Date Rape New York

by Janet McGiffin

  Then she ran her bath.

  Chapter 30

  The ping of a video call came through before dawn Wednesday morning. Grazia was awake but still in bed. She got out to activate the laptop on the round table. The caller was Francisco. She returned to bed where she resumed her relaxed position against the pillows. Why should she answer? Francisco had fired her. She no longer worked for him. She slipped back into her quiet mental state of the previous half hour, letting her thoughts expand, float, and form new patterns. This was how she planned her legal cases. It was a form of concentration that went deeper than facts. Thank heavens her mind could still function this way.

  Before that, she had been reading her journal and coming up with possible scenarios to fill in the gaps. So frustrating! Somewhere in her notes there must be clues about the men who had assaulted her. Her notes were very complete, she was satisfied to see. Despite her foggy mental state on Sunday and Monday, her years of legal discipline had enabled her to keep coherent, orderly notes. The journal started Saturday morning when she reviewed her draft of the contract and got the call from Kourtis saying she could have it couriered to Francisco. She had called the international courier, handed it off, and had gone to Lord & Taylor where she had her odd encounter with Laura. Laura had been in the café talking on her phone, and then had disappeared. She had reappeared at Grazia’s elbow, evincing surprise at the meeting. That action bothered Grazia. The journal then moved through Sunday morning when she woke up nauseated and sick. After that, her recordings included every event, meeting, phone conversation, and speculation. It also included every physical symptom, sensation, and emotion. This last was immensely reassuring. She could see that her health had improved vastly since Sunday morning. She could stop worrying when she was hit by spasms of grogginess or nausea. She would be fine, and so, she fervently hoped, would her memory.

  After studying her notes beginning to end, she opened her laptop and copied everything into her hard drive. Having it up on the screen made it easier to see the gaps. She could tell what she needed to know to connect the dots.

  And time was moving quickly. Today was Wednesday. She had only today, Thursday, and part of Friday before she climbed on the plane for Naples. Francisco’s call pinged again. She sighed and swung her legs out of bed. Her eyes fell on the note she had written to herself the night before and propped against the bedside lamp: “You are in control, Grazia.”

  Grazia smiled. She actually did feel in control. Something inside her had resolved during the night; some intention had settled into her bones. Her courage was back. The clenched fear in her stomach had eased. Maybe this was temporary; maybe she would panic when a young, Italian-looking man passed her on the sidewalk. But for now she felt like her old self. Cargill, Janine, and Cindy had pulled her out of yesterday’s crash, when she had tried to wall off her emotions behind the white soap.

  Even an element of her old recklessness was surfacing, the courage she felt when she was in the middle of a tough case and needed to take risks to win. Perhaps the Rohypnol had worn off and her brain was functioning properly. Maybe Raoul’s soothing support at breakfast was easing her back to normalcy. Cindy’s counseling sessions were giving her a solid perspective for handling the situation. Her faith in herself was returning, thanks to Janine’s practical wisdom and Evie’s certainty that she would remember what she needed. Or maybe it was that lovely dinner with Detective Cargill that made her feel good about herself.

  Whatever the cause, Grazia felt stronger physical and mentally. She even felt a twinge of exhilaration that her attacker had sent her an email. In her experience, when an opposition lawyer called for no reason, it meant he couldn’t figure out what she was doing and was worried. Worried people were vulnerable. The rapist was venturing out into the open.

  The audio call pinged again. Grazia felt a twinge of annoyance. Truly, it was time for a new job. Thank heavens for the email she had received from the recruiter at the Brazilian Bar Saturday night, setting up the job interview Monday afternoon. She reached for her yellow silk dressing gown and stood still, feeling a hovering memory. It had to do with the Brazilian Bar, something she had seen. But it drifted away.

  She peeked through the curtains. Still dark. Heavy flakes swirled in the streetlamps. She logged into her video account. Francisco’s face appeared, scowling.

  “Miranda’s geeks say there’s no computer leak from either of our offices—not the Milan office, either.”

  “Are her investigators coming to New York?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

  “Ask your bodyguards. They were in New York Saturday morning, probably before, weren’t they?”

  She watched his face, waiting for him to deny it. He didn’t. He was keeping her off balance by withholding information. He poured himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. The muscle under his left eye twitched. She felt a twinge of compassion. Poor man. He may be a corrupt lawyer, a liar, and a womanizer, but his empire was threatening to crash. Her reaction stunned her. She was wondering at herself when he cut the connection.

  She sat back, thinking. If his bodyguards were in New York, and if they had followed her Saturday night, why hadn’t they helped her? She made herself a cup of tea, gathered up her journal and smartphone, and got back in bed. She wrote down what Francisco had said. She read it over and slowly circled his name, waiting for a thought to surface. Something vague was drifting through her mind, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She went into her smartphone photo file and pulled up a shot she had taken of Francisco at a restaurant in Naples. His two bodyguards sat at the table behind him. She copied it onto her memory stick to print in the hotel business lounge. Another photo to show Nick. Maybe he would recognize a bodyguard as having been at the bar Saturday night.

