Date Rape New York (12 page)

“Laura handed you the champagne glass,” said Evie, consulting her notes.

Grazia felt excitement well up inside her. “The detective thinks the drug was in the champagne. That means whoever handed the glass to Laura dropped in the Rohypnol. It could be Nick, even.”

“Not necessarily. Someone could have dropped it in while you were holding the glass. Manuel warned you to keep your hand over the glass but maybe you didn’t follow his advice.”

“I’m going to the Brazilian Bar this afternoon. I’ll ask Nick who
he handed the glass to. I’ll find him, Evie! I’m getting close! Hypnotize me again! I need to know more!”

Evie shook her head. “You became emotionally agitated while you were in the trance. In my opinion, your brain is blocking these memories because they are too painful and frightening for you right now. I’m not a psychologist, and I wouldn’t know how to guide you if you had a breakdown. One thing is sure: you definitely stored some memories of that night. Whether hypnosis can unlock them is another matter. I suggest you rest for twenty-four hours before we try again.” She shook her head in doubt. “Even then, I’m not sure this is a good idea. I’m only willing to go ahead tomorrow because the drug should be gone from your brain and won’t be blocking your coping abilities.”

“Hypnotize me in my hotel room,” said Grazia, impulsively. “It used to be a sanctuary from the chaos of New York, but now I feel anxious there. I must have memories of what happened in that room.”

“You’re walking straight into your nightmare!” exclaimed Evie.

“Nightmares come from daytime memories, don’t they? I might even see his face.”

Chapter 17

Grazia dozed off in the taxi, exhausted by the emotions brought out by her discussions with Raoul, with Cindy, and under hypnosis. She needed to think it all over, record it, review her previous notes, and decide what to do next. Her head ached. At the Hotel Fiorella reception desk, she nearly wept with relief when Luigi had no anonymous messages.

Flopped on her bed, her eyes drifted closed, but she roused herself and located Manuel’s email and cell phone in her smartphone contacts. She tried his cell phone but the recording said the phone was not in service. She fired off an email explaining her situation and asking if he had seen her return on Saturday night in a disheveled state and with whom. She noted her email in her journal with date and time, and then she recorded everything that had happened that morning.

Finished, she called Laura. It was eleven-thirty at night in Milan but Laura was awake. She sounded guarded. “Don’t ask me the name of my hotel. I forgot to get it from my secretary.”

“I’ll find out another way,” Grazia snapped. She was starting to agree with Detective Cargill that Laura knew more than she was saying. It made her angry. “This afternoon, I saw a hypnotist. She probed my blocked memories for clues about what happened Saturday night.”

“Hypnotist!” Laura sounded alarmed. “Any momentous revelations?” she added cautiously.

“I saw you hand me the glass of champagne. I saw your gold bracelet.” She hurried on. “The detective and I believe the Rohypnol was dropped into my champagne glass.”

“Oh, Grazia, how can you be sure the champagne was drugged?” Laura flung out. “You have no witnesses and no evidence. All you have is that so-called dark hole in your memory!”

“Who handed you the glass, Laura?” Grazia demanded, sharply. “If you don’t know his name, describe him!” Grazia held her breath. Here was the moment she had been waiting for. Here was the date rapist’s identity.

“The bartender, I suppose. I don’t remember; it was so crowded at the bar. The bartender was pouring from the bottle and passing glasses to whoever was closest. He did that with both bottles of champagne.”

Despair flooded Grazia. She wanted to scream, to sob. Sick with disappointment, she latched onto Laura’s last words. “Both bottles?”

“Oh, yes. Two bottles. He was really celebrating your wonderful job interview.”

Grazia clutched her hair. The importance of what she had lost while she was drugged overwhelmed her. “He?”

“The guy who bought the champagne. One of those Italians we were with.”

“What was his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Grazia scribbled this in her journal. The process steadied her. “I’ll ask Nick this afternoon. The bartender.”

“Grazia, why push this? You’ve had a horrible experience. I deeply sympathize, but it would be healthier to put it all behind you.”

Grazia ignored her. “Raoul told me that I got sick, and you took me to the ladies’ room. Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?”

“Who’s Raoul?”

“A Italian I met this morning at breakfast in a cafe. He remembered me from Saturday night. He was one of those Italians we were talking to. He remembered you.”

“I don’t remember any of their names.”

“I showed him a photo of you from my smartphone.”

“You said your photos had been erased.”

“Only those from the Brazilian Bar. I showed him the one I took of you at Lord and Taylor. Why didn’t you tell me I got sick and you took me to the ladies’ room?” Grazia’s voice rose.

