by Maren Foster
The Send
Monday, March 26, 2018
Old Greenwich
I flew to Chicago on Monday morning and went directly to the offices of Morgan, Staunton, and Moretti. The receptionist asked me to have a seat. I waited for a few minutes and, just as I was beginning to get impatient, a frosted glass door opened.
A well-dressed man in his early sixties appeared. “Ms. Laurent?”
I stood up. “Yes.”
“Good morning,” he said and held the door open for me.
“Good morning.”
I followed him down a long wide hallway into a corner office. He turned and offered his hand. “Asher Morgan, pleased to meet you.”
“Wyn Laurent. Nice to meet you.”
“Please have a seat,” he said.
I took a seat opposite his desk.
“Wyn,” he paused. “You mentioned that you have a problem of a criminal nature.”
“Mr. Morgan, my husband violently raped me years ago before we were married. I had a rape kit done at the time, but decided not to press charges for various reasons.”
“Hmmm.”
“He was arrested about a month ago for drunk driving and they took a DNA sample. It came back as a match to my rape kit.”
“I see,” he said.
“A detective from Illinois called me on Monday. The rape occurred in Evanston, when I was in college. He asked me to go meet with the Connecticut State Police to discuss the rape with a detective. I went to the station in Bridgeport on Thursday thinking that they just wanted to do due diligence, you know, talk to me, since I was the victim in the case, but he began asking some questions that made me uncomfortable.”
“Sorry, why were you in Bridgeport?”
“Oh, that’s where we live now. That’s where Nate was arrested.”
“Nate?”
“My husband,” I said. “And my rapist.”
“And you’re sure that your rape kit was the hit on your husband’s DNA in the system?”
“Well, I’m assuming it was. The officer I spoke with implied that it was.”
“Hmmm. Please tell me more about the rape.”
“We met at a frat party on campus. I guess he was in town visiting for the weekend because he didn’t go to my university. He raped me in the room he was staying in, while the party was raging outside.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Can you tell me more about what happened? The details are important.”
“I hardly knew him at all. I didn’t even know his last name at the time.”
“Okay,” he said. “What else? What exactly happened that night?”
“It was my freshman year of college. He was a high school friend of my roommate’s boyfriend. He was extremely charismatic and I thought we were falling in love. He said he was a Christian. I told him I was a virgin and was planning to wait until marriage.”
He nodded.
“We were drinking together and dancing at the party. I was attracted to him.” I paused and tried to keep my composure. “It was getting late and we were walking down a long hallway in the house and he grabbed me and pulled me into his room. At first I thought it was romantic. I thought he wanted to steal a kiss in private, but that wasn’t his plan.”
Mr. Morgan handed me a tissue.
“He tied my wrists together and threw me on the bed. I begged him to stop. I told him no. He gagged me and pulled my clothes and my underwear off. I tried to scream, but the music was so loud. He forced himself inside me. It was extremely painful. The next day I needed twelve stitches inside my,” I paused, “vagina.” I still felt awkward using that word in front of a man his age. “He finished inside. I was relieved at the time because it meant it was over, but it was actually only the beginning. He kept me tied up in his bed all night. I cried until I fell asleep.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
I nodded. “When the sun came up he told me that he had videotaped the entire thing and that if I told anyone he would dub porn audio over the video and put it online with my real name. He told me he would ruin my life. That no one would hire me or ever want to marry me. I was scared.”
“Do the police know about the video?”
“No, I didn’t tell them very much when they interviewed me at the hospital because I was in shock. He had threatened me, so I might have given the police incomplete information. I don’t remember exactly, but I know I didn’t tell them everything when they interviewed me that day.”
He scribbled furiously on his note pad.
I continued, “I only had the rape kit done because I’d been told how important that was, and honestly I was worried that he had done permanent damage to me, so I knew I needed to go to the hospital.”
“But you didn’t press charges?”
“No. I didn’t even tell them his name or who he was. Everyone I knew at the time warned me that I wouldn’t be taken seriously. Like I said, Nate wasn’t enrolled at my university. He lived in Philadelphia and I was told that even if he had been, the university administration was likely to give him the benefit of the doubt and not do anything. I was warned that my accusation could hurt me more than him.”
