Date Rape New York

by Janet McGiffin

  “Besides at the Brazilian Bar? No. I don’t know anyone.”

  “The hotel chamber maid, Sophia, did she ever ask what you were writing?”

  Grazia thought about that. “She asked what my job was. I told her I was a contract lawyer and had to finish the document before Saturday. She came in to clean during the video call with Kourtis. It was a long call, and she brought me a cup of tea.”

  “What day did you finish the document?”

  “Saturday morning. I had nearly finished Friday evening. Sophia told me about a museum that’s free on Friday evenings, so I went over there. Then I had a meal in the museum café. When I got back to the hotel, I was too tired to review the document. So I got up early Saturday morning and read it over. Then I went out for breakfast to the same café where I go every morning.”

  “Where was the document when you went for breakfast?”

  “On the table in my hotel room, with my laptop. When I came back, everything was as I had left it. After breakfast, I read the contract over again, then phoned Kourtis to tell him it was ready and that I had written exactly what we had discussed during our video conversation. I said I was sending it by courier to Francisco’s apartment in Naples. He would bring it to Kourtis’ offices on Monday.” Grazia flipped to her appointment calendar on her smartphone and gave Miranda the exact times of the conversations.

  “The video call to Mr. Kourtis from New York and the phone call, were they on secure lines?”

  “The video conversation was on the Kourtis company secure system. The phone call was on my cell phone. But during that phone call, we didn’t speak of details. He just told me to courier it to Francisco and he would meet him on Monday.”

  “We’re investigating the Kourtis office situation now to determine if the leak originated there. However, it’s difficult to gain full access since he’s in jail and we’re not allowed to talk to him.” Miranda consulted her notes. “Let me review how the document was routed. Saturday morning, you called the courier we had arranged for you. What time?”

  “Ten o’clock. He came to the hotel lobby, and I handed him the document. He sealed it inside a courier envelope and said the document would arrive at Francisco’s apartment in Naples late Sunday morning.”

  “The package was handed over to my courier at the airport late Sunday morning as scheduled. We attempted a delivery to Francisco’s apartment in Naples. But his daughter answered the door and told the courier that Francisco was at his beach house. We verified this with him by phone with his bodyguard who was there, and delivered it into the bodyguard’s hands early Sunday afternoon.”

  “Celestina isn’t in Naples. She’s in Boston, at Harvard.” Grazia was startled.

  Miranda shrugged. “She’s home now. She’s done this before. On the spur of the moment, she flies home. This time we had to get two bodyguards in place on an hour’s notice. Anyway, she told the courier that Francisco’s wife was at the beach house and had become ill. Francisco had left Naples for the beach house early Saturday morning.”

  Grazia nodded, thinking. “I thought he was at the beach house when he called me by video communication Sunday evening. He was wearing the peach polo shirt.” She gave a weak smile.

  Miranda’s voice was carefully neutral. “Did you discuss the Kourtis document on Sunday with Francisco?”

  “Yes. Sunday night. He video called me and yelled at me about the terms I had drafted. He said Kourtis would never agree. I said that Kourtis already had agreed.”

  “If someone had overheard his side of the conversation, would it be possible to figure out what you were talking about?”

  “If this someone were familiar with Francisco’s clients. Were there guests at the beach house? Belinda likes to give parties.”

  “The courier only saw the gate guard and the bodyguard. The housekeeper, butler, and the groundskeeper had that Sunday off. So did Belinda’s bodyguard. They’re all secure, anyway. My office did their background checks. Francisco hires his bodyguards himself.”

  Grazia was reminded how closely Miranda Security was tied to Francisco’s office and home. His account must represent a big portion of her income. If Francisco wanted Miranda to set Grazia up for this leak, how could Miranda refuse?

  Grazia was thinking aloud. “I’m astounded that Francisco left Naples when his daughter was home. He worships the ground she walks on. Is Belinda ill, or is she faking it? She’s insanely jealous of Celestina’s close relationship with Francisco, according to gossip at the fitness club. She might fake an illness to separate them.”

