Date Rape New York (31 page)

“Celestina is a victim of Francisco, just like you and I were. Valentino is raping her to take revenge on Francisco for making him spy on me and babysit Francisco’s daughter. Don’t use this rapist to take revenge on Francisco. We will find a better way to make Francisco suffer. I promise.”

Sophia looked at her with pity. “You are so naive. I wanted to keep my baby, but Belinda gave my family money. They made me come to New York to have my baby and give him away. They told me, what is one more baby in a poor family with so many babies already?”

Grazia shook her head. “You are using an innocent girl to punish two guilty people.”

“She will grow up to be just like them. She already is. So go away and let her suffer the way that you and I suffered. Then Francisco will suffer too.”

“Sophia,” Grazia pleaded, “Go your own path. Make a better life for yourself. We can help each other do that.”

Sophia looked at her. She looked at Stanley and Cargill. Then she slowly reached into her pocket for her key-card. She inserted it and pushed the door open. “Room service,” she called out and slid her key-card into the light slot. The bedside and desk lights flicked on. Light flooded the room. Sophia wheeled in her cart.

Grazia was right behind her, smartphone help up as a camera. She flicked on every other light switch she could find and began tapping photo after photo.

“What the hell?” shouted Valentino, shielding his eyes from the bright lights. “Get the fuck out of here!” Blinded by the glare, he fumbled to zip the fly of his trousers.

Grazia photographed the naked girl stretched across the table with Valentino standing between her spread legs. She photographed Valentino’s loosened trousers and open zipper. She photographed the lynx coat and matching hat kicked across the room.

“Excuse me, sir,” Sophia said brightly. “The young lady always has a pot of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast when she comes back at night. The desk clerk sent the order to the kitchen as soon as the young lady returned. She has low blood sugar, especially if she drinks wine and hasn’t eaten enough dinner. Oh, dear, she doesn’t look well. I’m going to call the nurse. Perhaps it’s time for you to go, sir.”

Grazia ducked into the bathroom and hid behind the half-closed door. She tapped a photo of Valentino storming out of the room, coat and hat under his arm, hands struggling to fasten his pants. She stepped out behind him and photographed him face-to-face with Cargill and Stanley in the hall. She tapped a photo of Cargill picking up Valentino’s plaid wool cap from the floor and handing it back to him.

Then Grazia hurried back into Celestina’s room, so she missed Stanley escorting Valentino to the elevator and to his own room. She missed Detective Cargill wiggling his fingers good-bye. She heard about this later. Now she helped Sophia lift the unconscious girl onto the bed.

“Did he rape her?” Grazia breathed in suspended dread, watching Sophia separate the girl’s legs and examine her carefully.

“No. He didn’t get that far. When she wakes up, I can tell her that nothing happened. I’m going to call the hotel nurse. She can decide if she needs to call a doctor or an ambulance. Celestina really does have low blood sugar. She’s not supposed to drink alcohol.” She covered the girl carefully and picked up the hotel phone.

Grazia went out into the hall where Detective Cargill was waiting. “The girl is fine,” she said, pulling off the maid’s uniform. She held up her smartphone. “I got photos. Incriminating photos. Now I decide how to use them.”

Cargill lifted the smartphone from Grazia’s shaking fingers. He slid it into her jeans pocket. Then he put his arms around her and held her tightly against him.

“Good work,” he murmured. “Now I’m going to walk you to Mrs. Springer’s, and Mrs. Springer and I are going to sit you down at the kitchen table and watch you drink one cup of Mrs. Springer’s awful tea. When you stop shaking, Mrs. Springer is going to tuck you in on that lumpy sofa and wait until you fall asleep.”

He pulled out his phone. “Right now, I’m going to call a bodyguard service. They will sit with their backs to this door until Celestina is ready to travel up to Boston. They will escort her there and turn her over to her usual bodyguard.”

Chapter 44

Grazia opened her eyes Saturday morning to the familiar sight of the old-fashioned wooden clock sitting on the purple doily on Mrs. Springer’s television. It read eight-thirty.  Grazia reached for her smartphone. Someone had turned off the ringer, so she had slept through three missed calls. She listened to the voice messages.

