I try to bring my mind back to the job at hand. I now have two names: Ben and Mike. The name of the man who assaulted Emily is Ben and in some way a man called Mike is involved. I still don’t know who the man by the door is, though.
I skip to the last burst of conversation.
“Jesus Christ.” A new voice enters the room. He sounds disgusted and yet manages to maintain a businesslike tone. This must be Mike. “Okay. Put her in the bath, Joe,” he orders, staying back at the edge of the room and orchestrating from a distance.
Joe must be the name of the other man in the room when it happened.
“Leave her in the water then give her this,” Mike says.
“What is it?”
“Ben, leave the room,” Mike orders.
There’s a silence and then the sound of a throat being cleared and I don’t catch Ben’s answer. After a moment or two the door to the room opens and closes.
“Did he use protection?” Mike asks. There’s a pause before he says, “Good.”
“What is this?” Joe asks.
“It’s fine. It won’t hurt her. It’s just insurance,” he reassures him. I hear a muffled sound from Emily. “Put her in the bath, shower her off, then fill it, give her that, and leave her. Not too deep, I don’t want anyone dying in his house. Come get me when you’re done,” the voice instructs, efficient and clearly on the clock. He doesn’t sound like a guest at this party. The sound of rustling. “No, leave her clothes where they are, dipshit.”
The sounds of a now unresponsive Emily being lifted and moved away from the recording device. The audio rolls on oblivious to the exit of its main characters as the thunder of running water begins in the adjoining room.
I sit listening to the rush of unseen water, dumbstruck by everything I’ve just heard.
Jesus Christ. Emily was drugged then raped, then drugged again and left naked, for God knows how long, in a tub of cold water.
She must have known someone had drugged her at some point and she had the foresight to activate her recording app. She probably tried to call Marla. If only I could check her call log. She must have been so scared. I listen to the muffled sound of the New Year’s party bubbling along beyond the walls of that room; to be so close to people but not be able to call for help.
Then suddenly I’m ripped away from the audio by a burst of sound from behind me. My heart leaps into my throat as I spin at the sound of my iPhone vibrating against the granite of the kitchen counter. I see from the oven clock it’s just before midnight. I stop the recording and make my way over to the counter cautiously. It’s a video call from Nick’s phone.
I pause. After everything I’ve heard tonight I’m not sure it’s the ideal time to talk to him.
I hesitate, as the shrill ringtone continues, then look back at my pad on the floor. I have names to give Cortez tomorrow, I have a laptop, I have a phone, and I have an audio recording. That should be more than enough.
And I don’t want to go to bed tonight thinking about what just happened in that recording. I need to clear my mind.
I hit accept call and Nick’s beaming face fills my screen.
24
Intruder
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14
I wake with a start to the sound of my alarm clock. It takes me a second to orient myself after having slept so deeply. Last night floods back to me: Emily’s hazy voice, the sound of distant running water, and her fear.
I shut off the blaring alarm and pull the warm covers up over my head, cocooning myself for a moment in calm stillness. I remember what it is I have to do today. I think of the forms I’ll have to fill out and the story I’ll have to share.