Again, Burke waited. Leigh admired his discipline, which spoke to his intelligence. Twenty years ago, an officer in his position would’ve grabbed Tammy by the shoulders, shaken her, yelled about how she needed to talk if she wanted to punish the guy who did this, or was she making it all up because she wanted attention?
Instead, Burke told Tammy, “My son fought in Afghanistan. Two rotations.”
Tammy’s head tilted up, but she still would not look him in the eye.
Burke said, “When he came back, he was different. So much had happened over there that he couldn’t bring himself to talk about. Now, I’ve never served, but I know what post-traumatic stress looks like because I spend a lot of time talking to women who have survived sexual assault.”
Leigh could see Tammy’s jaw start to clench and unclench. She hadn’t put it into those stark terms yet. She was not a regional manager or a Tech grad. She was a victim of sexual assault. The scarlet letter would burn into her chest for the rest of her life.
Burke said, “PTSD is triggered by a traumatic event. Symptoms include nightmares, anxiety, uncontrollable thoughts, flashbacks, and sometimes amnesia.”
“Are you—” Tammy’s voice caught. “Are you saying that’s why I don’t remember?”
“No, ma’am. We should know more about that when we get back the toxicology report.” Burke was going out on a limb, but he pulled himself back. “What I’m saying is everything you’re experiencing—whether you’re sad, or angry, or in shock, or wanting revenge, or not wanting revenge, or wanting to punish this guy, or maybe you never want to see him again—all of that is perfectly normal. There is no right way or wrong way to act here. What you’re feeling—all of that is right for you.”
The revelation broke Tammy Karlsen. She started to sob. There was no guidebook women were given at birth about how to respond to sexual trauma. It was like getting your period, or miscarrying a child, or going through menopause: the kind of thing every woman dreaded but was for unknown reasons taboo to mention.
“Jesus Christ,” Leigh mumbled. This gentle giant was going to single-handedly turn the jury away from Andrew. She should send him a fruit basket after the trial.
Leigh checked her heartlessness. This wasn’t a game. On the video, Tammy’s body was wracked by sobs. She grabbed a fistful of tissues. Burke didn’t go to comfort her. He stayed in the chair. He glanced at the female officer to make sure she did not move, either.
“I don’t—” Tammy said. “I don’t wanna ruin anybody’s life.”
“Ms. Karlsen, I say this with great respect, but you do not have that kind of power.”
She finally looked up at him.
Burke said, “I know that you are an honest woman. But my belief and your words are not enough for a court of law. Anything you tell me has to be investigated, and if your memory has failed you, or you’ve mixed up events, then our investigation will find that out in quick order.”
Leigh sat back in her chair. It was like watching Jimmy Stewart give a speech on the courthouse steps.
“All right,” Tammy said, but still, almost a full minute passed before she continued. “I was in the park. That’s where I woke up. Or came to. I’ve never been there before, but it—it was a park. And I—I was handcuffed to the table. That old man, the one with the dog? I don’t know his name. He called the police and—”
In the silence, Leigh could hear Tammy’s breath on the audio, a quick in and out as she tried not to hyperventilate.
Burke told the woman, “Ms. Karlsen, sometimes, our memories come to us in images. They flash like an old movie across the screen. Is there anything about the attack, any stray detail, that you can tell me about the man who raped you?”
“He—” her voice caught again. The word rape had just cut through the fog. She had been raped. She was a rape victim.
She said, “He had a ski mask on. And h-handcuffs. He handcuffed me.”
Leigh wrote premeditated on her notepad, because the ski mask and handcuffs had been brought to the scene.
She stared down at the word.
Burke was right about the way memories could flash up. Leigh thought about the vacation photos in Reggie Paltz’s office. If she knew her grifters, Andrew had probably paid for those trips so that he could set the agenda. There might be a photo of him somewhere in a ski mask.
One more possible mark against Andrew.
“I—” Tammy’s throat worked as she tried to swallow. “I asked him to stop. To please stop.”