The first, from Sophia, had come an hour after Grazia had left the Hotel Fiorella. The hotel nurse had contacted the on-call doctor. He had confirmed that Celestina had not been sexually assaulted. He had called a private-duty nurse to spend the night with Celestina and monitor the girl’s blood pressure, blood sugar, and other aspects related to her recovery from Rohypnol. The doctor said it was safe to assume it was Rohypnol but he drew blood to be sure. Sophia agreed to stay with Celestina and the private-duty nurse until the girl recovered. A female bodyguard sat a chair outside the room.

The second message was from Stanley. Obeying Grazia’s instructions to the letter, he had telephoned Francisco, telling him that his phone number had been listed on the registration as the emergency contact. He had stretched the truth and told Francisco that Celestina may have been sexually assaulted and was under a doctor’s care. He said he had no results from the doctor’s exam. All he knew was that a hotel chambermaid had discovered the girl and called the hotel nurse and doctor. Francisco had demanded to talk to the hotel nurse, who said she couldn’t give out information since she could not verify that Francisco was indeed the father of the victim and authorized to receive the information.

The third missed call was another from Sophia at eight in the morning. She reported that Celestina was still sleeping, but her blood sugar, blood pressure, and other vital signs were normal. The doctor had stopped by and said she was recovering properly. Another private-duty nurse had arrived for the day shift, as had a replacement bodyguard. Francisco had called several times during the night and spoken to the private-duty nurse who continued to refuse to give out information.

Grazia shifted her gaze to the long lump of blankets lying on the floor next to the sofa. The lump emitted a small snore, familiar from when this snorer had slept on the sofa in Stanley’s office the night before. Such a long time ago, it seemed! So much had happened. The balance of power had shifted; she could feel it.

She smiled at the snoring lump. Detective Cargill was making sure she was boarding her plane and making no detours. Grazia checked her email for her plane’s departure time. The travel department had indeed put her on the Saturday noon flight that she had requested. She should leave for the airport fairly soon. She heard Mrs. Springer in the kitchen rattling pans.

Grazia clicked on her smartphone to the photos of Valentino in Celestina’s hotel room. They were definitely evidence of attempted sexual assault. She had stored them on her hard drive and on Dropbox before going to sleep. On impulse, she had emailed them to Sophia. It was thanks for opening the hotel room door, proof that Sophia had saved Celestina in the nick of time. Sophia would return to Italy and move into Grazia’s apartment and have the spacious maid’s quarters. She would be a well-paid housekeeper and cook as long as she wanted. The two of them would make new lives for themselves—like Americans do.

Jacky came trotting into the room and jumped up on the sofa, using Cargill’s sleeping body as a step. His little nails forced a groan from Cargill. Without pulling the blankets off his head, he reached out and felt for Grazia’s arm.

“You’re still here. You didn’t sneak out during the night to assault Valentino or rescue some other desperate woman in distress you failed to tell me about.”

“I’m saving that for Naples. Now if you’ll let go of my arm, I’ll get dressed for the plane.”

* * *

Cargill held Grazia’s hand all the way to JFK airport. As he pulled up to Departures, he peered at a distant figure pulling a business carry-on into the Departures entrance. “You booked yourself onto Valentino’s flight?” Cargill’s voice was disbelieving.

“I wanted to make sure he was on the plane. Relax, if we’re in adjoining seats, I’ll get the flight attendant to move me.”

Cargill hauled her suitcase out of the trunk and set it on the sidewalk. “Go straight into the terminal. No need to turn around to check if I’m still waiting. Because I will be. I’m going to stand here until I know for sure you’re not coming out of that building.”

“I’ll miss you, Cargill. I really will.” Grazia looked up at him sadly.

Cargill took both her hands. “Take care of yourself, Grazia. I say that knowing that you’re planning some risky mission to achieve whatever justice-based goal you have secretly worked out in that beautiful head of yours. I have a faint idea what it is, but I’m not thinking about it because I need to sleep nights. All I ask is you send me an email when you’re safe in your apartment. And another one when you’ve executed whatever you have planned.”

