured, “it’s almost over.” With relief, she watched the doctor step back and make a smear on a glass slide.
The doctor turned off the light. “I need you to open the gown a little bit, please.”
Unsteady fingers wrestled with the laces that held the gown closed.
“Need help?” Olivia asked. She didn’t move until Dawn nodded. Gently, she untied the laces and stepped back. She didn’t look down at the half-naked body, but gazed into Dawn’s upset gray eyes. Her thumb rubbed circles over the back of Dawn’s hand.
The doctor turned on the UV light and moved it above Dawn’s abdomen and thighs, showing bright blue fluorescent spots.
“What’s that?” Dawn looked down at her bruised body.
“Seminal fluid,” said the physician and rubbed over some of the stains with a cotton pad.
Dawn groaned in disgust.
The doctor turned the light back on and waited for Olivia to help Dawn close her hospital gown. He handed Dawn two white pills and a small plastic cup of water. “That’s Plan B, an emergency contraceptive pill. You have to take them in two doses – one pill now and one more in 12 hours. You might have some nausea or dizziness after taking them; if you want I can prescribe you some Dramamine to help with that.”
Dawn took the first pill and swallowed it without comment.
“The nurse will be in shortly. She’ll give you antibiotics to prevent sexually transmitted diseases and get blood drawn from you to test for STDs and HIV. The test results will be back within 24 hours. You should be re-tested in three and six months just to make sure that everything is all right.”
Dawn seemed overwhelmed with the scary effects the rape could have, but she nodded bravely.
“The nurse will also take you to get your hand x-rayed,” the doctor continued.
Olivia immediately let go of Dawn’s hand. “Her hand is broken?!”
Dawn looked down at her left, then at the right hand as if she hadn’t noticed anything wrong with them either.
“Her right index finger might be broken. It’s hard to tell with all the swelling, so I’d like to do an x-ray.”
The nurse helped Dawn into a wheelchair – standard hospital procedure – and took her to the x-ray department, leaving Olivia alone with the ER doctor. “What does the evidence tell you?” Olivia asked when Dawn was out of earshot.
The doctor locked the envelopes in the rape kit box, sealed it, and handed it to Olivia. “Bruise marks on her arms and thighs, which might be consistent with restraint, and about the pelvic and pubic area. Teeth marks on her breasts. Evidence of penetration and seminal fluids.”
Classic signs of rape, Olivia translated. She left the rape kit with one of the uniformed officers, with strict orders to take it directly to the M.E., and went searching for radiology.
SPECIAL VICTIMS UNIT
SQUAD ROOM
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
WARNING: The next scene contains a graphic recounting of a rape!
“Morning, Liv.”
At Elliot’s greeting, Olivia looked up from the selection of tea bags. “Morning. Sorry for calling you in on your day off. I hope you’re not in the doghouse with Kathy for working on weekends?”
“No, that’s okay. She wanted to take the kids shopping anyway. Now, tell me why I had to miss four whining kids begging me for 150-dollar-shoes or a navel piercing.” Elliot stepped beside Olivia and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Why did you catch a case when we weren’t on call last night?”
“I heard it on the police scanner when I came home.”
Elliot lifted a brow. “And because you didn’t have anything more important to do…like sleep after three twenty-hours shifts…you thought you’d help our brothers in uniform out or what? Did they start a bonus program for catching two rapists in one night?”
Olivia didn’t laugh. “Elliot, it was Dawn.”
“Dawn?” Elliot looked at her, clearly not understanding who she was talking about.
For the first time, Olivia noticed that she had thought about the psychologist as ‘Dawn’ and not ‘Miss Kinsley’ since she had found her on the couch three hours ago. Three hours, Olivia thought as she stirred sugar into the tea. An eternity. “Dawn Kinsley – the rape counselor who held the first lecture at the seminar last week.”
“The vic’s one of her patients?” Elliot asked.
Olivia pressed her lips together. “She’s the victim. Someone broke into her apartment last night and raped her.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She was sure he didn’t know why, but he sensed that this was one of those cases that affected her on more than a professional level. “Did you call Munch and Fin? I’m sure Fin wouldn’t mind coming in on a Saturday morning for the woman who proved one of Munch’s conspiracy theories wrong.”
