Suddenly, Tricia said, "Oh, my God!"
"What?" I asked, but I did not turn around.
"Cover yourself."
I had nothing to do this with. I bent over and put my face in my skirt. I kept my eyes open against the cloth.
Tricia was up and complaining. "Get them out of here," she said. "Get them out of here."
A hurried "Sorry" came from a policeman.
Moments later, I looked up. They were gone. There had been faulty communication about which way to lead the men in the lineup into the lineup room. I was out of breath. Had he seen me? I was sure if he had, he would find me and kill me. The treachery of my lies that night-that I would not report it to anyone, that I was too ashamed-would not be lost on him.
I looked up.
Gail Uebelhoer was standing in front of me. She held out her hand. I offered her mine. She shook it firmly.
"Well, that was a little scary," she said. "But I think they got them out in time."
Her hair was short and black, and she had an arresting smile. She was tall, nearly five ten, and had a real body. No emaciated waif, she was solid and female. And she had sparkling, intelligent eyes. The connection for me was immediate. Gail was what I wanted to be when I grew up. She was there to do a job. She wanted what I wanted: to win.
She explained that I was about to view a lineup and that afterward we would talk about the grand jury and she would tell me exactly what to expect, how the room would look when I walked in, how many civilians there would be in the room, and what kind of questions they might ask-questions, she warned, that might be hard to answer but that I must.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
Led by Gail, Tricia and I approached the open door to the viewing side of the room. Inside it was dark. There were a number of men. One I recognized, Sergeant Lorenz. I had not seen him since the night of the rape. He nodded his head. There were two uniformed men and another, the attorney for the defendant, Paquette.
"I don't know why she has to be here," he said, indicating Tricia.
"I am a representative from the Rape Crisis Center," Tricia said.
"I know who you are but I think there are too many people in here already," he said. He was small and pale, balding. He would be with me through the rest of the case.
"It's common practice," Sergeant Lorenz said.
"To my knowledge she is not an official here. She has no official connection to the case."
The argument continued. Gail got involved. Sergeant Lorenz stated again that it was becoming more and more accepted in rape cases to have a representative of Rape Crisis there.
"She has her female attorney here," Paquette said. "That's enough. I refuse to have my client involved in this lineup until she is removed."
Gail consulted with Lorenz near the front of the dark room. She returned to where I stood with Tricia.
"He won't continue," she said. "We're already behind on the lineup and I have to be in court at one."
"It's okay," I said. "I'm okay."
I was lying. I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me.
"Are you sure, Alice?" she asked. "I want you to be sure. We can delay."
"No," I said. "I'm okay. I want to do this."
Tricia was dismissed.
The lineup procedure was explained to me. How five men would be led into the area behind the mirror, and how before they were led in, the lights in that area would be turned on.
"Since it is light on their side and dark here, they won't be able to see you," Lorenz said.
He explained that I should take my time. Could ask him to have them turn to the left or the right or to speak. He repeated that I should take my time. "When you are sure," he said, "I want you to walk over and place an X solidly in the corresponding box on the clipboard I have set up over there. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I said.
"Do you have any questions?" Gail asked.
"She said yes," Paquette said.
I felt like I had as a child. The adults were not getting along and it was up to me to be good girl enough to drain the tension from the room. That tension made my breath shallow and my heart race. I could tell Meggesto my symptoms of panic now. I was thoroughly intimidated. But I had said I was ready. It was wrong to turn back.
The room itself frightened me. I was unable to take my eyes from the one-way mirror. On television shows there was always an expanse of floor on the other side of the one-way mirror, and then a platform with a door off to the side where the suspects stepped into the room, filed up two or three stairs, and took their places. There was a reassuring distance between the victims and the suspects.
But the rooms I'd seen on cop shows were nothing like this one. The mirror took up a whole wall. On the other side of the wall was a space little wider than a mans shoulders, so that when they entered and turned, the front of their bodies would be almost flush against the mirror. I would share the same square foot of floor with the suspects; my rapist would be standing right in front of me.
Lorenz gave the order over a microphone and the light was switched on, on the other side of the mirror. Five black men in almost identical light blue shirts and dark blue pants walked in and assumed their places.
"You can move closer, Alice," Lorenz said.
"It's not one, two, or three," I said.
"You don't need to rush," Uebelhoer said. "Move closer and take a good look at each of them."
"I can have them turn to the left or right," Lorenz said. Paquette was quiet.
I did as instructed. I moved closer, even though, already, they appeared close enough to touch.
"Can you have them turn to the side?" I asked.
They were asked to turn to the left. Each of them, individually. When they faced front again, I drew back.
"Can they see me?" I asked.
"They can see a movement on the glass," Lorenz said, "but they can't see you, no. They know when someone's standing in front of them but they won't know who it is."
I took this at face value. I did not say, "Who else could it be?" There had been no one else with us in that tunnel. I stood in front of number one. He looked too young. I moved to two. He looked nothing like the suspect. Out of the corner of my eye I already knew the challenge came two men down, but I stood in front of three long enough to agree with my earlier assessment. He was too tall; his build was wrong. I stood in front of number four. He was not looking at me. While he looked toward the floor I saw his shoulders. Wide like my rapist's, and powerful. The shape of his head and neck-just like my rapist's. His build, his nose, his lips. I hugged my arms across my chest and stared.
"Alice, are you all right?" someone asked.
Paquette objected.
I felt I had done something wrong.
I moved on to number five. His build was right, his height. And he was looking at me, looking right at me, as if he knew I was there. Knew who I was. The expression in his eyes told me that if we were alone, if there were no wall between us, he would call me by name and then kill me. His eyes gripped on and controlled. I mustered all my energy and turned around.
"I'm ready," I said.
"Are you sure?" Lorenz said.
"She said she was ready," Paquette said.
I approached the clipboard while Lorenz held it for me. Everyone watched-Gail, Paquette, and Lorenz. I placed my X in the number-five box. I had marked the wrong one.
I was excused. I saw Tricia in the hall.
"How was it?"
"Number four and five looked like identical twins," I said, before the uniformed policeman assigned to me led me into the conference room nearby.
"Make sure she doesn't talk to anyone," Lorenz said, ducking his head in. His tone was a reprimand, now that I already had.
In the conference room I searched the eyes of the uniformed man for whether I had chosen the right one. But his face was impassive. I felt a wave of nausea hit me and paced the floor in between the conference table and a row of chairs against the wall. My throat was thick and clogged. I became convinced in those moments that I had chosen the wrong man. I told myself I had acted on impulse, not considered the two men and their postures long enough. I had been so intent on getting it over with that I hadn't been thorough. Ever since I'd been little my parents had accused me of this: not taking my time, acting rashly, jumping the gun.