Perfect Victim (10 page)

“I don’t know.”

“How many times did you tell him you loved him?”

“I don’t know.”

“More than once a week?”

“No.”

“More than once a month?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Did he tell you he loved you?”

“When?”

“While he lived on Pershing.”

“Yes.”

Mcguire sat quietly at the prosecution’s table, stunned and bewildered. In light of the physical evidence and previous testimony, this whole, wild tale seemed full of contradictions.

Behind her, the press was furiously scratching out notes. While the alleged “sex slave” sat impassively on the stand, speaking in her flat, soft voice, they scribbled what would, at day’s end, turn into shocking and puzzling news. This story seemed to have everything — from pornography to the Bible, from waterbeds to whips. It made little sense, but great copy.

By late afternoon both the prosecutor and the defense attorney had finally come to the end of their questions.

Now it was up to the judge.

Judge Murray took a recess to review his notes and survey the small sampling of physical evidence. Mcguire waited tensely, mentally reviewing what had transpired over the past two days.

In a few minutes the judge resumed the bench. Christine held her breath and listened.

Judge Murray ruled that Cameron Hooker would have to face charges of kidnapping, rape, sodomy, oral copulation, and rape with a foreign object. Calling the case “extremely serious, and, to put it mildly, bizarre” and declaring that, if the charges were true, Hooker “would certainly be a danger to the community,” the judge maintained bail at half a million dollars.

Papendick was appalled; Mcguire was ecstatic. Still running on nervous energy, she bid a warm farewell to the enigmatic Colleen Stan and her dutiful father, then went out to face the reporters.

The first day, unused to being in the eye of the media, she’d dodged questions and shied away from the cameras. But today, realizing these people were just doing their jobs, she stopped outside the courthouse and fielded questions.

Finally, with all the loose ends wrapped up, the adrenalin spent, and tiredness setting in, she headed off into the early December darkness. As Christine Mcguire turned toward home it began to sink in that the preliminary hearing was over, the trial was on, and the biggest and strangest job of her career was just beginning.

I feel a responsibility towards him that I don’t really understand. I so often hate him, I think I ought forever to hate him. Yet I don’t always. My pity wins, and I do want to help him.

It’s because I never see anyone else. He becomes the norm. I forget to compare.

Miranda, The Collector, by John Fowles

CHAPTER 8 “K”

Winter blew across Northern California with a wet, gray chill. Storms stripped leaves off the old oaks in the hills, leaving them rattling their bare tree-bones. The Sacramento River turned slate gray and pushed heavily against its muddy banks. Short, cold days and long stretches of rain conspired to dampen spirits and sow depression.

But one more downpour and the hills began to blush green beneath their yellowed summer coats. And then Christmas approached.

Good cheer rang through the air like Salvation Army bells, and fat Santas popped up everywhere. Yuletide aromas wafted from kitchens as families celebrated homecomings with splendid food, songs, presents, and all the special trappings of Christmas.

And Janice and Cameron Hooker, like most people, spent Christmas with their families. They exchanged neatly wrapped packages that were soon torn open with excited cries and thanks. They shared sumptuous meals and good-humored banter and never let on that anything was amiss at 1140 Oak Street.

Meanwhile, Colleen spent another dark, cheerless day locked up in the basement. It’s depressing to spend Christmas alone, and Colleen’s could hardly have been more solitary. But to compound her loneliness, her birthday came with the holiday season, so this time of year had always been doubly special.

This year’s birthday should have been an extravagantly celebrated event, but on December 31, New Year’s Eve, Colleen spent a sad, lonely birthday in the box. She turned twenty-one.

The holidays did yield one surprise. Cameron gave Colleen a blue terrycloth nightgown. It was long and warm. She’d been complaining about being cold in the workshop during the night; now she had something to wear.

