The Seduction - Art Bourgeau (28 page)

* * *

Afterward they lay together, drained. No bridal suite
this, the room cold beyond the circle of warmth and light, the
covered furniture, the stacked lumber, the waiting tools the only
witnesses to their lovemaking.

Laura, resting under him, his head nestled against
her, had to wonder now that the moment was past, what future, if any,
there would be. Was this the end? A few minutes from start to finish?

Felix stirred slightly, and as if he had read her
mind he said, "I can't risk losing you, lady. We'll go back
together and I'll talk to the police. First thing in the morning"
And to himself, "Even if it turns sour, she is worth it . .
 
 

CHAPTER 25

IT WAS after ten when the first police car answered
Missy's call for help. He waited for a backup that arrived no more
than a minute later, and together they approached the slightly ajar
front door of her townhouse.

The first policeman, an Irishman named—what
else—O'Ma1ley, formerly of Kensington but now living in the
north-east section of the city, cautiously pushed open the door with
his flashlight and called out.

What they heard were a woman's sobs from inside the
darkened living room. They called out again, then went in with guns
drawn.

The flashlight beam of the second policeman, a black
man named Perkins from West Philly, picked up the figure of a woman
on her knees, her head resting against the seat of a leather-covered
chair. "Holy shit!"

It wasn't until they turned on the lights that they
saw she was nude. O'Malley went to the bedroom and came back with a
blanket while Perkins quickly removed the stainless steel chain from
around her neck and used his master key to open the cheap handcuffs
imprisoning her wrists.

As O'Malley put the blanket around her, Missy peeked
between sobs to be sure he was the white one, then threw herself into
his arms. He did his best to comfort her while Perkins asked what had
happened.

Missy shifted her position slightly against O'Malley
to make it easier to keep her legs together so that the sperm sample
from the office that she'd inseminated herself with wouldn't leak
out. Sobbing louder than ever, she said in a broken voice, "He
raped me."

When they asked who, she told them in near-hysteria,
"Felix Ducroit. He raped me and tried to kill me . . ."

The officers looked at one another. Both understood
from the handcuffs and chain what they'd stumbled onto—the identity
of the rapist-kilIer who'd been keeping a whole section of detectives
working overtime.

Perkins went to the phone to call in, and Missy
snuggled a little closer to O'Malley, pleased with her performance so
far and their response to it. Nice guys, good little cops, who would
help her make Felix Ducroit pay and pay for the way he'd treated her.

Sloan told Perkins and O'Malley to sit tight until he
arrived with a policewoman to be on hand during the questioning and
to help during the trip to the hospital.

In less than fifteen minutes Missy's townhouse was a
hive of activity. She watched in silence while the team from the
mobile crime lab went over everything, pleased that she had had the
foresight to remove all of Peter's things and put them in the trunk
of her car.

When Sloan and the policewoman, Detective Kane,
arrived, she went into the bedroom with Missy and helped her dress.
When they came back to the living room one of the lab men was talking
to Sloan. Missy couldn't hear what was being said, only saw Sloan nod
a couple of times.

The policewoman kept her back until the conversation
was finished, then brought her over to Sloan, who asked if she felt
up to a few questions before they left for the hospital, and when she
agreed the three of them went into the kitchen and sat around the
table.

She let him coax her before she began to tell her
story. "Two, or was it three, months ago I was introduced to a
man named Felix Ducroit, a businessman from New Orleans. After that
he began calling me. He was charming, so I went out with him a few
times—nothing serious, just friendly. The opera, places like that.
As time went on he got more serious about me, calling late at night
and telling me how much he loved me. It was flattering but I knew it
couldn't work out. I just wasn't attracted to him. That was why I
invited him over tonight for drinks—to break it off. I wanted to be
decent to him—champagne, caviar, the works—and let him down as
easy as possible. Thinking about it more, I realize he must have
known what was coming, because when I told him I couldn't see him
anymore, he slapped me hard, and then took out a set of handcuffs . .
. You know the rest . . ."

She paused to cry. It probably wasn't the right place
for it, but if she'd stopped in the middle of her story she might
have lost track and left out something important.

Sloan and Kane exchanged looks, and when Missy saw it
she stopped crying. Never mind, let them be suspicious. She had the
proof inside her—sperm from a blood type O secretor. Precisely the
same as was found in Terri and Marie and Cynthia. Felix's type. No
disputing that.

Sloan warned her about the personal nature of his
questions and advised her of her rights about answering or not
answering. She said she understood, and he then asked if she had ever
before had sexual relations with Felix Ducroit.

Only moments before she'd told them that she and
Felix had just been friends, but obviously her answer hadn't
satisfied. For a moment she thought of changing her story, giving
them something more juicy to bring them over to her side, but in the
end she decided to stick to her original story.

"No, not until what he did to me tonight,"
she said, not sure whether to sound pitiful or angry.

Sloan went over her story from different angles,
questioning her on each point until he seemed satisfied. Finally, to
her relief, he moved on to a new topic. "Are you presently
involved in a sexual relationship, having sex, even casual sex, with
anyone else?"

"No, no one at all. Really . .

"I warned you the questions would be personal.
Now, are you sure?"

"Yes, it's not exactly the sort of thing one
forgets."

"Then could you explain why you have a kit in
your bathroom to predict your ovulation cycle?"

Goddamn, she'd forgotten to throw that damn kit away.
Nothing for it now but to go on the offense.

"I wasn't aware, officer, that I was the one on
trial. In case you've forgotten, I'm the victim here." She was
stalling to come up with some explanation.

