“If we should need to contact you, is it all right to call you at home?”
“I suppose.”
She pulled a different form from a pile in front of her and handed it to Sarchi. “This is a consent for the examination. Take as long as you need to read it.”
The form contained a long list of things they wanted to do to her, most so obnoxious she considered leaving. But her need to know what had happened persuaded her to stay. She signed the form and handed it back.
The nurse then asked her a series of brutally personal questions about her usual sexual practices, asking her how long it had been since she’d voluntarily done things she’d never done. From the answers she gave, the nurse decided that no pregnancy prevention medication was required. But there was even a form to sign for not being treated. Then the nurse handed her a paper gown and a large manila envelope. “Go into the bathroom and slip this on. And put your panties in the envelope.”
And now, they were taking her underwear. For the first time since waking in the park, she felt the stirrings of anger. She thought of asking why they didn’t just hang her panties from one of the Christmas decoration brackets on Union Avenue. Instead, she did what she was told. The gown was typical hospital issue, open at the rear. When she came out of the bathroom she was instructed to sit on the examining table, which was covered with a strip of disposable white paper that crinkled when she touched it. The nurse then drew some blood. The next few minutes on the table were humiliating. With her heels in obstetric stirrups she was videotaped, swabbed inside and out, combed, patted down with an adhesive tape “lifter,” and studied with a hand-held light.
Finally, after spending a few minutes at a microscope, examining the slides she’d made from some of the swab samples, the nurse came back to the table ready to talk. “I’ve found no physical evidence to suggest that you were assaulted.”
With her life in free fall, this gave Sarchi something to reach for. “How sure can you be?”
“There are some lab tests yet to be done . . . for seminal products, but I’d be surprised if they show anything.”
“How long before you’ll have the results?”
“About a week.”
“So you’re very confident nothing happened.”
“When we find certain types of evidence, it’s possible to be a hundred-percent sure an assault took place. But that degree of certainty is never possible when a conclusion is based on a lack of evidence.”
“I need a figure from you. Would you say you’re ninety-nine percent sure?”
“It’s hard to reduce something like this to a number.”
“Try.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to.”
Seeing how much this meant to Sarchi, the nurse gave in. “All right. I’m ninety-five percent sure nothing happened.”
Not good enough . . . not nearly good enough. Sarchi slumped in her chair.
“Since I can’t be completely confident that I’m right, we need to discuss some health issues. You’re a doctor, so what I’m about to say is probably familiar to you already. But just to be sure, I’m going to be as detailed with you as I would with anyone else.”
She explained the various STDs Sarchi needed to be protected against, then gave her some pills to take home, and four of a different sort to swallow right then, followed by an injection.
“Some of the blood I took from you will be sent for HIV testing. That won’t reveal if you were infected with HIV tonight. It will only tell your HIV status before this happened. Assuming you were negative, it will take at least six weeks for any transmitted virus to make you HIV positive. So you’ll need to be tested again later, even though it’s probably going to show nothing.”
Finally, except for her panties, which the nurse kept, Sarchi was allowed to get dressed. Before releasing her, the nurse showed Sarchi a printed card with a handwritten name in a blank at the top. “This is the name of the counselor assigned to you. The card will explain her role.” She gave Sarchi the card. “And with that, we’re done. Now, I believe there’s a detective outside who’d like to speak with you while I finish up in here.”
In the hall, Sarchi found Officer Varela gone. In his place was a man in a dark suit.
“Doctor Seminoux, I’m Sergeant Redmond. I’d like for you to tell me what happened tonight.”
Redmond had sandy hair and a blond mustache. His heavy neck spilled over the collar of his shirt. There was no question that Sarchi wanted the guy who had abducted her caught, but she was also tired of being prodded. “Couldn’t we do it some other time? I want to go home.”
“Actually, we couldn’t.”
Too tired to resist, Sarchi dropped into a chair. “Let’s get it over with.”
“We’ll be more comfortable down here.” He looked at the nurse for corroboration, and she nodded. Sarchi followed him to a small room with a black metal desk and four more plastic chairs. Redmond sat behind the desk and Sarchi in front. He produced a tape recorder from his pocket.
“You don’t mind if I tape this, do you?” Once he had her permission he started the tape and put the recorder on the desk. He backed up the tape with a little police notebook. “Now, Doctor Seminoux, how’d you get in the park?”
Sarchi told her story again.
Then, from a pocket in his jacket, Redmond produced a pair of rubber gloves and put them on. Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out a plastic bag full of white pills. “Do you recognize this?”
“No.”
“It was found on the front seat of your car.”
“I’ve never seen it before.”
“So you don’t know what they are.”
“White pills.”
He put the bag on her side of the desk and shook it so a couple of pills separated from the rest. “They have a distinctive shape, flat at one end, sharp on the other.”
