Date Rape New York (6 page)

“It’s Grazia Conti. In New York.” The words flooded out. “You have to help me, Laura. Last night at the Brazilian Bar, a man put a drug in my drink. He took me back to the hotel and,” Despite her best efforts to keep her composure, a sob escaped.

“What are you talking about? What drug? What man?” Laura sounded alarmed.

“I woke up this morning in my hotel room, naked. My clothes were all over the floor. I couldn’t remember anything from last night. And . . . and . . . ” Grazia started weeping in earnest. “I . . . I had had sex. I was raped. And Laura, I don’t remember who he is!”

There was a pause. “Are you sure you had sex?” Laura demanded abruptly. Her words shocked Grazia out of her frantic confusion.

“Of course I’m sure! Why does everyone ask if I’m sure!”

“What do you mean, everyone?”

“Hotel security. The police.”

“You called the police?”

“This is sexual assault! I’m bruised all over. The detective is here now. He’s asking me questions so he can find the man.”

“You are with a police detective?”

Grazia’s voice rose in frustration. “That’s why I’m calling you! I told him that you introduced me to some Italians last night. He says you will know the man I left with.”

There was a long pause. “Grazia, you weren’t drugged. You drank champagne, and you can’t handle alcohol. After two glasses of wine in law school, you couldn’t remember your name. Last night you had a lot of champagne and must have invited one of those Italian guys back to your hotel. That’s not rape. You used a condom, I assume?”

“I can’t remember the man; how would I remember a condom!” Grazia was shouting now. “Who was he, Laura? His name!”

“Which one? You were flirting with every man there.”

“The man who took me to my hotel!” Pain knifed Grazia’s right eye.

“I didn’t see who you left with. You were still at the bar when I went to the airport.”

Grazia felt dizzy. Her brain couldn’t cope. Detective Cargill was holding up a piece of paper. Grazia struggled to decipher his scribble. She took the phone away from her ear. “She’s in Italy,” she answered.

“What hotel in New York did she stay in?” he asked.

Grazia repeated the question to Laura in Italian.

“Oh, I never remember the names of hotels. I travel so much. My office booked it.”

“She doesn’t remember,” Grazia snapped at Cargill. She rubbed her forehead. “Laura, I am so drugged I can’t think straight. When I try to remember last night, it’s just a dark hole.”

“Take two aspirin. Have a bubble bath. Be grateful you can’t remember the jerk.” The line went dead.

Grazia threw her phone on the sofa and burst into sobs of frustration and fury.

Detective Cargill waited while she mopped up her tears with a handkerchief dug from her handbag. “Does she remember who you were talking to?” he asked.

“No. She said I drank too much champagne, that I wasn’t drugged, that I invited one of those Italians to my hotel. She didn’t see which because she left for the airport when I was still at the bar.”

“Not terribly sympathetic,” commented Stanley. He handed Grazia a cup of water from the cooler. “How well do you know this helpful person?”

“She was in my class at law school. I haven’t seen her for ten years.”

“Was she carrying a suitcase?” Cargill asked. “If she went to the airport from the bar, she had a suitcase.”

Grazia rubbed her forehead. “I don’t remember a suitcase.”

Stanley cut in. “Maybe Nick put it behind the bar. Is it important?”

“Picture this, Stanley: a supposedly intelligent lawyer drags her suitcase from her hotel, whose name she can’t remember, through deep snow during a blizzard warning to a crowded bar. She talks with Italian men whose names she doesn’t offer. When the snow is falling the heaviest, she drags her suitcase outside, somehow flags down a taxi, and departs for the airport.”

“Maybe she pre-ordered an airport van,” suggested Stanley.

“During heavy snowfall, people go early to airports. Or their flights are cancelled. My point is she’s a key witness, and she hasn’t given us any information. Suggestive.”

“Of what?” Grazia’s brain wasn’t making connections.

“That she isn’t telling us what she knows, like who drugged you or took you to your hotel.”

Grazia was shocked. “If Laura knew, she would say. We are friends.”

“Women get jealous. They play dirty tricks on each other,” Cargill said. “I’ve seen it before.”