“They were here, finishing the paperwork on Barclay, when I came in. I told them we’d meet them at Dawn’s apartment…the crime scene…once we’d gotten a formal statement,” Olivia explained, as she headed toward one of the interview rooms with Elliot in tow.
Dawn Kinsley still sat where Olivia had left her five minutes ago; on the edge of the chair, her hands, with one splinted finger, in her lap.
Elliot kept a respectful distance. “Hello, Miss Kinsley.”
“Hello, Detective.” Dawn spared Elliot a quick glance, and then her eyes immediately searched for Olivia. She relaxed when she saw her entering the room behind her partner.
Olivia stepped forward and set the cup of tea in front of Dawn. “Tea, not coffee,” she explained with a small smile. “I hope you like it with a little sugar.”
Dawn nodded, wrapping her uninjured hand around the dark green mug. She inhaled the comforting scent of peppermint, but didn’t drink. She just held onto the mug as if it was a lifeline.
Olivia perched onto the corner of the table and studied Dawn. She looked as exhausted as Olivia felt. “We don’t have to do this right now. There’d still be time to take your formal statement after you slept for a few hours,” she offered.
“No, that’s okay. I doubt that I’d be able to sleep, anyway.”
Olivia traded a look with her partner, before she sat down. She scooted her chair a little closer to the psychologist while Elliot chose a chair at the end of the table. “I know we’ve been through some of this before but I need you to tell me what happened from the beginning.”
“Okay. I had just fallen asleep…I think it was around three o’clock, when a noise from somewhere in the apartment woke me up. I went to investigate, thinking maybe the cat had knocked something over…”
Olivia nodded encouragingly, but didn’t interrupt to ask more questions, while Elliot, sensing that the victim was more at ease with Olivia than him, kept silent and took notes.
“There was a man in my living room. I opened my mouth to scream, but he pressed me against the wall with his forearm across my throat. He held a gun to my head and told me he’d kill me if I called for help or tried to escape.” Dawn shivered violently.
“It’s okay, you’re here now, safe,” Olivia said, taking her back to the present. She waited a few moments. “What happened next?”
“He dragged me back into the bedroom. On the way, he ripped the phone cord from the wall and threw my cell phone out of the window. Then, he…he pushed me down onto the bed.” Dawn bit her lip. “He was a really tall man, he outweighed me by more than 80 pounds, and he had a weapon – I knew I stood no chance to fight him off.”
Olivia swallowed hard. Just a week ago, she had told Dawn how dangerous it could be to pick a fight with someone who outweighed you and might be armed. Had she robbed Dawn of a chance to get away unharmed by telling her that trying to fight was dumb? With suddenly trembling hands, she lifted her paper cup and tried to wash down the ball of emotions in her throat with a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.
“I knew I couldn’t hurt him badly enough to stop him…maybe I should have tried…if I…” She stopped herself and rubbed tired eyes. “I can’t count how often I told a patient not to blame herself for any aspect of her rape and now I…” She stopped and sighed. “Anyway, I decided struggling was useless and tried to talk my way out of the situation. After all, that’s what I do for a living – talk,” Dawn continued, smiling bitterly. “I told him he didn’t need to do this, because he was handsome, and there should be a lot of women willing to go out with him…to sleep with him without using violence. I offered him money. I said everything I could think of. I even told him I had a contagious disease…” Dawn looked away from Liv and stared down at the table. “His answer was to unzip his pants, force my legs apart and rape me.”
For a second, everything was quiet in the room, even Elliot’s pen ceased to scratch over the note pad.
“He held me down with one hand, while the other kept pressing the gun against my temple.” Dawn tapped her unsplinted index finger against the side of her head. Olivia could hear her teeth grinding. “I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to turn my head so he couldn’t kiss me, but he slapped me every time I looked away or closed my eyes – he wanted me to see who was doing this to me. I think that’s the reason why he didn’t wear a mask. After a while, I had the feeling of leaving my body as if I looked down at a stranger being raped…I dissociated.”