“I see that.”
“I stopped at an all-night drugstore and showed them to the pharmacist. He said they’re a drug called Ativan. It’s a tranquilizer.”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“They’re two-milligram tablets. According to the pharmacist, that’s a high dose.”
“I’m not up on that. What’s the point of this?”
“A person who would take that much has probably been on it for a long time or is using it to come off a high produced by, say, amphetamines. Do you use amphetamines?”
“No. I told you they’re not mine. They must belong to whoever took me to the park. My car . . . is it still there?”
“We haven’t been able to find the keys. Do you have them? In your coat perhaps?”
“I wouldn’t think so.”
“May I look?”
“Go ahead.”
He went into the hall and came back with her coat. He found the keys in the first pocket he checked.
“Not only do I not know how they got there, I don’t even know how I came to be wearing the coat when they found me.”
“We’re going to have to process your car,” he said, draping her coat over a chair.
“Process?”
“Search it for evidence.”
“How long will that take?”
“A few days.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Haven’t I gone through enough?”
“It’s procedure, Doctor. I have to do it.”
“So you’ll want my car keys.”
“All your keys.”
Already seething at the loss of her car and the accusatory nature of his questions about the pills, this pushed her to the brink of open rebellion. “I don’t have a spare house key,” she said, glaring at him.
“I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t exactly a promise, but it inched her back from the precipice. “
We also found your handbag in the car. I’ll get it.” He went back into the hall and returned with her canvas bag, which he opened and held in front of her. “Is that the way you left it?”
“I don’t know. Everything’s always a jumble in there.”
He emptied the contents onto the desk. “Is anything missing?”
She reached for her wallet.
“I’ll get that,” he said, picking it up. He took out the contents a compartment at a time and spread them on the desk.
“Everything’s there,” she said when they’d been through all of it. “You’re not keeping that, too, are you?”
“Just for a few days.”
The precipice beckoned. “I can’t be left without my driver’s license and my credit card.”
“We’ll also see about that.”
The nurse leaned into the room. “I’m ready to leave.”
“So are we,” Redmond said. He put everything back in Sarchi’s bag, and they were soon all going down to the garage. Before separating, the nurse touched Sarchi lightly on the arm. “Doctor, you take care of yourself.”
Redmond put Sarchi in the backseat of an unmarked car, and they followed the nurse out of the garage.
“Now can I go home?” Sarchi asked.
“Exactly our destination.”
When they got there, Redmond walked her to the door, where he gave her back her driver’s license, her credit card, and all her keys but the one for her car. Eagerly, she opened the door, anticipating the moment when she could shut it in Redmond’s face.
“Doctor, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m gonna need to come in and take a look around.”
As much as she wanted to be rid of him, Sarchi saw that he was right. This had all started here. Who knew what might be inside? But this reminder that her home was no refuge from danger made her feel as though she was standing naked on a vast tundra.
When they were both in the living room, Redmond said, “Should anyone else be here?”
“I have a housemate, but she’s working tonight. So, no, the place should be empty.”
“Why don’t you wait here while I check.”
He wasn’t gone long. “We’re alone.”
Sarchi got off the sofa to see him to the door, but he stopped in the middle of the room. “You know, I don’t think anyone coming from LG&W to check for a gas leak would drive a car. They’d use a truck with one of those built-in toolboxes in the back.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell the guy who drugged me.”
“Did he touch anything, like the door when he came in?”
“He was wearing work gloves.”
“You said that earlier, didn’t you?”
“I’m sure I did.”
He took a card from his jacket pocket and gave it to her. “If you’ll call that number in the morning, they’ll give you the name of the detective who’ll be handling your case from now on. He’ll answer all your questions.”
He thought a moment, and Sarchi prayed nothing more would occur to him.
“I guess that’s all then. When you feel up to it, you should check your belongings and see if anything’s missing. If there is, mention it to your case officer.”
After practically pushing Redmond out of the house, she shut the door and locked it. She then ran to the back door and made sure it was locked as well. Unwilling to take Redmond’s word that the house was empty, she got the biggest knife she could find from a kitchen drawer and went through it all again, searching the closets, looking under the two beds, and making sure every window latch was secured. She then took the knife back into her bedroom, which no longer felt snug and safe.
After checking again for anyone lurking under the bed or in the closet, she switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the overhead light, focusing her surroundings so that the room would seem like a cave known only to her. She climbed into bed and with the knife beside her sat with her back against the headboard, knees drawn up, hugging her pillow.
From the times she’d left the main party on caving expeditions to explore a lead on her own, she’d believed she knew what it meant to be alone. But she’d had no idea. There had always been someone nearby, out of sight and too far off to be heard, but certain to miss her and provide assistance if needed. Now, having seen how easily someone could get to her, she felt utterly alone and completely defenseless.
