Ice Breakers

by Heather C. Myers

I furrowed my brow. “She said it was at a club,” I murmured. “So now you admit that she isn’t wrong with her dates then? It’s just, you slept with her twice?”

  Eric nodded. “If that’s what the rape kit says,” he said.

  I resisted the urge to throw the ball out my window, shattering glass. “What do you mean?” I asked. I wasn’t trying to be confrontational, but he was making it really hard. “Eric, you cannot possibly be this –“

  “Well, I am, Mika, okay?” He abruptly stood up. “I am this stupid. I’m stupid for sleeping around. I’m stupid for forgetting that I slept with this girl earlier so I slept with her twice. And I’m a fucking idiot for breaking up with you in the first place.”

  My eyes went wide at his last sentence. My grip on my stress ball tightened. My mouth went dry. Even he seemed surprised by the words that had just come out of his mouth. I wasn’t sure whether to address our history together or keep things focused on the case. I should be professional, but part of me – a stupid, silly, foolish part of me – wanted to talk about our relationship, to get that closure I had so desperately wanted.

  “Eric,” I said, my voice soft. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I should have said his name at all.

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “I just, I don’t want to hear it,” he said. His voice was almost sad, but I hadn’t seen Eric sad in a long, long time. “I know I fucked up. I know this is my fault.”

  “I’m not saying that.” I sighed and rocked left and right in the chair, replacing my stress ball back into my drawer. “I just…” Didn’t understand why he slept with Ashley Dunham, out of everyone. Didn’t understand why he broke up with me in the first place. Didn’t understand he needed to sleep around in the first place. No one it made sense. “Let’s say you didn’t rape her.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Okay.” I nodded once. “Then why is she doing this to you?”

  “She tried to blackmail me,” Eric said, though his tone indicated that he had no idea. “Maybe she was looking for easy money? What? Don’t look at me like that. How am I supposed to know why she’s doing what she’s doing?”

  I didn’t realize my judgment had crept onto my facial features. I cleared my throat, trying to make it disappear.

  “There are easier, less public targets,” I said, more to myself than to him. “Did she, I don’t know, want to be with you romantically? Was she trying to be your girlfriend?”

  Eric rubbed his temples, wrinkling his brow as he tried to remember. “Honestly? I just remember the time we fucked at the club,” he said. “I don’t remember this one in September.” He shook his head. “What I do remember, though, is that I made it clear I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I just wanted to have fun. And she seemed to be on the same page. Actually, afterward, she went back to her friends and didn’t talk to me the rest of the night. But not because she was sad or anything.”

  “Doesn’t that sound weird?” I asked.

  “I thought it was cool at the time,” Eric admitted. “I didn’t have to leave the club because she was following me or staring at me or –“

  I put a hand up. “I get it,” I said flatly, rolling my eyes.

  “Does this bother you?” he asked.

  My eyes snapped to his face. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was amused. As though he was taking my reaction and making it about him. About us and our past.

  “My feelings on the subject don’t matter,” I told him.

  “Bullshit.” Abruptly, he stood up and began to pace the length of my office. “Bullshit, and you know it.”

  “Excuse me!”

  “How can you tell me that this case doesn’t affect you?” he demanded to know. There were moments in our relationship when we would fight. Our voices would rise, our words thrown like daggers intending to strike but never kill. And just as quickly, we’d be wrapped in each other, overcome with a different sort of passion. “It affects me! And not just for the reasons you think. Obviously someone is accusing me of something vile. Obviously my reputation is ruined, I have a criminal record now, and my career could be coming to a disastrous end. And yet, all I can think about is you and whether or not you think I’m capable of doing something like this.”

  My mouth dropped open slightly, my breathing coming out past my lips rather than my nose. My eyes were wide, focused on him rather than anywhere else in the room. I wanted to look away, I wanted to show him that his words meant nothing to me. But I couldn’t pretend.

  “It’s always, always been you, Mika.” He stopped when he was directly in front of me, but he didn’t come any closer. That familiar confliction of disappointment that he chose not to come and relief that he chose to stay where he was caused my heart to tighten. It was hard to catch my breath, and each word out of Eric’s mouth made it more and more difficult. “You are that annoying, nagging voice in my head that tells me what I should do, what I shouldn’t do. It’s you.”

  “Well, clearly nothing has changed since you’re not listening to me now just like you didn’t listen to me then.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wave of peace washed over my body the second the words left me, like they had wanted to come out to him for a long time. Instead of telling him the truth, I bottled up one part of my frustration with him until they forced their way out at the right moment. “Do you really think I’d tell you to sleep around with a bunch of strangers?”

  “Maybe it’s me doing the opposite of what I know you’d tell me to do just to spite you,” he said seriously.

  “So this is my fault?” I nearly threw the stress ball at him.

  “Of course not,” he said.

  I cut him off before he could continue. “Well, tell me, then, Eric, what’s going on with you because you’re making some pretty stupid decisions that have come back around to bite you in the ass?” I snapped.

