Without prejudice - By Andrew Rosenheim Page 0,102

was wearing a pink shirt, but the security people’s blazer, so I thought he must be okay. So I . . . agreed.

‘When we got to the stairwell he wanted me to go first, and I changed my mind again – I just didn’t like the way he was acting, especially when he said I shouldn’t worry. He said, “Trust me.” I tried to go back up, but he grabbed my arm. I yanked it and pushed him to try and get away. That’s when he cut me for the first time. He slashed me across the neck.’ She stopped and gave out a little choking noise, as if she’d swallowed some gum. Tilting her head down until it rested on her chest, she said in a half-whisper, ‘After that I did everything he told me to.’

She explained how he had taken her downstairs, dripping blood, then stopped in what was going to be the new reception area for paediatric neurology. She was precise about the name. Some of the furniture was already in place, and he had pushed her against the reception module, making her lie on its desk surface while he ripped at her blouse until it was off. Then he reached behind her back and cut both straps of her bra.

‘He told me to relax. Then he took his hand and reached under my skirt. He grabbed my tights at the waist and started pulling them down . . .’

It took him some time to get them off. He used one hand to hold the knife against her throat as she lay sprawled on the desktop, while his other hand struggled with the tights, clawing at them, until finally only a bunch of ragged sock-like material remained, balled in a bunch around her ankles. Then he spread her legs apart roughly, and she heard that hand undo his belt and drop his trousers, while the other still pressed the knife against her throat.

The DA said, ‘I know this is hard for you, but can you tell us what happened next?’

She nodded silently, and even from the rear of the courtroom Robert could see the tears in her eyes. ‘I felt him . . . go inside me. It hurt. I was terrified he was going to cut me again, so I didn’t say anything.’

She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘When he . . . finished, he put his face right down over mine. Then I did ask, “Why are you doing this?”’

She seemed to choke again, and kept her head bowed down.

‘And what did the defendant say?’

Her reply came out in a whisper, her voice so faint that even the judge could not hear her. He looked with bafflement at the DA, who said, ‘I’m sorry, Miss Mohan, but can you say that again?’

The courtroom was absolutely silent. Peggy Mohan didn’t raise her head, but the words, spoken in a low murmur, were surprisingly clear. ‘He said, “Do you like my pink shirt?”’

They broke for a recess. When the trial resumed Peggy Mohan seemed more composed.

She had thought after the first rape that maybe he would let her go, but instead he used some cord to tie her hands together behind her back. She’d whimpered when he twisted it tight around her wrists, and he had suddenly lost his temper, and hit her in the face with his fist. She’d felt a bone crack in her cheek, and cried out despite herself. This time he stabbed her, thrusting the knife into her chest between her breasts. It hurt so much she had to use all of her willpower not to cry out again. She was terrified that if he stabbed her again he might hit an artery or vital organ. She’d worked in the emergency room at Billings, and seen enough knife wounds to know that it was a matter of chance whether you survived a stabbing. The more often you were stabbed, the more likely you would die.

Now he forced her off the desk and made her crawl, naked now, to a corner of the room. Here he had made her kneel on the new carpet, facing the corner. She could smell the fresh paint on the walls – she remembered that.

She’d been on all fours, and suddenly he thrust into her again, this time from behind. Then he had withdrawn, and she thought maybe he was finished, but no – she felt his hand probing her anus, and suddenly he entered her there. In