  Miranda looked at Grazia steadily. “Office gossip says you are having an affair with Francisco. It started about the time you were promoted to the negotiating job.”

  Grazia winced. “Is this relevant?”

  “Could be.” Miranda’s voice was neutral.

  Grazia took a deep breath. “He wasn’t married when we started the affair. I broke it off when he announced he was marrying Belinda. Six months after he married her, he started up the affair again. He said Belinda had married him for his money and wouldn’t sleep with him. I felt sorry for him. And I missed him. But two weeks before I came to New York, I told him it was over, and I told him that again when he drove me to the airport to catch my New York flight ten days ago. Francisco didn’t want me to end it. He paid for this trip to bribe me to stay with him. But I’m leaving my job at the firm, too. I have a job interview Monday afternoon. That was the news I got at the Brazilian Bar that we were celebrating with champagne. It’s a great job. I’m praying I get it.”

  Chapter 32

  Sophia inserted her key-card into Grazia’s door and hit the security chain just as Grazia was yanking on her snow boots. Grazia was running late. Her laptop was in its case, ready to take to the computer technician who would trace the IP addresses of the emails from the anonymous emailer and from Manuel. She had already called the reception desk to ask the doorman to flag her down a cab. She zipped her coat as she unlatched the chain.

  “I was on the phone for an hour with the head of Miranda Security Systems in Naples,” she told Sophia in a rush. She hesitated, remembering Cargill’s caution about not telling people what she was doing. Still, Grazia had to talk about it. Her actions were getting back to the men who had raped her. They were showing their hand by mugging her in the street. Yes, she was frightened but Cargill was watching her back now and she was being more careful where she went by herself.

  “Miranda Security Systems is searching for Manuel in Italy,” she explained to Sophia. “And they’re tracing the names you gave me to find a connection to me or Kourtis. I’ve located all their photos except one who is from my own firm. I may have his photo by this evening.” She told Sophia about the anonymous email and the computer technician who would trace the IP address. “After that, I’ve got my session with Cindy. Then I’m taking a DNA sample to a New Jersey lab. I may have found a suspect!”

  “Grazia, I need to tell you something.” Sophia called as Grazia hurried toward the elevator.

  “Can we talk later?” The elevator arrived and Grazia flung herself in.

  In the business lounge, she printed four photos of Francisco and his two bodyguards; then she went into Stanley’s office. Stanley and Edmondo were facing each other across Stanley’s desk. Stanley looked grim.

  “Have either of you heard from Manuel?” Grazia inquired. “Francisco’s security firm, Miranda Security, is searching for him in Naples but no word yet.”

  Stanley and Edmondo shook their heads.

  “I heard you got an anonymous email last night,” Stanley said.

  Grazia held up her laptop case. “I’m taking my laptop to a computer tech to trace the IP address,” she said. “Miranda Security technicians gave me his name as the best in New York. Let me give you his phone number and address in case you have a hotel guest with a serious computer problem.” She held out her hand for the pen that Edmondo was twirling nervously in his fingers and copied the information onto a piece of paper.
Then she hurried to her waiting taxi.

  The address Miranda had given her was in the basement of a narrow brick apartment building in the East Village. Grazia carefully negotiated the snowy steps while her taxi idled, the exhaust a white plume in the frigid air. Inside, she showed the tech the anonymous email and Manuel’s email to Stanley. The tech mumbled something about her coming back at four o’clock.

  Raoul was already seated at their usual window table when she hurried in. Part way through a bagel, he half rose to kiss her on the cheek. She let his kiss linger, distracted by his cologne. It smelled familiar. Was this scent a bit of memory from when she had been chatting with him at the Brazilian Bar Saturday night, or was it from their previous breakfasts? That was the trouble with these odd bits of memory. She didn’t know where to place them in time.

  “I’m going to miss these breakfasts,” she smiled. “When you move back to Italy, let’s meet for old time’s sake.”