  “I haven’t been handling our breakup well,” he finally admitted. He was defensive and his voice was raised slightly, his eyes on me.

  Again, I was thrown by his answer, unsure of how to react to it. This should elate me. This should make me feel vindicated and ecstatic and justified. Quite honestly, the only emotion I was feeling was frustration. That, and exhaustion. I almost didn’t care anymore because it was too much work to do so.

  “We’ve been broken up for two years now,” I pointed out. “You were the one who called everything off.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he resumed his pacing, his shoulders hunched over, his eyes on the floor. “I’m a fucking coward, Mika. The way I felt about you, the way I still feel about you, scares the shit out of me. So I ran. I ran away from you. I ran away from the best thing that had ever happened in my life. And now, because of my fear, my life is imploding in front of me.” He stopped once again, his eyes burning into mine. “Please, Mika. Even if I go to prison, even if I lose my job and I can never play hockey again. I know I could survive all that. But I couldn’t survive if you honestly think I’m capable of such a violent act.”

  My heart broke. I had to look away, out the only window I had in my office. Sunshine poured through, promising another glorious Southern California day. My heart squeezed so hard, it was difficult to breathe, like I was wearing some kind of corset.

  “Please don’t give up on me,” Eric said, his voice cracking. Tears accumulated in my eyes but I still refused to look at him. “Please don’t run away from me the way I ran from you. I don’t deserve it, but I won’t be able to get through this without you. I need you, Mika.”

  I clenched my teeth together. I gripped the arm of my chair. One fat tear rolled down my cheek, betraying my feelings.

  “I need time,” I told him, making sure my voice didn’t quiver. “And I need you to leave.”

  I finally looked at him so he could see I wasn’t playing any games. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t. My shoulders nearly sagged in relief.

/>   Instead, he nodded a couple of times and left me alone to my solitude. I wanted to break down and cry, but I refused to allow myself to even do that. I still had a job to do. I could cry after I discovered the truth.

  Chapter 15

  I still didn’t know if Eric was telling me the truth. It was rather convenient to forget he slept with someone. Even now, he wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty was something Ryan King would jump on in the court room. I had to figure out if sex occurred between them over the summer at all. I had no idea how I was going to figure this out and I had no idea if it would have any relevance to the case. Granted, if I could prove Ashley was lying about when the rape occurred, maybe that would put doubts about her as a credible witness in everyone’s mind.

  I made a left on Newport Boulevard. My first stop was at Luxe. I wanted to see if they had any surveillance tapes of the night in question. Ashley said it was during their year end party, after the Buccaneers got knocked out of the playoffs. Why the players wanted to celebrate losing, I couldn’t say. When my father found out about it, he practically broke them in practice. I wish I had been there. I probably would have laughed.

  Here was what I didn’t understand. The date of the rape kit was September nineteenth which coincided with the date of the last game the Bucc’s played last season. Eric seemed to think they had had sex early September. Ashley hadn’t made any sort of statement until now, the end of September, after going to Eric and demanding a buyout.

  Obviously, the fact that she went and tried to blackmail Eric into giving her money made her story suspicious, but it didn’t disprove a rape.

  However, the fact that she waited gave me reason enough to pause. If she had a rape kit done, if she had evidence against Eric in the first place, why wait?

  Unless, of course, she didn’t know the content of the rape kit. I racked my brain, trying to remember if victims got a copy of the report or if the report was turned over to the police. Weren’t the police supposed to be called no matter what? Maybe they were. But what if she left? What if she checked herself out or left in the middle of the exam? That would prevent the case from moving forward, wouldn’t it? Or maybe she stayed and told the officer she didn’t want to press charges?

  But why?

  And why change her mind now?

  I pulled into a parking spot on the second floor of a narrow parking structure. I was glad it was a weekday and the place was practically empty. I hated how small the parking stalls were.

  I walked through the structure and up a ramp, past a service elevator, before stepping outside. I hung a left, passing what used to be a Stagecoach Restaurant on my right. I hoped they’d be opened at this time. When I called, no one answered, and doors wouldn’t open until ten that night. But maybe someone was counting inventory or accepting deliveries? Maybe someone who could help me with what I was looking for.

  I walked up to the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. I pushed it open and looked around. The room was dark, the only lights coming from dim ones hanging on the wall.

  “What are you doing here?” I turned to the bar where an annoyed bartender was washing a dish. “We don’t open until –“

  “Ten, I know.” I pulled my badge from my jacket pocket. “I’m a private investigator, working independently on the Foresburg rape case. I was hoping I could talk to your manager or whoever would be in charge of looking into surveillance video the night of September nineteenth.”

  “I’m not sure if we keep video for that long,” the bartender muttered before shaking his head. “Even if we did, there’s no way we could release it to a private citizen. No offense.”

  “No offense taken.” I expected as much but I figured I could at least ask. “Okay, we maybe you can’t get me footage, but could I see what happened that night?”