“You talk to her,” Grazia said, defeated. “Maybe she’ll remember more for a police detective.” Grazia held out her smartphone, and Cargill copied Laura’s number into his battered notebook.

“Try her again later,” he suggested. “She may have met the perpetrator at her hotel and they went to the Brazilian Bar together. If we knew where she was staying, we could check the register for other Italians. A name may ring a bell with you.”

Grazia leaned her head back against the sofa. “Why me?” she groaned. 

“Does Nick have any ideas on that?” asked Stanley.

Detective Cargill shook his head. “I dragged the SOB out of bed this morning and got a cheek swab for DNA. He remembers Grazia, and he remembers the champagne. But he says the place was packed, and he couldn’t see past the faces at the bar. No knowledge of drug-facilitated assault, of course.” He leaned toward Grazia and spoke earnestly.

“It’s possible that we’re looking for an Italian who’s in New York for business or tourism. He may be staying in a hotel near the Brazilian Bar. People don’t go far for a drink in snow that deep. You recognized him and let down your guard, didn’t keep your hand over your glass. Rohypnol is a popular date-rape drug in other countries. The guy brought it with him.  Search your memory, Miss Conti. Did you meet an old Italian boyfriend last night?”

Grazia tried to think but she couldn’t. She shook her head.

Cargill turned to Stanley. “Let’s call in Luigi.”

Luigi, the reception clerk, was already tapping on the door. “Housekeeping has finished cleaning Miss Conti’s room.”  He held out Grazia’s lunch. She ripped open the package and took a bite. Stanley addressed Luigi.

“Tell Miss Conti about the telephone message you took for her.” 

Luigi turned to Grazia. “A man phoned you at eleven o’clock this morning. Detective Cargill and Mr. Johnson were in the lobby waiting for the medical examiner’s team. I buzzed Mr. Johnson’s cell phone from the emergency buzzer under the reception desk as soon as I heard the message.” Stanley nodded. He handed Grazia a hotel message slip.

Grazia read aloud. “‘Fascinating conversation. Too bad you won’t remember.’” She stared wildly at the three men, thoughts whirling, and hunger forgotten. “Who left this message?” she demanded. “What is he talking about?”

“That was all he said before he hung up,” Luigi said, nervously flicking his eyes at Stanley.

Cargill cut in. “It sounds like you were talking to this man last night. He appears to know you were drugged. So either he drugged you, or he knows who did.”

“He called from the house phones,” Luigi added. “Those calls come in on a separate line. As soon as I heard the message, I looked toward the house phones, but some guests came out of the elevators right then, and they blocked my view. I did see a man walking fast out the entrance. He had on a dark down coat with the hood up. He kept his face down.”

Stanley continued, “Detective Cargill and I immediately ran outside with Luigi, but the man was gone. We checked the lobby area but saw no one suspicious. Thanks, Luigi, you can go back to work.” 

“Any CCTV footage probably won’t do us much good,” said Cargill to Stanley.

“Right,” Stanley nodded gloomily.

“CCTV?” asked Grazia.

Stanley answered. “Closed circuit television. The hotel has cameras over the front and back entrances and over the reception desk.”

“The tapes will show who brought me to the hotel last night!” exclaimed Grazia, excited. “I’ll recognize him! Nick will recognize him! We’ve got him!”

“He had his hood up and he kept his face down, according to Luigi,” Stanley said.

“So we won’t get a good view,” added Cargill. “Besides, the police need a court order to view it. Could take six weeks.”

Grazia turned to Stanley. “You can watch the video. You’re chief of security.”

“Sorry, Miss. We hire that out to a private security firm, and they’ve got the only access key. Besides, I need the hotel manager’s consent to view CCTV footage.”

“But this is a special case. Time is important!”

“Protocol, Miss. I’m sorry. It’s just a matter of form. I’ll have it by tomorrow.”

Grazia turned to Cargill. “Why would this man call me?”

“Drug facilitated offenders typically like to re-live the assault. They return to where they met the victim or where they carried out the sexual assault; some even video it. Maybe this guy wanted to hear your voice.”

Grazia was too horrified to speak.