It was a strange experience for Olivia to sit across from a victim who used the jargon of a sex crimes expert. Olivia wanted to comfort Dawn, but she didn’t dare to use the soothing words that worked with almost every victim, knowing Dawn herself had said them hundreds of times to her patients. This time, she was the victim, and Olivia couldn’t think of anything to say.
“What happened then?” Elliot asked covering his partner’s silence.
Dawn cleared her throat. “He had problems…finishing. Of course, he blamed it on me ‘laying there like a dead fish’. He shoved the gun under my chin and told me to stop acting as if I wasn’t enjoying it. He told me to moan and act excited.” She closed her eyes, a few silent tears escaping from under her lids. “I know that many rapists who have trouble ejaculating blame their victims and kill them, so I…I did what he told me to do.”
Oh, God! Olivia wanted to close her eyes, she wanted to scream or run out of the room but most of all she wanted to shoot the monster who had done this to Dawn. She had heard a lot of awful stories in her four years with SVU, but for some reason this one was affecting her on another level.
It was Dawn who was brave enough to break the silence. She appeared to be on automatic pilot. “Finally, he finished, but even that didn’t seem to satisfy him. He slapped me one more time, and then he went berserk on my bedroom furniture. His eyes…as he trampled on my photos and threw my books across the room… He was so full of anger and hate that I thought for sure that he would kill me. But he didn’t.”
Olivia noticed that she didn’t sound relieved about that. Suddenly, tears burned in her own eyes. “What did he do next?” she asked as professionally as she could.
“He kicked a chair out of the way and disappeared through the bedroom door.” Dawn exhaled and took the first sip from her tea, which must have been cold by now.
Olivia exchanged a glance with Elliot. “We have to ask you some detailed questions now. Can we get you anything before we start? Something to eat?” she offered.
Dawn shook her head.
Rising from her chair, Olivia reached for the mug she had lent Dawn. “Another tea, then?”
“No, I…” Dawn clung to the handle of the mug. “I don’t need anything, really.”
Elliot looked from Dawn to Olivia. “I’ll go,” he offered.
Without further protest, Dawn handed him the mug.
As Olivia watched the door close, she suddenly understood that Dawn simply hadn’t wanted her to leave the room.
“Sorry,” Dawn whispered. “I don’t want your partner to think I mistrust him…it’s just that I don’t know him, and I feel like I know you, even when I don’t…not really…”
“It’s okay,” Olivia assured with a smile. “Elliot makes much better tea than I do, anyway.”
Soon, Elliot returned with tea and coffee, and the interview continued.
“You said he didn’t wear a mask…so you did see his face?” Olivia began.
“Yes. I had the feeling he wanted me to. He turned on the lamp on my bedside table. I think he broke my finger when I tried to lay a hand over my eyes. He wanted to confront me with the reality that it was him who…”
Olivia nodded. She trusted the psychologist’s assessment. “Could you describe him to a police sketch artist?”
A nod from Dawn.
“And how confident are you that you could identify him in a line-up?”
“I’d know him, anytime, anywhere. I’ll never forget that face, those eyes…” Dawn shivered.
“You said he was tall…how tall is that, exactly?” Olivia asked.
For the first time, Dawn looked directly at Elliot. “What are you, 6 feet?”
“And half an inch.” Elliot smiled gently.
“I’d say he was a bit taller than that…6’2’’ or 6’3’’.”
“You said he had black hair and blue eyes. Is there anything else you remember about his face? Did he have a beard, for example?”
Dawn shook her head. “No beard, just some stubble. He had a small scar on his chin…right there,” she pointed to her own face, “and another one above his right eyebrow. Given his aggressiveness, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a criminal record with assault and battery.”
“We’ll look into it,” Olivia promised. It would make their work easier that their victim was a psychologist who knew how the police worked. “Did he smell of anything in particular? An aftershave or—?”
“He smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. And I could smell alcohol…beer I think, on his breath.” Dawn shivered as if she could smell him right now, right there in the interview room.
Olivia rested one elbow on the table and fiddled with the unused pen in her hand. “What about his clothes? You remember what he wore?”
