JIM HANSEN AND CORINNE LARSON are overseas college students
at Amboise, France.
After meeting at a local bar they leave and encounter a drunk. JIM hits him and
the man may be dead. At the manor house where they live, they kiss and make
love. The next day she accuses him of rape but does not formally charge him. He
denies the charge. The police investigate the killing of the drunk.
After they return to California,
CORINNE struggles with the whole incident, wondering if she was at fault. She
talks to her sisters and then seeks professional help after turning to
alcohol. JIM goes to law school and
becomes a deputy district attorney, always wondering if the allegation of rape
will surface and whether he did the right thing. He marries another overseas
student from Amboise.
ALICIA OBREGON contacts JIM and asks him to dismiss the
criminal case against her husband. She informs JIM that she knows all about Amboise
and threatens to expose him. He throws the case, thereby allowing a guilty
person to go free. Over time he pays her money.
JIM is appointed a judge and ALICIA continues to blackmail
him. CORINNE’s husband comes to Sacramento
and confronts JIM in his chambers. JIM says he is sorry about the whole thing.
JIM goes to a rehabilitation facility but in a few weeks he leaves, feeling he
has resolved all of his concerns.
ALICIA is found dead. ALICIA’s husband is charged with her
murder but he implicates JIM because he knows all about the blackmailing
scheme. JIM then is arrested and must stand trial for the murder of ALICIA. The
prosecutor focuses on JIM’s motive. JIM asks noted trial lawyer MIKE ZORICH to
represent him. JIM turns down a plea
bargain and a sensational jury trial follows. JIM is not truthful with his
wife, his attorney or the jury. CORINNE’s husband testifies. The jury cannot
reach a decision and JIM must live with a tarnished reputation amidst unsettled
questions whether he killed ALICIA and raped CORINNE.
April 1985
It all happened in a couple of seconds. The man was lying on
his back in the café doorway on a wet, dimly lit street in Amboise,
France. He appeared to be
lifeless. There was no movement.
Corinne Larson looked at the man and then at Jim Hansen in
astonishment. The two American students were standing under the overhang of the
closed café, as rain fell lightly. It was just after eleven at night and all
the shops were closed on the dark, narrow street, just down from the Rue
Nationale.
The man startled them when he jumped out from behind a garbage
can and grabbed the end of Corinne’s coat. Instinctively, Jim grabbed Corinne
and pulled her away. She clutched her purse and said something to the man, who
was reeking of wine and looked crazed with wide open eyes. Then he lurched
toward them again. Jim swung his fist and caught the man on the right side of
his face, stopping his forward movement. The man was stunned. Jim quickly
pushed him as hard as he could and the man fell back, banging his head on the
garbage can and landing in front of the door with a thud.
Jim paused for a second, deciding what to do, but the man
lay still, his eyes closed. Jim did not think he felt a pulse when he put his
fingers to the man’s wrist, but he was not certain. He stared at him for a
moment. The man was unshaven and hatless; his belt rested more on his ample
stomach than in the loops of his pants. He wore a tattered jacket with a large
tear on the left sleeve and a battered, old beret lay on the ground.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Jim said.
“Wait. Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. I think he’s drunk. But I think we need to
get out of here.”
“Wait a minute.”
Corinne looked around, a worried expression on her face. Jim
took her by the arm and they started walking, each of them checking back every
few seconds to see if the man moved. He didn’t. Jim looked down the street, but
there was no one in sight. It was quiet and dark and wet. They only had a few
more blocks to go, as they hurried within eyesight of the Chateau Royal
d’Amboise and headed to the manor house, where they were staying with other
overseas college students from California.
“Maybe we should say something to somebody,” Corinne said.
“Call the police?”
“There’s nobody around here. Let’s just forget this whole
thing,” he said. “Leave it alone.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“I don’t think we should get involved. They may blame us.
You never know.”
“But we didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Right. I was just defending you. We didn’t do anything
wrong.”
She looked at him. He didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he
looked down the street again.
“You know, probably nobody will even miss him,” Jim said.
“Why would they blame us?”
“I don’t know. We are foreign students. I’m just afraid I
could be charged with something and get locked up. Somebody else will find
him…” his voice trailed off.
