‘Did you know who they were at the time?’
‘They were regulars, all the girls knew them, but this was after some big game they’d won and they were all really drunk, much worse than usual.’ She shuddered.
‘Liam McKenzie started it. That asshole thinks he can get away with anything. And he sure as hell got away with raping me. So did Pete Janson.’
Darla retreated to the bedroom and came back with a box. Inside were handwritten notes, newspaper clippings and a wad of letters.
‘The police didn’t care. I was just a stripper, so I had to be asking for it.’
She handed over a couple of envelopes with her name on them. Neither had return addresses.
Ethan read one, Anya took the other. She felt a chill at the first line.
Die you dirty slut. Rot in hell. You will pay for what you did to two of America’s favourite sons. We know where you live.
Anya could hardly believe the venom of complete strangers thousands of miles away, judging by the postmark. It was like the letters her father had received after news of Miriam’s disappearance appeared in the papers. It took only a few days for sympathy towards the family to be replaced with hatred and accusations of satanic rituals, child abuse and other sick theories as to what had happened to their precious Miriam. Had Anya not been cleaning the shed out years later and found the stash of hate mail, she may never have known the extent of the ongoing trauma compounding the family’s grief.
Luckily Danny, who had been born after Miriam disappeared, had been sheltered from the ugly accusations, although not from the hurt of false hope. Every year on the anniversary of Miriam’s disappearance, some crank contacted them saying they knew what had happened to her. Everything from where she was buried, to where she lived now with her own family.
The letter in her hand typified the vile treatment victims of incomprehensible crimes often received. Rather than deal with the realities of the crime, it was easier for people to blame the victim.
‘You got death threats and the police didn’t care?’ Anya felt incensed.
‘Why would they?’ Darla searched for something in the box. ‘I wasn’t anyone important.’
‘This letter looks like it was written by a woman.’ Ethan’s brow furrowed. ‘There’s a lot of ranting about family values, then this:
Those men are honourable. They put their lives on the line every time they play football. They are valuable members of this society, and have beautiful wives and families. You are the refuse of the world, and don’t deserve to live.
Don’t suppose any of these moral crusaders mentioned the fact that their married pillars of society betrayed those beautiful wives and children when they went voluntarily to a strip club, broke curfew and breached their own contracts.’
‘You don’t get it. These guys are untouchable. They might as well be gods with the big money they make, and all their sponsors. They’re famous, so I had to be lying, trying to bring them down. I was a money-grubbing whore no one cared about.’
Upstairs, a new round of stomping caused a small amount of paint to float from the ceiling to the floor. The noise alone would have driven Anya to live somewhere else.
‘Do you have any idea who made the threats?’ she asked.
Darla turned the box’s contents out on to the coffee table. ‘Take your pick. Some are postmarked from Minnesota, others from Nevada and California. A lot are local. In case you’re wondering, someone put my previous address on the Internet.’ She pushed aside a faded envelope with her fingertips, as though she could hardly bear to touch it. ‘This one was the worst. It says my bastard child would be kidnapped and killed for my sins if I continued to claim I was raped. It was put under my door the day we were supposed to go to court.’
Suddenly it became completely clear why Darla had refused to testify against her attackers.
‘I grabbed Lilly and what we could carry and left. We stayed in a shelter for a couple of nights. That’s how we ended up here.’
A frantic series of knocks interrupted. Darla padded down the corridor and opened the apartment door, safety chain still in place.
‘No, Mrs B, I haven’t seen him. You know wars can take a real long time … Promise, I’ll let you know if I see him.’
She closed the door and returned to her visitors, pulling an errant strand of hair from her face. ‘Look, I did what I had to to protect my child. At least I live in the real world, unlike poor Mrs B. Her kid isn’t ever coming home, only she doesn’t get that. I’m sorry, but if you’re trying to nail McKenzie and Janson, it’s too late for what they did to me.’
Ethan pointed to the correspondence. ‘Do you mind if we borrow these to help us with our investigation?’
