“The DNA report is in. We have a definite match.”
Molony pulls out the chair and sits. He holds out his hand and Lewis passes him the report. He flips through it, pausing here and there. “I'll need a copy of this.” Lewis nods.
Neil squirms in his seat. “But I didn't . . .” Colm holds up his a hand and the young man subsides.
“The report indicates that the evidence was acquired from cigarette butts.”
Lewis nods. “Yes, that's right.”
“Old cigarette butts,” continues Molony.
“They had some wear but there's no telling how long they'd been there.”
“That's my point, Detective. The cigarette butts were not fresh, they could have been left there at any time.”
“Oh sure,” Wolfrom volunteers. But we have Neil's statement denying he was ever there. This proves he was.” Both Molonys turn their attention on the formerly silent partner.
“There's indication the butts were left over a substantial period of time. Time when young Neil spent hours concealed in those bushes. In that spot, watching the girls go by, getting the lay of the land. Premeditating, as it were.”
Neil explodes out of his seat. “No. You've got it all wrong. I didn't do that . . .”
Colm says, “Neil” in a cautionary paternal voice.
Neil waves him off. “No! I will not shut up because I'm the one they want to put in jail. Yes, I was there, but that was months ago. I didn't attack anyone.”
“What were you doing there then?”
“I was just . . .” Neil blinks as the realization of what he's just admitted to hits home. “Just watching girls.” He looks hopefully at Wolfrom, who just stares back, not giving any encouragement.
Lewis says, “Back when it was still warm, you mean.”
Colm Molony glares at Neil, who deliberately ignores his uncle. Neil turns almost gratefully to Lewis.
“I went biking there in the summer and I had a blow out and the bike went off the path. I sat on the stump to fix the tire there and I . . . I heard girls giggling.”
“Neil, don't.”
Ignoring his uncle, Neil says, “I looked up and I could see them going by on the path, but they couldn't see me. It was, it was, well just a good spot. You know, a nice place to watch the girls. A terrific place to watch girls, really, because I could watch them but they didn't see me. That's all. It was a long time ago.”
Dubious, Lewis says, “I don't know Neil, there were a lot of cigarette butts there. You went there a lot.”
Quiet, he lowers his eyes again. “Yes.”
“You expect me to believe that you just stopped going?”
“That's what happened. One day I just decided it was too much trouble.” He looks at Lewis, trying to decide if she's buying it.
“You know, too far from work, too far from home.”
“So you just stopped?”
Surly as the attitude seeps back. “Yeah, I just stopped.”
“Why would you do that Neil? Perfect spot to watch girls. Must have made you feel really powerful to be able to watch them without them knowing you were there.”
“Something like that.”
Lewis leans across to him, speaking in a softer tone, “In a situation like that, I expect that while you watched the girls, you had to find something to do with your hands . . .”
Colm Molony slams his fist on the table. “That is it Detective. We are done.”
Molony stands up and turns to the young man, “Come along, Neil.”
Neil looks up at his uncle and says, “No Uncle Colm. I am not done. I did find something to do with my hands. I jacked off and watched the girls go by, and it was just great.” He closes his eyes and smiles. “Just fucking great.”
Colm sits back down. “Neil, you have to stop talking now.” he turns back to Lewis, “Detective we need five minutes alone.”
“No!” Neil's voice cracks, “I have to tell them and I'm gonna. I have to tell them, don't you see? You won't listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. I have to tell it now 'cause I do not want to go to jail. So shut the fuck up, Uncle Colm, and let me tell my goddamn story.”
Colm Molony slumps back in his chair as though struck.
Feeling his power, Neil tells Lewis, “So yeah, that's what I was doing in those bushes. I went to watch. And it was incredible because I was invisible. I could look where I wanted and not get any grief. The stupid bitches didn't ever see me. But you know, after a while, well,” he shakes his head ruefully, “watching just wasn't enough anymore.”
