Authors: David Kessler
“After Bethel looked at the mug shots in the first photo line-up… and didn’t see the man who raped her… she came back to the Rape Crisis Center to see me. She was crying. I knew what she felt like, because I’d been through it myself. I knew that feeling so well that I couldn’t bear to see it again… So I just rushed up to her and met her halfway across the room. I put a comforting arm around her… just like I did with another frightened little girl many years ago.”
Again she paused to damn up the flood of tears. Then she took a deep breath and continued.
“I offered her a set of darts to throw at our ‘poke his eyes out’ dart board. That’s a cork board with pictures of known rapists on it. The caption under the board says; ‘Rapist scum-bags of history.’ It’s basically just a therapeutic tool we use to help rape vict
–
rape survivors work off their pain.
“Bethel started working off her anger by throwing the darts at the board. When she’d thrown a set of three darts at the board, she went over to pull them out and start again. But when she got there and saw the pictures up close, she stopped. You see she thought she recognized a face on the board. It was a picture of a young man and she thought it was the man who raped her. She started talking to me excitedly telling me that it was the man.”
“But it wasn’t,” said Andi. It was a statement, not a question. She had more or less figured it out.
“No. It couldn’t have been the man who raped her because it was an old picture of Elias Claymore. I knew he was in his fifties now and she’d said the man was in his twenties. So I realized that the real rapist had to be another man who just happened to look like Claymore when he was younger. And I had to break this news to her after she was sure that she’d found the right man. I had to let her know – right after she got her hopes up and was sure that the rapist was about to be caught – that he wouldn’t be, because it was the wrong man. I had to look at the crestfallen look on her face when I told her that it was just a man who – when he was younger – looked a bit like the man who raped her. I had to watch her face contort in anguish and disintegrate into a torrent of tears when she took it all in. I had to see her beautiful young face ripped apart as she realized that the rapist wasn’t going to be caught and punished after all.
“And I remembered how Elias Claymore – the man who raped me – wasn’t punished for that crime either… because, unlike most of his other victims… I never had the courage to come forward in time.”
“And that’s when you got the plan? When you broke the news to Bethel that it couldn’t be the man whose picture she had seen on the dart board?”
“When I saw her reaction.”
“Okay, when you saw her reaction, you decided to get her to accuse Claymore.
“Yes. I saw the chance to make him pay for what he did to me.”
“You
used
Bethel Newton. You manipulated her.”
“I didn’t manipulate her. I gave her the choice. I told her what happened to me and suggested the idea that she could help to punish the man who raped me and then later, if he was ever caught, some one else could help punish the man who raped her. But I didn’t force her. She
wanted
to do it. And I thought it would be therapeutic for her.”
“For her? Or for you?”
“Do you really have the right to ask me that question? Do you know what it’s like to bottle up the pain all these years, knowing that the man who inflicted the pain hasn’t been properly punished? Do you know what it’s like to watch him transformed by a public relations machine from a villain into a national hero? Do you know what it’s like to
–
”
She broke down, unable to hold back the tears no longer.
Andi looked on helplessly, realizing that she had gone further than she intended. She looked sideways at Claymore and wondered if it had been worth it. Did he really deserve her help? Did Gene really deserve to be destroyed like this to get Claymore off the hook?
Claymore, for his part, was shrinking into his seat, as if trying to disappear from view, as if he at least had a sense of shame. But did that really matter? Surely it reaches a stage when it’s too late for regrets? When one cannot be forgiven no matter how much remorse one feels or shows?
But then again, Andi realized, perhaps that was true of her too.
The judge’s voice came out of nowhere to fill the silence with a gentleness that seemed appropriate for the situation.
“Does the defense have any more questions?”
“No Your Honor.”
“Ms Jensen?”
“No Your Honor.”
“Under normal circumstances I would order the witness taken into immediate custody. However in view of the circumstances, I think the DA might want to deal leniently with her. Is that the case?”
“Yes Your Honor,” said Sarah Jensen, rising slowly from her seat.
“In that case the witness is excused.”
Gene was led shakily from the witness stand by a bailiff, sobbing wildly as she walked away. As her cries faded into the distance, Sarah Jensen requested a side bar.
“Approach the bench,” said the judge said.
They approached the bench for a side-bar, Sarah, Nick, Andi and Alex. Sarah Jensen spoke.
“Your Honor, I’d rather not put the Newton girl back on the stand. If it was hard for that last witness, then we can all imagine what it would be like for her.”
Ellen Wagner nodded.
“If you meet with Ms Newton in private,” said the judge, “would that be sufficient to give you what you need for a motion to dismiss?”
“There is still one outstanding question, Your Honor,” Sarah Jensen replied, “The DNA. I know that there’s only a one in five hundred possibility of a random match, but there are some issues we’d like clarified.”
“Your Honor,” said Andi, “I think I may be of some assistance here. As you know, yesterday I was arrested by the FBI on Federal charges of illegally accessing a government computer – specifically the server for the local DNA database of the Ventura Sheriff’s Department crime lab.
Go on,” said the judge.
“Well it appears that some one else accessed it and tried to frame me. They logged on using my IP address and a spoofed version of the MAC number of my computer and basically deleted a file and then uploaded an identical copy of the same file.”
“And what is the relevance of this?”
“Well it appears that some one has compromised the Ventura LDIS. This means that until further checks have been made, we cannot trust in the integrity of the local database – at least as it relates to this case.”
“But you said that they uploaded an identical file, Miss Phoenix,” said the judge. “That means that they may have tried to frame you, but they didn’t actually change any of the evidence.”
They were distracted by a sound at the back of the courtroom. Bridget Riley had just entered and was trying to get Sarah Jensen’s attention.
“Can you believe that?” asked Manning, grinning from ear to ear.
