Force of Habit: A Falcone & Driscoll Investigation

by Alice Loweecey

  “Giulia.”

  Say something. Make a joke about defending yourself with your flute case. Turn this door handle and get out. Mary, Mother of Mercy, protect me.

  “Giulia, what’s the matter?”

  Frank’s hand came down hard on her shoulder, and she gasped and shied against the door.

  “That’s it.” He shut off the car and pocketed the keys. Before Giulia could protest, he came around and yanked open the passenger door. “Out. Your chivalrous employer is seeing you to your abode.”

  She ghosted a smile up at him and put one foot on the curb. Hooray, her legs didn’t give out. Frank stuck to her back as she opened her own door, but walked through each room while she locked them in.

  His “Me Tarzan” act was funny and comforting in its way. But he should go home, now that she was safe inside.

  Liar. Face it: what she really wanted to do was hide under the covers and not come out till Monday morning. She had to beat that fear into submission.

  Frank settled into the corner of the couch near the window. “Nice couch. Come join me on it.”

  She squeezed into the opposite corner. If she thought of it like one of the girlfriend interviews, she could detach herself.

  Frank leaned away, legs crossed, one arm across the back of the couch. “First let me tell you that I had another reason for taking you out to dinner and getting you to let me in here.”

  Her heart stuttered. Frank was the soul of decency. She thought. What if he really wanted—

  “We need to talk about Pamela.”

  She nearly laughed. Work? That was his ulterior motive? Her legs unfolded, and she took a full breath. “You’re reprehensible. I don’t even get overtime pay.”

  “You got pizza. You said it was good pizza.”

  “You don’t need to look so charming, Frank. What do we need to work on?” Piece of cake. She needn’t have worried.

  “Someone tried to rape Pamela last night.”

  Her heart stopped this time. It must have, because when it beat again a second later, a jolt of pain zapped her chest.

  “At—at her house? Near the camera?”

  “No such luck, if I can put it that way. She’s running the Children with Cancer auction this year. First organizational meeting was last night at that French restaurant downtown. The one where you have to speak French or you could end up ordering steamed DVDs.” He grimaced. “Bad joke.”

  “Yeah.” She could relax. It wasn’t related to last night in the park. It was just a weird coincidence.

  “The women got gabbing and stayed late. Pamela’s friends went to the parking garage, and Pamela realized she left her cell phone on the table. Then she got stupid and decided to take the garage stairs rather than the elevator.”

  “Is she all right?” Please. Please.

  “Fortunately, yes. The guy grabbed her at the landing and ripped off her shirt, but her friends were still on that floor. She screamed and they came running and he took off.”

  “Thank God.”

  He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Blake called me at 6 a.m. I’m whipped. He thinks it’s connected. I don’t.”

  Good. Then neither was hers. “Why?”

  “Too typical. Pretty girl alone in an empty downtown stairwell after dark? She might as well have had a target painted on her back.”

  Say something else. Act normal. “Did she see his face?”

  “No. Too dark on the landing, she said. Blake gave me a summary of what she told the police. He was taller than her, and she’s something like five-eight or -nine. All she remembered clearly was his breath. Like he’d eaten a garlic pizza and smoked a joint after.”

  The couch lurched. Frank receded like a movie special effect. His voice wobbled through the buzzing in her ears.

  “Giulia? What’s wrong?” His hand patted her cheeks. “It’s okay, Giulia. She’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Blake and her family will keep her under lock and key now.”

  The room came back into focus. “That’s not—” She cleared her throat. “That’s not it.”

  His eyebrows scrunched together. “Tell me why you freaked out in the car.”

  “Last night.” How to say it? “I was walking in the park last night.”

  “At night? Here?” His voice ratcheted up several notches. “Alone? Are you nuts? Do you have a target painted on you, too?”

  “Stop, Frank.” She heard the tremble. Freaked out didn’t begin to cover her mental state. “I needed air.”