Jim pulled Corinne close to him. She pulled the lapels of
her black coat up around her neck and leaned her head slightly into his, as
they scurried along. That April night, a group of American students went to the
Brasserie Hippeau, about a half-mile from their manor house. Everyone had too
much to drink, but that’s what kids do in college—they drink too much.
The memories of America’s
saving role in World War II and all of the G.I.s who served in France
during the war were not entirely gone, even forty years later. The residual
good will from that horrific time was passed down to the children and
grandchildren of the town’s citizens. So a little excess drinking by the young
Americans was easily tolerated. Most people took a parental interest in the
students. A group of middle-aged women engaged in a game of bridge at a table
about twenty feet away grinned at each other as they observed the noisy group
in the corner.
The students talked about their families back home and about
the year that was drawing to a close. Mostly, they drank beer. Gradually, the
group of students that assembled at the watering hole decreased in size until
only six remained.
The brasserie stayed open past its usual 9:30 closing time, as it often did when there were
patrons. It was late and someone said it was time to go home. The other four
took off and it was just the two of them. Jim waited for Corinne while she went
to the restroom.
Jim watched as she sauntered to the back of the bar. He
liked the way she her rear moved with each forward motion of her hips. He
thought about her big brown eyes when she gazed up hazily from her glass of
wine into his eyes. They were soft and her eyelashes were long. Her brown hair
fell just below her shoulders and she would brush it away every now and then as
it tickled her cheeks. After a couple of minutes, she emerged from the back of
the brasserie with a slight smile on her face. He looked at the curve of her
waist and her perky breasts. On her slender neck she wore a silver chain with a
silver heart. He was glad to be with her.
“They said they wanted to get going, so I told them I would
walk with you,” Jim said. “We can catch up.”
“That was nice of you, but I have walked these streets alone
a lot of times at night. It’s a pretty safe town.”
“I know, but just the same. Can’t be too safe. Besides,
we’re both pretty buzzed.”
“You’ve got that right,” she said. “I haven’t had that much
to drink in a long time.”
Jim Hansen liked Corinne Larson, even though they had not
spent much time together during their stay in France.
They were part of a group of 80 students, but for some reason they did not
cross paths all that much. Maybe it was because so many smaller groups formed
naturally. But then they met
unexpectedly a couple of months ago on a Saturday afternoon in Amboise.
Both were exploring where Leonardo da Vinci lived at the Chateau du Clos Luce
in 1515 and the Chapel of Saint-Hubert where he was buried. Every citizen of
the small town knew the story of how Leonardo came to France
with his famous painting, the Mona Lisa. Their interest in French history drew
them together.
Ever since that afternoon, Jim and Corinne often smiled at
each other in class and in the dining room. But they did not spent time alone
with one another. Jim was reluctant to approach Corinne, for reasons he could
not explain, and Corinne was naturally shy.
They didn’t say much more on the way home, both lost in
their thoughts, just walking along to avoid any further issue with the drunk
who had accosted them. He saved her, so to speak. He did a good thing and he
felt proud of himself. They passed the fountain in the center of the town, a
favorite gathering spot for the students. As they arrived at the manor house,
Jim let her scent waft over him. He wondered if he would dare make a move. He
had to, she was so good-looking. And he figured he was her hero.
They opened the creaky door and shook off the raindrops, Jim
keeping in close contact while he helped her out of her coat. And then he
kissed her. She seemed to be surprised at first, but she reciprocated and they
sat down in an adjoining parlor on a sofa. They kissed a lot that night. After
a while, he closed the door to the small room. He started to unbutton her
blouse, but then it ripped in the process as their kisses became stronger and
longer.
It might have been the alcohol or the hormones or the
exhilaration of the knight-in-shining-armor saving his lady, but only the two
of them knew exactly what happened in the next few minutes. It became the
subject of their memories for many years after that rainy night in the middle
of France.
He recalled her saying “no” at some point, but he didn’t
really think she meant it. As he saw it, her actions said the opposite. Yes,
she struggled and tried to push him off and yes, he was bigger, but she never
yelled out. She didn’t leave. He may have pushed her back, he couldn’t recall.