They had just watched Andi’s questioning of Gene Vance and those amazing courtroom scenes. The cop was barely taking it in, but Louis Manning was on the verge of laughter.
“Man those bitches must really be suffering now.”
And this time he did laugh. The cop looked at him with disgust and tried to mouth the words “you bastard.” But it wasn’t the courtroom scene that he was talking about. It was what was happening to himself. Because he now felt himself overtaken by a sudden wave of drowsiness and he realized that it was the coffee.
Manning had spiked his cup while he was out of the room. It had to be.
Why else would I suddenly feel so tired?
He realized that he had to so something. Drawing on his last reserves of strength, he staggered to his feet and lurched towards the door. Manning was constrained by his leg in traction, but somehow managed to maneuver his body so that he could stick out his free leg off the bed, using his foot to trip the cop as he closed the gap between his desperately weary body and the door.
Although it was only the briefest and mildest of contacts between his shin and Manning’s foot, the sudden, unexpected interruption of his motion – coupled with his precarious state of balance to begin with – sent the lethargic cop sprawling to the floor. He landed with a heavier thud than Manning had intended.
Still conscious, albeit barely, he looked round to see Manning struggling to extricate his leg from traction.
Fifteen minutes later they were reassembled in the courtroom after a short recess granted by the judge to clear matters up. Bridget Riley had briefed Sarah Jensen and they now all realized that it was Louis Manning and not Elias Claymore who had raped Bethel Newton. They had to avoid saying so explicitly, in order not to prejudice the case against Manning. But at the same time, the defense wanted some kind of acknowledgement that Claymore was innocent.
“Your Honor,” said Sarah Jensen, “in view of certain new evidence that has come to the attention of the People, we move that the court declare a mistrial with prejudice and that the charges against Elias Claymore be dismissed.”
“Mr. Sedaka?” said the judge.
“The defense has no objection.”
“So ordered. The charges against Elias Claymore are hereby dismissed with prejudice. The defendant is free to go. Court is adjourned.”
Andi felt a wave of relief. But it was tinged with disappointment. There was still some unfinished business. She and David Sedaka had discovered proof that the jury selection software had been tampered with. Yet although the judge had passed the buck – understandably so – it was still something that had to be dealt with.
Then there was also the matter of the illegal accessing of the DNA database and the attempt to frame her. And of course there were the malicious eMail messages that she had been receiving. She assumed that it was all the work of the same person: Lannosea.
But the question remained: who
was
Lannosea?
“All rise!” intoned the bailiff.
Everyone in the courtroom stood. Only when the judge had left did the court erupt into pandemonium. Several bailiff’s held back spectators as Andi, Alex and Claymore walked out the courtroom quickly. Outside, Alex spoke to Claymore.
“We can go to the main lobby if you want to talk to the press.”
“No thanks. I just want to get my tail out of here. You can talk to the press if you like.”
“OK, leave it to me,” said Alex.
He walked off down another corridor while Andi and Claymore continued walking to the side exit that took them to the Museum parking lot. When they got there, it was deserted.
“Just tell me one thing,” said Claymore. “How could you help defend me after...”
He was too embarrassed to finish the sentence.
“After I knew that you had raped the woman I love?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let you into a little secret. I was also raped once.” He looked frightened at these words. “After
Gene
was raped she started working at a rape crisis Center in New York. And then when I was raped, I was referred to that same center. That’s how we met.”
“That’s it?” he asked, hesitantly.
“Yes.”
“Then how could you help me?”
“Because I was raped again
–
this time by a colleague. Not
literally
raped, but figuratively speaking. My hands were tied and I was forced to conform to his will. Only this is the last time it’s going to happen. I’m never going to have to look at him again. It’s just a case of taking the plunge and moving on.”
She walked off angrily, got into a red Ford Mustang and drove off
Louis Manning was struggling to pull the cop towards him. The floor was smooth but it was hard to get the necessary leverage. With his right leg in traction and his right wrist handcuffed to the bedrail, it was very hard getting into position. Sticking his free leg out had been easy enough. But reaching the cop’s ankle with his hand was somewhat harder. So it used up precious time getting the necessary grip and dragging him back so that he could fumble for the key to the handcuffs and free his hand.
The cops had become blasé. There was supposed to be one in the room and one outside. But they had scaled it down to just one who was free to leave the room as long as Manning was handcuffed to the bed – as he was most of the time, except when eating. The only time there were two of them together was when a change of shift was due. The next change of shift was some hours away. And the doctors only came round at set intervals, in the morning and afternoon. But at any time a nurse might enter the room to change his saline drip, inject painkilling medication or do any of the myriad tasks that drew nurses into the room at seemingly random intervals.
After unlocking the handcuffs, it was a further problem getting his leg out of traction. He wasn’t even sure how well he could walk with it still in the cast, but was surprised to find that it was relatively easy. But he couldn’t run with it obviously. It was even hard for him to bend down, but necessary, as he had to move the unconscious cop to the other side of the bed, so that he would not be so readily visible to anyone who might take a casual look into the room.
However, the hardest part, was putting the pants on. The cast was too thick for the leg. Of course, he could cut them. But that would attract attention. And that would defeat the purpose. He wanted to escape undetected. Walking away in a police uniform with a leg slit up to the thigh would hardly be traveling incognito. So he struggled to pull the pants up without tearing them.
He was just doing the belt when a nurse came into the room. She had walked in several steps before she noticed that the bed was empty and recognized Manning as the patient. She turned and was about to scream when Manning reached in to the belt, pulled out the taser and zapped the nurse, bringing her quietly to the ground with a much softer thud than the one made by the cop when he had fallen a few minutes earlier.
“I’ve got an old score to settle,” he said, stepping over her semi-conscious form as he walked to the door and left the room.