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“Only briefly.”
    â€œOnly briefly” stretched into forty minutes and a second round of wine. Three guys in a local rock band fancied a cocktail waitress during a gig at one of the student madhouses in Allston. She didn’t return quite the groupie fascination they’d come to expect, so they waited for her in their van afterward. Four hours later, they dumped her behind a boarded-up building in the Combat Zone.
    Nancy said, “It was her mother made her go to the police the next day. Fortunately, she drew an officer who cared, and he triggered the Rape Unit.”
    â€œAny physical evidence left?”
    â€œYes and no. The victim had bathed and douched herself for a couple of hours, which pretty well eliminated the semen and hair possibilities. But there were plenty of bruises, and a bartender who corroborates her story of the guys hitting on her beforehand.”
    â€œWhere are you now?”
    â€œI just finished my direct of the bartender. Tomorrow, they’ll cross him, then probably put their own clients on the stand.”
    â€œThat’s pretty unusual, isn’t it?”
    â€œIn most criminal cases, yes. But not in rape. Especially not in group rapes like this one. These guys aren’t contesting that she was in the van and had intercourse with them. In fact, they bragged about it to their manager afterward. No, they’re claiming consent, but they lost their motion to have her prior sexual behavior come in as an exception to the rape shield statute, so it pretty well leaves their word against hers and her physical condition, backed up by photographs at the district station the next day.”
    â€œThey have any priors?”
    â€œNo. Which makes them a lot harder to impeach. But I was watching them while we impaneled the jury. They’re cocky, probably figuring the publicity they’re getting will increase their name recognition for the future. I think that’ll come across as guilty arrogance, not innocent righteousness, once I have a shot at them.”
    We ate dinner, my filet mignon garnering almost the level of praise the price tag warranted. The wine was just right, and Nancy put some symphonic music on the stereo system that the doctor couldn’t bear moving from the custom-built cabinet next to the hearth. We lay back, slanted in toward each other on the couch, sipping the last of the wine.
    â€œI like where you live, John.”
    â€œIt’s grown on me the last couple of hours.”
    â€œThanks to the company?”
    â€œMustn’t fish for compliments, counselor.”
    She slid her hand up to my neck, flicking and tugging gently on the roots right at the hairline.
    I looked into her eyes, blue and wide-spaced, the freckles that multiplied week by week as the sun scaled higher in the early summer sky. “After the kind of stuff you had to deal with today, I’d understand if you’d rather not tonight.”
    She moved her head slowly, left to right. “I waited long enough for you, John Cuddy. I’m not about to miss any chances now. And besides, after the kind of stuff I dealt with today, what I’d really like is a night of nice, slow lovemaking, to put sex back where it belongs rather than turn against it.” She stood up and walked to the stereo. “I know a lot of this is new for you still, and I don’t want to suggest anything radical, but how would you like to make love to music tonight?”
    â€œGood idea.”
    â€œAny requests?”
    â€œWell,” I said, putting down my glass and coming up behind her, “let’s avoid the ‘Minute Waltz.’”
    I got to a sitting position and picked up the telephone by the third ring. Every muscle was tight but strangely refreshed from the Nautilus workout and being with Nancy. The circulating floor fan blew the sheets against my legs as Nancy groped for an unfamiliar light switch. The luminescent dial on the clock radio read 5:45