Without Consent Read Online Free PDF Page A

prosecutor’s point.
    “We’ll try to calm Naomi down before she goes back in,” Anya said. It was the best she could do.
    Anya had first met the traumatized nineteen-year-old the morning after her school’s farewell dance. Naomi had awoken naked in a strange hotel room with two boys from her class. She told a typical story of a date rape: having a drink or two then feeling woozy and losing a large block of time. All she knew was that she wouldn’t have voluntarily gone to a hotel room, or had sex with the boys.
    “At least you’ve got the carpet burn to her nose. It’s not easy doing that to yourself.”
    “Pity she scrubbed herself raw in the shower and destroyed anything more tangible,” Jennifer answered, adjusting her wig and bar jacket. The fidgeting looked more like a nervous gesture than essential grooming.
    Anya felt very sorry for the young victim but knew the chances of a conviction were slim, despite examination supporting the girl’s story. A carpet burn to her nose and top lip, and fingermark-sized bruises on her upper arms, were consistent with her being dragged along the floor to the bed while unconscious.
    Her mother had found Naomi at home, scouring her bleeding skin with steel wool, and immediately brought her in to the sexual-assault unit.
    Anya was quick enough to contact the hotel to secure the room before it was cleaned. Crime scene discovered semen on the sheets and DNA pointed to one of the boys in the room. This turned out to be the most damning evidence. Mysteriously, the sheet had disappeared from the evidence room during the trial. Whether it was deliberate or through sheer incompetence, the prosecution’s case had been irrevocably damaged.
    The wig and jacket managed another readjustment as Jennifer watched people move toward the courtroom. “I’d better go in.”
    The only evidence the prosecution had was a urine sample that showed the presence of Rohypnol, a powerful amnesic benzodiazepine.
    “Good luck,” Anya said, more to herself, at the prospect of calming Naomi.
    The young woman walked back from the toilets, wiping her face with a tissue. Her mother held a protective arm around Naomi’s shoulders. Anya thought about Louise Richardson and others like her who had experienced every moment of their assault, but felt particularly sad about Naomi’s situation. Not knowing what happened that night was in some ways even more traumatic. With the effects of the benzodiazepine, it was as though her mind was like a video camera without the record button. No memory had been laid down to recover, no matter how hard she tried. All that the girl had was her imagination and anxieties, which could be more frightening than the attack.
    “Will you please sit with me just for this?” the girl pleaded.
    Anya sighed. “I’m sorry, but I still need to be seen by the jury as being independent. If I support you in there, they start doubting my evidence. That just hurts your case.” She gently touched Naomi’s arm. “Mary is due any minute. She’ll be here for you for as long as you need her.”
    The sexual-assault unit’s most senior counsellor arrived outside the court puffing, apologized, and led her charge into the courtroom. Jennifer Beck was already at her table when Anya quietly slipped in and took a seat at the back.
    Within minutes, Jennifer’s closing argument had begun.
    As she listened, Anya thought about the humiliation Naomi had endured both in the hotel room and in the multiple statements she’d had to make to police, as well as in the witness box. The young men had hired Veronica Slater, a defense barrister known for being ruthless.
    Veronica’s cross-examination of victims was like watching a wolf dissecting a lamb. Anya could imagine Naomi faltering with each question. How could she do anything else? She couldn’t remember any of the events that night, which is precisely what the perpetrators wanted.
    Jennifer Beck concluded the case for the prosecution and sat