When the video finishes playing, Norma Hennessey resumes her examination.
“What happened next?”
“I followed him up in his private elevator to his apartment. It was the penthouse. I remember thinking that Mr. Morton must be a man of considerable means. He started to take off his clothes and asked me if I wanted something to drink.”
“Did he take off all his clothes?”
“Not at first. Just his jacket.” Delilah details all this with hesitancy and strain, as if the memory of it is so horrific that it pains her to relive it. “I went to the bathroom to clean up the front of my dress. My dress was wet, and I had nothing else to wear. So I borrowed Mr. Morton’s bathrobe.”
“His personal bathrobe?”
“It was hanging there in his guest bathrobe, so I assumed it was a guest bathrobe.”
“Go on.”
“When I came back to his lounge, he had poured us both a drink. I asked him if I could dry my clothes. He told me to take my dress to the tumble dryer, and that he would change into something more comfortable. When I came back, he had already changed his clothes.”
“What was he wearing?”
“I-I’m not sure. A T-shirt, I guess. And a pair of jeans. I was sitting on the couch. He sat next to me immediately, and we both drank.”
“What was he drinking?”
“I think it was bourbon.”
“And what were you drinking?”
“Vodka. But I only had a sip of it. That was when he started to kiss me.”
“Kiss you? You were both still sitting on the couch?”
“Yes. He leaned over, grabbed my arms roughly, and started to kiss me.” Delilah flashes Brian a look of intense pain. He winces. “At first, I didn’t know what to do. He starting grabbing my br**sts, my arms, everything. He was quite rough. I started pushing back against his chest, but he was far stronger than me.”
“Objection!”
“Overruled. Let the plaintiff continue her testimony, Ms. Sandler.”
“He pushed me down against the sofa, and that is when I started to scream and beat him off with my fists. But he was very strong and I . . . couldn’t fend him off. He started to rip my bathrobe. I struggled out of his grasp and tried to run from the sofa, but he grabbed me by the hair and we both fell onto the coffee table. It broke. I got shards of glass in my palms, my forearms, everywhere.
“I screamed again, but I realized no one could hear me all the way up in this penthouse. Despite my injuries, I tried to escape once more, but Mr. Morton grabbed me again. I hit my head on something, and everything became a bit of a blur.”
Delilah pauses, overwrought. There are tears in her eyes.
Brian’s fingernails are indenting his palms. He hasn’t realized he was clutching his fists so hard. He remembers Officer Cutter’s remark on the night Sam was brought in to the station. All those photos . . . merely prove that Ms. Faulkner may indeed have an interest in you. But it still doesn’t prove that you didn’t rape her.
“He pushed me down onto the floor. And he . . . he raped me. Repeatedly.” The tears start to run down Delilah’s cheeks. “He sodomized me. I tried to fight him all the way, but he was too strong. Finally, he passed out from too much drink, I believe. It was then I gathered my clothes and made my escape.”
Norma Hennessey is sober. And very grim. As are the jury and the entire courtroom. Brian remembers what Karen told him about Norma Hennessey – she specialized in prosecuting ra**sts and convicting them because she was a rape victim herself. This means she is doubly vengeful.
“Did anyone see you flee the premises?” Norma asks.
“Yes. The doorman.”
“What happened then?”
“I was very distraught. I was injured. The doorman tried to help me, but I was not in the right state of mind. All I could think of doing was to stumble to my car and drive myself to a hospital.”
“Did the defendant follow you?”
“I don’t think so. He was passed out.”
“Thank you, Ms. Faulkner. There are no further questions.”
“Your witness,” Norma says to Karen.
10
Sam steals a look at Angelique Morton’s face when Delilah tearfully details her rape at the hands of Brian Morton. Angelique is impassive, her WASP features betraying nothing. Sam can’t imagine what it would be like to have a mother like Angelique. Her own mother is ditzy and horny and a tad irritating, but she’s basically harmless.
No wonder Brian is so damaged. No wonder he has enough disorders to warrant his own classification in the psychiatric diagnostic manual!
Karen Sandler goes to the witness stand where Delilah Faulkner is drying her tears. Sam has to admit that Delilah put on a pretty good show, if indeed it was a show. That’s where her own greatest fear lies. What exactly happened on the night of the opera? They can prove all they want that Delilah was obsessed with Brian, but can they convince a jury of skeptical people that he didn’t rape her when he wasn’t too sure himself of what exactly happened?
Karen’s voice rings out loud and clear in the oak-paneled courtroom. “Ms. Faulkner, you stated that you met the defendant in the lobby of his apartment building on the night of _______.”
“Yes.” Delilah dabs her eyes with a tissue.
“Was that the first time you met him?”
Delilah hesitates. “No.”
“Where have you met him before?”
Sam can only see the back of Brian’s chestnut head, but she can tell from the posture of his shoulders that he is extremely tense. Her own heart is palpitating away like a drumbeat.
“In college.”
Murmurs run through the throng.
“Were you both friends or passing acquaintances?”
Delilah cocks her head to glance at Brian. “We were . . . acquaintances. Mr. Morton was in his senior year and I was a freshman.”
Karen makes a big show about holding up two college yearbooks, which she passes to the judge and members of the jury. One features an article on Brian and soccer. The other has a photo of Delilah, then known as Adele Jankovic.
“You went by the name of Adele Jankovic in college. Is that correct?”
“Objection.” Norma Hennessey is on her feet. “My client is not on trial here.”
“Your Honor, I am trying to establish reasonable doubt as to the plaintiff’s motives here in claiming rape.”
“Objection!”
“Overruled. You may proceed with your line of questioning, Ms. Sandler.” The judge leans back and looks interested.