  “Giulia, you don’t go out in this neighborhood alone at night. You—”

  “Shut up, Frank. Just shut up. I know it was stupid.” She couldn’t tell him why she needed air. One hundred percent guaranteed he’d never understand. “I wasn’t going to tell you—keep personal and business separate, you know. But we can’t be sure anymore that the stalker is one of the exes.”

  “Since when? Where’d you get this idea? And what does this have to do with the punk on the corner?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then what do you mean about not one of the exes?”

  “Because—” The words wedged in her throat.

  He paced the length of the coffee table and back. “Giulia, it’s after midnight, I had Blake screaming in my ear at 6 a.m., and I’m the walking dead. Do you have anything useful to say?”

  A flicker of anger, enough to open her mouth. “I must apologize. I wasn’t able to take notes last night. Next time I’ll be sure to bring the Day-Timer. Listen: Pamela’s attacker had a busy night. Straight from the garage downtown to the park on the corner here.”

  Frank stopped in front of the tomato plant. “What?” Sharp, not critical.

  “Let me finish my report, Mr. Driscoll. I have a head for detail, remember? He dragged me in the bushes and called me a slut—you’ll have to check to see if he used the same insult on Pamela. His breath smelled like pot and garlic. Now do you see? He kicked me and ripped off my shirt and grabbed my—” She dug her fingernails into her palms and barreled on before he could interrupt.

  “I tried to get him off me but he straddled me and—” The rush of words choked her for a moment. “I bit—him. He rolled off and I got my clothes and ran back here and locked the door and that’s what’s been bothering me all night, okay? He stank like pot and garlic and he tried to rape Pamela and he tried to rape me.” Her voice cracked and she hid her face against her knees, rocking and sobbing.

  Frank’s hands touched her shoulders and she jerked her body away, but there was no place to go.

  “Giulia, I’m sorry. It’ll be all right, I promise. If you’re uncomfortable with just me here, I can call my mom. She’s a born comforter. She won’t mind if I wake her up—she loves to fuss over people.”

  She raised her head and actually laughed a small laugh. “Frank, I would never ask you to call your mother at this hour.”

  “Did he hurt you? Did the hospital take good care of you? Who’d they call from the station?”

  “I didn’t go anywhere till I had to go to tonight’s show.”

  He jumped up again. “What?”

  “I needed to get myself together.”

  “Have you been living in a cave?” He pulled her off the couch. “You should’ve gone straight to the ER. They need to get semen samples, look for hair, test you for STDs. Did you scratch him? They’ll swab under your fingernails for skin samples. DNA testing, Giulia. What the hell were you thinking?”

  She yanked her hands out of his. “Get out.”

  His face changed to a Greek tragedy mask: wide eyes, open mouth. Then: “What?”

  She stalked to the door and shot back the bolt. “Get out of my apartment, Frank. It’s after working hours. You can’t order me around.” Her hand shook when she popped the lock on the handle. “If you think you should be able to give orders day and night, you can have my two-week notice Monday morning.”

  What was she saying? She needed her job. She needed Frank. As someone to admire if nothing else. Say no,
Frank. Please say no. You’re a decent man and I’m falling for you—there, I admitted it—and I need decency right now.

  He scrambled to the door and stopped her hand before it turned the handle. “What are you talking about? This scum committed two crimes in one night. You have to report it. You have to get treatment. What if he got you pregnant?”

  The righteous anger vanished. “He didn’t, didn’t get that far.”

  “There was no penetration?”

  “He put it in my, in my mouth.” Her other hand clamped over her lips.

  “Oh, Giulia.” Frank pulled her into his chest and held her. “We have to get you looked at. Make sure you’ll be okay. Come on. You know you have to do this. Where’s the clothes you had on yesterday?”

  “In the bathroom trash.”

  “All right, I’m going to get them. You get your purse and I’ll drive you to the ER. I’ll call my ex-partner and he’ll meet us there. You’ll like him. I’ll stay right there with you, too.”

  She’d have to do this. It did make sense, really.

  She’d have to describe it all.

  And? She’d thought of nothing else for the past twenty-four hours.

