Because this was recorded the night of the wine dinner at the club.
I had suspected as much—that Bob was with another woman that night. But I had not counted on there being hard evidence. I had counted on Bob not wanting to disclose his whereabouts and the woman being equally reticent. I had counted on more time.
This is where he was that night. He wasn’t raping my daughter. He was raping someone else’s.
“But you said it was all role play on the tape.”
She’s a child. He’s fifty-three years old. Call it whatever you want.
“I see. I’m very sorry, Charlotte. He certainly has turned out to be a horrible human being. I still don’t understand why she played those tapes for you.”
Blackmail. Plain and simple. She said she was bringing the one tape from that night to the police, Detective Parsons. The lawyer is going to ask for a confidentiality agreement before they hand it over. It clears Bob, and she wants to do it quickly and quietly. She still thinks she can keep this from the public eye. She said something like, “I imagine you will hear about this from the detective, one way or another. And I imagine it would make you feel scorned. Bob did sell you a bag of goods, didn’t he? Love, right? Might feel good to expose him? Humiliate him? Destroy his career?” Then she said, “You do your part and let this go. And in exchange, I will do mine and keep the tapes of you with my husband to myself.”
“I see. So Tom won’t find out.”
Yes. She said one last thing. “We are in the same boat now, aren’t we? If these ridiculous allegations about your daughter continue, all of this will come out. All of it.”
“So what will you do?”
Charlotte looked at me with that momentary but brilliant melding together of defeat and blind courage. It happens when there is nothing left to lose.
I’m going to tell Tom myself. Tonight. I won’t let Fran Sullivan tell me what to do. She can go straight to hell. You were right. I need to sit with the pain. I need to live through it. That’s what I’ve been trying to do since I saw Bob. Since he said “fuck you” and left.
“I’m very proud of you, Charlotte. That takes a lot of courage.”
There are two things I can tell you now: First, Charlotte had been lying to me when she said she had been working on her feelings about giving up Bob. Second, Charlotte would not have the chance to tell Tom that night. Tom would not be home.
Parsons called me shortly after Charlotte left. It seemed Fran Sullivan wasn’t messing around.
Sullivan’s cleared. I thought you should know. Whatever led you to believe that he might have been involved, well, it’s a mistake.
“Really? What happened?”
I can’t disclose the details. But I can tell you that he gave us an alibi. It ain’t pretty, but it checks out.
Parsons met with Fran Sullivan and the lawyer. She did not play the tape for him, but rather told him what was on it and encouraged him to speak with the young woman. Of course, Parsons wound up at her parents’ house. They were told about the incident only after forcing their daughter to explain the presence of the police at their door. Their longtime friend, the father’s weekend golf buddy, fucking their daughter for over a year. The father was so distraught, it took Parsons an hour to calm him down. I would learn all of this later.
“I see. Well, that must be a relief,” I said to Parsons.
I guess. But let’s just say this is one messed-up world.
“So where does that leave you?”
Well … it leaves me where I was before. With Tom Kramer crawling up my ass, no answers, no suspects. Just one blue sweatshirt and one photo from a yearbook. Oh—but there was one thing.…
“What’s that?” I have to admit that I was not truly listening at this point. Time was running out on the Bob Sullivan ruse, and without a media frenzy, lawsuits, and the other goodies that would have made everyone close up shop and go home. I was not looking forward to plan B.
There is a case from Oregon—one of those phone calls my guys have been making, you know, to the local precincts around the country? Well, this old-timer remembered a report about a kid with the same kind of scratch on his back. A straight line, deep carving right above the pelvis. It was a long time back, but he said he would try to find the file in storage. Doesn’t remember any rape involved, but it might be something.
“I see. Well, it sounds like a stretch, doesn’t it? I mean, this was a rape primarily. Not an assault with the rape as some sort of incidental. And it’s the other side of the country. Don’t you agree?”
Alan, I’m gonna finish every last lead on this case.
Yes, well. We shall see about that.
Chapter Thirty-three
This is what happened the night of the collision. The night the roller coaster came screaming down the hill. The night the cotton candy was almost complete. There will still be a few strands left to wind after I tell you.