‘Take what you want. I only kept it to remember why I tried to fight them in the first place. I don’t care if I never see any of it again.’
Anya collected the papers and put them back inside the box and closed the lid. Ethan rose and thanked her for everything. Box in one hand, Anya wrote her name and number on the back of a receipt she had pulled from her purse.
‘If you need to talk, or think of anything that could help us, I’ll be around for at least a few more days.’
‘How’d you find me anyway?’
Ethan handed her his card. ‘It’s my job to find people, and keep their secrets. Don’t mean to pry, but if you’re looking for work, I might know somewhere – nice place where people treat you with respect.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that. Finding decent work isn’t easy when you’ve been labelled a whore on television and in all the papers.’
Anya smiled at Ethan as they followed the corridor to the stairwell.
‘What?’
‘Finding her work isn’t exactly part of the job, is it?’
‘The way I see it, the men who raped her made money out of all the publicity. So much for a system of justice. They didn’t just rape that woman, they screwed up her entire life. And I’m thinking it’s no coincidence she gets a death threat against her daughter the day the case was going to trial.’
‘Just like the one made against Kirsten Byrne.’
It was unlikely to be a fan. A lot was at stake if Janson and McKenzie were convicted; the men, their families, their agents, the Bombers and the league itself all had a lot to lose.
She wondered who had made the threat and how far they would have been prepared to go to make sure the woman didn’t testify.
B
ack at the hotel, Anya sat on her bed with a Cosmopolitan cocktail from room service. She pored over online articles about the trial involving McKenzie and Janson. Headlines read like advertising slogans.
PISTOL PETE AND THE STRIPPER
.
The wording in each screamed of bias. The media angle seemed to be consistent. Mention ‘stripper’ in every headline, then list the successes of Janson and McKenzie, quote anonymous sources to defame Darla’s character, and show a blurred photo of a pole dancer. Others chose to showcase photos of the men with their children, with wives denouncing the story as lies, and as an attempt to extort money and ruin the good names of their husbands. One magazine mentioned the fact that Janson and his wife had agreed to marriage counselling.
The same issue boasted a feature on actresses who appeared naked in films. One starlet declared she only took her clothes off if it was ‘essential to the integrity of the story’, while in another rag talked about routinely walking around her house naked. No one suggested that actresses who disrobed on stage or film were immoral, were prostituting themselves or prepared to have sex with crew members. No reporter implied that they were asking to be raped. The double standards and imbalance of power galled Anya.
In many ways, Darla was right. The job she had stripping was safer than many other situations. She had security outside the door, and there were rules that were supposed to be adhered to. On the other hand, any woman meeting a man in a bar and going home with him was potentially at risk of harm. But that wouldn’t have been big news. The mention of stripping seemed, in the readers’ minds, to be synonymous with prostitution and ‘moral turpitude’, as one reverend publicly declared.
There was almost no mention of the fact that these men were married, yet they regularly attended strip clubs.
The coach was quoted as saying, ‘These guys are warriors. They train hard all week and put themselves on the line every time they play. Who could blame them for letting off steam every now and then? Boys will be boys.’
Anya could imagine the reporters lapping it all up. Of course the woman was a liar, another article declared. Remember Adam and Eve? From the beginning of history, man had had to put up with temptresses. Such articles would have been laughable, if not for the damage they did to Darla Pinkus. The woman’s version of what had happened was credible, and by going to the police and giving a statement she had embarked on a real David versus Goliath battle. Funny how no one viewed it that way in the media.
Anya finished her drink and licked the taste of cranberry juice from her lips. She turned to the last two unread letters from Darla’s box of clippings. One was pretty much like the others; the second was handwritten, neat and easy to read.
I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you, but you have to stop what you’re doing. You don’t understand who and what you are up against. They will destroy you.
For your own sake, you have to drop the case.
Anya breathed out. Her first thought was that this was another letter trying to frighten Darla into leaving the players alone. Then something about the letter caught her attention.