  She flipped to her journal where she had written the names of the Italians who had stayed in Laura’s hotel or hotels near the Brazilian Bar. Detective Cargill thought that searching for these men on the Internet to find their photos was a waste of time. Logically, it was. The odds of one of them being her rapist were near zero. Besides, they probably had all checked out and returned to Italy. But she had not done an internet search for their photos as she had planned to do yesterday afternoon, and now she had two hours before breakfast with Raoul, time enough for an online search. She went to an Italian search engine and typed in the first name.

  As the first photo appeared, she felt the surge of excitement that came when she was working on a case she knew she could win. An hour later, she had located the probable photos and office phone numbers of every name but one—Valentino Agresta—a lawyer in her own firm based in the Milan office. She clicked on the website of the Francisco Pamplona Law Offices and found his email and phone number, but no photo. Odd. Francisco was adamant that all employees post their current photos on the company website. A professional photo crew came every year to take new ones.

  Grazia leaned her head back against the pillows and ran her mind over the staff she knew from the Milan office. They had all been at the Christmas party at Francisco’s lavish Milan apartment. Belinda had been wearing a backless black dress studded with sparkling sequins and she was dancing with any man courageous enough to put his hand on her bare back. Francisco had given Grazia two strong vodka cocktails and rekindled their affair on the oriental carpet in his study.

  Grazia typed in her password, logged onto the company website, and did an internal search for a photo of Valentino Agresta. His name and office phone number came up quickly but no photo. She called the phone number and got the switchboard. “Mr. Agresta is not in today,” said the operator. “Send him an email.”

  Grazia hung up and shot off an email, identifying herself as a lawyer in the Naples office. “I’m in New York until Friday, and I understand you are staying in a hotel near mine. Can we meet?” Then she clicked on “Contact webmaster.” She sent an email asking for Agresta’s photo, identifying herself as a lawyer in the firm wor
king directly under Francisco Pamplona in the Naples office. She looked at her watch. She needed to get going if she were going to meet Raoul for breakfast.

  Her cell phone rang. It was Detective Cargill. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes,” she replied curtly. She was tired of her emotional collapses and even more tired of having Cargill think she needed constant propping up, even if she did. “Francisco called this morning by video. He asked if I had anything to tell him.”

  “Is he sending up the Miranda investigators?”

  “He didn’t say, but my guess is no.”

  “Why not?”

  “His bodyguards were up here following me, I’m pretty sure. They’ve told him what happened to me Saturday night. Miranda’s investigators already called you, so we know that Francisco knows you are investigating an assault on me. Sending Miranda Security investigators here won’t help them find the informant and Francisco doesn’t need any more ammunition to destroy my career.” She paused to get her voice under control. She changed the subject. “I’ve found photos of all but one of the Italian men in nearby hotels. That one was staying in Laura’s hotel and he has the same name as a lawyer in Francisco’s Milan office. I’m getting that photo from the webmaster. Also, I found a photo on my phone of Francisco with his bodyguards in the background. I’m going to print all these photos and show them to Nick. Maybe he will recognize somebody.”

  “If we haven’t found the perpetrator by the time you leave New York, as soon as you get to Italy, get some objects with the DNA of the bodyguards and have their DNA identity done in a private lab. Email me the results. I’ll have the medical examiner run a match with what came from your room and off you.”

  “What if there is a match? What happens then?”

  “Technically, I can ask that the suspects be extradited to New York so we can prosecute them.”

  “Will they do that?”

  “Sexual assault isn’t high on the Italian police’s priorities, you said. But at least you can light up that dark hole of yours.”

  She was silent. Then she pushed herself onward. “Have you called the phone number that Luigi gave you of my anonymous caller?”

  “I did. No answer.”

  “Let me try. Maybe he will pick up if he recognizes my number on his caller ID.”

  “Grazia, I’m delighted to hear that you’ve conquered your fear of talking to this guy. But don’t call him until I and another police officer are with you. We’ll do a controlled call. We’ll put it on speakerphone, and I will tell you what questions to ask. We can all hear what he answers.”

  “Give me the number, please.” Grazia’s voice was hard.

  He hesitated, then read it off. “Don’t scare him off. We’ll lose our only lead.”

  “Edmondo is a lead,” she retorted immediately. “Why did he lie about being in the lobby Saturday night?”

  “He was protecting Manuel, he says.”

  “Does he say where Manuel is?”

  “In Italy with his mother, who doesn’t have a phone, if you believe that. Even bums sleeping in New York subway entrances have phones.”

  She hung up, staring at the number Cargill had given her. It felt familiar. Her memory for numbers was near perfect, but she couldn’t place this one. What if she called him—what harm could it do to hear his voice? She lifted her hand to tap the number into her phone.

  Chapter 31

  “No,” said Grazia. She put the phone down. She wasn’t ready to talk to the man who had raped her. Instead, she opened her laptop and did a search for the Naples office of Miranda Security Systems. It was just after three in the afternoon in Naples. She picked up her smartphone and tapped in the number.