She turned her head to the side when he tried to kiss her some more. Later, she
grabbed her clothes, put on her coat, and left quickly. It was quiet in the old
house and he was pretty sure nobody heard them.
* * *
The morning after that April night with Corinne, Jim ate
breakfast with his usual gang. He was thinking of the man he shoved. Maybe he
wasn’t dead. Maybe he had a pulse and Jim just didn’t feel it. He certainly
seemed to be drunk. Maybe he slept it off and was okay. That was probably what
happened, Jim thought to himself. The more he thought about it the more he
became convinced the man survived and everything was fine. He probably should
have looked for help, but it was too late now.
With a sturdy build and 6 foot 2 inches in height,
blue-green eyes and dark brown hair, he bore something of a resemblance to Paul
McCartney. At least that was what he was told by his sisters and a couple of
their friends when he was growing up. He didn’t think he looked like the famous
singer at all. He had a small scar over his right eye, the result of an
accident in his youth when he was playing catch in the front yard with a friend
and crashed into a lawn sprinkler attached to a hose, but he figured he was
still handsome enough.
He thought of Corinne and wondered if they might become real
friends. He liked her and he hoped she felt the same way. Last night was
exciting and still at the front of his mind. He wished she had stayed instead
of leaving so quickly. He looked around the dining room for her, but she was
not to be seen. After breakfast, he went to class and then spotted her on the
other side of their classroom in the stately hall that served as the large classroom.
She did not even look at him when she walked by him. Odd, he thought. Surely,
she couldn’t be mad at him. A couple of hours later, he saw her again as they
were leaving their French Revolution history class, the last one of the
morning.
“Hey, Corinne, how’s it going? I really enjoyed getting to
know you last night. That bar is a happening place.”
She looked at him for a second and then turned away and
walked into one of the many small rooms nearby, clearly inviting him to follow.
Jim tried to close the door, but it jammed, as did so many of the doors in the
old house. He fussed with it for a moment before finally getting it to shut.
“I was thinking we might go somewhere this weekend, if you
are up to that, maybe Paris.”
“You know, there is an honor code in this program. And when
it comes to sex, the rule is that ‘no means no.’ Have you ever heard of that?”
“Sure I have.”
“You bet you have. And I said no, but you pushed me down.
You know I didn’t want to have sex. You forced me. What happened last night was
not right.”
“I don’t know what to say, Corinne. I thought you agreed. I
don’t know what you are talking about. I thought we were friends. I really like
you.”
She stared at him without blinking, hands on her hips. “You
know what I am talking about. I never wanted to do anything like that.”
“You went along with everything we did. How can you possibly
say that?”
“I can say it because it’s true.”
“Look, be reasonable. That’s not what happened at all.”
“Oh yes, that’s what happened. And that’s not all. You hit
that man and you pushed him over. You didn’t have to do that. He was a drunk
and he wasn’t going to do anything to you or to me. And you did not even want
to stop and see what happened to him. I think you might have killed him.”
“I was trying to protect you. He grabbed you!”
“Oh, for God’s sake, he was harmless. What you did was
unnecessary. And you made me rush away with you. You didn’t even want to stop
and help him. That wasn’t right. You need to turn yourself into the police and
tell them what happened. And you need to figure out why you didn’t stop when I
told you to stop.”
“But…”
“I don’t want to hear it. Not until you are ready to
apologize. You need to stand up and do the right thing.”
She opened the door and walked away. Jim looked at her, speechless, and then sat
down. What was that all about? She couldn’t possibly be saying he raped her,
but she was. He thought again about last night. Yes, they had been drinking,
but he was sure she agreed to everything.
Ken Malovos has been practicing law in Sacramento
for over forty years. He spent twelve years with the Public Defender’s Office
and twenty-five years as a business litigator. He now serves full-time as a
mediator and arbitrator. Ken has written two previous Mike Zorich novels and
both have been recognized by Chanticleer Book Reviews. Contempt of Court was a
First Place Category winner in the legal genre of the Mystery and Mayhem
competition in 2014. Fatal Reunion was a finalist in the
Thriller and Suspense competition in 2016. Ken and his wife live in Sacramento.