  The bartender looked around. I hadn’t realized just how small the dancefloor of the club was until I saw it completely empty. In fact, the club itself was relatively small. I didn’t have anything to compare it to, only because I wasn’t the sort of girl that went to clubs. Even when Eric and I were together, I only went out at night with him and only to show my support. If it was up to me, I definitely would not have wasted my time.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Are you a Bucc’s fan?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.

  The bartender shrugged. “I mean, I’m not a hockey fan really.” He grabbed another glass and started cleaning it. “But the Bucc’s are really good tippers. And they’re nice. Like, just cool guys anyone could have a beer with.”

  “So you’ve met Foresburg,” I said.

  “A couple of times.” Another shrug. “Look, if you’re trying to get me to tell you whether I think Eric Foresburg raped that girl, I couldn’t tell you. From my very brief interactions with him, I can tell you I never would have pegged him as being a rapist. He’s always been one of the cool players. Even with our girls, the ones who work here, he’s never harassed them or made them feel uncomfortable – at least from what they’ve told me.”

  “So what you want to ask yourself is whether or not you want to help him,” I said slowly. I didn’t want to attack him with my words, but I wanted to persuade him to bend the rules for Eric. For this investigation. “Because he needs it. That much I can tell you.”

  “He did rape her?” The bartender’s brow disappeared behind his disheveled brow hair.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” I glanced around the small room, looking for any door, somewhere there might be an office that handled admin tasks. “Is there a place where we can go to check out the footage?”

  “I don’t know.” The bartender set aside the glass and put his hands on the surface of the bar so his shoulders reached his ears. “I’m not supposed to. I could get into a lot of trouble, even just showing you.”

  “Look.” I wasn’t trying to push him, but I didn’t have time to linger. If anyone else came in, it might push him to deny me access to what I came for. I needed him to agree, to show me everything, and then to regret it afterwards. “There’s a chance that he’s not even on the video. He might be on the video with or without the alleged victim. They may or may not be interacting. There is a lot that has to happen before the footage even becomes necessary, and if it does, the police will go through the proper channels to acquire it legally. We can always pretend I saw nothing afterwards no matter what it shows.” He chewed his bottom lip and I masked a sigh. “It would be really helpful. Please?”

  I hated myself in that moment. I wasn’t particularly fond of saying please even when I should. To use it on this poor bartender was manipulation, something I wasn’t exactly comfortable with.

  “Fine, but if there’s nothing on the tapes, we forget everything,” he said, quickly walking around the bar.

  I practically skipped as he led me across the dance floor and up the black stairs to the second story of the building. So, this was the elusive VIP lounge, with leather booths, fancy alcohol, and the prettiest waitresses. VIPs had a nice view of the dance floor below. I wondered if Eric had gotten a VIP table or if he chose to remain anonymous and idle downstairs.

  If the former, Ashley might not have been able to access him – unless he went downstairs to dance or someone in his party brought her upstairs.

  The bartender led me into an office he had to open with a set of keys. I realized he must have opened alone to have access to every part of the club, including what looked like a manager’s office. He went over to a storage cabinet and opened the top drawer, again with the ring of keys. I heard him flip through whatever was in there and looked around. I saw a variety of celebrity guests, signed pictures in frames, all with personalized messages to the manager as well as a couple of newspaper clippings regarding the club.

  I heard the vroom of a computer starting up and I turned away from the decorated walls and stepped towards the desk. The bartender was in the seat, fingers typing furiously across the keyboard. It was another minute or two before he b
rought up the appropriate software after loading the video footage into the hard drive.

  “Date?” he asked.

  “September ninteenth, probably midnight, give or take an hour.”

  The bartender types in the data. There were a couple of different angles.

  “I’m assuming you want to go through all of the results?” he asked, tilting his head up to look at me.

  I nodded my head. “If you don’t mind,” I said with a smile.

  He sighed. “I still have a lot to do,” he said. “You can’t record or copy the footage. But you can go through it. Can I trust you by yourself? I don’t have time to stick around and babysit you.”

  “Absolutely,” I promised, sliding into the chair he just vacated. “I’ll be gone way before you guys open.”

  “You better be,” he said as he moved to the door. “If my boss knew you were here, he’d fire me on the spot.”

  Before I could say anything more, he left, slamming the door shut. There didn’t seem to be any audio, which sucked because there might be a clue if the cameras happened to pick up conversation. Then, I realized I was looking at footage from a nightclub and even if there had been audio, I was certain it’d be crappy techno music blaring from the speakers, drowning out the low murmur of conversation.

  I clicked on the first video and began to watch.

  The task was incredibly tedious. Everything was in black and white, so I had to get used to the grainy figures. There were three different camera angles spread across a three hour time slot. I let it play. I wasn’t looking for Ashley or anyone on the team. The only person I was concerned with was Eric. If Eric didn’t show up on the footage, that didn’t mean they hadn’t met at the club or had sex. It just meant Eric’s story would be more difficult to prove because it reverted the case back to he-said, she-said. The pubic hair proved sex occurred, not rape.

  I almost gave up.

  Almost.

  My eyes were drooping, my stomach was rumbling, and my muscles were getting tight. I wanted to stretch.