He pulled her toward him then, and she felt his arms come around her and his mouth press again on hers, just like she remembered from Friday. But there was something extra this time, something stronger.

“That’s not a good-bye kiss,” she gasped, wide-eyed, catching her breath when he lifted his head.

“That’s because I’m not saying good-bye. We never leave each other if we’re in each other’s memory. That’s what you believe, isn’t it? But I’m going to see you again one day. Physically. Body to body. So I will have more to remember.”

Chapter 45

Monday morning, after a Sunday of rest in her own lovely apartment, Grazia walked through the ornate wooden double doors into the Francisco Pamplona Law Offices. She had timed her arrival to coincide with the Monday morning conference. Francisco had fired her and given her job to Valentino, but Grazia wanted to attend one last meeting.

She smiled hello to her flustered ex-secretary, then stood in the doorway of what had been her office. She gazed at her gleaming desk and the vase of fresh flowers that her secretary always provided. She would never again work behind that desk. After she had carried out her plan today, she would walk straight out the door and never look back.

She wandered over to the desk and pulled out the top desk drawer. Yes, Valentino had already put some documents in here. Very likely he had come in on Sunday to lie to Francisco about how Celestina had left her hotel room and gone to a party after he had deposited her safely at the Hotel Fiorella. Edmondo, Luigi, and Manuel were in jail pending further investigation by the Immigration authorities so they hadn’t been there that night to see what Valentino had done and report to Francisco. All Francisco had to go on was Valentino’s version of the story.

In the conference room, the buffet attendant in his white coat smiled a quiet, “Good morning, welcome back,” and poured Grazia a cup of perfect coffee from the silver samovar on the lavish breakfast buffet. He added sugar the way she liked it and turned to serve the next lawyer. Around her, attorneys who were presenting their cases that morning were nervously gulping coffee and cramming croissants into their mouths. They gave her quick sidelong looks, not speaking to her in case that might ruin their careers. She stood at the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed over Naples to the sea. The buildings felt familiar and foreign at the same time. She had so quickly grown accustomed to the New York skyline. She sensed rather than saw Valentino enter the conference room.

Valentino’s seat on the flight from New York had been across the aisle from Grazia in business class. He had actually stepped backward in surprise when she entered the business class lounge. With a sweet smile, she had blithely explained that she had changed her flight so she could finish up a few details with Detective Cargill. Uncertainty was good for Valentino, she thought happily, seeing his smile waver. She had caught him watching her during the flight. She kept an eye on her food, especially her wine.

Two Miranda Security Systems bodyguards had met Grazia’s flight, explaining that they had received the request from Detective Cargill. They had driven her to her apartment. During the ride, she sent Cargill an email saying she was safely under Miranda’s supervision, and he could relax for a while. Miranda Laterza herself had been waiting in the lobby of her building, chatting with the security guard who was also a Miranda Security employee. She and the two bodyguards all accompanied Grazia up to her apartment so she could pass on the last details.

It had been just two weeks since Grazia had left her beloved apartment, but the graceful rooms seemed to belong to someone else. It wasn’t her apartment that had changed, of course. She had. She was stronger, more aware of her reactions, more connected to her emotions. Janine, Cindy, Evie, Mrs. Springer, and Jacky—they had opened Grazia to herself and changed how she related to her world. Detective Cargill had opened her heart.

Grazia curled up on her sofa with some excellent Italian coffee from her espresso maker and related to Miranda everything that had happened since their last video communication. She didn’t know what Miranda would do with the information that Belinda had leaked the news about Kourtis to the press and the Building Safety inspectors, and she didn’t care. That ball was in Miranda’s court, as Cargill would say in one of his funny sports metaphors. She had her own game plan, and she knew how to execute it.

Now as she stood at the floor-to-ceiling window and gazed over the haze of Naples to the sea, she smiled to herself, remembering Russell Cargill’s final good-bye kiss. She really would like to see him again. But geography was against them and so was age. At Mrs. Springer’s, she had peeked into his wallet as he lay sleeping. It had been on the coffee table, too tempting to pass up. He was fifty-five, twenty years older than she. But he certainly didn’t kiss like a man that age! They had been nice, those two kisses. She would hold them in her long-term memory until she died. From time to time she would re-feel them to make sure the intensity didn’t fade.