  “Grazia Conti here,” she said, “from Francisco Pamplona Law Offices. Top of your list for who leaked the information regarding the Kourtis cement contract.” Quickly, Miranda Laterza, owner of the firm, was on the line.

  “I’m turning you over to our technology security team,” Miranda said without preamble. “They will help you download our privacy software. Then they will hook us up.”

  Downloading and installing the Miranda Security software took fifteen tedious minutes, then Grazia begged time for a shower. She pulled on jeans and a shirt and logged in using her new security code. Then she and Miranda Laterza were studying each other on-screen.

  Grazia had met Miranda five years before when Francisco’s human resources department had turned her over to the Miranda Security Systems team for the final screening that allowed Grazia to be offered the job at Francisco’s firm. Two Miranda Security agents had grilled her for an hour. Miranda herself had finished the interrogation. For weeks, Miranda Security Systems staff had contacted every significant person in Grazia’s life.

  Miranda was in her fifties, with a calm face that was stunning when she smiled. Not a single strand of gray marred her chestnut hair. She wore a lime green business suit, a turquoise silk blouse, and a heavy string of pearls with a suspiciously authentic glow. Miranda looked her over.

  “You look tired.”

  “This has been a horrible, exhausting week, and it isn’t over yet,” replied Grazia grimly.

  Half an hour later, voice hoarse, Grazia was turning the final page of her journal. She had followed it to insure she left out nothing. “For myself,” she concluded, “I need to know how this information got to the press and Building Safety. If I talked while I was drugged, I’ll accept the consequences and find another career. If I didn’t talk about the Kourtis situation when I was drugged, I have to prove I didn’t. Any way I can help your investigation, tell me. And I would appreciate your help in finding who drugged and raped me.”

  “It’s too coincidental that both happened the same night, in the same bar,” Miranda commented. “You’re being very calm about this. Are you under medication?”

  “No. The emergency room nurse said that anti-anxiety or sedatives could keep my brain in a drugged state, and I need every brain cell I’ve got. I talk to my crisis counselor every day, and I’m working closely with a police detective.” Grazia didn’t mention the hypnotist. “I’m managing not to break down by keeping busy. I’m saving that for when I get home. Francisco fired me and I’ll have time for that.” She managed a smile.

  Miranda returned the smile. Then she sobered. “Is it possible that you will eventually remember what happened?”

  “Not all, unfortunately. Rohypnol inhibits the formation of memory. But I vomited right away and may have expelled much of the drug, so maybe the effects didn’t last as long as usual. I am having memory flashes. The nurse said this sometimes happen, even to women given a big dose.”

  Miranda consulted her notes. “We spoke to a Detective Cargill who wouldn’t tell us anything.”

  “He will now.” She gave Miranda Cargill’s cell phone. “He’s going to ask you to trace some people in Italy who may have a connection to Kourtis or me.” She explained about Manuel, the list of Italian men registered in nearby hotels that Sophia had given her, and Laura’s connection to the Kourtis contract.

  “Email us the details of these people, locking your email with the security system that my team just gave you. This hotel maid who gave you the names—why did she do that?”

  “To help me fill this dark hole in my memory. She found me in my room Sunday morning. She called the security officer, and together they took me to the emergency room.”

  “Why take you personally? They could have called an ambulance.”

  “The security officer doesn’t want drug-facilitated assault to happen in his hotel, and he called the detective to come to the ER. Sophia has been the chambermaid for my room ever since I got here, so I know her. She’s Italian, and we talk.” Grazia hesitated. Sophia had been such a friend; Grazia didn’t want to believe something was motivating her friendship. Still, she had to tell Miranda everything if she was going to use her help. “Detective Cargill is wondering why Sophia found me an hour and a half before her shift started. And he says it’s
odd that she’s been the maid for my room since I arrived. Her usual work area is two floors up. Even the chief of security here at the hotel doesn’t know why.”

  “We’ll check her out.” Miranda consulted a paper that had just been handed to her. “About that anonymous email you got last night, I’m going to give you an address in Manhattan to take your computer to have the IP address traced.” She read off an address that Grazia recognized as East Village, not far from the Hotel Fiorella. “He’s expecting you within the hour.”

  “Can you have him trace another IP address? Manuel sent an email to Stanley saying he was in Italy. Stanley forwarded it to me.”

  “Of course. Show the technician both emails. Now let’s focus on the information that reached the press and the building-safety inspectors. You said you worked on a document related to this client in your hotel room. What did you do with the document when you left the room?”

  “I locked my laptop in my suitcase in the closet. The papers that I was working on were in a folder on my desk.”

  “You weren’t worried about anyone reading them?”

  “There was nothing incriminating in that document. It stated the terms that the client would be negotiating next week. The only term relating to the issue that was leaked was that Kourtis would repour the cement already poured so as to be in compliance with the anticipated new earthquake regulations. Besides, I never invited anyone to my room. No one knew what I was working on except Kourtis and Francisco.”

  “Did you talk to anyone about it?”