Soon it would be eight months since that spring day when Colleen Stan had unfortunately climbed into Cameron Hooker’s car to sit in the back seat next to that head box. No one can accurately say what those long months had done to her mental state. The human psyche is a malleable thing-it bends. And it can break. A few hours of simple isolation and sensory deprivation would be an ordeal; a day or two would be cruel; months is macabre, brutal beyond imagining. But more than an extreme solitary confinement, more than a living death in a box the size of a coffin, Colleen had suffered a netherworld of terror and pain.

She had been subjected to recurrent whippings and hangings, as well as incidents of strangulation, dunking, burning, electrocution, and sexual molestation.

Now, after months of continual humiliation and abuse, whatever tenuous grasp on reality Colleen had left was about to be replaced by an elaborate and terrifying fiction.

Cameron Hooker had a vast collection of pornography, ranging from Playboy to hardcore S/M (sadomasochistic) and B&D (bondage and discipline) publications. Some of it impressed him so much that he felt compelled to take photographs of the photographs in the magazines. In any case, the magazines that he retrieved from the pulp plant at work and that he bought at various adult bookstores were more than simply entertainment they were inspiration.

Cameron especially enjoyed one underground newspaper, Inside News, which he bought regularly. But however interesting its articles usually were, the January 1, 1978, edition was riveting.

He looked at page six, and an idea hit him so hard it must have nearly made his ears ring. He read it over and over again, and then he showed it to Janice.

“They Sell Themselves Body and Soul When They Sign THE SLAVERY CONTRACT,” it was headlined, and not only did it detail the supposed hot trade in female flesh in the United States, it had a sample of the slavery contract. Could they get Colleen to believe this? Apparently, the possibility was exhilarating.

Hooker had to somehow duplicate the slavery contract, but this proved difficult. He tried photocopies, but they only looked like photocopies, and he wanted something that looked authentic.

He tried lifting the print off the immage, but that ruined the newspaper.

He bought more copies. A convincing counterfeit was going to require some work and even a little cash, but, well, this was an investment.

Finally, Cameron rented a typewriter and had Janice type the slavery contract. For the space designated “Master,” he instructed her to use an alias, Michael Powers, instead of his real name, on the line marked “Witness,” to use Janet Powers for herself. Then, with some stencils he had bought just for this purpose, he carefully reproduced the calligraphy at the top. And for a final touch he put a seal at the bottom of the page, an “S” with a cross through it. When it was done, he had an exemplary piece of work.

On the evening of January 25, 1978, Cameron Hooker came downstairs into the basement with high expectations. He opened the door of the workshop. Colleen was inside, without the blindfold and unrestrained, sitting in a chair.

For the first time since May, she saw the face of her abductor.

It was a large face, with blunt features, wirerim glasses framing sleepy-looking eyes, sideburns bracketing broad cheeks, and full lips that pursed in irritation. This face loomed over her. He seemed extraordinarily tall.

He gave her a clipboard with paper and pen and told her to practice writing her name. She didn’t understand why he wanted her to do this, but did as she was told. Then he handed her a newspaper article and told her to read it.

Colleen had read nothing in 251 days. Now she was confronted with a story about the buying and selling of women. She tried to focus on the words, trying to understand.

With mounting horror, she read that “the S/M rage” had created a demand beyond common prostitution and had given rise to a new, more depraved trade. Even in the United States, it said, women are forced to sign contracts totally relinquishing control over their lives, their bodies, their souls. Sold into slavery, these women have no rights and no recourse; their owners can do with them whatever they wish. An underground brotherhood of slave traders, as large and well-oiled as the Mafia, not only controls this traffic in young flesh, but also enforces order, hunting down and punishing runaways.

By the time she reached the article’s end, Colleen was thoroughly shaken. That such evil commerce could exist in America was hard to accept, but here it was in print. And didn’t the picture of the woman, naked and bound, look all too much like what she’d suffered uncountable times? Hadn’t she been snatched from her ordinary life and suddenly deposited in a hell far removed from what she’d once believed to be the realm of possibility? Was it so difficult to believe that what had happened to her could happen to anyone?

Cameron interrupted her thoughts. “They know you’re here,” he said. Colleen was confused. Who? Did he mean the police? A quick beat of hope passed through her.

