Forty-seven
Prologue

I was walking my dog when eleven year old Daphne Taylor was raped. A neighbor coming home from work found her half naked and beaten and called the police. She was in shock and couldn't give the police much help. She said a monster had hurt her. I was almost home when a black and white pulled up to the curb and I was asked a few questions. Who I was, what I was doing, if I'd seen anything suspicious or unusual. I answered as best I could and went into my house not knowing exactly what had happened, but knowing that something had. I thought they were looking for a burglar and I explained that to Rebecca, my wife of some two years, as we got ready for bed.

I was called at work the next day and invited to the police station to see if I could be of any further help to the investigation. I agreed of course and spent my lunch hour answering questions, only finding out then that Daphne had been raped. I had little real help to offer unfortunately and I felt bad for the little girl, although I couldn't say I knew her at all. I returned to work sincerely hoping they'd catch the animal responsible for such a thing and I called my wife at home, telling her what had happened and warning her to be careful as there was a rapist running around.

Three days later I was once again invited to the precinct, this time by two detectives who showed up at the bank where I worked as a loan officer. They assured my boss and me that it was just routine. I was questioned for several hours and it was soon obvious that I was the prime and perhaps only suspect in the case. They asked me if I'd take a polygraph test and provide a DNA sample. When I mentioned getting a lawyer the detectives told me I wasn't under arrest, so why would I need a lawyer? It made me sound guilty, or so they implied.

I was questioned further without a lawyer present, wishing to appear as innocent as I was. I took their polygraph and allowed the police to take hair and blood samples from my body. Late that afternoon I was led to a room in which five other men were being lined up on a little stage. I joined them and I was slow to realize it was a lineup, but I caught on quickly as I faced the one way glass in front of us.

We turned left and right and each of us stepped forward in turn to reading from a hand lettered index card, "Yeah, baby! Give daddy some of that little cunt!"

I very nearly choked on the words and after the line-up was concluded the two detectives arrested me for the rape and sexual battery of Daphne Taylor. I was read my rights, processed, and detained in a holding cell. I had one phone call and I called my wife, telling her what was happening and we were both in shock. She told me it would be alright; she knew a lawyer, a good one from college, and she would call him.

My wife's lawyer friend, a young man named Steven, seemed confident and knowledgeable. There was little he could do immediately however and at my bail hearing I was dismayed when the judge set my bail at a quarter million dollars. Such things had seemed reasonable to me before when I watched the late news on TV, but it was a different feeling altogether realizing I would never be able to get that sort of money together. A bail-bondsman would charge ten percent. Our house would almost be worth it, if it wasn't already mortgaged to the hilt. Rebecca and I had gotten married out of college and we were practically newlyweds. We were 24 years old and the world was ending.

My trial was quick and painful. I'd been under a lot of pressure to make a deal. To plead guilty and get a reduced sentence, to spare the little girl the trauma of having to testify and relive the experience. In truth, I almost did plead just for that reason alone. I felt genuinely sorry for Daphne, but I also felt sorry for myself. Steven told me that the prosecutor had a weak case, however, and that we could beat it. The DNA evidence was inconclusive. The girl had identified me by voice alone, not by sight since her attacker had worn a nylon stocking over his head. I'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, my lawyer said and my wife agreed; we would beat the case.

I was sentenced to fourteen years in the state penitentiary at Rockville.