The elder Molony watches incredulous as his nephew reveals a side he has never seen before, and it isn't pretty. How could this . . . this . . . creature possibly be related to him? It's simply inconceivable. This confession has to stop, there is no way this can be allowed to get out in this town.
God, the firm could be embarrassed. Possibly even ruined. He would be a pariah. Why in gods name did he give this fucking little prick a pity job? Family responsibility. Shit. What did his bloody family ever do for him? And how did he end up with a brother dumb enough to father . . . this . . . this . . . pervert.
“After a while it was as though. It wasn't as good being invisible. It was, I don't know, somehow it was beneath me. I'm as good as everybody else, right?”
“And I started thinking . . . I guess that's when I started thinking that maybe the best thing to do would be to . . . to show them. I wanted to show them so badly. You know these girls, blonde, gorgeous with legs up to there . . . they would be going past in their little groups, you know? You can't talk to them when they're in packs. Not those girls and I knew . . . I just knew I wouldn't be able to do anything. Uh, could I get some water?”
Wolfram pours a glass of water and hands it to Neil, who takes a sip, clearly relishing the attention, the suspense.
Neil nods, “Then . . . then one day there was a girl by herself, she wasn't walking very fast because she was carrying too much stuff, and I was . . . I really needed, you know, needed something, and I had been pounding the meat, but it wasn't as good anymore. It wasn't good enough any more. So I decided well . . . so then I came out of the bushes to show her and she . . . and she,” all eyes are on him and his voice fades and he swallows before finishing, “She . . . she . . . just laughed.” His jaw tightens, and he is overcome with emotion.
Colm can't believe it. The rotten kid's eyes are filling up.
Neil isn't just disgusting, he's pitiful. If you're gonna be a god damned pervert at least be a man about it.
Neil savagely rubs his eyes and his demeanor turns surly. He can feel his uncle's contempt. In a twisted way it gives him the strength to go on. He stares at his uncle with glittering eyes, as if willing his uncle to really see him. Prick.
Neil takes a breath and plunges on, “That nasty assed bitch just laughed and laughed. I couldn't believe it and, well, it was too much for any man. So I grabbed my bike and took off. “That was the last time. I couldn't go back there. Don't you see? I'd give anything to be able to go back there, back the way it was before. Just to watch. But I can't. I just can't.”
Neil is starting to whine, stung by the injustice of it all. Why did it have to happen to him? He's special, his mother always told him he was special. Well, until she dumped him with insufferable Uncle Colm.
“That bitch laughing at me, that was, that was the end. I don't even ride my damned bike up there any more. I just couldn't. I mean I can't. What if I saw her again? What if she laughed at me again. It's just . . . there is no way. There is no way . . . I didn't do anything to anyone. I just stopped going there, I haven't even been there in weeks. It wasn't me, raped that girl. I can't even go there. Just don't put me in fucking jail, okay?”
Neil buries his face in his hands and starts snivelling. Colm looks away. Incredible. This alien thing can't really be his own flesh and blood. A wienie wagger. Unbelievable. And what's worse, not even a good one. A wimp. A bloody wimpy wienie wagger. By god, if you're going to be a pervert, be a w
orld class pervert. Like Bernardo, say. Make your name stand for something. Striking terror in the hearts of men is far better than inspiring contempt. Sniggers. What in God's name did he ever do to deserve this indignity?
Lewis and Wolfrom exchange glances. Without saying a word they are agreed. They've got this kid cold on exposing himself but there is no way this kid did the rape. First offence. And they just know Uncle M is gonna pull every string in reach to keep this one out of the media.
Lewis feels the revulsion building. In her mind's eye she can see Neil smirking as he assaults Eve Brooks in the elevator. She wants to slap the little bastard silly, knee him in the groin, stomp his pitiful little pecker into paste so that the bastard never gets the chance to hurt anybody ever again. Except the little fucker is going to walk. Maybe there is something to the 'rape culture' idea.
Goddamnitalltohell.
She feels Wolfie's look of concern and she takes a breath, gets hold of herself and pulls it back in, pushes it down. Lewis breathes, and her vision returns to normal.
