Storytime. That Time I Was Attacked by a Serial Predator (and The DA Called Me About it 20 Years Later).

Today I received a telephone call from an investigator with a California District Attorney’s office (I won’t say which one).  His message said that “no one is in trouble” and he just wants to speak with me about an old case.  When I Googled, I found the man’s name and number on a telephone list for the Sex Crimes investigation unit.  He was indeed an investigator with the DA and I figured I knew what he was on about — I was sexually assaulted in college by a serial offender and I deduced that my attacker had been arrested again.  It’s the only “old case” I could think of and certainly the only sex crime in which I was ever involved.  Of course, as an attorney, I kind of think investigators are shit/pure evil (of the little dick/huge ego persuasion) and I also know they lie.  So I didn’t care to take or return a cold call from one.

Instead of calling him back I called his supervisors and left voicemails introducing myself as an attorney and asking what the call was about.  Later, the investigator called me back and left a more detailed message, this time including my attacker’s name.  Obviously I recognized the name; what an unpleasant, unexpected and unwanted blast from the past that was (is there any other kind?).  The guy they were calling about had been a stranger to me — so much for the “strange men are totally safe because the men you know are worse” liberal feminist trope — and he had digitally penetrated me in a public place.  A Halloween party.  The police report and subsequent deposition for the case were a riot.  The Guy With the Knife In His Head did this.  Ace Ventura did that.  It was surreal, darkly funny and traumatic.

As I recall, by the time I was called in to do the deposition on my assault my attacker had been arrested again, this time for the rape and attempted murder of his common law wife.  They told me he was definitely going to jail on charges related to that and they planned to drop the charges related to my assault as part of a plea deal.  They asked me how I felt about that, explaining that if I wanted the prosecutor to pursue my case, as a victim, they would consider my wishes.  Since he was going to jail anyway I said that was fine with me.  I was busy trying to survive college and work, my attacker’s lawyer was a dick and had harassed me during the depo and I really didn’t care to have anything more to do with it.  I bowed out and as far as I know that’s exactly what happened: my case went away and my attacker went to jail.  The woman he had raped and tried to kill declined to cooperate at all, saying she would not “help white America put another black man in prison.”

Now, 20 years later I get a call from Little Dick/Big Ego who promised I wasn’t in trouble and said he just wanted to talk.  Is that any way to start a fucking conversation?  Jesus.  It was almost as if he didn’t want me to call him back at all.  Unsurprisingly, the guy who attacked me 20 years ago has been arrested again, this time for rape and sodomy.  I Googled his name and read the details of his latest violent femicidal crime.  Apparently, in California, the prosecutor can bring in victims from prior similar cases to show that the accused is a lifelong asshole (essentially) and the prosecutor is hoping, this time, “to put him away for life.”  My attacker had already been a lifelong asshole when he was arrested for what he did to me and the cops all knew him — long before that, they had given him a nickname that started with The.  You know, like The Hulk, The Terminator, The Situation, etc.  I won’t say what the nickname was but it was a shortened version of his last name and he had a history of prior offenses “as long as my arm” as the cops and prosecutors all told me at the time.  So now, 20 years and a hundred lifetimes later, I have yet another prosecutor wanting my perspective on “Mr. The” because apparently, trying to keep a serial woman abuser in prison is like trying to nail Jello to a wall.

Anyway, the investigator spoke to me for all of 2 minutes and told me that the DA may want me to travel to California to testify at Mr. The’s latest trial.  Clearly, there is no way I could physically or otherwise do that and when I declined to appear he abruptly ended the call.  Before he hung up, he asked me if I had contact information for several women who were, I assume, additional former victims.  I of course did not.  I asked him if he had contacted the prosecutor that handled those earlier cases and he said he had left messages for them but no one ever called him back and besides, the 20-year-old case files might’ve been purged by now.  Honestly the entire thing was so ridiculous that if I hadn’t investigated him before we spoke, I would’ve thought he was a debt collector (or someone else) lying and being shady in order to get me on the phone.  What the fuck dude?  You’re a professional investigator and you’re asking me if I have current contact information for people I never knew?  You have no information on my or any out-of-state case against your perp, a known serial predator, and you have no way to get any?  Prosecutors’ offices don’t talk to each other?

Is this literally his first day, or is he just playing it close to the vest?  Or what?  More likely, would they be a little less in the dark if Mr. The’s previous victims had been men?  Sounds legit.

After I spoke with the investigator, one of his supervisors for whom I had left messages called me back.  I suggested that even though I would not be able to appear in person, perhaps I could give a statement or help in some other way.  (For some reason, Little Dick/Big Ego seemed disinterested in anything except an in-person appearance-on-demand).  For example, I told the supervisor about Mr. The’s history with the local cops, his nickname and his arm-length list of prior violent offenses against women, including attempted fucking murder.  Afterall, judging by what I was told at the time, any or all of the local cops from that time would probably still remember Mr. The, would probably be easily located, and being familiar with his work, would likely be eager to talk.  He seemed interested and said the investigator would call me back tomorrow.  So that happened.  And I’m sure I will be put on payroll immediately for doing the Sex Crimes investigations unit’s fucking job for them yeah?  Right.

For my part, I’ve decided that, while I won’t go out of my way to assist this prosecution because I can’t do shit like that anymore (plus I know it’s useless) and I won’t regale the investigator with details of my attack either (aka. provide wanking material for perverted Sex Crimes investigators) I will absolutely drop a dime on Mr. The and tell them everything I know about him and his priors if it means they might actually put him away for life for fucking real this time.  It’s worth a phone call, sure.  But anything more than that?  Like traveling and whatnot?  LMFAO.  Absolutely not, not considering the cost/benefit of literally doing a lot of something for a bunch of nothing.  And of course, I couldn’t help but think about just how much female time and energy are wasted on this shit — on helping men prosecute other men for the things men do to women, when if men really and truly cared about that, they would do things much differently than they’re currently done.  Wouldn’t they?  Like not letting an attempted woman murderer plead down in the first place.  Like not dismissing legitimate charges of lesser crimes.  Like never letting these woman-hating douchebags out of prison at all, even if it means arranging for my attacker — and every attacker — to have his liver unceremoniously sporked in the prison showers.

Yes, I’m speaking of vigilante justice, and don’t act so surprised.  Men do shit like that all the time when it’s something they actually care about, whether or not they should, we know they do.  But when it comes to deterring known serial predators of women from creating additional victims, the best these pricks can come up with is to ask for women’s help, in my case, to call a chronically ill woman stirring up painful memories, ask her to travel 1000 miles for essentially nothing, and check the “no” box on the form when she declines.  Here, assuming they really don’t have access to the evidence of Mr. The’s previous crimes, I have information that just might help them and they didn’t even think to ask.  In fact, judging by these interactions, including what wasn’t asked for or said, it almost seems like the investigators at the Sex Crimes unit don’t want to “put him away” at all.  That they are just shuffling papers and looking busy — and thereby covering for and protecting known serial predators, and bothering women — until it’s time to go home.