You don’t know me, but I know you. I was you and am you.
This isn’t easy to say, but I was raped and hurt very badly by one of the men who attacked you.
I know you are hurting but you’re just making things worse. Stop now before it’s too late.
You can’t win against him. He’s too strong.
I am sorry you have to hear this, but it’s the truth.
The letter was unsigned.
T
erri Janson answered the door in white skinny jeans, high heels and an off-the-shoulder top. Her long platinum-blonde hair had a slight wave. The heart-shaped face was pretty but not what Anya considered beautiful. She looked like a number of famous faces Anya could never quite tell apart.
‘Come in,’ Terri said, almost theatrically. Her toenails matched the shade on her fingers. Inside the apartment, she proudly showed off a view of Central Park. ‘We needed two homes since we’re both spending more time here for work. I thought Pete could stay here instead of at the hotel but that’s not allowed, apparently.’
She sounded irritated.
‘It’s hard to explain to the kids why Daddy’s in town but not able to be with us.’
‘Your work sounds demanding.’ Anya decided to change the focus from Pete to Terri. Ethan had mentioned she modelled at car shows, which was where she had met her husband.
She seemed happier to talk about that. ‘I’m exploring some exciting business opportunities with cosmetic companies. I’m even considering my own line of children’s clothes, something affordable but fabulous. Little girls love a bit of bling as much as their moms.’
Anya could only imagine. The apartment was furnished simply, with a giant TV mounted on the wall, speakers in each corner, and a black leather lounge in front of a zebra-patterned rug. A neon Budweiser sign hung on the adjacent wall. There were no bookshelves, magazines or clutter in sight.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘Coffee would be great,’ Ethan answered, and Anya agreed.
‘Nanny?’ she called. ‘Coffee for our guests.’
Two little girls came running into the room, both wearing identical rose-patterned dresses with a sequined sash around the waist. Each had their hair in two high ponytails, with sparkly clips keeping wisps off their faces. Both girls had round cheeks and their mother’s eyes.
Terri stroked the tops of the girls’ heads. ‘This is Liesl and Emma.’ The smaller child carried a baby doll.
‘Hi, I’m Anya, and this is my friend Ethan.’ Anya knelt down and pointed to the doll. ‘Who is this?’
‘Kim. She special.’
Liesl flicked her sister’s head. ‘Emma is only three and always sleeps with her.’
‘And how old are you?’ Anya smiled.
Liesl held up five fingers.
‘You’re almost grown up.’
Liesl giggled and covered her mouth with her hands.
Terri disappeared and returned with a tray of pastries. A young woman, presumably the nanny, carried another tray of cups, saucers and a coffee pot.
‘Thank you, Nanny, you can take the children to the park while we talk.’
The young woman placed the tray on the sideboard and took the children by the hands. ‘We’ll get your cardigans, little ones.’
The accent was French. Terri poured the coffees and offered them all a seat. She sank into the lounge and crossed her legs.
‘Mr Buffet rang to say you were coming and asked me to help where I can. This business at that party the other night
is outrageous. Our lawyer says we should sue that woman for defamation for all the trouble she’s causing. What do y’all want me to do? I could do interviews to let everyone know Pete didn’t touch her.’
Ethan began. ‘First, a bit of background on you and Pete would help us. How long have you been married?’
‘Six years. We met when he was starting college. It was love at first sight. For both of us.’
‘Would you say you have a good marriage?’
Terri’s mouth kept a smile, but the rest of her face seemed to freeze. She took a moment before speaking. ‘Well, life is busy with the children, his work and mine, but we’re very happy, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘I suppose what Ethan’s asking,’ Anya tried, ‘is how well Pete treats you. Have you two ever had any difficulties?’
Terri recrossed her legs and hugged the top knee with both hands.
‘That’s a personal question.’ She flicked her hair and raised her chin. ‘We are as much in love as the day we met. What couple doesn’t have —’
‘Terri, has Pete ever been violent to you? Or the girls?’