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“I’m Detective Michales,” I extend a hand to her as she approaches. “Why don’t we go to one of the interview rooms so we can talk in private.”
She gingerly shakes my hand and nods. We walk in silence to the room at the end of the hall, where I offer her one of the cold metal chairs before taking one for myself.
I gather basic details of her alleged assailant before diving into her recollection of events. At least if she becomes a blubbering mess, I’ll have height, weight, and hair color for my report.
“Start from the beginning, Mia.” I place my notebook on the table between us and lightly tap my pen on it. “Every little detail you can remember. Even if it seems insignificant, it might be useful. Okay?”
Her throat bobs, and her recollection of the evening begins to spew from her in broken fragments that are going to be useless to me.
“So, you agreed to meet Sam after you closed up the bar?”
“Yes.” She dips her chin, and a bitter look spreads across her face. “I didn’t expect…I…I didn’t ask for this.”
“I didn’t say you did, ma’am.” My eyes drop to her practically exposed tits before returning to her face. “What happened when you went outside?”
“He was nice. Sweet. We kissed a bit.” She pauses briefly, and I catch a hint of shame in her eyes. “Then he went down on me.”
“He performed oral sex on you?” I question to clarify.
“Yes.”
“Consensually?”
Closing her eyes, she nods as she replies, “Yes. At first. He wouldn’t stop. After I came, he kept going and talking about how good I tasted.”
A brief mental image of her splayed across the bed of her truck and being eaten as a meal causes my cock to twitch.
And what kind of woman complains about getting too much head? It’s normally them complaining that a man won’t go down on them.
“When he finally stopped, he pinned me to my truck and used a bottle…” Her words trail off as though she is too ashamed to continue.
“He used a bottle to what?” The words spill from me with an unprofessional enthusiasm. This isn’t the normal run-of-the-mill date rape shit that happens around here.
This is one of them.
One of those rich assholes related to all those disappearing girls.
Her eyes drop to the table, and she picks at her well-worn cuticles before answering, “To fuck me and bottle my cum. This is all so fucking embarrassing.”
“And then?”
“He took what he wanted”—she shifts in her seat and covers her arms across her body—“making me come, he fucked me.”
I’m fucking certain it’s one of them.
“Without your consent?”
“I was crying and screaming for him to stop, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her tone suddenly grows a bit defensive.
I pause and pretend to scribble some notes on my notepad while I wait for her to calm back down.
“And how did you get away after?”
“Get away?” Her brows furrow with confusion. “He just left me there. I mean, after he invited me back to his place for more, he climbed into his expensive-looking car and left.”
“Let me get this straight. He performed oral sex on you, with your consent, proceeded to bring you to completion several more times, and then he invited you to come home with him?” I take a deep breath and let out a sigh. “Are you sure you aren’t having regret over the events that unfolded?”
“I knew this was a mistake.” She abruptly stands from her seat. “No one ever fucking believes girls like me.”