  He doesn’t want you to quit. Focus on that. He was holding her. Just comfort, but strong and safe and oh God she wanted to kiss him, touch lips that weren’t foul and spewing hate.

  Frank spoke before she could raise her head and humiliate herself by acting on that thought.

  “Come on, a mhuirnín.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Come on. Let’s get this done.”

  Captain Hogarth was as sweet as Frank promised. Giulia sat on the cot in the treatment room, legs folded as close to her chest as possible, as he keyed in her answers to his questions. He was way too tall for that flimsy plastic chair. Frank leaned against the wall next to him. At any moment the nurse would return with the rape kit and tell Giulia to take off her clothes.

  She inhaled a lungful of sweetish hospital disinfectant. Gack.

  Hogarth unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and loosened his plain navy-blue tie. “Did you see his face at all, Ms. Falcone?”

  He had a good voice, too. A little gruff, but fuzzy. Like his pale brown beard.

  “No. The path lamps don’t give off much light, and he pulled me into the bushes. When he, when he stood over me, shadows from his hoodie pretty much covered his face.”

  “Tell me everything he said.”

  Detach yourself. Report it like those girlfriend interviews. “He called me a slut. He said, he asked me if I thought I was smart.”

  Frank stuck his head forward. “Why smart? What did he say next?”

  “I don’t know...”

  “Use that memory thingy you told me about. The one you used to remember the interviews. Come on, Giulia, you can do it.”

  She closed her eyes. “He said... Do I think I’m better than other women?” She opened her eyes before the sounds and odors from last night drowned her.

  Hogarth tapped into the laptop on the crowded table. “Anything else?”

  “He punched me in the head. It made my ears ring.”

  Frank muttered something she couldn’t understand. More Irish, she supposed.

  Giulia frowned. “I didn’t think about it at the time, but he did something really weird. When I was on the grass, he put one foot on my chest like... how do I describe it? Like a general in one of those old Roman Empire movies.” She chewed her bottom lip. “He said, ‘Warriors show no mercy.’ ”

  Frank stared at her, brows furrowed. “That was a weird thing to say. ‘Slut’ and all that—” he waved a hand—“typical rapist-speak. Why would he talk about you being smart? Why better?”

  “I told you. Because it’s connected to—”

  “Shush, Giulia.” Frank looked down at his former partner. “Confidentiality. You know.”

  “I knew it would come up. I’ll talk to you later about that.” Hogarth smiled at Giulia. “If only Frank had given us a chance to warn you what he’s really like, Ms. Falcone. Sure we can’t talk you into working for us? You’d be in much better company.”

  What a puppy dog. She couldn’t have hoped for a better interrogator.

  “I have a few more questions, Ms. Falcone. They’re a little awkward, so if you’d like Frank to leave, I can kick him into the waiting room.”

  Last chance... No. What would be the point? He’ll need to know the perp’s MO. She nearly smiled. Since when did she turn into a whiz at jargon?

  “That’s okay. He said he’d stay with me, so he might as well listen to the gory details.”

  Frank pushed away from the wall and sat on the bed next to her, but she moved away. “No, Frank. I need a lot of space for this.”

  He slid to the edge of the bed and hung his legs over the footboard.

  Hogarth tapped more keys, and another page filled the screen. “Ms. Falcone, was there penetration?”

  There. He said it. That hadn’t been so bad. “No.”

  “Was there exchange of body fluids?”

  Oh.

  “Ms. Falcone?”

  Still gentle. Giulia wondered if he talked to small children a lot. “He stuck his tongue in my mouth. The taste made me gag and he got mad. I spit in his face and he grabbed my hair and told me he was going to, going to hurt me.”

  “Ms. Falcone, could you speak up just a bit? I learned on a manual typewriter, and I always bang the keys.”

  Frank said, “You spit at him? Good for you.”

  “Frank, either shut up or get out.” Hogarth’s voice froze Frank in position. Then his next words returned to the soothing gravel. “What happened next?”

  “He punched me in the side of my head and stood on me. I got woozy for a second. The next thing I saw—”

  “A little louder, please.”