“It didn’t seem important.”

“It was vitally important!” Grazia shouted. She lowered her voice. “After that, you took me outside. That’s what Raoul said. And I didn’t come back. That means I went to my hotel. How did I get there, Laura? Which man took me?” Her voice rose again.

“You went by taxi. My airport van was waiting but I couldn’t leave you there on the sidewalk—laughing uncontrollably, raving about your work and your successes. A taxi pulled up just then and let some people out. I grabbed it and opened the door for you.”

“But I walked home with a man! I know because—”

“You can’t know. You have a black hole for a memory.” The connection closed.

Grazia bounced her phone onto the bed with a curse. She leaned back against the pillows and tried to push away the anger that was clouding her mind. She tried to relax her tense muscles. But as soon as she un-tensed one arm, the other tensed up. She searched for positive thoughts to help her relax, like her yoga teacher emphasized. She thought of all the nice people who were helping her—Evie, Cindy, Janine, Detective Cargill, Stanley, Sophia, Edmondo, Luigi, and Raoul. The mental discipline worked. She drifted off to sleep, but awake with a jerk when her smartphone pinged. She grabbed at it. Francisco? No, Evie was emailing the audio recording of her hypnosis. Grazia clicked it on and picked up her pen to take notes.

Two hours later, she awoke having missed the entire session but feeling remarkably refreshed and alert. It was now after five o’clock and time to go to the Brazilian Bar to talk to Nick. She opened the curtains and stared down at the dark street. The predicted snowstorm had arrived on schedule, and a sheen of white gleamed under the streetlights. Fat snowflakes slid down her windowpane and piled up on the sill. Why couldn’t the memory of that other snowy night slide into her mind like these snowflakes were sliding down the window?

She took a deep breath, told herself to exhale her anxiety, and moved into one of her memory recall techniques. She fastened her eyes on the snow gently falling on the sidewalk below. She imagined her feet walking this snowy sidewalk on Saturday night. Next to her was a man. He was helping her walk. She could hardly stand. She looked up into his face and saw—

A tap on the door jerked her into the present. She lunged at the peephole. Sophia was holding a small bunch of violets. Grazia unlatched the chain.

“I’m going off shift. Have you been resting?” Sophia asked.

Grazia buried her nose in the fragrant violets and arranged them in a glass of water. “This room is claustrophobic. I keep thinking about what happened here. I need to go out, do things, and be with people! I saw Cindy for counseling this morning. And I went to a hypnotist this afternoon. She unlocked some memories but I still don’t see the man’s face.”

“What have you remembered?” 

“Manuel told me to go to the Brazilian Bar. He said I should keep my hand over my glass.
He gave me his email and phone so we could meet Sunday evening. Laura handed me a glass of champagne, or one of them. I vomited. That’s all I remember. I telephoned Laura and she said she took me outside and got me a taxi. But I know I walked to the hotel with a man because Mrs. Springer and her dog saw me at ten-thirty. Sophia, if I can just find a suspect, the dog can identify him! He bit the man!” She returned to the window to stare gloomily at the falling snow.

“You are pushing yourself too hard
.
You will make yourself sick.” Sophia’s dark Italian eyes were large with worry.

“But I’m getting closer, Sophia. I know he’s Italian and that I met him at the Brazilian Bar. I know he was wearing a dark knit cap and a dark wool coat. I know Manuel saw him. Where is Manuel! Why doesn’t he answer my emails!” She flung up her arms with exasperation.

Sophia pulled a slip of paper from her uniform pocket. “My friends wrote down more names of Italian men registered at nearby hotels.”

Grazia glanced at it. “Laura’s name isn’t here.”

“Where does she work? If her employer paid the hotel bill, my friends could find the booking quicker.”

“I’ll check online.” Grazia tapped Laura’s name and “lawyer” into an Italian search engine. And there she was, smiling behind a massive wooden desk, view of the Milan skyline behind her. Grazia read the name of the firm. She clutched her hair in despair. “She works for the law firm that represents the contractor I’m negotiating the Kourtis contract with. I’ve been drafting the terms. You saw the papers all over the room. The first message I got talked about a fascinating conversation. Oh, Dio, what if I talked about the Kourtis contract? If I did, Laura took it straight to her boss. That would destroy the negotiations! And my reputation! I will never get a job in another law firm.”