Good old Wolfie. He's walking talking proof that there are good men still. Easy to forget in the job. But if nothing else, being police teaches you to choose your battles. Mostly.
Colm Molony clears his throat. “I have to say I had no idea.” Incredulity gives way to self preservation soon enough though. “I think it is safe to say that my nephew is in need of professional help here. Perhaps . . .”
Lewis cuts him off. “Perhaps, but we need to bring in the crown prosecutor on this one to look at disposition. Mr. Molony.”
Molony glares. “You can't just..?”
Lewis shakes her head. “No sir. There are protocols.”
chapter 129 . . .
Liz is hurrying across the courtyard because she's not dressed warmly enough. It's so hard to tell what to wear when the weather is all over the map.
She pulls open the door to the computer building and steps gratefully into the warmth.
At least there isn't any snow. Yet.
Vlad looks up and smiles at her from behind the security desk. She grins and waves and Vlad waves back. But as Liz crosses the lobby toward the stairwell, she realizes her favourite security guard isn't just returning her wave, he's waving her over. Her watch tells her she has time, so she changes course to see what he wants.
“Hey Vlad, how's it going?”
“Things are happening Miss Liz, that I thought you might wish to know.”
Liz cocks her head and frowns. She can see from Vlad's expression she is not going to like what he is about to tell her. Her smile falls away and she asks, “What?”
“It's the police, Miss Liz. They are back again.”
Liz pales. “Oh no. Was there another attack?
“No. No, nothing like that. It is the young man they arrested. Apparently they got the wrong man.”
“Oh. Not good. But better than another attack, anyway.”
“Yes, you are right about that.”
“Are they in the same room?”
Vlad nods.
“Thanks for letting me know. I'll tell Natasha.”
“How is Miss Natasha doing?”
“A lot better. She's still pretty sore though.”
“Tell her I said hello, please.”
chapter 130 . . .
Wolfrom is scrolling through computer files while Lewis flips through the box of physical file folders. Wolfrom asks, “Were there any that stood out that we should bring back for follow up, or do we just start over?”
“Nothing jumps out at me. We're back to square one, Wolfie.”
“Think how easy it'd be if we could get a court order to make them all give us samples.”
Lewis laughs. “Never happen.”
A knock on the door, Wolfrom opens it to admit Liz.
“Do you have new information for us?” asks Lewis.
Liz hovers in the doorway, “Uh, no. I thought you had the guy. I'm wondering what you're doing back here?”
Lewis says, “As it turns out, the guy isn't the guy.”
“So you're back here because? You think it's a student?”
“Could be. Might be staff, guest lecturer, former student, stranger. The possibilities are endless.”
“Oh shit. What do I tell Natasha?”
“That we haven't caught the guy. That if she remembers anything she should let us know. She was going to think about smells, if you could remind her.”
“Oh, I will.” Liz nods. “Um. So, now what are you guys doing?”
“Interviewing the rest of the student body for a start.”
chapter 131 . . .
When Tamara steps out of the shower she knows she's not alone. She stops, strains to listen. She hears the sound of kitchen cupboard doors closing. Shit.
There's somebody out there. She glances at the knob and sees that it's locked. Flimsy but better than nothing.
Shit shit shit.
Hell, she doesn't even have her cell, it's charging on the nightstand. She towels off quickly, then wraps the towel around her hair. She looks around for a weapon. Who keeps weapons in the bathroom? Draino maybe? Yeah right. like she's got any hope of getting some sneak thief to imbibe. Shit.
Who is she kidding. No way it's a thief, she knows damned well it's the goddamn rapist. Psycho is still scary, lousy special effects and outdated medical theory and all, because it doesn't get much more vulnerable than this. They oughta sell mace-on-a-rope so you could at least feel safe in the fucking shower.
Shit shit shit.
