Authors: Stephen White
11
A
t supervision on the Monday morning after the housewarming, Hella Zoet began by telling me she needed to talk, once again, about Burning Man Lady.
The patient formerly known as Three-Wood Widow.
"This is an awful story," she said. She swept her hair back with her fingers and hooked it behind her ears. "I feel so sad for her. I saw her for an emergency appointment on Saturday night, Alan. If you had asked me who in my caseload would be least likely to make an emergency call to me, she would have been near the top of my list. She called me Saturday, late afternoon, and left me a despairing-sounding voice mail asking me to call her back as soon as I could. I was out on the Mesa Trail with friends, but I got back to her within the hour, as soon as I got back to my car.
"She said--I wrote this down--'I think I need . . . Maybe if we could meet, I think. Dr. Zoet, I've been . . . raped. Last night, I was raped.' Then she paused, Alan. A good five seconds before she added, 'I think I was raped.' "
I took a metaphorical deep breath. I said, " 'I think'? She said, 'I think'?"
"Yes. We talked for only a couple of minutes on the phone, long enough for me to be sure she was okay physically, that she had done what she needed to do to take care of herself. She said she'd driven herself to the police and that a detective had accompanied her to Community, to the hospital. She met with a rape crisis counselor there, too.
"I canceled my plans for the evening and met her at my office a few minutes before seven o'clock. I have never done that before, Alan. Met a patient for a session on a weekend night." After all my years of practice, I could still count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I had done something similar. "She said that one of the cops she talked to earlier that day--a woman detective, she said"--Hella consulted her notes--"Detective Davenport, told her at the hospital that no matter what happened during the rest of the day she should think about getting her own attorney as soon as she could. She even gave her a name."
"Really? I don't think that's routine advice for rape victims. Do you know why the detective advised that?"
"I don't. During that call, whenever I asked a question like that my patient kept saying, 'This is going to be a big deal. This is going to be a
big
deal. Oh my God, this is going to be such a big deal.' Like it was a mantra. I figured she was talking about the rape, but who knows? I was hoping you might be able to help me understand."
"What kind of big?" I asked.
Hella pondered my question. "Ominous? That kind of big."
I said, "Let's go back to the beginning. Tell me what happened. Let's see if we can puzzle this out."
HELLA BEGAN THE STORY BY SAYING, "She's calling what happened to her 'acquaintance rape.' I think that's important. It's one of the first things she said." She looked at her notes again. "I think I have her exact words: 'I know this man, the one who did this. He's my friend. He's not someone who--I know him.' "
I listened carefully as Hella continued to talk, trying to ascertain if she was using the
acquaintance
descriptor as a diminutive.
Hella, it turned out, wasn't. She was telling me only that her patient knew her rapist. Thus the word
acquaintance.
She said, "The fact that she knew the guy so well is important to her. I think she was expressing shock that he could do this to her--that's why she kept repeating it. That's the only reason that I am emphasizing it with you."
"Betrayal?" I asked.
"Definitely. She doesn't remember the assault. What she was feeling at first was . . . bewilderment over the betrayal."
HELLA'S PATIENT HAD BEEN at a big party that included some friends. She drove herself to the party--it was at a home she'd never visited before in "east Boulder, out Baseline"--from her house in North Boulder. Since she has a reputation for getting lost when she goes anywhere unfamiliar, she first drove to meet a couple who live below Chautauqua, and she followed them to the location of the party.
She drank more than she intended but maintained to Hella that at no point did she consider herself drunk. Still, as the festivities were winding down she thought about accepting a ride home with the friends she'd followed to the party. She would then return the next day to retrieve her car. But Burning Man Lady ultimately decided to stay at the party to sober up. Her plan was to drive back home after a cup of coffee or two.
At some point shortly after the last of the other guests headed home, the hostess invited her to spend the night in the guest room and drive herself home the next morning.
Staying over in her host's guest suite quickly became the plan.
The host and hostess poured some more wine. The three of them sat in front of the fireplace.
At that point in Hella's story, I said, "I think I'm going to need some names. I'm having trouble keeping everyone straight. The host? The hostess?"
Hella said, "I don't know anyone's names. She wouldn't tell me."
"What?" My
what?
was puzzled, not challenging.
"The lawyer? She met with one Saturday before she met with me. He instructed her not to reveal the name of anyone who was involved in the rape in any way. The other people who attended the party. Anyone. He doesn't want anyone to learn those identities. She said he stressed the need for discretion when she spoke with him on the phone, and then again when they met in his office. No names, no addresses, no directions, no license plate numbers, no vehicle makes and models, nothing that could identify anyone who was there."
"Do you know the lawyer's name?" I asked.
"No," Hella said. "Only that he's really tall. And very formal."
She was describing Cozier Maitlin. Cozy was six-seven. He dressed like a lord. At various points in his career, Cozy had defended both Lauren and me, and he'd once defended Sam's detective partner Lucy Davenport. Although I couldn't understand why Lucy felt the rape victim needed a personal attorney, it wasn't surprising that she'd given out Cozy's name.
Cozy could be bombastic. But I knew from experience that he was a thoughtful advocate who had a purpose for everything he did during any case he was litigating. If he told his new client to keep her mouth shut, the advice wasn't pro forma. Cozy had to be concerned about something specific.
But I didn't know what it was. I couldn't figure out why Cozy had directed his client not to use the name of the alleged rapist, and was even more puzzled that he was adamant that she not reveal the identity of anyone who'd been at the party. Regardless of Cozy's legal rationale, because communication between his client and her psychologist was privileged, and thus protected from discovery, I was certain that he didn't intend that his instructions to his client extend to her psychotherapy relationship. And although Cozy would have no way to know that Dr. Zoet's practice was supervised, the privilege that the patient enjoyed with her therapist also extended to the relationship between the psychotherapist and his or her supervisor.