  “You actually want to remember this experience?” He raised an eyebrow. “If this happened to me, I’d want to forget everything and everybody.”

  “I can’t remember the worst part.” It felt good to make the feeble joke. It meant she was getting back on her feet. Bantering with the male attorneys was the best part of her job. She ordered scrambled eggs and bacon and told the waiter to pour her real coffee. It was time she separated her feelings of anxiety from the increased heart rate caused by caffeine.

  “I’m late because I took my laptop to a computer geek in the East Village,” she said. “Last night I got an anonymous email from the man who assaulted me. The geek is tracing the IP address. I’m getting close, Raoul!” Her phone rang. Miranda’s number showed on the screen.

  “Where are you?” Miranda demanded.

  “Having breakfast at my usual place.”

  “With your usual companion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then just listen and keep the information to yourself. We’ve located Manuel’s mother. She’s healthy, at home, and chatty. Sunday morning Manuel wired her a thousand dollars from a cash courier in a place called Flushing, New York. Manuel’s mother says Manuel is at home with his wife and children. I called your detective’s cell phone but he’s not picking up. His office phone is on voice mail. I sent him an email, but I suggest you call him and pass on the information.” She closed the connection.

  “Further developments?” Raoul inquired.

  “That was the head of Miranda Security in Naples.”

  “Aha! Are her operatives coming to New York?”

  “No. She’s working by phone with me and Detective Cargill.”

  “What about your mugging yesterday? Has your police detective found the culprit?”

  “Detective Cargill believes that the man who drugged me knows I’m recording everything in my journal. He mugged me to get the journal and the bag of clothes.” Their breakfasts arrived, and she stopped talking to fork in eggs, then sat back to butter her toast.

  “I went to the Brazilian Bar again last night,” she continued. “Your three friends were there. I thought maybe if I talked to them at the location itself, it might prompt a memory.”

  “Did it?”

  “Not really.” She paused for a moment. She had gotten into the habit of waiting for a memory to drop. This time it didn’t.

  “Sorry I wasn’t at the Brazilian Bar last night to see you,” Raoul was saying. “I had to work late.”

  “Your friends told me you went to Boston on Monday. But you were here for breakfast Monday morning.”

  “I left for Boston right after breakfast, and I came back that same night, late. I didn’t want to miss Tuesday breakfast with you! Any investigative activities today?”

  “After my counseling session with Cindy, I’m going to a New Jersey DNA lab. I have a possible suspect, and I’ve obtained something with his DNA. The medical examiner won’t do any more lab work on my case, so I have to pay for this myself.”

  “That’s fantastic! Anyone I know?”

  She smiled at his joke. “If I’m right, I’ll tell you who he is.”

  Raoul glanced at his watch, then reached for the bill. “Sorry, but I’ve got to run.” He shrugged on his coat.

  Grazia continued speaking. “I also got the phone number of the man who called the Hotel Fiorella reception Sunday night and left the message ‘Give up. You won’t find me’.”

  Raoul sat down again. “You said it had been erased from the auto-redial.”

  “It wasn’t. Detective Cargill wants to do a controlled call on speakerphone so he and another police officer can listen in.” She turned to the page in her journal and pointed at the number. He peered at it.

  “Call him now. Why wait?” he suggested. Then saw her stricken face. “Are you afraid to talk to him?”

  She stared at her phone in her hand and spoke slowly, as if speaking to herself. “This man assaulted me. He left two frightening phone messages and sent a very aggressive email. He may have pushed me under a taxi. How could I talk to this person?”

  “I’ll call him for you.” Raoul reached for the phone.

  Grazia’s fingers felt numb. Her arm wouldn’t move. But as Raoul was sliding the phone from her hand, she tightened her fingers. Slowly, she tapped in the numbers and activated speakerphone. She put the phone on the table. It rang the number. Somewhere nearby, a phone rang. Again her phone rang the number; again the other phone rang. Grazia raised her eyes to Raoul.

  Raoul pulled out his phone and held it up. Grazia’s number was on the caller panel.

