Date Rape New York

by Janet McGiffin

  Grazia was watching Raoul through her fingers. He was speaking to a waitress. She quickly raised her smartphone and snapped a photo. She put the phone back to her ear. “If I email you a photo of him now, will you text me immediately if he’s the same man?”

  “Sure.” He read off his email. Grazia tapped “send.”

  “Grazia! Have you been waiting long? “Wine?” Raoul waved at the waiter.

  “No!” She drew her glass of soda water nearer. Her phone in her lap pinged. Was it Cargill texting that he was here? She glanced down. No, it was an email from the webmaster at Francisco Pamplona Law Offices in Milan. She was reaching for it when her phone pinged again, this time with a text message from the Raoul in Boston: “He’s the one. Went out, didn’t come back. Bought the champagne.”

  Grazia stared at the email. She had asked the question but the answer just wouldn’t penetrate her mind. Raoul had bought the champagne? Why hadn’t he told her when she had asked him if he knew who bought it? Mind whirling, she tapped on the new email from the webmaster and read: “Valentino Agresta emailed me Tuesday to remove his photo and replace it with one that he would send. He hasn’t sent it yet. Mr. Pamplona will be pissed off. Attached is the one I removed.”

  Grazia clicked on the attachment and stared at it. She looked up slowly. Raoul was gazing at her with a sad smile.

  “Reading your email while on a date is hard on a man’s ego,” Raoul said. “We need to order. I advise the mushroom burger. OK?” Taking her silence for ‘yes’, he gave their orders to the waiter, ordered wine for himself, and turned back to her. “I was just asking you if you had taken the DNA samples to the New Jersey lab.”

  Grazia’s mind couldn’t function. Had this helpful, kind young man followed her out of the Brazilian Bar? Had he walked her to her hotel? Was this the man who had raped her in her room? She couldn’t believe it. She had never felt even a flash of recognition. She took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing her muscles. Then she moved into her negotiating-table mind-set when facing a hostile attorney.

  “I just learned an interesting fact,” she said with a smile. “You bought the champagne Saturday night.”

  A wide smile wreathed Raoul’s handsome face. “Great detective work!” His smile faded, and he looked at her with real sympathy. “I am so sorry about what happened to you. New York bartenders can’t be trusted. They’re so poorly paid that they’ll do anything for extra cash.”

  Grazia felt fury rise in her throat. Her face flushed. Without knowing how she got there, she was standing up with her hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. She shouted at him in Italian.

  “I have been going through hell to find who bought the champagne!” she yelled. “I asked you Monday at breakfast if you knew who bought it. You said you didn’t know! You liar! You bought the champagne!” She could hear her voice, shrill over the din around her.

  Raoul took her wrists and eased her hands off his lapel. “Relax. I didn’t tell you that I had bought the champagne because I didn’t want you to feel bad. I bought you two bottles of very expensive champagne and by Sunday morning you had already forgotten who I was! Say, isn’t that the police detective coming over here?”

  Grazia felt a hand on her elbow, pushing her back onto her bar stool. “I take it from the shouting that you’ve learned something,” Cargill said.

  Grazia tried to speak but choked. Raoul pushed over his water glass, but she smacked his hand away. “This person,” she spit out, “bought the champagne and lied about it.”

  The barman brought Raoul’s wine. He took a sip and nodded his approval. “How did you find out?” he inquired, cheerfully.

  She glared at him. “One of the four Italians recognized you from a photo that I emailed him.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “The same Raoul Cataneo you are impersonating!”

  Raoul frowned, puzzled. “You said your photos from the Brazilian Bar had been deleted.”

  Flushed with anger, Grazia held up her smartphone. “I took a photo of you just now when you were talking to the waitress,” she hissed. She turned to Cargill. “I emailed it to the real Raoul Cataneo who is in Boston, where he has been ever since Sunday.” She turned on Raoul, teeth bared, and snarled at him, speaking Italian. “You fucking bastard!”

  Detective Cargill shook her arm. “Easy, Grazia. And stick to English.”

