He’s the one who always has to be in command. In charge of the situation.
“And then?”
“She kissed me back.”
“Are you certain, Mr. Morton?”
“Yes. We were kissing on my sofa, and then the room started to spin.”
Karen says quickly, “My client does not remember anything after that point, officers.”
“Do you do drugs, Mr. Morton?”
“Not that night.”
“But you do drugs occasionally?”
“Only recreational ones. And not that often,” Brian says.
Karen shoots him a glare.
“Hey, I’m being honest,” he shoots back.
“Will you be willing to submit to a blood and urine test?”
Brian holds out his arm. “Why not? I have nothing to hide.”
“So you keep repeating.” Officer Cutter leans closer. “But that is when your stories diverge.”
“So I gather,” Brian says caustically.
“Have you ever met Ms. Delilah Faulkner before yesterday?”
“I don’t think so.”
Officer Cutter taps the folder in front of him. For the first time, he opens it. “Let’s review Ms. Faulkner’s statements.”
Brian can’t help tensing. Beside him, Karen’s face flinches a little. Officer Riley catches it.
“According to Ms. Faulkner, you kissed her.”
“She kissed me back.”
“You kissed her. You practically forced her down upon your sofa. Sensing that you were going to be a bit rough, she pulled back. She said, ‘No. I changed my mind about this’.”
Brian clenches his jaw. He swallows the hard lump that has suddenly bolted up his throat. “I have never, ever forced myself on any woman before. Any woman who didn’t want it, that is.”
“Brian,” Karen cautions.
“She tried to push you away, but you were a little drunk. Insistent. How many drinks did you have last night?”
Brian closes his eyes. “Two.”
“Bourbon?”
“Yes.”
“She struggled . . . and that’s when she started to claw you, resulting in those scratch marks you see on your chest. You both fought, which resulted in the smashed furniture around you. But you were strong. You overpowered her. Then you tore her robe off and raped her.”
Brian turns pale. “I’ve never . . . ”
“Raped anyone in your life, Mr. Morton? Perhaps you were under the influence of alcohol. But Ms. Faulkner managed to escape. She made her way downstairs.”
Officer Cutter starts the video again. This time, the time clock on the little left hand corner at the bottom of the screen displays 10.29 p.m. The camera is trained at the elevator doors. They open and a disheveled Delilah, wet green dress askew, stumbles out.
Brian’s stomach turns.
What has he done to her?
“The doorman spotted her, asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t say anything to him. She made her way to her car parked in the basement. She drove straight to the hospital. A statement from the medical report suggests that she has indeed been traumatized with signs of forced penetration, both vaginally and anally. Sperm samples have been taken from both orifices.”
Brian freezes. He has had anal sex with women before, but it was always because they begged him to f**k them in the ass. This can’t be happening. It simply can’t. He has never taken a woman against her will, no matter how drunk or high or stoned he has been. He never had to. They all flocked to him like rabbits to a carrot patch.
“Right after that, she came to us, the police.”
“My client doesn’t remember anything of what you have read from Ms. Faulkner’s case notes, Officer,” Karen says. “He passed out.”
Brian closes his eyes. “I didn’t rape her. I didn’t do anything to her that she didn’t want me to. And as I remembered it, her words and body language suggested very much that she wanted me.”
Then why isn’t he as sure as he should be? The doubts are creeping in. What is he really like when he’s under the influence? Is he so sure he wouldn’t turn violent like his father?
He’s frightened, but not because of what might happen to him. He’s terrified because he’s suddenly afraid of who he really is.
His father all over again.
Oh God.
Karen continues, “My client is an upstanding member of the community. He is from a very prominent family which has contributed plenty to the state of Illinois. He is the CEO of a large advertising firm which has done campaigns for the mayor himself. His only crime is promiscuity, and when I last checked, that wasn’t a punishable offence. Ask yourself this, officers. Why would a handsome, successful and wealthy young man like Brian Morton who has practically every single woman and quite a few married ones throwing themselves at his feet ever has the need to rape someone?”
Officer Cutter clears his throat. “I have been in this profession, Ms. Sandler, for more than twenty years. I have met mild-mannered fathers, respected university professors, prominent businessmen, and even famous political figures who have all in some manner or other been convicted of raping someone – even when ‘they have no need to’ for sexual release.
“The psychology of rape is a complex beast, involving many cognitive and emotional factors. But the majority of ra**sts aren’t sexually frustrated middle-aged men prowling in alleys. In fact, most of them are outwardly what you would consider normal people.”
“I am not a ra**st,” Brian says between his teeth.
“We will be investigating the case,” Officer Cutter says, standing up and collecting his case notes. “Meanwhile, bail will be set at a hundred thousand dollars.”
“What?” Karen splutters. “Officer, my client has never committed any offence before – ”
“Your client is a man of considerable means, as you rightly pointed out, Ms. Sandler.” He turns to Brian, still seated. “I trust you will be posting bail easily enough. And don’t skip town.”
14
It takes a while to mobilize a hundred grand, especially on a Sunday. Even for Brian Morton. And especially when he doesn’t want to involve his uncle. But when they finally do, it’s already Monday afternoon. Brian has spent the entire night in jail.
When he comes out, he’s unshaven, cranky and sore. His eyes are bloodshot. Caleb and Sam are waiting for him in the reception area of the police station.
Sam immediately hugs Brian. He hugs her back readily enough, but she can feel a reticence – a mild pulling back.