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Near campus.”
    “Is this a place you frequented?” Cavanaugh asked.
    “I’d never been there before in my life.”
    “Why were you there that evening?”
    “I was looking for Dierdre, my roommate. A sorority sister told me she might be there. She was supposed to loan me her psych notes so I could study for an exam we had the next day.”
    “Did you find Dierdre?”
    “No.”
    “What happened?”
    “I searched all through the bar. She wasn’t there, so I left. As I crossed the parking lot these men jumped out of nowhere and grabbed me.”
    “How many were there?”
    “Six. Three black men, three white. I think. Everything happened so quickly.”
    Cavanaugh advanced toward the witness stand. “Can you tell us what happened next?”
    “They threw me down on the asphalt and … hit me. In the face. Several times.” She pointed to a still-vivid abrasion just beneath her left eye. “That’s when I got this. They hit me so hard—I was afraid I’d lose my eye. Then they took my keys out of my purse, threw me in the trunk of my car, and closed the lid.” She turned toward the jury, eyes wide. “It was so … terrifying. I was trapped in the trunk—I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. I didn’t know what they were going to do to me. I was so scared.”
    Cavanaugh stood beside Mary Ann, careful not to block the jurors’ view, and addressed her in a quiet voice. “When did you see them next?”
    “After they stopped the car. They opened the trunk and pulled me out by my hair. We were somewhere near White Rock Lake—I’m not sure exactly where.” Her hands began to tremble. “Two of them pinned me down to the ground. It was wet and muddy. I tried to get away, but there were so many of them—and they held me so tight. I was helpless.”
    “What happened next?”
    Mary Ann looked down at her lap. “One of them ripped off my slacks and … and—” She turned away and covered her face with her hands.
    “Did he rape you?” Cavanaugh asked.
    Technically, Travis knew Cavanaugh was leading the witness. He also knew that if he objected, the jury would crucify him.
    Mary Ann nodded her head. Tears began to appear in the corners of her eyes.
    “I’m sorry,” Cavanaugh said. “You have to answer verbally for the benefit of the court reporter.”
    After several false starts, Mary Ann managed to say, “Y-Yes. Yes. They all did.”
    “How many of them?”
    She shook her head. Tears were streaming down her face. “All six of them. Some of them more than once. The third one”—she clenched her eyes shut—“he peed on me.”
    “The man urinated on your body?”
    She nodded. “In my mouth. On my breasts. All over me. Then he flipped me over on my stomach, pressed my face into the mud, and said—that thing.”
    “I’m sorry, Mary Ann, but you need to tell the jury what he said.”
    Mary Ann looked as if she would rather die, but she eventually answered the question. “He said, ‘I bet she likes it doggie-style, stupid cunt.’ And then he—he—oh God !” Her voice dissolved into uncontrolled sobbing. “I begged them to stop! It hurt so much! I begged them! But they just kept on and on. I was crying, pleading. And they laughed at me!”
    Travis checked the jury. Her outburst had electrified them. If they had any questions about her veracity before—which Travis seriously doubted—the questions had evaporated.
    Cavanaugh paused to allow Mary Ann to collect herself. “Did you recognize any of the men?”
    Mary Ann raised a trembling hand and pointed at Moroconi. “He was there.”
    “Was he the one who urinated on you?”
    “No. He came after that. Fourth.” Her eyes seemed to be turning inward, as if she were experiencing the whole nightmare over again. “He was so mean. He hurt me. On purpose. He pounded on my breasts. He tore me. Inside. I was bleeding and crying, and he didn’t care. The doctors say I’ll never be able to—to—” Again her words were drowned in tears.
    “Have