With trembling fingers, Grazia wrote down the law firm name for Sophia, then copied the photo onto her flash drive. “I’ll print her photo in the business lounge and leave it for you with Luigi. You can show your friends at the other hotels along with the photo I gave you of Laura at Lord and Taylor. That might help them remember her and who
she was with. And I’ll show both photos to Nick at the Brazilian Bar.”

Chapter 18

At six-thirty that evening, the Brazilian Bar was empty except for a few couples talking quietly over tall glasses of wine. Grazia stood at the door, fighting anxiety. The confidence she had gained from Cindy and Evie had been blown to bits by the discovery that she had spent hours with a lawyer working for opposing counsel—while under the influence of a drug that destroys inhibition and verbal control.

Nick spotted Grazia sliding onto a bar stool and his welcoming grin faded. “You’re the girl who got doped Saturday night, right? Miss, I didn’t put roofies in your champagne, and I didn’t see who did. Detective Cargill is out to nail me and he’s got the wrong guy. You gotta believe me.”

“I was at Beth Israel ER all Sunday morning,” Grazia said accusingly. “They did test after test. I could have AIDS.”

Nick’s shoulders slumped. “Miss, I am so sorry. I couldn’t believe it when Cargill told me what had happened. No offense, but you’re not the usual girl who gets drugged for sex. Not that you’re not good-looking,” he hastened, “it’s just that the usual type is younger and—”

“Was I only drinking champagne?” Grazia interrupted.

“I’ve been running that night through my head and all I come up with is that guy ordering champagne. He made a big fuss, toasting you over and over.”

Grazia opened her journal and showed him the names of the four Italians who had given her their business cards. “Could any of these men have drugged my champagne?”

Nick shook his head. “I know these guys. They have high-paying jobs on Wall Street. They’re Italians on work visas. They wouldn’t risk getting deported by bringing drugs into my bar and dropping them in women’s drinks. They know my policy. The city suspended our license a couple years ago. Two bartenders got arrested
for taking money to drop Rohypnol in drinks. That was Detective Cargill’s case, and he got it in his head that I was in on it. But I wasn’t. I wouldn’t do such a thing, Miss, not then and not to you. I know a woman that happened to. She was a real mess for a long time. She still hates men. Anyway, to keep my job I had to promise that I’d bodyguard the women here, watch their drinks. It’s impossible in a crowded bar, I tell you. I started by turning off the music every hour and shouting, ‘Anybody I catch drugging a girl’s drink will talk to the cops.’ Now I say that privately to any guy who looks the type. It worked for two years. Now you show up.”

“If you didn’t drug my drink, how could Detective Cargill accuse you of doing it?”

“He could swipe a napkin I wiped my mouth on and smear it in your hotel room or on your clothes when he’s putting them into evidence. It’s easy to plant somebody’s DNA.”

“He didn’t do that you would be already be arrested. The medical examiner has all the evidence from the hotel room and my clothes.”

“Cargill can still find a way. He’s close to getting fired. He’s got to prove he can get results. Don’t make me lose my job, Miss. I’m not good at anything besides bartending.”

Grazia pulled out the two photos of Laura, one at Lord & Taylor and the other from the office website. “I was with this woman. Do you remember her?”

Nick studied the photos. “Sure I do. She asked me to put her suitcase behind the bar. An airport van was picking her up here. Who could say no to such a beautiful woman?”

“She handed me a glass of champagne. She got it from the man who drugged it. Or you drugged it,” she added harshly, piqued by his comment about Laura’s beauty.

“Oh, Miss, don’t say that to Cargill, or he’ll have me in the back of a squad car. I don’t know who I handed the champagne glasses to. When somebody buys a bottle and I’m pouring, I put the glasses into the nearest hands. Saturday night was a big game night, the TV was blasting, and patrons were jammed up against the bar like sardines. How could I remember . . . ” He paused. “Wait, I do remember. I handed the glasses to the guy who bought the champagne. Yep, that’s it. Because it was real quality champagne, and he paid for it, see? He should be the one who decides who gets a glass. He ordered a second bottle, and we went through the same drill.” Nick ran his bar cloth over the gleaming bar wood. “The US government makes drug companies put blue dye in roofies so nobody gets surprises. Nobody’s champagne went blue Saturday night—the glasses that I could see. Other countries don’t require that dye and whoever drugged you could have brought the roofies with him. Or he could have made the drug himself. The instructions are all over the Internet. I’m assuming it was Rohypnol. Is that what you were doped with?”

She nodded. “The other tests aren’t back yet—like the diseases I might have got from that bastard.” The bitter taste of disappointment filled her mouth. “I thought it would be easy to find him. I thought people would remember me and who
I was with. Why doesn’t anyone remember!”