Though the room was warm, she began to shiver. She wanted it to stop, but like the abduction, her wishes were ignored, and the shaking continued, growing until she was rattling the bed. Determined to at least impose her will on her own body, she grabbed her legs through the pillow and squeezed. But this dampened the shaking only slightly.
She wanted to cry but couldn’t even do that. So she sat there, victimized again.
Finally, the tremors ran their course, and her body lapsed into a leaden state from which she somehow managed to fall asleep.
23
SARCHI’S ABDUCTION TOOK place on a Saturday. The next morning, having forgotten to set the alarm and with no work crew to wake her, she slept until she heard the sound of the doorbell.
She was still sitting with her knees drawn up, her back against the headboard of her bed. She tried to move, but her muscles were frozen in place. The doorbell rang again. She glanced at the clock on the nightstand: nine thirty. Lord, she was late for work.
Then, reality came flooding back . . . the park . . . sprawled on her back, her feet in obstetric stirrups . . . the swabs . . . her mouth burning . . . three hours of her life missing . . .
Jesus, she was still wearing the same clothes, except of course for her panties, which were in a manila envelope somewhere.
Whoever was at the door rang again.
She threw the pillow from her lap and forced her legs over the side of the bed, realizing that her clothes were soaked from a night sweat that must have gone on for hours. Every muscle in her body seemed unhappy with her decision to stand, and a lightning bolt practically split her skull, so she wasn’t sure she could make it to the front door.
But after a few steps, the clamor from her muscles subsided by half and her headache, though still one of the worst she’d ever had, no longer threatened her life. Hating the way her clammy clothing felt against her skin, she hobbled to the front room.
When she looked out the sidelight of the front door, she saw a fat man in a brown suit and a uniformed policeman on the porch. There was an unmarked car and a patrol car in her driveway. Seeing her, the fat man held up a shield.
“Detective Treadwell, Doctor. I’d like to talk to you about your trouble in the park.”
Suspicious now about anyone coming to the door, she said, “Who was the detective who talked to me last night?”
“That’d be Sergeant Redmond.”
Convinced he was the real thing, she opened the door.
He dismissed the cop with him and came inside.
“Sorry to bother you so early, but I was in the neighborhood and wanted to introduce myself. I’ll be handling your case from now on.”
His skin was the color and texture of liverwurst, and he had thin eyebrows that looked like they belonged on a woman. “Have you made any progress?” she asked.
“I just spoke with some of your neighbors, and no one remembers seeing any unusual activity around your house last night.”
“Did any of them see the LG&W car?”
“No. About that car—you make a call to LG&W. They don’t send anybody, but this guy you’ve told us about shows up instead. How do you suppose he managed that?”
Angered at the tone of his question, she said, “You’re the detective.”
“Redmond talked to the utility company last night, and they don’t have any record of you reporting a gas leak.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t. Just thought I’d pass that along. We’ll keep working on it.” He gave her his card. “If you have any questions or need to contact me for any reason, don’t hesitate.”
“When can I have my car and handbag back?”
“Call me late tomorrow. I should have an answer for you then.”
As she shut the door behind him, Sarchi was convinced that neither of the detectives she’d spoken with believed her story. She nearly called Treadwell back to tell him who was behind the kidnapping, but quickly saw the spot she was in. The entire charade had obviously been set up to further the fiction that she was a drug abuser. And the detectives had apparently bought it. With no proof that Latham was involved or even that the kidnapper really existed, Treadwell would listen to her with apparent sincerity, then probably do nothing. She also saw that even a half-hearted attempt to follow up on what she’d say would lead Treadwell to Pierce for corroboration and maybe to Kate, thereby spreading the story of her apparent drug overdose to the hospital.
Thinking about all this was making her headache worse. And she was so late for work.
Fortified with a couple of aspirins, she headed for the bathroom, where, still feeling unsafe in her own home, she showered without drawing the curtain and kept both eyes open. She then threw on some fresh clothes and called a cab to take her to the hospital.
Later, when Kate asked why she’d arrived so late, Sarchi mumbled something about car trouble, which, in a way, was true. For the rest of the day, between patients, she thought about the chances that she’d been sexually assaulted.
Ninety-five percent sure nothing happened—almost complete assurance. Even scientists accept such a high percentage as proof. A comfortable number. Nothing to worry about. She’d used it herself to calm worried parents.
But this was different. This involved her life. And she now discovered that when it was personal, five percent could fill your head.
What had he done to her? Before this, she wouldn’t have believed the loss of a mere three hours could prey upon a person’s mind like this, fragmenting it so she could barely function. The thought that at any moment someone might mention the park was a further distraction.
The Killing Harvest Page 19
