The Alibi

“She’s talking it over with a policewoman,” Smilow explained. “She was too embarrassed to discuss the details of the offense with the arresting male officers.”

“If she’s alleging rape, then I need to consult further with my client.”

Bobby, having recovered from the initial shock, looked at his attorney with scorn. “There’s nothing to consult about. I didn’t rape her. Everything we did was consensual.”

Smilow opened a folder and skimmed the written report. “You picked her up in a nightclub. According to Miss Rogers, you plied her with liquor and intentionally got her intoxicated.”

“We had a few drinks. And, yes, she was tipsy. But I never forced alcohol on her.”

“You accompanied her back to her hotel room and had sex with her.” He glanced up at Bobby. “Is that true?”

Bobby couldn’t resist meeting the silent challenge of the other man’s eyes. “Yes, it’s true. And she loved every minute of it.”

Heinz cleared his throat uneasily. “Mr. Trimble, I’m advising you not to say anything more. Anything you say can be used against you. Remember that.”

“Do you think I’m going to let some dumpy broad accuse me of rape and not defend myself?”

“That’s what a trial is for.”

“Fuck a trial. And fuck you.” Bobby turned back to Smilow. “She’s lying through those buck teeth of hers.”

“You didn’t have sex with her while she was under the influence?”

“Of course I did. With encouragement from her.”

Looking pained, Smilow sighed and rubbed his eyebrow. “I believe you, Mr. Trimble. I do. But from a legal standpoint you’re walking a high wire. The laws have changed. Definitions have been sharpened to a fine point. Because of increased public awareness on the mistreatment of rape victims, prosecutors and judges take a hard line. They don’t want to be held responsible for releasing a rapist—”

“I’ve never had to rape a woman,” Bobby exclaimed. “Just the opposite, in fact.”

“I understand,” Smilow returned calmly. “But if Miss Rogers alleges that she was mentally incapacitated by the alcohol which you urged her to drink, then technically and legally, in the hands of a good D.A., a case could be made for rape.”

Bobby folded his arms across his chest, partially because it was a nonchalant pose, but mostly because he was on the brink of panic. When he was eighteen, he’d been sentenced to goddamn prison. He hadn’t liked it. Not one freaking bit. He had vowed that he would never go again. Afraid that his voice would give away his fear, he said nothing.

Smilow continued. “You were in possession of drugs when you were arrested.”

“A few joints. I didn’t give what’s-her-name any.”

Smilow looked hard at him. “No?”

“I wouldn’t have wasted good smoke on her. She was too easy.”

“Nevertheless, you still have a problem. Who do you think a jury would believe? A simple, sweet-looking lady like her? Or a worldly stud like you?”

While Bobby was composing a suitable answer, the door opened and a woman came in. She was petite, with short dark hair and bright, black eyes. Good legs. Small pointed tits. But a ball-breaker if Bobby had ever seen one.

She said, “I hope the slime-bucket hasn’t confessed.”

Smilow introduced her as Stefanie Mundell from the County Solicitor’s Office. Heinz had gone a little green around the gills and was swallowing convulsively. It wasn’t a good sign that his own lawyer was quaking at the sight of this bitch and looked ready to heave.

Smilow offered her a chair, but she said she preferred to stand. “I won’t be here that long. I just wanted to make Mr. Trimble aware that rape cases are my specialty, and that I advocate castration for first-time offenders. And not the chemical kind, either.” Placing her palms down on the table, she leaned over it until she was nose to nose with him. “For what you did to poor Ellen Rogers, I can’t wait to get your balls on the chopping block.”

“I didn’t rape her.”

His sincere denial didn’t faze Ms. Mundell, who smirked at him and said, “See you in court, Bobby.” Turning on her high heels, she went out, slamming the door behind her.

Smilow was massaging his jaw and shaking his head sorrowfully. “I feel for you, Bobby. If Steffi Mundell is prosecuting, I’m afraid you’re in for a world of hurt.”

“Maybe Mr. Trimble would consider pleading guilty to a lesser charge.”