about my rape.”
Allison was surprised by the bluntness. Jordan gaveher a challenging look as she sucked on the cigarette. She dropped the butt into a Coke can and blew out a stream of smoke.
“That’s what I’m supposed to call it, according to my shrink. No euphemisms, no avoidance.”
Mark eased forward in his chair. “You’re been seeing a counselor?”
“Twelve months now. Once a week, every week. Got the empty bank account to prove it.”
“Do you find it helpful?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. If it’s supposed to make me forget about it, then I’d say no, it’s not too helpful. Haven’t swallowed a bottle of Ambien, though, so she must be doing something right.”
Allison cleared her throat. “They never made an arrest in your case, is that correct?”
“You tell me. You’re the investigators.”
Okay, clumsy opening.
“According to Deputy Sheriff Brooks,” she tried again, “the suspect sketch and the vehicle description you provided haven’t yielded any leads.”
“Don’t forget the rape kit. I provided that, too, for all the good it did.”
Allison shifted in her seat. This woman radiated hostility, and she wasn’t sure quite how to handle her. She glanced at Mark for help, but he was focused on Jordan.
“You’re angry with the local investigators,” he stated.
“Wouldn’t you be? I had a goddamn pelvic exam right after getting my neck sewn up. I sat with a police artist for two hours the very next day. I talked to detectives, even though my throat felt like it was on fire the whole time. I told them about his car, his clothes, everything.And have they arrested anybody? No. My case has been dead for months. How would you feel?”
“I’d be furious,” Mark said.
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She reached down to pet her dog between the ears and seemed to be collecting herself.
“So, the FBI’s involved now. You think he’s done this somewhere else.” She said it as a statement, not a question, and her tone was somber.
“We believe that, yes.”
“And the other woman . . .” She looked from Mark to Allison. The cautious hope in her eyes made Allison’s chest squeeze.
“We know of six other women who suffered attacks similar to yours,” Mark said. “They didn’t survive.”
Jordan looked stricken. “Six?”
He nodded.
“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes.
Silence fell over them. No one moved. The distant chirp of the birds outside the windows sounded out of place, like giggling at a funeral.
Jordan shook her head. “I knew there were others. Somehow I knew that, but . . .” She stared at her lap. “Something about the way he did it, the way he talked to me. I knew he’d done it before. And he’s done it again, too, hasn’t he? That woman in San Marcos.” She glanced up, and Allison saw the fear in her expression. “Do you think he lives around here?”
“We’re working on a profile of him, to help investigators,” Mark said. “Part of that will be determining where he lives.”
“When they didn’t get anywhere with the sketch andthe vehicle, they told me he was probably a transient.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t know where he is, we only know where he’s been.” Mark paused. “Hopefully, you can help us get a more complete picture of him.”
She gazed down at her lap. For a while, she didn’t talk, and when she looked up again her eyes were moist but clear.
“You’re a profiler.”
“Some people call it that.”
“Then before I help anyone, I want something from you. ” Her voice was uneven. “I want to understand how he did this to me. I want to understand how it happened. I never thought I was a victim.”
“You’re a survivor,” Mark said. “Not a victim.”
“Then how did I get like this? Look at me!” She pounded a fist on her thigh. “I’ve gained thirty pounds. I’m scared to leave my house. I can barely look at my husband. My whole life is
Allison was surprised by the bluntness. Jordan gaveher a challenging look as she sucked on the cigarette. She dropped the butt into a Coke can and blew out a stream of smoke.
“That’s what I’m supposed to call it, according to my shrink. No euphemisms, no avoidance.”
Mark eased forward in his chair. “You’re been seeing a counselor?”
“Twelve months now. Once a week, every week. Got the empty bank account to prove it.”
“Do you find it helpful?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. If it’s supposed to make me forget about it, then I’d say no, it’s not too helpful. Haven’t swallowed a bottle of Ambien, though, so she must be doing something right.”
Allison cleared her throat. “They never made an arrest in your case, is that correct?”
“You tell me. You’re the investigators.”
Okay, clumsy opening.
“According to Deputy Sheriff Brooks,” she tried again, “the suspect sketch and the vehicle description you provided haven’t yielded any leads.”
“Don’t forget the rape kit. I provided that, too, for all the good it did.”
Allison shifted in her seat. This woman radiated hostility, and she wasn’t sure quite how to handle her. She glanced at Mark for help, but he was focused on Jordan.
“You’re angry with the local investigators,” he stated.
“Wouldn’t you be? I had a goddamn pelvic exam right after getting my neck sewn up. I sat with a police artist for two hours the very next day. I talked to detectives, even though my throat felt like it was on fire the whole time. I told them about his car, his clothes, everything.And have they arrested anybody? No. My case has been dead for months. How would you feel?”
“I’d be furious,” Mark said.
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath. “Thank you.” She reached down to pet her dog between the ears and seemed to be collecting herself.
“So, the FBI’s involved now. You think he’s done this somewhere else.” She said it as a statement, not a question, and her tone was somber.
“We believe that, yes.”
“And the other woman . . .” She looked from Mark to Allison. The cautious hope in her eyes made Allison’s chest squeeze.
“We know of six other women who suffered attacks similar to yours,” Mark said. “They didn’t survive.”
Jordan looked stricken. “Six?”
He nodded.
“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes.
Silence fell over them. No one moved. The distant chirp of the birds outside the windows sounded out of place, like giggling at a funeral.
Jordan shook her head. “I knew there were others. Somehow I knew that, but . . .” She stared at her lap. “Something about the way he did it, the way he talked to me. I knew he’d done it before. And he’s done it again, too, hasn’t he? That woman in San Marcos.” She glanced up, and Allison saw the fear in her expression. “Do you think he lives around here?”
“We’re working on a profile of him, to help investigators,” Mark said. “Part of that will be determining where he lives.”
“When they didn’t get anywhere with the sketch andthe vehicle, they told me he was probably a transient.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t know where he is, we only know where he’s been.” Mark paused. “Hopefully, you can help us get a more complete picture of him.”
She gazed down at her lap. For a while, she didn’t talk, and when she looked up again her eyes were moist but clear.
“You’re a profiler.”
“Some people call it that.”
“Then before I help anyone, I want something from you. ” Her voice was uneven. “I want to understand how he did this to me. I want to understand how it happened. I never thought I was a victim.”
“You’re a survivor,” Mark said. “Not a victim.”
“Then how did I get like this? Look at me!” She pounded a fist on her thigh. “I’ve gained thirty pounds. I’m scared to leave my house. I can barely look at my husband. My whole life is
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