“I didn’t really see that,” Dawn admitted, “but it was nothing extravagant. Just a sleeveless T-shirt, showing off his muscled arms.” She rolled her eyes. “His pants were black, I think. I know they were dark.”
“Did he speak with an accent?” Olivia continued with her endless list of questions.
“No accent. He used a bit of slang. He’s street smart, but not a college graduate, I’d say.”
Olivia nodded. “What about his age?”
“A little younger than me; mid-twenties, I would guess.”
Fairly young, Olivia thought, maybe he’s just starting out? “Did he seem insecure…nervous?”
“Not in the least,” Dawn vehemently shook her head. “He was cold-blooded, angry, and fully convinced that he had every right to do what he did. There was no room for nervousness or scruples. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has raped before.”
Olivia glanced at Elliot to make sure he had written down that information. “You said you didn’t know him, but did he say or do anything from which one could infer that he knew you or knew who you are?”
Dawn hesitated.
Olivia looked into the cloudy gray eyes. Dawn had answered every other question without a delay. What was it about this particular question that made her think twice? Olivia was sure that Dawn’s reaction was not an attempt to hide something from them. She had seen countless victims, witnesses, and suspects squirming in their chairs, reluctant to admit something damaging or embarrassing to them. What Olivia saw now was a woman who wasn’t unsure whether or not she wanted to answer, but about whether or not she could give an accurate answer.
“He didn’t say anything like that, and I don’t know why…but somehow, I got the feeling that he didn’t break into my apartment by chance. But that’s only a feeling; maybe I’m just paranoid…”
Olivia shook her head. “Never doubt your instincts, doctor. At this point, even a ‘paranoid feeling’ could turn out to be a valuable lead.”
Dawn smiled timidly. “Thanks.”
“Did anything unusual happen in the last few days?”
“Unusual?” Another almost-smile from Dawn. “I’m a psychologist, Detective, unusual things happen in my life every day. But if you mean did I notice any strangers lingering around the building or receive any hang-up calls, then no, there wasn’t anything unusual.”
“You didn’t notice anyone who didn’t belong in the building? Maintenance personnel, meter readers, the cable guy…?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Does your building have a doorman?” Olivia asked.
“Yes, but he leaves at midnight.” Dawn grimaced. “– cost-saving measures.”
Olivia crushed the empty paper cup in her hand. “You said you had just gone to sleep when you heard him…had you been out or did you stay home the whole evening?”
“I’d been out with some friends. I came in pretty late and just fell into bed.” Dawn looked down onto the table as if her decision to go out that night had somehow led to the rape.
“Did anything unusual happen while you were out? A particularly persistent guy hitting on you or anything like that?”
A ghost of a smile flitted across Dawn’s face. “No, nothing like that happened. I didn’t talk to anyone but my friends the whole night, and I’m sure no one followed me home.”
“Did anything look out of place when you came home?” Olivia continued.
“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure. I was so tired when I came home that I really didn’t look around.”
“Okay.” Olivia rubbed the back of her neck. “You said something, some kind of noise, woke you up. Any guesses to what it might have been? Was it a door opening or the shattering of glass or…?”
Dawn shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Nothing as loud as the shattering of glass, though.”
“Did you lock the door when you came home?”
A determined nod came from Dawn. “I always do.”
“What about the windows?”
“God!” Dawn moaned and buried her face in her hands. “I opened the damn window! I let him in! I always leave one window open whenever the cat’s not home and I’m going to bed. I practically invited him in!”
“Hey.” Very gently, Olivia touched her shoulder. “You didn’t ‘invite him in’. Unless you gave him a written invitation, he had no business coming into your apartment, even if every door and every window would have been wide open!”
“Still…” A dozen ‘what ifs’ stood in the room.
Olivia sighed and decided to break the awkward silence with the next question. “Did he take anything with him? A necklace, a bracelet, rings…anything?”
“He wasn’t interested in jewelry or money, Detective. This was no burglar who came across a sleeping woman by chance and took the opportunity!”
Olivia raised a calming hand. Like a lot of rape victims, Dawn seemed to shift between blaming herself and being angry with the world and its unfairness. “Most rapists take something with them that belonged to the victim. For the most part, it’s not financially motivated, but—”
“…a trophy,” Dawn said, a lot calmer now.