I began to explain all that to Hella. She stopped me; she already knew it.
"I told her the same thing, Alan--except for the supervision part. She said she explained to the attorney she was in therapy and she made it clear to him that she wanted to be able to talk to me about what happened. He told her that wasn't a problem, he encouraged her to talk to me about what happened, but he also made it clear to her that even with me the safest thing was not to use anyone's name."
"
Safest?
Cozy used that word?"
Hella hesitated. "I think that's the word she used with me, Alan. I could be wrong. Maybe
prudent.
I wasn't taking notes at that point of the conversation. That's the connotation, though. I'm sure of that."
I remained puzzled. "You said she went to the police. Have charges been filed?"
Hella shrugged. "I don't know. She went straight to the police when she woke up and realized what had happened. But as of yesterday afternoon--she and I met on Saturday, and talked on the phone for about ten minutes yesterday--no one had been arrested. Charges had not been filed. Since then? Maybe that's why all the secrecy? Would that matter? If an arrest was pending?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
"I may find out more later today. She's coming in again after she gets off work."
I said, "I haven't seen anything in the news about this."
Hella said, "There is nothing in the paper or online. I checked."
Colorado has a rape shield law that protects accusers' and victims' identities by shielding their names and likenesses from /files/01/66/81/f016681/public/media scrutiny. I wasn't aware that Colorado had any kind of restrictions on reporting the names of alleged assailants, or of witnesses who might have been present around the time of the alleged crime.
"Why don't you tell me what happened? Maybe the need for all the secrecy will become clear."
Hella resettled on the sofa. "The way she told the story is important, I think. She was determined to remember everything she could, even little details that are probably irrelevant. I'm going to try to give you all her little details, just in case they turn out to be significant. This is my first real, big legal case. I don't want to screw this up."
I said, "Sounds good, Hella."
"The three of them were drinking wine. Everyone else was gone. The housewarming had been catered by some famous chef. He had left. The bartender had left. The caterers--the servers--had left."
The vague discomfort I was feeling about the story suddenly jumped up and barked in my face. I exhaled twice in a row, with no inhale in between. I thought
, Did those caterers leave in a big white van, maybe?
I was telling myself,
No way
.
Can't be.
"At one point, the woman--the hostess--got up to check on something. The host kept insisting she have some more wine. She agreed to have one more glass. The hostess came back. The three of them--the host couple and my patient--sat and talked. She said they eventually finished a bottle.
"My patient admits that she was a little drunk by then. She said she definitely would not have gotten behind the wheel of her car after they finished that bottle of wine.
"The hostess excused herself again to check on the linens in the guest suite. My patient offered to help her out. The hostess said she wouldn't think of it--she said something about being so excited that they were having their first overnight guest in their new house."
Shit,
I thought.
Oh shit.
"First guest?" I said.
"They'd just moved in. It was a housewarming-type gathering. The couple wanted their old friends to see their new place. Want more details?"
No,
I thought. "Yes," I said. "Whatever you have."
"The couple is planning to do extensive renovations and they wanted to show everyone the house and hear their friends' thoughts so they could pass along any good ideas to their architect. The architect is apparently busy designing the remodel.
"They had set up a couple of drafting tables and had copies of the floor plans and pencils and rulers and things. They wanted everyone to sketch out their best ideas.
"My patient said the house has an amazing view of the mountains and the city that is partially obstructed to the west by an old shed or barn of some kind, and by a nearby neighbor's house, which my patient said is not very attractive, and by the neighbor's garage, which everyone agreed is out of scale and an eyesore."
Not attractive? Out of scale? An eyesore?
"The people who threw the party own the shed, which they said they're planning to knock down as part of the renovations. The host and hostess are worried that the neighbors might object to the demolition on historic grounds--the structure is apparently pretty old, original to some . . . ranch."
It's not a shed, it's a beautiful old barn, meticulously restored by the previous owners.
Hella hooked her hair behind her ears. "One couple at the party knows the neighbors across the way, the ones with the ugly house and the big garage, the ones who might object to the demolition and the renovation. The woman in that couple said she wasn't comfortable talking about their friends' home. My patient said that the discussion became kind of awkward at that point, but that the hostess sensed it, handled it well. She moved the conversation on and got everyone talking about the addition they were planning to the main house. How big a footprint it should have. Where to put a new powder room on the main level--there isn't one currently, the guests had to use the bathroom in the guest suite. What kind of traffic flow they want. What walls to take down. Stuff like that."
I WAS HIT BY AN INSTANT WAVE OF GRIEF. I had thought that after many months and many tears I was getting over Adrienne's death, but the fresh sadness that she was gone, really gone, almost knocked me out of my chair. It sounded as though my new neighbors were determined to erase every trace of her.
My heart was ripping for Jonas.
"Are you all right, Alan?"
Rape,
I reminded myself.
There was a rape.
I composed myself enough to say, "Yes, fine. I'm fine, Hella. This is a tough situation you're describing, that's all."
Hella nodded as though she understood. She didn't, of course, which was the way I preferred it.
I said, "I interrupted your story. You were saying that the hostess had left to check on linens?"
"Yes. My patient thought she'd been gone quite a while, but she came back carrying some pajamas and some fresh towels. Later on, she led my patient to the guest room. It's on the back of the first floor, off of a family room addition. Sort of off by itself, she said. My patient thought it was probably originally a maid's room. She said that the other bedrooms are upstairs. Three, or four, she thought. They got a tour at the beginning of the evening. One of the upstairs bedrooms was used as an office. One as a kid's room. I hope I have all this right."