  The man who was not Raoul Cataneo beamed at her. “You should start a detective agency, Grazia! You’re a natural!” He looked from one serious face to the other. “Now I suppose you want to know why I impersonated Raoul Cataneo.” He looked at them expectantly. They waited.

  “I impersonated Raoul because Monday morning at breakfast you told me that the drug was in the champagne. And I had bought the champagne. I had also handed around the glasses. Puts me in a tight spot, doesn’t it? So I decided not to complicate the issue until you found the person who drugged you. See how simple?” He smiled.

  “Why not just disappear?” Cargill snapped.

  “Because I wanted to make sure Grazia was going to be all right. I was worried about her.”

  “You shit!” snarled Grazia in Italian.

  “Start from the beginning,” interrupted Cargill. “Who are you?”

  Grazia thrust her smartphone at Cargill, open to the photo from the webmaster. “His name is Valentino Agresta. He works for my law firm, in the Milan office. Here’s his photo, the scum. He had it deleted from the firm’s website after I told him at breakfast on Tuesday that I was looking for photos to match the names that Sophia gave me. So I emailed the webmaster and obtained the photo he had deleted.”

  Valentino nodded his approval. “More excellent detective work!”

  “Why are you in New York?” Cargill interrupted Grazia’s snarl.

  “To meet a client,” Valentino replied. “Ask my legal assistant in Milan. Or ask Francisco Pamplona. He’s aware I’m here.”

  “Why did you go to the café on Monday for breakfast? Quite a coincidence that you were there when Grazia came in.”

  “No coincidence at all. I was hoping to see her. We had a date for Sunday brunch, but she didn’t come. I called her hotel Sunday evening to ask how she was, but she was out. That meant she was all right. I didn’t leave a message because I was a little upset. I thought she had stood me up. Then Monday morning I decided to look for her again. You’re a beautiful woman, Grazia; I don’t give up easily.”

  “You disgusting piece of . . . ” Grazia began in Italian.

  Cargill cut in. “And when you saw her in the café, why didn’t you identify yourself?”

  “She walked right by me and didn’t recognize me. My pride was hurt. So I went over. She said someone had drugged her drink while she was in the bar. That’s why she didn’t remember me. As soon as I discovered this, I knew I was in a bad position since I had bought the champagne. That’s when I decided to impersonate Raoul Cataneo. I had been talking with him and I knew he would be in Boston for the week. I am so sorry, Grazia.” He laid a hand on her arm.

  Grazia yanked her arm away.

  “Let’s go back to the Brazilian Bar Saturday night,” Cargill said. “You bought the champagne. Then what?”

  Grazia interrupted. “Then I got sick, and Laura took me outside. Then she came back in and spoke to this rat, he followed her out, and we all know the rest.”

  Cargill ignored her. “Why did Laura come back in to talk to you?

  Valentino shrugged. “Laura and I were chatting when Grazia got sick. I had offered to help.”

  “You offered to help so you could drug me and . . .”

  “Grazia, you’re delusional.”

  Grazia grabbed Valentino’s jacket and started shaking him. Cargill pried off her hands and pulled her back to her bar stool.

  “You followed Laura out and then what?” he demanded of Valentino.

  Valentino straightened his jacket. “Laura’s airport van had arrived. But she had a very sick little Grazia on her hands. A taxi
pulled up so Laura asked me to tell the driver to take Grazia to the Hotel Fiorella.”

  Grazia was so angry that she was panting. “But you didn’t put me in the taxi, did you, you swine? You walked me to the hotel and then. . .you. . ”

  Valentino’s eyes flicked to Cargill’s hand firmly on Grazia’s arm. “I did not put you into the taxi, this is true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you were on your hands and knees, vomiting on the sidewalk. The taxi driver refused to let you in his car. There was no alternative but to walk you to your hotel. Which wasn’t easy, let me tell you.”

  “Attacked by the dog and all,” commented Cargill.

  “The dog? Oh, right. The dog.”

  Grazia completely lost her temper. “Why didn’t you tell me all this Monday morning?” she shouted, again grabbing Valentino by the lapels. This time, however, Detective Cargill made no effort to stop her. He stood watching her shaking Valentino and cursing at him in Italian. He ignored the hovering waiter and the stares of the nearby diners.