“Yes.”
Dawn pressed her uninjured fingers against the bridge of her nose and thought about it. “I didn’t notice anything missing, but it’s hard to say with all the destruction in my bedroom.”
“And did he leave anything behind?”
“Like what?” Dawn asked warily.
Olivia shrugged. “A piece of clothing, a tool, a weapon…”
“No. He didn’t undress, and he took the gun with him when he left.”
The gun… Olivia threw Elliot a quick glance. They both knew how difficult it was to get a reliable, detailed description of weapons from a civilian. “Can you describe the gun? Was it a revolver, did it have a breech?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Dawn answered without a trace of hesitation. “He had a semi-automatic, a nine millimeter with a grip made of black polymer-plastic – a Glock 17.”
Elliot and Olivia exchanged incredulous glances. How come a civilian with a non-violent job can answer a question about weapons with such precision?
Elliot finally voiced their thoughts: “How can you be so sure?”
“I come from a family of cops,” Dawn said with a small, but affectionate smile. “My father and my older brother were on the job and some of my friends still are. Most of them had Glocks. I grew up with it.”
Were on the job? Olivia noticed her use of the past tense but decided not to ask. Dawn had enough sadness to deal with for the moment.
With a glance at her watch, which read 10 a.m., Olivia asked a few more questions about Dawn’s daily routine: which restaurants, gyms, and clubs did she frequent?; where did she buy her groceries and which pharmacy and Laundromat did she use? They would compare her answers to those of other rape victims. If they were lucky, there might be a connection, a common place where the rapist first noticed his victims.
Finally, Olivia stretched and looked down at a yawning Dawn.
Elliot closed his note pad and threw down the pen. “We’ll have the written statement for you by this afternoon. You should read it carefully to make sure that everything’s accurate, and then sign it.”
Dawn nodded.
“Do you live with anyone?” Elliot asked, and when Dawn shook her head, he continued: “Do you have family or friends you could stay with for a few days?”
“I think I’ll stay with my mother for a while.”
Elliot nodded. “Good. We can have a unit drive you there,” he offered.
Olivia stood up and rounded the table. “I’ll drive her home, Elliot.”
“That’s not necessary, Detective. I can take a cab…,” Dawn protested bravely, though it was easy to see that she wasn’t looking forward to driving anywhere with a male stranger.
“It’s no problem, I really don’t mind,” Olivia assured her.
Her partner studied Liv for a few seconds, before he nodded. “Okay. Meet us at the cr… at Miss Kinsley’s apartment as soon as you’re finished.”
APARTMENT OF
GRACE KINSLEY
470 BROOME STREET
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
Olivia parked the Sedan and turned off the ignition. She got out of the car and waited patiently until Dawn had done the same. “A locksmith is going to change the locks in your apartment,” she said, silently wondering how often she had told other rape victims the exact same thing, “and a psychologist will call you to make…” She stopped when she remembered that it was a psychologist she was talking to.
“…an appointment,” Dawn finished for her and smiled sadly. “Standard procedure, right?”
Liv shook her head. Nothing about this case was ‘standard’ – not for her and certainly not for Dawn. When they stopped in front of the apartment building where Dawn’s mother lived, Olivia took one of her cards, wrote something on the back, and handed it to Dawn. “Those are the numbers you can reach me at – the precinct, my pager, my cell phone, and my home number. Don’t hesitate to call me – anytime, day or night, okay?”
Dawn looked at the card, then at Olivia. “Thank you. For everything.” She took a deep breath and turned to look at the house.
Olivia had seen the same hesitation dozens of times before: Dawn was afraid to go in and tell her family what had happened to her. “I could come with you and talk to your family if you want me to,” she offered quietly.
“No, thanks, I’ll manage.”
Before Dawn could reach the door, it swung open. “Dawn!” An older, heavier version of Dawn stood in the doorway. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you the whole…” The woman’s gray eyes widened when she looked at her daughter and saw the bruises on her face. “Oh, my God! Dawn, what happened?!”