  “This is your number? How?” With trembling fingers, Grazia closed her phone.

  “I called your hotel Sunday evening. You hadn’t appeared for Sunday brunch so I decided you had stood me up. But Sunday evening, I started to worry. You had looked so sick when you left the bar Saturday night. I didn’t have your cell phone, so I called your hotel. You had told me the name. The desk clerk said you were out. I didn’t leave a message because if you were out, that meant you were all right. Whoever gave you this phone number, gave you the wrong one.”

  Grazia’s brain was whirling. Why would Luigi give Cargill the wrong number? Was the error deliberate or accidental?

  Raoul put his hand on her arm. “Don’t go to New Jersey alone,” he said earnestly. “You’ve already been pushed under a taxi. I would go with you, but I have a presentation to make. Hey, let’s make a deal. I’ll call you every hour. Then I’ll know you’re safe.”

  Grazia shook her head.

  “No? How about dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven at your hotel.” He adjusted his leather gloves over his watch.

  Grazia nodded acceptance.

  As he turned toward the door, Grazia reached for her journal. She found the entry quickly; she had memorized her journal, she had studied it so many times. Monday morning, Raoul had been wearing a gold watch with a gold band. It had glinted in the morning light. It definitely wasn’t the silver watch with a leather band that Raoul was wearing now.

  Chapter 33

  “Don’t go to New Jersey!” exclaimed Cindy during the counseling session. Grazia had just described the push under the taxi, the hypnosis, meeting the three Italians at the bar, and the frightening email from her assailant. She finished up with her long talk with Miranda Laterza that morning.

  She skipped telling Cindy about her dinner with Detective Cargill. Cindy might consider dinner to be outside Cargill’s purview as detective. Cindy might reproach Cargill and destroy Grazia’s chances for another lovely evening meal. Grazia enjoyed hearing a male voice across a candlelit table, watching a male eat vigorously the way males do, hearing the crass expressions males toss out, glimpsing the male point of view.

  “Have you told Detective Cargill that you called the phone number and discovered it was Raoul?” Cindy asked.

  Grazia shook her head. “It’s not urgent, since it’s a dead end. What I can’t understand is why my hand couldn’t move to tap in the numbers!”

  “Perfectly n
ormal,” replied Cindy. “Your body was saying, ‘Danger! Beware!’ You still have big holes in your memory and that makes you feel uncertain. Uncertainty is fear of the unknown.”

  “But my courage is starting to come back, Cindy. I was beginning to feel like myself—ready to handle whatever comes. Then I froze!”

  “Grazia, it’s only been three days since you suffered serious physical, psychological, and emotional trauma, and you still have no memory of the events that caused them. Since then, these frightening events have been returning to your conscious memory bit by bit, frightening you all over again. Emotional trauma takes longer to recover from than physical trauma. The stress caused by emotional trauma stimulates the brain in a way that actually makes you remember things more clearly. In other words, the more you try to remember your rape, the stronger your memory will become of it. You are turning your short-term memory of this into long-term memory. I’m not suggesting you forget the experience. That’s not possible. But focusing on these memories is not the path to healing. Focus on coping mechanisms and your future life. That’s the right path.”

  “But the only way I can find this man is by remembering him. I don’t care how much I suffer! I don’t care how long it takes me to recover! I’m going to keep trying to remember until I know who raped me! I just don’t want to be afraid while I’m doing it.”

  “Grazia, you can’t go back to the person you used to be. You are different now. You are rebuilding yourself in a new way; you are stronger in new ways; your confidence is a new kind of confidence.”

  “New, new, new. New York, new rebuilding, new confidence. You Americans always want it new,” said Grazia, exasperated.

  “Isn’t that’s why you came to New York?” asked Cindy. “It’s a city with a mentality that prepares you for a new job and a new man.” She watched Grazia for a moment. “Can we talk about the liquid soap on the mirror?”

  Grazia nodded. “I didn’t want to see the face in the mirror. But now I can.”