Nick set a glass on the bar and ran some cola into it through a hose. He pushed it toward her. “In my opinion, the guy who bought the champagne drugged you.”

“What was his name?” she asked eagerly.

“Dunno. Never saw him before. I remember faces, not names. He was talking Italian when he made that toast to you. Big gold neck chain. You Italians like gold, don’t you? Even guys wear gold chains with big gold crosses. Your girlfriend wore a gold bracelet and a gold cross.”

“Did he use a credit card?”

“Cash, like I told Detective Cargill. New fifties. I ran them through the checker.”

“Did you see me get sick?”

“I saw your girlfriend take you to the toilet. It flashed through my mind that you might have been drugged. Champagne doesn’t affect people that fast, even small women like you.”

“Why didn’t you do something?”

“Because, except for Mr. Gold Chain and your girlfriend, I knew the four Italians you were with. They’re good people. Your girlfriend was looking after you, too. And right then a fight broke out between two guys who get into it from time to time. By the time I took care of that, you were gone.”

“Did you see who I left with?”

“No, Miss. It was football night. I couldn’t see the door for the crowd.”

“Did Laura come with anyone?”

He lifted his hands. “I caught a glimpse of her talking to the four Italians is all. She’s a stunner; they tried to pick her up right away.” He put both hands on the bar and looked at her with pleading eyes. “I need my job, Miss. Detective Cargill will pin this on me if he has to trump up evidence. Tell me how I can help find this son of a bitch, and I’ll do it.”

Grazia scribbled her phone number on a napkin. “Phone me if any of those Italians come in. They may know the man who bought the champagne. If I talk to them in person here where I was drugged, the evening might start coming back to me. I’m at the Hotel Fiorella a few blocks away; I can get here quickly. I need to know who did this to me, Nick. I’m leaving Friday. I only have four days to help Detective Cargill.”

Nick nodded, running the bar cloth around. “That’s why they kept digging up bodies from under the rubble after Nine Eleven. The families of the people who died knew their people were dead, but they needed to see the remains. Something about our eyes need to see something before our minds can believe it and rest.” He went off to serve another patron, then returned.

“What’s Cargill done for you so far?”

“He got the medical examiner to send a criminalist team to my hotel room to look for fingerprints and DNA. He’s getting the hospital to send over the rape kit and—”

Nick finished her sentence. “The medical examiner will run a match with a suspect’s DNA and with the NYPD criminal database. I know the procedure, personally. But if you can’t find the Italian who bought the champagne, you don’t have a suspect. And no Italian tourist is going to be in the NYPD criminal database.” He refilled Grazia’s cola with the hose. “Hey, I just remembered, you were taking photos with your smartphone. You asked me to take one. Show me. I’ll point out the guy who bought the champagne.”

“Somebody erased them,” she said, dejected.

Nick gave a low whistle. “This guy knows how to cover his tracks. Like he’s done it before. You’re sure he was operating in my bar? You didn’t go anywhere else after here?” he added hopefully.

She explained about Mrs. Springer and Jacky seeing her at ten-thirty. “A man has called my hotel twice and left anonymous phone messages about a fascinating conversation and how I won’t find him.”

“What a sadist. No wonder Detective Cargill wants to get him. What about your girlfriend? Does she have a likely candidate?”

Grazia shook her head. “Detective Cargill thinks she knows more than she is saying, for some reason. Now she’s in Italy and there’s no way to make her talk.”

“You sure you have to leave Friday? You could get yourself a lawyer and file a request to view our security camera videotapes.” He pointed to CCTV monitors at the end of the bar and at the entrance. “I’m not saying it will help. The place was dark and crowded; the images will be shadowy. And if the guy kept his face down, you get nothing.”

“Could you watch the video yourself?”

He shook his head. “Only the security company has access.”

“Twitter!” Grazia said, with a thin smile. “I’ll send out a Tweet query asking who saw me leave here Saturday night as a Drug Facilitated Sexual Assault victim.”

Nick groaned. “Oh, lady, don’t do that! I’ll be out of a job by morning. Okay, fine, I’ll look at the video. My buddy works at the security company. He owes me a favor.”

“Around ten-thirty is when I left, probably hanging onto Laura. The man must have followed us out of the bar because he walked me home. The old lady saw us about then on Nineteenth Street.”

“Come in tomorrow, same time. I’ll tell you what I saw.”

“I can’t wait that long. Call me tomorrow morning.”