Dawn stared at her with a mixture of emotions – wanting to be left alone so she could pretend nothing had happened and equally longing to be held in motherly arms. A tear rolled down her cheek as she searched for words.
When Dawn didn’t answer, her panicked mother turned to Olivia and repeated: “What happened, Detective?!”
Another Kinsley-woman with built-in cop-dar! Olivia thought absent-mindedly. She said nothing, waiting for Dawn to find her voice. She knew how important it was for Dawn, for any rape victim, to say the words on her own. She rested a supporting hand on Dawn’s elbow and waited.
“Mom,” Dawn said, her voice a rough whisper, “I was raped last night.”
Mrs. Kinsley blanched. “What?! Oh dear God!” She reached for her daughter.
Dawn’s cool, controlled façade crumbled immediately. Sobbing loudly for the first time, she sank into her mother’s embrace.
Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Olivia stepped back. She wanted to turn her head and give them some privacy, but found that she couldn’t look away from the comforting caresses and the consoling whispers. Olivia had loved her mother, and she was sure that her mother had loved her in her own way, but she had never known the level of motherly comfort that she witnessed now. It was a healing experience and hard to look at, at the same time.
With one last glance, she turned and walked toward her car.
APARTMENT OF
DAWN KINSLEY
1228 LEXINGTON AVENUE
SATURDAY, OCTOBER 6
Olivia ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. She looked around the apartment, where a CSU tech and her fellow detectives were already hard at work. It didn’t appear to be the same cozy apartment where she had drunk coffee with Dawn just a week ago. The warmth and innocence had been destroyed.
She crossed the living room and tried to slip on both her ‘Detective-persona’ and her latex gloves. “Any luck with prints?”
The crime tech looked up from his work. “I’ve lifted a few from the bedroom door, the phone, and the window. Could belong to the victim, though.”
“You should check for prints on the cell phone. The perp threw it out of the window, so we know he had it in his hands.”
“Will do.” The CSU tech continued his dusting.
Olivia entered the bedroom, where Elliot was busy sealing evidence bags. “Hey, El,” she greeted him. “Found anything?”
“The usual – semen stains, hairs, and fibers on the bed. Already photographed and bagged it. Doesn’t look like he left anything else behind, not even a condom wrapper. No signs of a struggle or forced entry in the living room. Miss Kinsley was right; the window seems to be the point of entry.”
They walked through the apartment to reconstruct the sequence of events. “He must have climbed up the fire escape at the back of the building, found the half-open window and climbed in. I think in the darkness, he crashed into the side-table.” Elliot pointed to the piece of furniture half in front of the window. “That’s probably what woke the victim up.”
“Miss Kinsley,” corrected Olivia. She didn’t really know the psychologist, but she couldn’t think of her as just another nameless victim.
Elliot nodded. His nostrils quivered as he suppressed a yawn. “Right. So, I’m thinking he’s someone who doesn’t have access to the building and who’s never been to the apartment before, otherwise he would know the layout of the furniture and not bump into it.”
“Hey, boys and girls,” Munch greeted as he entered the apartment.
“Neighbors were a complete waste of time – no one’s seen anything.” Fin shook his head in frustration.
“Except for Mister Bundy, the one who called us,” Munch threw in.
Elliot looked up. “His name’s really Bundy?!”
Fin shrugged his broad shoulders. “Yeah. Not everyone’s entitled to a nice unique name like Tutuola. Some have to share a name with a mass murderer or a shoe seller.”
“Did Mister Bundy tell you anything other than his name?” Olivia interrupted their joking.
Munch raised his eyebrows. “Someone is missing her beauty sleep.”
“We could all use a few hours of sleep,” intervened Elliot before Olivia could answer. “So let’s get this over with, okay?”
“Mister Bundy was walking around the block with man’s best friend at about four a.m. When Fifi started barking, he looked up and saw Miss Kinsley hanging halfway out of the window. He begged her not to jump.” Munch curved his lips into one of his cynical half-smiles. “Little did he know she didn’t want to end her life but her phone-less state—”
“…until she called down to him to call 911 ‘cause she’d been assaulted,” Fin said.
Olivia rubbed one of her tense shoulders.