He put out a hand, tried to slow her. “Miss Bergman—”

“Or my torn asshole? Is that the delicate situation you mean, Chief Hartman?”

“There’s no need for that kind of language.”

“Sorry,” she said. “My torn anus.”

He started again. “Bloomington’s got to be different from what you’re used to, growing up in Los Angeles.”

“Well, no one raped me in Los Angeles.”

“I want you to know I’m here to help you through this, to make this as easy for you as possible.”

Caitlin took a breath, realized she was sweating, wiped her forehead. “Sorry.”

“No need to be,” he said. “In a big city, horrible things like this happen every day. Small towns like Bloomington? I’m sure you’re aware we still have fights between locals and college students over meaningless boundaries and imagined slights.”

“Such as what the word no means?”

He laced his hands together. “I understand the counselor has gotten in touch.”

“Yes.”

“And Warren from the prosecutor’s office?”

“Who sent me here.”

“Yes, good. Have they told you about Troy’s account?”

“Let’s see that piece of shit talk his way out of DNA evidence.”

“People said the same thing about OJ Simpson. Do you know why rape is such a hard thing to prove?”

The tightening in Caitlin’s chest prevented her from interrupting.

“It’s not like murder. Someone shoots someone, there’s a gun. Someone owned that gun, bought bullets. Ninety-nine out of a hundred cases, we find those killers, give a jury enough evidence to send them away. But rape? Most cases of rape happen between two people in a remote place, no witnesses, with no evidence left behind.”

“What about his semen, my skin under his nails? What about my face?”

“Horrible, but look at his statement. He says you’re into rough sex, that you asked him to treat you this way.”

“Who would ask to be beaten to death?”

“You’re not the first girl in town to have sex with Troy Woods.”

“I don’t really care who he finger-blasted after a football game. He raped me.”

“None of the other women have claimed to have been raped.”

“Claimed?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. He’s going to fight this. He already has a lawyer. They’re going to find everything they can in your past to suggest this was what you wanted.”

“I never wanted to be raped.”

Hartman moved some papers on his desk, held up a single sheet. “Do you know Darren Thompson?”

“What are you talking about?”

He read from the paper. “ ‘Last night was amazing, especially when you spanked me. Ever tie anyone up? ’Cause I’d be into that.’ ”

“Where did you get that?”

He didn’t stop. “ ‘Saturday night you should use me however you want. Make me your whore.’ ”

He handed her the email exchange between her and her ex.

“Darren gave you that?”