What could she use? The curtain rod, no, too damned flimsy. Wait. how about that lavender air freshener Quentin hates. A squirt of that shit in the creep's face ought to be as good as mace. She pulls on her robe, stuffs the aerosol can in her pocket, takes a deep breath and carefully pulls the door open. It's not a very big apartment but still she can't see in the kitchen without going down the hall. Maybe the best thing would be to take off out the bedroom window. It isn't like she wants to tangle with that bastard.
Nope, getting beaten and raped isn't on today's 'to do'list.
Tamara quietly pads along the hall away from the kitchen and into the bedroom. She pulls the door closed ohhhh so gently. She can barely hear the snick of the latch, so no way the bad guys heard it. Pushing her clothes off the chair onto the floor she tries to prop the chair under the doorknob like they always do in the movies. Doesn't work, though, chair's too short. Tamara settles for standing the chair in the doorway.
Well, hell, get some clothes on.
Gingerly, carefully, quietly opening the closet.
Grabbing a pink sweat suit off the shelf and pulling it on. Now she doesn't feel so vulnerable. Good.
Next thing. Gotta get the heck out. Tamara crosses to the window. She leaves the heavy drape closed and just slips behind it.
Quiet as a mouse, she releases the catch and slides open the window. Damn. The screen. There's a trick to getting it out, but she doesn't know it. Q does but she doesn't.
Tamara tries pushing, pulling, shimmying. Every sound is too loud. Gotta be quiet.
Suddenly it's out, but she has no idea how she did it, it's just done.
She eases open the drape, drops the screen on the bed, then lifts her leg up and out the window. She needs her morning coffee. Once she's out of here she'll get the cops and . . . the smell of fresh coffee in the hall.
Which is when it hits her: how many rapists make coffee in their victim's apartments?
Shit. It must be Q come home. Bastard. Scaring her out of her skin like this.
She pulls her leg back inside, glances at the screen. Not knowing what she did to get it out, she sure as shit has no idea how to get it back in so, what? Stuff it under the bed. Don't let him know he scared her.
Good. She's in a position of strength here. He's in the wrong, but he's come back. That's something. Barbie thinks she's nuts to care, but, hell, Q is her guy. Q has always been her guy. Sometimes he acts like a jerk, in a lot of ways he's like a little boy, but . . . sh
e loves him. What else is there, right?
She pulls the sash of the robe tighter and moves the chair back to its usual position by the wall. Great.
Quentin is pouring coffee into mugs when she walks in.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
He says, “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“Why? You never wanted to talk before.”
“Maybe that's 'cause talking wasn't necessary before.”
“Maybe not for you. Look, I've got to get ready for class.”
Q gestures to the dinette. “This won't take long.” He carries the mugs over and sets them on the table before taking a seat on the bench. Tamara sighs and joins him.
His whole demeanor is wrong. What gives?
“Aren't you even going to apologize?” she asks.
“No. There was a time I would have but this isn't it.”
“Okay, fine. Whatever, Q, just get to the point, okay?”
“Paperwork's in. I'm withdrawn from the program.”
Blood drains from her face. “What? Why . . . you can't . . .”
“It's done Tam. It hasn't been working out for me.”
“Maybe it would have if you actually went to classes, or did your assignments instead of just smoking up all the time. There's no degree program in being high, Q.”
He shakes his head. “I guess I deserve that. But you don't see that toking was the effect, not the cause. Photography just isn't my thing. I thought it'd be an adjunct to film, but it's something completely different. I thought I could do it so we could be together but I just can't.”
“So you're saying it's my fault?”
“No, Tam, if it's anybody's fault it's mine. You did the right thing for you; picked the program you needed. I'm the one screwed up. I should have gone to Ryerson. It's just, I wanted to be with you. I thought I could make Christie work for me, but it's never been right. And now I'm screwing you up too.”
“What about us?” Tamara asks, tears welling in her eyes. “You wanted to get married. It was your idea. Now you're gonna blow it off?”
“You're in a heavy duty program, Tam. You don't have time for me. I can switch to a different school or pull out and go back later. Sticking out photography here is a waste of money. And they're still willing to take me at Ryerson.”
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