She drank her coffee and placed the cup and saucer on the buffet. She never allowed food or drink in front of her during meetings. A crumb-dusted plate and a coffee cup were too reminiscent of a kitchen table. Grazia filled a glass with ice water and took it to the conference table. As she expected, Valentino dropped into the chair next to hers.

“Breakfast again, like old times,” he grinned.

“Except that I know who and what you are.” She kept her voice low and even. Now was her moment. Now she could begin her justice, exact her punishment, stop him from assaulting women. And she was ready. She had rehearsed her words before she dropped off to sleep. She had gone over all his possible responses and figured out how to counter them and achieve her goal.

“You had an exciting date Friday night, didn’t you?” she continued. “Was it as fun as your date the Saturday before? I’m referring to your date-rape of me.”

Valentino glanced quickly at her. Grazia knew he was trying to figure out what she knew about Friday night in Celestina’s room. He had seen two chambermaids wearing white maid’s uniforms. But had he seen that one was wearing jeans under her uniform and was taking photos? He had not, she had decided on the flight, as she chatted with Valentino, replying vaguely to his seemingly idle but very probing chatter. The room lights had gone on suddenly and were bright in his eyes as he was struggling to zip his pants. He had seen Stanley and Detective Cargill in the hall, but he hadn’t seen her.

Valentino tossed her his usual easy smile. “Friday night was great. As was the Saturday before that. Too bad both girls will never remember.”

Grazia sipped her ice water to keep herself from slapping him.

Francisco came in then. He looked haggard. His face was as gray as his suit and he had missed shaving a spot on his cheek. His neck looked thin and gaunt. His hands trembled as he laid his work smartphone and his personal smartphone in front of him.

“All mobile phones off,” he ordered as usual. However, today his voice lacked its usual accusatory command. It was unsteady, low, and hoarse.

“You’ll excuse me for not turning off my own phones. My daughter is in New York. She had an, uh, accident Friday night,
and she is under a doctor’s care. I’m waiting for news.” He flicked his eyes around the table from habit, checking for anyone missing. His eyes hesitated for a split second on Grazia. He snapped his fingers at the buffet attendant to bring him coffee. He addressed the room.

“For the past week, as you all know, we have been trying to find out how the information about the Kourtis company was revealed to the press and to the Building Safety Department. This weekend, I was informed how that happened.” He deliberately didn’t look at Grazia.

All other eyes turned to Grazia, however. She kept her gaze on Francisco, her face calm and still. Francisco continued. “For those working on the Kourtis contract negotiations, we will meet directly after this conference to discuss our ongoing strategy.” His smartphone pinged and he lunged at it, staring at the screen. Disappointment flooded his face. He mopped his forehead and flung his handkerchief onto the table.

“Who is presenting first?” he demanded, looking wildly around the room. Then his personal smartphone rang. He stared at the caller, snatched up the phone, and ran out of the room, his voice ringing down the hall.

“Kitten, it’s Daddy. You’re completely awake now? It’s OK, sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me a thing. Don’t cry. Sophia is with you? Good, good. She will stay with you until I get there. I’ll be there tonight. I’ll talk to the doctor. He won’t tell me anything over the phone. You can’t remember Friday night? That’s good, honey, you don’t need to remember everything in life. Some things it’s better to forget.” The door to his office slammed.

Grazia leaned toward Valentino and murmured under her breath. “That was Celestina he was talking to. The girl you took to bars Friday night, starting at the Brazilian Bar and ending there. You like to go back to places where you have drugged women, don’t you? And the Brazilian Bar is where you drugged me. So you took Celestina there and you dropped Rohypnol in her drink. Then you took her back to the Hotel Fiorella—the very hotel where you and Francisco took me.”

Valentino grinned. “I spotted those old ladies following me as soon as we hit the first bar. I saw them in the Hotel Fiorella lounge. Flea-bitten fur coats—who could miss them?”

