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Viv walked into the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed behind her. “I’m Detective DeCarlo. Dr. Edwards tells me you’ve been hurt.”
Carson put her head back onto the table. “I’m not hurt, just raped, that’s all.”
Viv pulled up a chair, sat down, and got out her notebook. “Tell me what happened.”
“I went over to this guy’s apartment for a drink and had a martini. He was doing coke and drinking brandy. He made a move, but I wasn’t into it and I told him so. He slapped me across the mouth, pulled up my dress, and ripped off my panties, and he raped me.”
Viv looked at the woman’s mouth-no sign of swelling. “What’s the man’s name?”
“Herbert Fisher. He’s a lawyer at some big-time firm.”
“Address?”
She rattled off the address. “The penthouse.”
“Did anyone see you go to his apartment?”
“Just the doorman.”
“What’s your last name and your address and phone number?” She jotted down the information. “Do you want to make a formal complaint?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just go to the newspapers and TV. If I sign a complaint, what are the chances of anything being done about it?”
“Frankly, based on what you’ve told me, not very good. It’s a he-said-she-said situation. He’ll likely maintain that the sex was consensual, and since you have no injuries, the DA would probably not go forward with the case.”
“Let me think about it,” Carson said.
Viv gave her a business card. “You can reach me at both of those numbers.”
Carson suddenly sat up and hopped off the table. She was at least four inches taller than Viv. “I’m going home,” she said.
“You should speak to the doctor first.”
The curtain was pulled back and Dr. Edwards entered and handed Viv a paper bag. “Here’s the kit. Where are you going, sweetheart?” she asked Carson.
“Home.”
“You’re sure you’re okay to travel?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Edwards took a form from her clipboard and handed it to Carson. “Give this to the cashier on your way out. She takes credit cards.”
“Okay, thanks.” And she was gone.
“That was not like any rape victim I’ve ever seen,” Edwards said.
Viv found her partner in the waiting room. “Sorry, I was interviewing a rape victim.”
“I spoke to the hit-and-run victim. She had nothing useful. Didn’t see a thing, didn’t remember anything.”
“Let’s go talk to the alleged rapist,” Viv said. “He lives near here.”
They got into their unmarked car and drove to the building. The doorman buzzed the penthouse repeatedly. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Mr. Fisher always answers immediately.”
“You think he could be ill or hurt?” Viv asked.
“I don’t know-there was nobody up there but a woman, and she left in a hurry.”