"That's true," Sloan said. "Please
don't be offended, but that's one of the standard moves for the
defense—to try to discredit the victim. I was just testing you as
an attorney would. We're on the same side here."

And now she had her explanation. "I see, I'm
sorry I snapped at you. The reason I have that kit is that I have a
hormone imbalance and have to keep track of my cycle."

Her answer seemed to satisfy them. And when Sloan
mentioned Cynthia, it was all Missy could do to keep from smiling.
They had made the connection.

"During your evenings with Mr. Ducroit did he
ever talk about his ex-wife?"

"Yes, occasionally. I know that they weren't on
very good terms. He seemed to have bad feelings over the break-up of
their marriage. But why would you ask?"

He ignored her question. "Do you know if he saw
her recently?"

"Well, yes. We both saw her at the opera. She
made a small scene there and he was terribly embarrassed, so much so
that we left after the first act. Later he said he was unhappy about
some conversations she'd had with a local newspaper reporter . . .
but I don't see what all this has to do with what he did to me? The
man raped me, and then tried to kill me. I'm not really very
concerned about his ex-wife," she said, hoping she wasn't
overdoing it.

Neither Sloan nor the policewoman gave any clue about
what they expected from her. Both just sat there watching her. Missy
tried a new tack. "God, I could use a cigarette," she said,
turning to look for some. When she saw a pack on the kitchen counter
and moved to get up, the policewoman stopped her with a firm hand on
her forearm.

"Stay put," she said, "you've been
through a lot. I'1l get them."

The policewoman returned with her cigarettes and sat
down again. Missy took one and tightened her bicep to make her hand
shake as she brought it to her lips. Before she could light it, she
felt the policewoman's warm hand taking the matches from her.

"Let me," she said softly, and lit it for
her.

"You're right to be concerned about the things
we're asking you," said Sloan. "But please understand,
while it might not seem so to you these things have a bearing. We're
not here to annoy or ask off-the-wall questions. We're trying to see
that every base is covered."

"I don't know anything more about his ex-wife
than what I told you," she said flatly.

"All right, let's get back to Mr. Ducroit. For
us to nail him, we need your help. We need to do three things,"
he said, ticking them off on his fingers as he spoke. "You must
press charges, you must identify him from the lineup and you must
testify and be cross-examined in open court. Will you do these
things?"

Missy took an angry drag on her cigarette. A vision
of her earlier scene with Felix flashed across her mind. She had been
raped, in a way. He'd violated her by his terrible rejection . . .

"He deserves to be punished for what he did to
me," she said. "And I'll do anything to see that it's done.
He took everything, my self-respect. He violated me and when he was
finished he left me for dead."

This time when she raised her cigarette to her lips
she didn't have to tighten her bicep to make her hand shake. She was
trembling with anger.

Sloan smiled. "Good. Now we can get on it and
put this guy away."

"Believe me, we'll do it, too," said the
policewoman. "All we need is your cooperation."

Missy looked from one to the other. "What did
you think—that I wouldn't press charges?"

The policewoman said, "You'd be surprised. After
something like this most women just want to put the whole experience
behind them. It's wrong, and we have to do our best to convince them
that if they don't do their part there's nothing we can do and the
scum who did it to them will walk away free to repeat. But sometimes,
too many times, it doesn't do any damn good."

"Well, you can count on me. I'll do my part,"
said Missy, a part of the team.

"If you feel up to it, there are just a couple
more points I'd like to go over with you and then we'll get you over
to the hospital for the night," Sloan said.

”
I'm okay, go ahead and ask."

"From the look of your neck, the bruises and the
chafing, it looks like he seriously tried to kill you. What did you
do to stop him? I mean, why didn't he succeed?"

Missy's hand went to her throat, which was red and
raw in places and darkening in others from where she'd pulled the
chain tight and sawed back and forth on herself.

"What did I do? I didn't do anything. I didn't
struggle; I didn't scream. What I did was try to appease him and stay
alive. When he choked me I passed out. That's the last thing I
remember until I woke up, knocked the phone over and somehow managed
to punch out nine-eleven with my hands cuffed and call for help."

The policewoman nodded. "You're very lucky to be
alive."

Missy was getting to like this woman. If she wore her
hair differently she would be quite pretty. Maybe after all this was
over . . .

"I second what she says," Sloan added,
paused for a moment and then said, "We're also fortunate here
because not only are you able to identify your assailant, you know
him. From the things he did to you, we have reason to believe he may
be involved in other crimes we're currently investigating. Do you
know of any interests he might have had in South Philly?"

"Interests? You mean like the Mafia," she
said, pretending not to know where this line of questioning was
heading.

"Business, social, whatever."

"No, not really. I mean, nothing unusual. A few
times he wanted to go down there for Italian food. Afterward we would
ride around for a while. That's all I know about Felix and South
Philly."

"Where did you ride?"

"Oh, I don't know. Everywhere, I guess."
She paused for a moment, as if thinking it over. "That's not
right, either," she said. "Most of the time we stayed near
the river. It would be after dinner. We'd ride a bit, then take
Delaware Avenue up to Society Hill for a nightcap at Lagniappe or one
of the other places. Sorry if I can't be of more help to you."
And then, as if it had just occurred to her, she added, "Does
this have anything to do with those teenagers I read about in the
paper?"

"Could be," Sloan said.

"Oh, my God," said Missy, putting her hands
to her face.

Sloan turned to Kane. "l think we've got enough
from Miss Wakefield for now. One of the officers will take the two of
you to the hospital for her examination. Stay with her tonight after
it's finished."