“They put me in the hospital.”
He nodded as if he knew all about it. “They claim you wanted it to be rough sex, so that, as they say, it would feel real to you. They say you told them beforehand that you wanted them to hang you by a rope and leave you so as to complete your fantasy. When they were reluctant to go that far, you told them not to worry, that you had a knife in your boot and you would cut yourself down.”
Angela sat stunned. The men didn’t know she had a knife when they’d left her there to die. That knife was only discovered by Officer Denton at the hospital. That could only mean that someone fed that information to the four men and helped them craft their statement, or crafted it for them.
She realized that since the state’s policy was to provide sanctuary to undocumented aliens, he needed to find an excuse to drop the charges and let the men go, so they fabricated a story to discredit Angela.
He cocked his arm and pumped his fist as he gave her a knowing wink. “You enjoy a little gang bang, now and then, Ms. Constantine? Is that it? A bit of hard, fast, and rough?”
Angela could barely contain her rage. But she knew she had to. She knew her face was going red but she couldn’t stop that.
“I’m telling you what happened,” she said as calmly as she could. “I’m the victim of a crime, of attempted murder.”
John Babington regarded her with an imperious expression. “I’m just letting you know the statement the four men gave. It certainly is at odds with what you say. Their account would come out in court, of course. There are four of them and one of you. Their side of it would be a sensation in the press. It would be all over the Internet with sympathy pouring in from all around the country for the poor, innocent, undocumented immigrants. You would be hounded as a bigot, a racist, and worse.
“That’s why, in my view, I had to drop the charges. It protects everyone, including you.”
“They’re criminals,” she repeated. “I’m not a criminal.”
He flipped over a few more pages. “Well, let’s see. I have a report here that you were carrying a concealed weapon.” He looked up over the paper and arched an eyebrow. “Is that true?”
Angela swallowed. She knew better than to lie. “Yes. I carried a knife for self-defense. I was unaware it was illegal.”
“Ignorance before the law is no excuse, Ms. Constantine. You do realize, don’t you, that because the officer found the weapon and seized it, we have the evidence needed to prosecute you for carrying a concealed weapon?” He gave her a threatening smile. “At the discretion of this office, of course.”
Angela didn’t say anything. She was getting the bigger picture. They intended to let the men go, period. He was letting her know that he would bring charges against her if she made a fuss about it. He would charge her with a crime and suggest that it hadn’t been rape at all, but consensual sex. He would say that after the romp she wanted to charge the men to cover up the true nature of her behavior and because she was a racist.
His gaze went from her hair as far down as he could see. “It’s rather self-evident that you were asking for it. Right?” he said to make a point of it. “I mean, why else would you dress the way you do? Anyone can see by looking at you that you’re the kind of woman who is always looking to get laid, right?”
“The way I dress does not make it okay to rape me.”
He smiled as he winked at her. “Come on, now, tell the truth. You liked it.”
Angela knew she was in a dangerous situation with a powerful man, the kind of situation with authorities she always tried to avoid.
She simply said, “That’s not true.”
He shrugged off her denial and flipped over the page. “It says here in this report that the officer who interviewed you at the hospital suspected that the incident might have been some kind of drug deal gone bad.”
Angela blinked. “I don’t use drugs.”
“It doesn’t matter what you say. It only matters what the jury believes.”
He flipped over some more pages, mumbling a list of things under his breath as he read. He finally straightened the papers and laid them back down in the folder, then leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. His big belly flopped out over his pants.
“Despite what you say, young lady, the evidence shows that you are likely heavily involved in drugs. The Constantine residence—where you lived—has long been the scene of visits from the police for drug activity, including possession with the intent to distribute. Your place is well known to police. There have been fights there, stabbings, and any number of arrests on various charges, most of them having to do with drugs. All of that is very incriminating to a jury.”
Angela did her best to control her voice. “I don’t do drugs.”
It didn’t matter. She was guilty for the sins of her mother.
Hands still laced behind his head, he shrugged. “All the people I prosecute for drug possession and for dealing say the same thing. They don’t do drugs. They don’t deal drugs. We have the wrong person. The police planted the drugs on them. All that kind of bull crap. You’re all the same.”
“You would prosecute someone you know is innocent?”
“It’s not up to me to say who is innocent and who is guilty. It’s up to a jury to make that determination.”
Angela stood, fists at her side. “I don’t have anything to do with drugs.”
“Well, what we’re left with is the word of the police …” His gaze glided down to her cutoffs for a lingering look. “… against the word of a whore the cat dragged out of a trailer park.”
His gaze came up to glare at her with cold contempt.
By the way he kept looking at her body, Angela realized that he had something important in common with the four men. Like them, he thought he was better than her. More than that, he had an elitist disdain for her, and yet, he couldn’t help lusting for her. It left him with the confused emotion of hatred mixed with desire.
Angela didn’t say anything as she sat back down.
He shrugged. “Maybe what we have here is a simple case of a woman dealing drugs and known to be carrying a concealed weapon.”
He leaned forward, pointing at her with a pen he picked up off his desk as his voice got louder. “Like I said, we’re a sanctuary state and we are not going to unfairly prosecute undocumented aliens on the word of a fucking little trailer tramp!”
With great effort, Angela kept her mouth shut.
“So,” he said, his voice returning to normal levels. “I think that you should consider yourself fortunate that I’m not inclined to press concealed-weapons charges against you. Don’t you agree?”
Angela swallowed back her anger. She knew she had to be very careful in her answer. This was not a battle she could win. Worse, she knew she would be in great peril if she said the wrong thing.
“Yes … I agree.”
His politician smile returned. “I’m so glad that I could explain it and learn that we see eye-to-eye about this whole matter.”
There was an urgent knock at the door. When Babington looked up and called “Yes?” the door opened just enough for the young man who had been at the front desk to stick his head in.
“Can I have you for just a minute, Mr. Babington? A critical matter.”
Babington shut the folder on his desk and rose. “Excuse me for a moment, Ms. Constantine.”
He hiked up his pants as he went to the door. He leaned his head out, discussing something with the young man. Babington’s side of the discussion sounded heated.
Angela watched him a moment, watching as his ill humor revealed itself. Babington had one hand on the doorframe and the other on the edge of door as he leaned his head out asking pointed questions and giving angry orders. She couldn’t see the young man. He had withered back under his boss’s temper.