He studied his notes.
“So how on Earth did you come to be married to him?” he said.
“I found him.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I did some searching on social media and figured out his last name and where we was living. I moved there and went to the places that he frequented. I knew because he had checked-in and liked some places. Eventually, I saw him and we talked. We matched on a dating app and started seeing each other. A few years later, we were married,” I said. “Well, we had a wedding but he didn’t send in the forms, but it doesn’t really matter.”
“Why did you want to marry him?”
“Like I told the police, he haunted me. He haunted me in my sleep, and while I was awake, I saw him everywhere. He ruined my life without ever posting the video of the rape. The attack played over and over again in my head. If I heard any of the songs that were playing while he did it, I lost it. I couldn’t trust anyone. I began having panic attacks. Eventually, I figured that the only way to make him go away was to see him. So I tracked him down. After I’d seen him, I knew I had to talk to him. I had to see if he remembered me. When he didn’t remember me, I became fascinated by him. I needed to understand what would cause someone to do what he did to me. I needed to know what was wrong with him, and what made him tick. I guess I wanted to understand him so that I could have some closure, but the more time I spent with him, doing things that made him happy, things that made him love me, the more I needed him. He was confident, handsome, charismatic. All the things that had first attracted me to him were still there, and as long as he got what he wanted he was harmless. I know that this will sound crazy, but eventually I think I even began to love him, in some way. I tried to remind myself that he was a monster,” I said. “He is a monster. But only when he doesn’t get exactly what he wants. Only when he’s told ‘no’. As soon as he knew he could have me whenever he wanted, he didn’t need to hurt me and in fact he lost interest and moved on eventually.”
“Wow,” he said.
I nodded.
“I have to ask you something, and you must tell me the truth. You must tell me what you would tell a judge and a jury of your peers under oath,” he said, staring directly at me. “You have to tell me the truth so that I can advise you accurately.”
I nodded.
“Did you marry him to get revenge?”
I shook my head. “That was never my intention,” I lied. “My therapist says I exhibit classic signs of trauma bonding.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s like Stockholm Syndrome,” I said. He jotted “Stockholm Synd?” down on his notepad.
“So you said that he orchestrated a fake marriage. Why do you think he did that?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Especially since he made me sign a prenup.”
“Do you have a copy of the prenup?”
“I do.”
“Can you send me a copy, just in case?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He continued, “So what else did the detective say?”
“He told me he thought I already knew who the match to my rape kit was, even though he hadn’t told me. Then he asked a bunch of questions.”
“Like what?”
“Why I didn’t report him when I figured out who raped me, and something about the prenup.”
“Yeah.”
“Will I have to testify? Will he have to know it was me?” I said.
“Wyn, this is serious stuff.”
I nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?”
I nodded again.
“The Sixth Amendment of the U.S. Constitution guarantees the right to confrontation, which means not only the opportunity to cross-examine witnesses, but also the right to face-to-face confrontation. So if the case went to trial, his counsel would have the right to cross-examine you in person. You could request an exception on the grounds that you would be harmed by testifying in an open court, but I do not believe that your request would be granted in this case. Exceptions to the right to confrontation are typically reserved for minors.”
Shit.
“If he strikes a plea deal with the state to avoid a trial your identity as the victim may be withheld. As for a trial, your rape kit and your testimony will be helpful, but he could still get off with the minimum sentence or possibly less if he has a really good lawyer, and even if he does serve time, he might be able to get out early for good behavior. You said there was a videotape of the rape, right?”
“Yeah, I saw it and he said he filmed it.”
“Do you have it?”
“No, but I think I might be able to find it.”
“Did you tell the detective about the videotape?”
“No. It’s hard to remember, but I don’t think I told the police about it when they first interviewed me.”
He nodded and scribbled on his legal pad.
“To your knowledge, have you been charged with any crimes at this point?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think I’ve committed any.”
He studied his legal pad carefully and made a few more notes.
“Wyn, I would advise you to find that videotape. If you find it, let me know. We’ll figure out whether the prosecutor has it and make sure he gets it. Otherwise, lay low. Don’t talk to the detective again, or any other police for that matter, without me. Call my direct number immediately if they want to question you.”