“Or he could have called because he wanted to find out if you remember him. Calls from a house phone can’t be traced. Typical profile—careful planner.”

“He knows where I’m staying! He’s planning to drug me and attack me here!” Panic twisted Grazia’s stomach.

Cargill shook his head. “Not here. Drug-facilitator offenders nearly always follow the same pattern. This guy met you in a bar, so that’s where he will meet you again. Stay out of bars and you will be safe.”

“But he attacked me in my hotel room! He will attack me here again! I don’t know what he looks like. I could open the door thinking he’s from room service!”

“He can’t get to your room, Miss,” Stanley reassured her in his calm voice. “Elevator doors won’t open at a floor until a guest inserts a room key-card. Nobody can go up to your room pretending to be from room service.”

“He could follow another guest who gets off at my floor! Or he could take the elevator to another floor and take the stairs to my floor.” Her voice shook.

“The stair doors are locked from the stairwell side, except to exit into the lobby.”

“He could be a guest here!” Grazia’s voice rose. “Maybe that’s why Manuel didn’t stop him from going up with me in the elevator. Lots of Italians are staying in this hotel, I’ve noticed. And it seems like all the staff are Italian, except for you!”

“The hotel is owned by a Italian consortium and caters to wealthy Italians. We employ Italian staff because they speak Italian and can provide better service. But I went through the guest list. No Italian males traveling alone are registered here.”

“You’re certain that this man won’t attack me on the street, Detective Cargill?” Grazia’s voice quavered as she turned her worried gaze on the detective.

“From my thirty years’ experience as a cop, I can say that a typical drug-facilitated perpetrator targets a woman days or weeks in advance, or he observes her for a couple hours in a bar. He plans how he can drug her without anyone noticing. Then he plans how and where to move her without being observed. It’s all about tactics. These guys are expert strategists. If this man goes after you again, he will most likely approach you in a crowded bar. He will be charming. He will quickly become your friend. Steer clear of charming men in bars, and you’ll be safe.”

“You’re safe in this hotel,” added Stanley. “We have a security officer on the premises twenty-four/seven.”

Detective Cargill was reading from his notebook. “Here’s what we need to get this guy, Miss Conti. We need the medical examiner’s team to come up with male DNA from your room. We need matching male DNA off you, from Janine’s exam. Mostly, though, we need a suspect.”

“I wish I could help you, Detective,” said Grazia. “but when I think about that night, I see a dark hole.”

Cargill closed his notebook. “Stanley and I will keep hunting for Manuel. Either he’s our culprit, or he saw the guy. I’ll track down these four Italians who gave you their cards. Maybe one of them did it. Or they saw who you left with. I’ll keep after Nick; he might remember something. I’ll hunt up Mrs. Springer and Jacky with the sensitive nose.” Cargill leaned toward Grazia.

“You’re our main source, Miss Conti, even though you don’t remember much. Once you get some sleep and the drug leaves your system, you’ll begin remembering details. You already remember more than you did this morning. Keep your journal close by and write down whatever pops into your head, no matter how odd. When you think you’ve got a lead, call me.”

“You’ve got to find him, Detective Cargill!” Grazia couldn’t control the quaver in her voice. “I have to know that he’s in jail. Or I can’t go on. I just can’t.”

Detective Cargill spoke earnestly. “Sure you can, Miss Conti. Even after worse things, people go on. That’s what humans do—we get back on our feet and keep going.”

“That’s all? Just get up and go on?” Bitterness flooded her voice.

“You have to go through the motions, Miss. After a while, it gets easier.”

Stanley took Grazia up to her room. She stared into the elevator mirror at her pale face and dark smudges under her eyes. A muscle in her cheek twitched. She paced nervously in the hall while Stanley searched her room. Alone inside at last, she double locked the door and put on the chain. She slumped in the armchair and stared at her new clothes now folded into neat piles on the dresser—dark reminders of the horror of waking up this morning. She shoved them into the dresser and looked around the room. It used to feel cozy, but now it was a grim reminder of what had happened. She could ask to change rooms but the hotel’s rooms probably looked all the same, so the grim reminder would still be there. And the man could still find her.