  Grazia shouted in Italian into Valentino’s face, “The first time I met you at breakfast I asked you if you knew who I left with. You said no. You lied! Because you walked me back, and you raped me! Now I remember you! You were at the staff Christmas party in Milan a year ago. Somebody told me to watch out for you, that you were furious because Francisco gave me the top negotiating job in Naples, instead of you. You raped me to get even—with him and with me!”

  Valentino carefully pried off her hands. He answered quietly in English. “I didn’t tell you that I walked you home because I knew you would react this way. You would mistakenly assume that because I escorted you into your hotel lobby—barely able to stand, reeking of vomit, laughing hysterically, and looking like a clown with red lipstick all over your face—that I also took you to your room and assaulted you.”

  “Who took me to my room then?” she shouted.

  “The night security guard.”

  Grazia gaped at him, oblivious of the plate of mushroom burger and fried onion rings the barman had set in front of her. She sank onto her bar stool.

  Valentino, however, picked up his knife and fork and took a bite.

  “You emailed me that anonymous message about meeting again, didn’t you,” snarled Grazia with contempt. “You sadist. Why didn’t you reply when I answered? Was my description of you too close for comfort?”

  Valentino addressed the barman. “Ketchup?”

  “I’ll need a sample of your DNA,” Cargill said tersely.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” Raoul leaned over the paper table napkin by his plate and spit into it. Cargill used his handkerchief to pick it up, and wrapped his handkerchief around the napkin.

  “Don’t leave town,” ordered Cargill.

  Valentino smiled. “There’s no way you can stop me. I have a delicious date Friday night. Saturday, I have a plane to Naples. Francisco has promised me Grazia’s job and I’m attending my first staff meeting Monday morning.”

  Chapter 36

  Detective Cargill and Grazia sat in his cold Plymouth parked deep in the shadows of Orchard Street. She stared at the storefront next to the car. Vacant, Grazia thought, like her memory.

  “At least you’ve got Valentino’s DNA to give to the medical examiner,” she sighed. “We’ll know if he raped me.” She could utter the word “rape” now, but only with anger and bitterness in her voice.

  Cargill leaned his forearms on the steering wheel and rested his chin on them. “The medical examiner won’t touch the napkin until my captain approves. And he won’t. Today, after he approved the match for your suspect, he told me that he won’t approve any more lab studies. You and the suspect are Italian nationals. You’re going home on Friday and he’s going on Saturday. Even if I can persuade my captain to approve it, we’ll be lucky to get a result by next week.”

  “I’ll take it to the private lab in New Jersey.”

  “My captain still has to approve the medical examiner’s running another match. And even if he does, it won’t happen until after you’re home in Italy.”

  “What if he does agree, and the medical examiner finds that Valentino’s DNA matches the samples from my room and the ER?”

  “We request an extradition, and the Italians ignore the request.” Cargill shook his head in wonder. “Typical drug-facilitated offender! Charming, got an answer for everything, nothing fazes him. I told you to watch out when he showed up at breakfast.”

  “How can we know for sure if he’s the one?” The strain in her voice was palpable. He doesn’t admit anything except that he walked me to the Hotel Fiorella!”

  Cargill put the car in gear. He looked over at her. “That little dog, Jacky, is he up to some ID work?”

  Mrs. Springer opened the door wearing a pink flannel dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers. She had removed the curlers from her hair but hadn’t combed it out.

  “Jacky’s better!” She excitedly dragged them into the kitchen. “He ate doggy food this evening and,” she covered her quivering mouth, “he thumped his tail! His feet will move next, I know it!” She crossed herself and clutched the gold cross around her thin neck.

  Cargill hunkered down by the dog basket and let Jacky sniff his fingers. “Do you think he could identify the man who kicked him? We found the guy who walked Grazia home. He admitted it tonight.”

  Mrs. Springer looked at her little dog anxiously. “Why did he poison Jacky to hide his identity if you already knew who he was?”

