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The statute of limitations isn’t up. Once he’s found, if she still feels unable to press charges, that’s fine. I’d rather avoid putting her through a ruthless rape case, anyway. I know how traumatizing it can be for the victim. Hell, I’ve been the tormentor on the other side of the stand.
I don’t need the law to punish him. There are other, more rewarding ways to penalize a rapist.
She’s given me little information to go on in this endeavor, however. Trying to locate an anonymous man from three years ago who only gave a first name—most likely a fake—is like chasing a ghost.
I’ve battled cases like this before. I’ve won cases like this before. These evil shits prey on women at their most vulnerable, victimizing them further. I make a mental note to have Sol examine our past cases and highlight any that match a similar MO.
The loud knock drags my attention toward the door. “Mister Larkin, sir. I’m sorry, but Mister Gannet wouldn’t accept your request to be left alone.” Julia’s voice sounds harried over the intercom.
I hit the button. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” I march toward the door and unlock it.
Gannet opens it and steps inside before I can turn the knob. “You pulled the investigator off the Bates’ case?”
“Shut the door,” I say as I head toward my desk.
The slam of the door tenses my shoulders. I crick my neck.
“Why would you pull Sol off the case without consulting me first?” he asks. “Sol is our best investigator.”
“Exactly,” I say, sinking my hands into my pockets as I face him. “And I need his expertise on something else right now. I have a freelancer working the metadata angle. It’s covered.”
He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Something else? You mean something personal,” he says, then holds up his hand. “Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m not talking about the fucking metadata – I’m talking about the DNA discovery.”
“I thought you chalked that up to a rookie mistake?”
His narrowed gaze bores through me. “You mean you don’t know?”
A sharp stab to my gut—that’s what it feels like. “Know what?”
His dark eyes blaze. “The fucking DNA discovery, Larkin. The analysis the ACA sent over. The one that the warrant for Bates’ car produced which proves he had been with the victim.”
Hands balled into fists, I approach him slowly, cautiously. “When did the ACA send this?”
“About an hour ago. But, Chase—” he eyes me seriously now; all contempt drained from his tone “—we need Sol on this. This could be the nail in Bates’ coffin.”
I grip the back of my neck, my teeth clenched. “Specifically, what DNA do they have?”
“The sweep uncovered a smudge of blood—the victim’s blood—on the trunk handle.” He crosses his arms. “And you know what was in his trunk?”
“Medical supplies. He’s a fucking doctor.”
“Gloves,” he states, irritated.
I pace my office. “So we demand our own experts be allowed to examine the evidence, claim the blood was transferred there from the victim’s house or the lab.”
Gannet shakes his head. “That’s a huge reach,” he says. “I’m not saying we can’t stir up some doubt. Everyone knows those lab techs are morons. But if you want to go there, we need Sol to interview all the techs, paramedics, CSU… He’s the only one good enough to dig up any kind of mistake that we can use.”
He’s right. And yet, I’m torn. Pressure builds at my temples and I pace some more.
“Larkin.” Gannet’s solemn tone breaks through my thoughts, and I stop. “We’ve never discussed this before, not seriously—”
“And we’re not now,” I say.
“We have to.” He steps forward. “In all likelihood, Malcolm is guilty. We have to bring this to the attention of the other partners and vote on a course of action.”
I grit my teeth, the pressure pulsing in my ears. Ethically, I can’t demand we continue to represent Bates unless all the partners agree. “We’ll discuss it later this week. After I’ve read through the DNA report myself and decide if we have a case or not.”
“All right. Sounds good.” He turns to leave, but pauses. “You might want to read over the victim’s statement, too. To compare it before you decide.”