  She cleared her throat. “Then his knees straddled my chest and he... put his... penis... in my mouth.” All those years of teaching Sex Ed weren’t helping her with this at all.

  Frank remained motionless.

  Several keystrokes. “Did he ejaculate?”

  Almost done. “No. I bit him—it.”

  The keystrokes stopped, then restarted. “And then?”

  “He fell off me and I grabbed my clothes and ran home.”

  “Did he chase you?”

  “No. He yelled at me. It sounded like falsetto.”

  Frank burst into strangled laughter as the nurse opened the door.

  “The doctor is ready to examine you, miss. If these gentlemen would step into the hall?” Her Amazonian body filled the doorway. Hogarth hit two keys and closed the laptop. The nurse moved aside and Frank followed Hogarth through the door.

  The nurse waited in front of Giulia until she looked up at her. Her fuchsia lipstick and matching eyeshadow framed the kindest face Giulia had ever seen.

  “It’s okay, honey. We’ll be real gentle. Here.” She reached up and pulled the green curtain all the way around the bed. “Get undressed behind there and make sure the gown opens in the front.”

  Giulia managed to get the puke-green paper gown on without looking at her gouged breasts. On the other side of her cocoon she heard tiny clinks and rustles. The rape kit. She twitched back the curtain, the rings rattling. An array of swabs, slides, boxes, and plastic bags covered the movable bedside table.

  The doctor’s head only reached to the bottom filigree ball of the nurse’s dangling earrings. Giulia stared at his back as he opened his own laptop and set it where Hogarth’s had been. His short, sharp movements contrasted with the nurse’s gentle ones. If he thought no one could tell he used styling gel, she wasn’t about to disillusion him.

  “All right, Ms.—” The doctor glanced at the laptop. “Ms. Falcone. I understand you were attacked last night. It’s unfortunate you didn’t come right to us. We could have gathered more evidence.” He shone one of those little lights in her eyes and up her nose. His delicate hands matched his small body and meticulous black beard. �
�This injury is more than a day old.”

  Giulia had almost forgotten the karate chop. “I took a self-defense class the other day, and my partner didn’t stop his demonstration in time.”

  “Ah.” He touched the bridge of her nose and pressed her sinuses. “Does that hurt? No? The bruising should dissipate and the tissue return to normal in two days.” He typed for a moment. “Please recline on the bed. Nurse, position the lamp for a pelvic examination.”

  “No.” Giulia scooted against the head of the bed. “That isn’t necessary. He didn’t get that far.”

  “This will proceed more quickly if you follow standard procedure.”

  “I said no.”

  His precise voice acquired a clipped edge. “Then please sit on the edge of the bed and hold out your hands.”

  The nurse handed him a series of cotton swabs and opened several plastic bags. He swiped them beneath Giulia’s fingers and dropped them in the bags. The nurse labeled and closed them. When the doctor turned his back to them to type, she mouthed tight-ass at Giulia, and Giulia hid a smile.

  The doctor spoke over his shoulder. “Please recline on the bed.”

  Giulia looked at the nurse. She nodded.

  The doctor untied her gown’s thin plastic belt—did they make these things from recycled trash bags?—and opened her gown.

  “Oh, that pig did a number on you.” The nurse patted Giulia’s hand as the doctor pushed the scabbed crescents on her breasts. “Did you kick his sweetbreads before you got away?”

  Giulia kept her eyes on the nurse. Another minute of the doctor’s precise, cold hands on her, and she’d forget manners and slap him so he’d remember it.

  “He stuck his—penis—in my mouth. I bit it.”

  The nurse crowed. “You are my kind of woman!”

  The doctor frowned at the nurse. “I shall return in a moment.”

  When the door swung closed behind him, the nurse helped Giulia sit up and she closed the useless gown.

  “He’s a robot, but he knows his stuff. I try to team up with him when women come in here because we’re such opposites.”

  Giulia held both her hands. “It works. Thank you.” She glanced at the door. “Why did he leave?”

  “To tell your cop friends to call a police photographer.”