  “He did it before he realized we were on to him. But I want to verify this. Something doesn’t feel right.” Cargill leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mrs. Springer, I want you to stay put in this apartment until Saturday morning. That’s when this man leaves the country. Don’t go out at all. I wish I could station a female police officer here, but I can’t.”

  “I’ll stay!” Grazia burst out. “I can’t tolerate being in that hotel any more. Too many bad memories. I’m still afraid to open the door. Please let me stay here, Mrs. Springer.”

  “Of course you’ll stay, dear,” beamed the old lady. “It will be like old times when New York wasn’t safe and my friends slept over after mahjong!” She bustled into the living room and started spreading sheets and blankets over the sofa.

  Grazia looked at Cargill. “I’ll need my pajamas and my laptop from the hotel. Francisco or Miranda might video-call or send secure documents, and my smartphone isn’t set up for that.”

  “I’ll go. I’ll put Edmondo on the phone and you can tell him to let me into your room. Then I want a serious word with him. Valentino said the night security officer took you to your room. That was Edmondo. I want to hear how he gets out of this one.” He looked grim.

  “My pajamas are under my pillow where Sophia always puts them. And my laptop is in my suitcase, which is locked in the closet. The keys are in the desk drawer.”

  “Where they are so well hidden.” Cargill pulled on his coat and ran his eyes over the locks on the door. “Bolt these when I leave. Don’t buzz anyone in but me.”

  After the door closed behind him, Mrs. Springer made jasmine tea in a Chinese teapot and set two small Chinese teacups on the kitchen table.

  “I’m so sorry to pull you into this,” Grazia began.

  “Nonsense!” said Mrs. Springer. “I’m tickled pink to help catch these sons of bitches who drug young women. Wait till I tell my mahjong group! And Jacky’s going to be all right.” She touched the cross around her neck. “Listen, sweetie, tell me again why you need to know who these men are. I understand that you want to fill in the dark hole in your memory, but it seems like you’re more desperate than that. Are you running away from something?”

  “A past lover,” sighed Grazia. Over cups of tea, she talked about Francisco and her confused feelings about him and about trusting men. She could do this now; Cindy’s counseling was breaking down the walls around her emotions. Mrs. Springer listened without comment. When Grazia had finished, Mr
s. Springer poured Grazia the last of the tea and stood up. “In my opinion, you’ve got a better grip on life than you think you do,” she said. “I’m going to bed, dear. Wake me if you need anything.”

  Grazia helped Mrs. Springer bring Jacky’s basket into her bedroom and made sure the window was latched. Then she made another pot of tea and curled up on the sofa with her journal and laptop. She copied all her new journal entries into her laptop. Then, on a fresh page of her journal, she made three lists: what she knew about the people involved, what she still didn’t know about what happened that night, and what she could do tomorrow to find out.

  First came what she knew about the people involved: Valentino Agresta was Raoul’s real name. He worked in Francisco’s Milan office. He was staying in the same hotel as Laura. Valentino said he had walked her to her hotel because the taxi driver refused to take her. Valentino said Edmondo had taken her to her room.

  Edmondo said Manuel had taken her to her room. Edmondo had told her to give up trying to find her rapist because the effort would be long, painful and not result in justice.

  Manuel was not at his mother’s home in Italy. He had wired a thousand dollars to his mother from a money transfer service in Flushing on Sunday morning. Manuel had emailed Stanley on Wednesday morning saying he was in Italy.

  Sophia had got her job and US visa through Belinda. Sophia had been Grazia’s chambermaid for the entire time Grazia had been at the Hotel Fiorella. Sophia had discovered Grazia a full hour and a half before her shift started. Sophia had gone with Grazia to the ER and was helping her find her assailant by providing the names of Italian men staying in nearby hotels.

  Laura knew about Kourtis’s substandard cement. Laura knew that Grazia had tried to make him repour it. She knew Valentino from her hotel; therefore she knew his real name and possibly where he worked. She hadn’t told Grazia she knew Valentino even though the three Italians had seen them talking together like they knew each other, and even though Valentino was the one that Laura had asked to put Grazia into the taxi.

  Raoul Cataneo had been in Boston since Sunday. He and the other three Italians had remained at the Brazilian Bar long after Grazia had left. None were suspects.