The Associate

"Most of them fled through the back door," Kyle said.

"Whatever. The cell phone video was on voice activation, so it clicked off after sixty seconds of near silence. It was at least twenty feet from the front door. Its owner ran off in the panic, forgot about it, and in the melee someone knocked things around on the counter, the cell phone got bumped, so the picture got adjusted. We can’t see as much as we could before. About twenty minutes pass and all is quiet. At 11:48, there are voices and the lights come on." Kyle moved closer to the screen. About one-third of the view was blocked by something yellow. "Probably a phone book, the yellow pages," Wright said. The music started again, but at a much lower volume.

The four roommates  –  Kyle, Alan Strock, Baxter Tate, and Joey Bernardo  –  were walking around the den, in shorts and T-shirts, and holding drinks again. Elaine Keenan walked through the den, talking nonstop, then sat on the edge of the sofa, smoking what appeared to be a joint. Only half of the sofa was visible. A television, unseen, was turned on. Baxter Tate walked over to Elaine, said something, then put his drink down and yanked off his T-shirt. He and Elaine fell into a pile on the sofa, obviously making out while the other three watched television and milled about. They were talking, but the music and TV drowned out their words. Alan Strock walked in front of the camera, pulling off his T-shirt and saying something to Baxter, whose view was blocked. There were no sounds from Elaine. Less than half of the sofa was visible now, but a tangle of bare legs could be seen.

Then the lights were turned off, and for a second the room was dark. Slowly, the glare from the television focused and bounced off the walls to provide some illumination. Joey Bernardo came into view, also pulling off his shirt. He stopped and stared at the sofa, where some manner of frenzied activity was under way.

"Listen," Wright hissed.

Joey said something that Kyle could not understand.

"Did you get that?" Wright asked.

"No."

Wright stopped the video and said, "Our experts have studied the audio. Joey Bernardo says to Baxter Tate, "Is she awake?" Tate is obviously having sex with Elaine, who’s passed out drunk, and Bernardo stops by, takes it all in, and wonders if the girl is actually conscious. You want to hear it again?"

"Yes."

Wright reset the video, then replayed it. Kyle leaned down, and with his nose six inches from the screen he watched hard, listened even harder, and heard the word "awake." The detective shook his head gravely.

The action continued, with the music and the television as a backdrop, and though the den of their apartment was dark, figures could be seen in the shadows. Baxter Tate finally got off the sofa, stood, appeared to be completely nude, and walked away. Another figure, Joey Bernardo, quickly took Baxter’s place. Some of the sounds could barely be heard.

A steady clicking arose from the scene. "We think that’s the sofa," Wright said. "Don’t suppose you could help on that one?"

"No."

And before long there was a high-pitched heaving sound, and the clicking stopped. Joey moved from the sofa and disappeared. "That’s pretty much the end of the movie," Wright said. "The video goes on for another twelve minutes, but nothing happens. If the girl, Elaine, ever moved or got off the sofa, then it’s not on the video. We’re almost certain that Baxter Tate and Joey Bernardo had sex with her. There’s no evidence that either you or Alan Strock did."

"I did not. I can assure you of that."

"Any idea where you were during the rapes, Kyle?" Wright asked the question, then pressed a key and the screen went blank.

"I’m sure you have a theory."

"Okay." Wright was again armed with his pen and legal pad. "Elaine says she woke up several hours later, around three in the morning, naked, still on the sofa, and suddenly had a vague recollection of being raped. She panicked, wasn’t sure where she was, admits she was still very drunk, eventually finds her clothes, gets dressed, sees you fast asleep in a recliner facing the television. When she sees you, she realizes where she is and remembers more of what happened to her. There’s no sign of Strock, Tate, or Bernardo. She speaks to you, shakes your shoulder, but you do not respond, so she hurries from the apartment, goes next door, and eventually falls asleep."

"And doesn’t mention rape for four days, right, Detective, or has she changed her story again?"

"Four days is correct."

"Thank you. Not a word to anyone for four days. Not to her roommates, her friends, parents, no one. Then suddenly she decided she was raped. The police were very suspicious of her story, right? They finally showed up at our apartment, and at the Beta house, and they asked questions and got very few answers. Why? Because there was no rape. Everything was consensual. Believe me, Detective, that girl would consent to anything."

"How could she consent if she was unconscious, Kyle?"

"If she was unconscious, how could she remember being raped? There was no medical exam. No rape kit. No evidence whatsoever. Just the blacked-out memory of a very confused young woman. The cops dropped the case five years ago, and it should be dropped now."

"But it’s not. It’s here. The grand jury believed the video proves there was a rape."

"That’s bullshit and you know it. This isn’t about rape; this is about money. Baxter Tate’s family is filthy rich. Elaine has found herself a greedy lawyer. The indictment is nothing but a shakedown."

"So you’re willing to risk the spectacle of a trial, and a conviction? You want the jury to see that video? You and your three roomies drunk out of your minds while a young woman is taken advantage of?"

"I didn’t touch her."

"No, but you were there, very close by, less than ten feet away. Come on."

"I don’t remember it."

"How convenient."

Kyle slowly got to his feet and walked to the bathroom. He filled another plastic cup with tap water, drained it, refilled it, and drank it. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. No, he did not want the jury to see the video. He had just seen it for the first time and prayed it would be the last. He had a visual of himself and his three pals sitting in a crowded courtroom, lights dimmed, judge frowning, jurors gaping, Elaine crying, his parents stoic in the front row as the video is played to a rapt audience. The scene made him sick.

He felt innocent, but he wasn’t convinced the jurors would agree.

Wright ejected the disc and placed it carefully back into a plastic case.

Kyle stared at the industrial-grade carpet for a long time.

There were sounds in the hallway, muffled voices, feet shuffling, maybe the Fibbies were getting restless. He really didn’t care. His ears were ringing and he wasn’t sure why.

Each fleeting thought was chased away by the next, and he found it impossible to concentrate, to think rationally, to focus on what should and should not be said. Decisions made at this ugly moment could reverberate forever. For a moment he settled on the three Duke lacrosse players who were falsely accused of raping a stripper. They were eventually cleared of everything, but only after an excruciating trip to hell and back. And there was no video, no link whatsoever to the victim.

"Is she awake?" Joey says to Baxter. How many times would that question echo around the courtroom? Frame by frame. Word by word. The jurors would have the video memorized by the time they retired to consider the verdicts.

Wright sat patiently at the table, hairy hands folded again and motionless on his legal pad. Time meant nothing. He could wait forever.