“I didn’t rape her.”
“Right.
“I did not rape Kiki.”
“All right, very well. But, let me be honest, the evidence seems to be more than a bit overwhelming. Don’t you agree? There are these photos.” She tossed a stack of enlarged color copies across the table to me. They half spilled to one side. Each image revealed Kiki tied up and taken from various angles. She looked frightened, vulnerable and with the black eye, beaten up.
“I don’t know where those came from. I sure as hell didn’t take them.” I said, glancing down at the stack. I’d already gone through them and had no recollection of taking any of them.
“Yes, well so you say. But, look at it from the jury’s point of view. A prosecutor is going to post each one of these as an exhibit. You’ll note in this one, for instance, the victim’s, or rather Misses Barkwell’s hands, are tightly fastened to the bed. The camera, your cell phone by the way, was between her legs. Her expression would suggest, well frankly, she’s frightened out of her wits. I believe that’s her leopard print thong stuffed into her mouth as a gag.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Now, unless we can prove she used her feet to take this photo, or you had an assistant, I’d say this is rather damning evidence. And there’s nine, no, ten of these photos, taken over the course of the night. You’ll note the digital clock on the bedside table. All taken using your cell phone.”
“But, I can’t remember.”
“We’re due to get the toxicology reports sometime later today. They should help with our inebriation claim. If we can get that, you might be looking at twelve years, just eight with time off for good behavior,” she seemed to cheer up at the prospect.
“Eight years, but I didn’t do anything, I’m fucking innocent,” I screamed.
“Please watch the temper, Mister Haskell. As distasteful as I find this, I’m still here to represent you.”
“She must have drugged me.”
“Oh, you mean sort of a date rape scenario, only in reverse? That it?”
“Exactly,” glad to see Daphne was coming around to my point of view.
“As your attorney I suggest you not go there. You see, the problem with that sort of defense is, well frankly, you weren’t raped. May I remind you that Misses Barkwell was raped repeatedly. Unfortunately for you, according to her statement and backed up by the Doctors reports from the Rape Crisis Center this was a six to eight hour ordeal for the poor woman. Now these cell phone photos of yours. Also, unfortunately, other than wounds consistent with those inflicted during her defensive struggle, you seem to be completely unharmed.”
“Look, I…”
“Missus Barkwell, on the other hand, remains bruised and bitten on her buttocks and breasts. A bit difficult for her to do under the best of circumstances let alone while tied up, don’t you think?” She nodded in the direction of the cell phone photos.
“She exhibits signs of forceful vaginal, anal and oral entry. As I mentioned a good deal of her bruising appears to be defensive in nature. Of course, there’s the matter of her black eye. And, they scraped skin samples from under her fingernails that appear to be consistent with the efforts of an individual fighting off an attack, a rapist. Skin samples that at least under preliminary examination match you, Mister Haskell, match your DNA exactly.”
“But I didn’t do this.”
“Then we need to know who did because otherwise, you’re toast.”
“Look, she sort of likes it rough and…”
“That’s exactly the sort of statement I would strongly advise you stay away from.”
“I didn’t even know my phone could take pictures, honest.”
“And yet, we have these,” Daphne nodded disgustedly at the stack of images.
I looked down at the table, shook my head and slumped, defeated.
“Misses Barkwell…”
“Yeah, that’s another thing. Where did that come from? Misses Barkwell? I knew she was the sister of Farrell Early, but I never heard them refer to her as Misses Barkwell.”
“It seems she and her husband, Thompson Barkwell, are experiencing a bit of a rough patch in their relationship and Misses Barkwell needed some time…”
“She was screwing everything that moved.”
“Not helpful, Mister Haskell, not helpful at all. Now, I have my office attempting to locate Thompson Barkwell. We’ll need a statement from him.”
“A statement?”
“For the record,” she sighed, and then looked up at the ceiling as if to ask God to give her strength.
“Look, to tell you the truth, Daphne…”
“Miss Cochrane.”
“I’m not so sure you’ve got the balls for the job, here. You already have me convicted and serving eight years with good behavior for something I didn’t even do.”
“So you say.”
“Don’t take it personal, or do for that matter, I don’t care. But you’re fired.”
Again with the sigh and the grimace.
“You do that again, Cochrane, I’m gonna wipe it off your face.”
“Thus far, all your attitude has done is convince me I’ve an uphill fight on my hands not to have the death penalty administered.”
“The death penalty? This is Minnesota, even I know we don’t have the death penalty.”
“There are always exceptions, Mister Haskell, always exceptions,” she said. Then stood the thick file on end, banged it on the table three or four times to straighten the contents and looked me in the eye.
“If you wish me off the case, and another attorney appointed, that is your prerogative, sir. I would caution and advise otherwise, however. You may find my attitude mild in relation to the other attorneys from the public defenders office. I’ll await a final decision from you by noon today. Part of the beauty of the legal system in this country is that one is allowed to make as many mistakes as one would wish. Good day.” With that she pushed back her orange plastic chair, picked up her file and waddled her rather large ass out of the interview room.
Chapter Twenty-Six
He smelled slightly of the bourbons he’d had for lunch. At two in the afternoon he needed a shave. His grey suit looked like he’d slept in it and as he leered over each provocative photo of Kiki naked, tied to the bed, and lewdly exposed he raised his eyebrows and gave a quick smirk. My new court appointed attorney, Louis Laufen, Louie the Lout.
“Wow, busy night, man. She’s a real looker, I’ll give you that much,” he said setting the stack of photos down.
“Yeah, Mister Laufen, your colleague, Daphne Cochrane, had me convicted based on those,” I said.
We were in the same interrogation room where I’d met with my former, death penalty, court appointed public defender, yesterday morning. The room was still dingy and still smelled bad.
“Call me Louie. No doubt Daft can have an edge to her. In her defense, she deals with a lot of shit, a lot of jerks, and you can’t really blame her for ending up getting a little jaded. She’s smart, though.”
“Well the reason you’re here is she had me convicted before we even went to trial. I didn’t do this shit, any of it.”
“Yeah, well pretty strong evidence, here. I’m still waiting on the toxicology report, already a day late. Tell me your version, again.”
I was already further in the game with Louie on my side after only thirty minutes. He may have smelled like bourbon and looked like shit, but maybe that made us kindred spirits. At least he displayed a passing interest in my explanation. The only problem was I didn’t have much of an explanation.
I started in anyway, told him about Kiki and the knife. I told him about getting hired by K-R-A-Z, based on her passing comment to her brother. Then I told him about the press conference shooting. I continued on, including the spray paint and my ill advised hiring of Gary Hobson, how he passed out after drinking a fifth of Kiki’s gin. I finished up with me painting the wall and then going back to her house with bottles of Blue Sapphire and Jameson. He nodded, made the occasional note on a legal pad and glanced from time to time at the top photo, Kiki naked, tied, gagged, and sporting that black eye. I finished up my love story with getting tasered, cuffed and arrested by the cops in her bathroom.