Harvard County station. I just thought I should let you know that this morning we arrested someone in connection with your case. They’re being charged tomorrow, and it’s almost certain they will enter a plea of not guilty. Joanne, I think this guy is our man, so it looks like it’s going to end up going to court. I just thought I should get you prepared for that eventuality. Anyway, you can call me on this number or the number at the top of the statement sheet to discuss how we proceed.”
Chapter Eleven
Jo
3 0 October 2015. Thirty three days after.
I still haven’t called the police back. They rang again, the day after that first message, to leave another. This time Borowski told me that the man they arrested was charged with six counts of rape. He entered a plea of not guilty, and was given bail pending trial.
I don’t know his name, but I know that even if he is the man who assaulted me, he’s free until his case goes to trial. That could be anything from six weeks to sixty. It may never end up there. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to face it again, or him. I want to forget about it and move on with my life.
Rape. Sexual assault. Violation. These words spin around my head like planets orbiting the sun.
Dad calls the home phone. He calls my mobile when I don’t answer it. He leaves a text message. “Have you heard!! We’ve got him!!”
I feel sick. I barely make it to the toilet bowl before I vomit. Why can’t anyone understand this is already over for me?
But then I guess it’s not, and it never will be.
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
2 November 2015. Fifty days after.
I’ve been looking at statistics. Rape is defined in many different ways by the different agencies that collect the data. This means that in America alone, depending on which definition is being used, there were, in 2014, either 85,967 reported rapes or 365,872. The larger number includes sexual assaults without penetration. According to one charity set up to combat violence against women, one in six women have at some point in their lifetime experienced either an attempted or a completed rape, and 27% of rapes occur in the victim’s homes.
Only 25% of reported rapes result in arrest and only 5% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. Only 5% will get any kind of justice for what they have done.
Here are some more statistics. Alice Hunter was 27 years old when she was raped and killed. Her daughter was 14 weeks old. Six of her ribs were broken. 65% of her blood was drained from her body. She was violated anally and vaginally. The knife that she was killed with came from our kitchen drawer, it was part of a Christmas present moving in set from Alice’s mother. Only 5% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. This one is never going to get close enough to even think about what that might feel like.
What do I have to go on? I have DNA from the sperm he left inside her, and the skin she scratched away in desperation from somewhere on his body. I know he was alone. I know he broke into the house, which means he either knew she was alone too, or he was planning a burglary and changed his mind at the last minute. The police say the murder was not premeditated. The police care a lot less about solving this than I do. Fifty days have already passed and I haven’t so much as received a phone call from them.
I read as much as I can about arrests, charges, trials, and convictions. I cover the whole of America, just in case. For such a large area, you’d be surprised at how few cases there are that relate to sexual assault, rape or murder with some kind of sexual element.
I’m looking for patterns, trains of thought, the typical perpetrator’s modus operandi. I don’t look at murder specifically, but I do look at burglaries that end up in murder. I look at straight burglary too, but only in the state I’m in and the counties near the border of the states that border us. According to statistics, a large enough percentage of
Chapter Eleven
Jo
3 0 October 2015. Thirty three days after.
I still haven’t called the police back. They rang again, the day after that first message, to leave another. This time Borowski told me that the man they arrested was charged with six counts of rape. He entered a plea of not guilty, and was given bail pending trial.
I don’t know his name, but I know that even if he is the man who assaulted me, he’s free until his case goes to trial. That could be anything from six weeks to sixty. It may never end up there. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to face it again, or him. I want to forget about it and move on with my life.
Rape. Sexual assault. Violation. These words spin around my head like planets orbiting the sun.
Dad calls the home phone. He calls my mobile when I don’t answer it. He leaves a text message. “Have you heard!! We’ve got him!!”
I feel sick. I barely make it to the toilet bowl before I vomit. Why can’t anyone understand this is already over for me?
But then I guess it’s not, and it never will be.
Chapter Twelve
Ethan
2 November 2015. Fifty days after.
I’ve been looking at statistics. Rape is defined in many different ways by the different agencies that collect the data. This means that in America alone, depending on which definition is being used, there were, in 2014, either 85,967 reported rapes or 365,872. The larger number includes sexual assaults without penetration. According to one charity set up to combat violence against women, one in six women have at some point in their lifetime experienced either an attempted or a completed rape, and 27% of rapes occur in the victim’s homes.
Only 25% of reported rapes result in arrest and only 5% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. Only 5% will get any kind of justice for what they have done.
Here are some more statistics. Alice Hunter was 27 years old when she was raped and killed. Her daughter was 14 weeks old. Six of her ribs were broken. 65% of her blood was drained from her body. She was violated anally and vaginally. The knife that she was killed with came from our kitchen drawer, it was part of a Christmas present moving in set from Alice’s mother. Only 5% of rapists will ever spend a day in jail. This one is never going to get close enough to even think about what that might feel like.
What do I have to go on? I have DNA from the sperm he left inside her, and the skin she scratched away in desperation from somewhere on his body. I know he was alone. I know he broke into the house, which means he either knew she was alone too, or he was planning a burglary and changed his mind at the last minute. The police say the murder was not premeditated. The police care a lot less about solving this than I do. Fifty days have already passed and I haven’t so much as received a phone call from them.
I read as much as I can about arrests, charges, trials, and convictions. I cover the whole of America, just in case. For such a large area, you’d be surprised at how few cases there are that relate to sexual assault, rape or murder with some kind of sexual element.
I’m looking for patterns, trains of thought, the typical perpetrator’s modus operandi. I don’t look at murder specifically, but I do look at burglaries that end up in murder. I look at straight burglary too, but only in the state I’m in and the counties near the border of the states that border us. According to statistics, a large enough percentage of