“When Francisco finds out what you did to Celestina, he will have you killed. After he has you tortured. You know about his bodyguards.”

Valentino lifted his hands. “Nothing happened, little Miss Detective. I didn’t touch Francisco’s precious daughter. I was babysitting, as ordered.”

“You did more than babysit.”

“Okay, but no sex. The maid walked in.”

“You committed attempted sexual assault by taking her clothes off when she was in a drugged condition perpetrated by you. In New York, that’s two crimes for which you can be arrested and prosecuted. The police detective and the hotel security officer saw you come out of her room. They were in the hall.”

“So? That proves nothing. Little Celestina invited me in. She’s a sweet girl, so innocent. And over twenty-one. The best kind.”

“She could barely walk when she got to the hotel. The security officer talked to her. He remembers you. You took her up to her room and pulled off her clothes.”

“Conjecture. No evidence. No witnesses. No proof.”

Grazia passed him over her phone open to a photo. “How about this photo of her naked her across a table, with you standing between her legs, your pants open.”

Valentino face blanched. “Where did you get this?” he hissed.

“Remember the maids? Two maids? One was me, wearing a maid’s uniform over my jeans. I was holding up my smartphone camera.”

Valentino’s finger left a streak of sweat as he swiped from one photo to the next. The lawyer sitting at Valentino’s left leaned in to see the photos. Grazia lifted the phone out of Valentino’s hands.

“That’s only the bedroom series, culminating in you coming out of her room witnessed by Detective Cargill and the head of security of the Hotel Fiorella,” she said pleasantly. “Here’s another series: you and Celestina at the Brazilian Bar. Nick, the bartender, took this one and emailed it to me. This is you and Celestina going out the door of the bar. You will note the date and time marked on the photo. This is you getting out of the taxi and walking her into the Hotel Fiorella, taken by the doorman, who is the nephew of one of those fur-clad old ladies. And there is the CCTV footage from the Hotel Fiorella. Of course, Francisco will block anyone from seeing that footage, like he blocked Stanley from watching the footage that showed me with you.”

“She consented,” Valentino said hoarsely. “She’s an adult. She’s responsible for herself. It’s her word against mine.” He snatched the phone and tapped on it. “Deleted. Gone.” He dropped it in her lap.

“Like you deleted my photos of you at the Brazilian Bar. Francisco was in the background. If I had those, I would have known you were there. But unlike those photos, these photos of you and Celestina are stored on my hard drive, accessible from the cloud.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Stop drugging and raping women. Don’t ever do it again.”

He smiled, relaxed again. “How will you enforce that? You can’t know what I’m doing every night. You can’t stop me.”

“I will send your photo to every woman I know telling them to pass it on as a drug-facilitator rapist. It will go viral. Soon you won’t go to the corner drugstore without some woman posting it online.”

“Maybe in Naples. But there’s Milan. And New York.”

“Oh, you’ll never see New York again. Detective Cargill is discussing your visa with US immigration. As for Italy, I can stop you permanently. I can show Francisco those photos of you assaulting his precious daughter. Maybe he won’t kill you. But probably he will. And you raped me, Francisco’s girlfriend. Francisco doesn’t like other men poaching his territory.”

“You naïve little female,” smirked Valentino. “Francisco knows what I did to you. He handed you over to me that night. He told me to have fun.”

Grazia felt her whole body turn cold. How could she not have figured that out? How could she be so naive? Anger rose within her.

“Holding these photos over your head as a threat obviously won’t work. So I will email them to Francisco now. Then I won’t have to worry about you out raping other women. You will be dead.” She lifted her hand over her phone.

Valentino grabbed her phone but Grazia hung on. His hand was shaking. “You would never send a man to his death, with your so-high morals, Miss Women’s Shelter,” he hissed. “You could never cause the torture and death even of someone you hate.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Francisco came hurrying back in then, his face lined and thin. “I leave for New York after this conference. Now I will turn off my phones, and we can get down to business.” He snapped his fingers at the buffet attendant and pointed to the pastry tray.