He continued, “Also, this guy sounds dangerous. You might consider getting a restraining order.”
“Okay, thank you.” It’s cute that this guy thinks a restraining order will stop Nate from coming near me if that’s what he wants.
As if he could read my mind, he said, “The restraining order is a good idea, even just to demonstrate on the record that you believe he is a threat to your safety. You might install a high grade security system too and change the locks.”
“I understand.”
“Do you have any other questions?”
“What do you think are the chances that he’ll serve any time?” I asked.
“He’ll serve a little time, but not much unless you find that videotape and we can develop a rock solid story that a judge and a jury will believe about why you were living with your attacker. That won’t be easy.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Will they extradite him to Illinois?”
“Eventually, yes. Timing will depend on whether there is a trial or he pleas and if the latter, then whether his plea deal includes additional time in prison.”
“Hmmm. Oh, and what is your fee?”
“For you, just $350 an hour, moving forward.”
Jeez, is that the family and friends discount? I thanked him. He declined to charge me for the consultation and I left his office and went straight back to the airport.
The Send
Monday, March 26, 2018
Old Greenwich
I got home late and ran upstairs to Nate’s office, pulled the blinds shut, and began searching for an old laptop I remembered seeing in a drawer after we first moved in. I had no idea how old it was or what was on it, but all I could think about now was how vital it would be to have video evidence.
Rummaging through drawers, pulling folders and papers out, looking for a laptop or old data storage device, I noticed that the bottom left drawer of his desk was locked. I’ve never noticed that before. I found a small set of keys hidden in the back of the top drawer. Yep, perfect fit. I pulled open the drawer which turned out to be nearly empty save a black case. I pulled it out and popped open the clips holding it shut. A handgun was packed neatly into a foam mold. Holy shit! That psychopath had a gun in the house the entire time and I didn’t know. What would I have done if I’d known? He could have killed me if he’d found out what I was up to. I sat for a few minutes just staring at it, not sure what to do.
After a bit more searching I found a laptop in a cardboard box underneath an envelope filled with old pictures and other college mementos. I put the computer on the desk and pushed the power button. Nothing. I plugged in an old charger that was in the drawer. It booted up slowly and then asked for a password. Damn it! I thought for a minute. What would Nate’s password be? That was a difficult enough guess now, but he would have created this password in college. Despite how long we’d been together, he’d never shared a single password with me. Shit! I need help. It’s too late today. First thing tomorrow. I grabbed the laptop, the charger, and an external hard drive that was shoved under a bunch of loose papers in one of his drawers. I put everything in my biggest purse. The gun was still in its box, open on the chair. Maybe I should learn how to use it, for protection. I had fired a rifle at a summer camp when I was young. It had been years, but I could learn again. I picked it up. It was heavier than I’d expected. How such a cold, lifeless metal object could cause so much destruction was unfathomable. I engaged the safety and put it in my purse.
The next morning I drove into Manhattan, paid to park, and went into a little hole in the wall I’d passed a million times and never thought twice about called ‘Hackers’. Below the name, a sign promised they’d be able to solve my most difficult computer problems.
Inside, every wall was painted black and covered haphazardly with decals advertising everything from computer equipment to skateboards.
“What’s up?” A young guy with nearly invisible eyeglasses asked.
“I need a copy of everything that’s on these.” I pulled the laptop and hard drive out of my purse. “I forgot my password.”
“Okay. When do you need it?”
“Yesterday,” I smiled, but he didn’t smile back.
“Sorry, not possible. We’re busy. And the password thing can take time.”
“I understand, but I have to have this as soon as possible. Price doesn’t matter.”
He perked up and took his eyes off the motherboard he was fidgeting with. “Five thousand,” he said cautiously, as if testing the water.
“Three thousand.”
He shook his head. “Like I said, we’re really busy.”
I looked around the empty shop. “Thirty-five hundred.”
“Four thousand.”
“Okay.”
“You may want to come back. I can call you when it’s done.”
“I don’t live close by,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
I sat down in a chair near the front door. I can’t charge this to my credit card or write a check, and I can’t just go take four thousand dollars out at a bank. I have to make sure that it can’t be traced back to me.
I texted Adam. “You at your office today? I’ve got an emergency.”