But Cameron explained that it was the Company who knew she was there. The Company: the organization described in the article, a network of slave traders who turned captive women into profit. And now that the Company knew he held Colleen Stan prisoner in his basement, he would have to register her.

Janice was standing next to him, a sheet of paper in hand, a knee brace and bandage on her leg. Cameron took the paper and handed it to Colleen, telling her that the Company would take her away unless she signed it. Alarmed, Colleen saw that she was holding a contract exactly like the one in the article, a slavery contract, with “This Indenture” written in heavy black ink across the top. Clasping the official-looking document, she tried to comprehend its arcane and legalistic language. It read: THIS INDENTURE, Made the 25 day of January in the year of Our Lord One Thousand Nine Hundred and Seventy-Eight, BETWEEN Colleen Stan, hereafter known as Slave; AND Michael Powers, hereafter known as Master; WITNESSETH: That Slave, for and in consideration and in humble appreciation of such care and attention as Master may choose to afford her, has given, granted, aliened, enfeoffed and conveyed, and by these Presents does give, grant, enfeoff and convey unto Master: ALL of Slave’s body, and each and every part thereof without reservation, every bit of her will as to all matters and things, and the entirety of her Soul, TOGETHER with, all and singular, every privilege, advantage and appurtenance to the same belonging or in anywise appertaining; ALSO all the estate, right, title, interest, property, claims, ego and id of Slave in, of and to the same and in, of and to every part and parcel thereof; TO HAVE AND TO HOLD, all and singular, the above described body, will, Soul and premises, with all appurtenances thereof, unto Master and any of His assigns forever.

AND the said Slave does covenant, promise and agree: 1. She shall immediately, diligently and enthusiastically comply with and submit her full being to any and all directions or desires of Master or His assigns which He or They may express by word, signal, action or any other means.

2. She shall at all times afford Master absolute respect, shall address Him only as “Sir” or “Master,” shall station herself in a physical position subordinate to His whenever possible, and shall speak to or otherwise distract Him only when granted His permission.

3. She shall constantly maintain her female body parts in such circumstances as will demonstrate and ensure that they are fully open to Him. In particular, she shall never cross her legs in His presence, shall wear no undergarments at any time, and shall cover no part of her body with apparel or material of any description except when the act of doing so and design of the item are expressly approved by Him.

4. She shall preserve her female body parts for the exclusive use of Him and His assigns, which use shall be the sole source of her pleasures, and she shall engage in no self-gratification nor any physical contact with any others.

AND Slave does hereby irrevocably declare and acknowledge her everlasting unconditional dedication to serving Master to His full satisfaction; AND she ashamedly confesses that prior indulgence of her untempered conduct by others may have permitted her to become afflicted with inferior habits that may prove unsatisfactory to Master, from which imperfections she implores Master to free her by retraining with corporal punishment or any other means which He, in His unquestionable wisdom, deems effective toward directing her to her sole ambition and life-destiny of perfectly fulfilling His every desire of her.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, Slave has hereunto set her hand, and Master has designed to Seal these Presents by permanently affixing His Collar about her neck, on the date first above written.

This is the work of the devil, Colleen thought. She felt overwhelmed, unable to move. But he was standing there, waiting for her to sign…

As Cameron waited, he watched the devastating effect the contract was having on Colleen, gratified to see that she was crying, even shivering with fear: She believed it.

Finally, she managed to ask, “What if I don’t sign it?”

“If you don’t, I’ll sign it for you and make you wish you had.”

This threat sunk in, and then she asked, “Well, who is Michael Powers?” She knew, she said, that his name was Cameron.

“I’m known by two names,” he answered coolly. “That’s my Company name.”

One word was unfamiliar, “enfeoffed,” but when she asked what it meant, Cameron couldn’t tell her. Instead, he warned her to hurry up and sign the contract. She was keeping the Company messenger waiting upstairs.

Still reeling, Colleen had one final statement of defiance before she signed herself into slavery. He might hold her hostage in his basement, he might force her to sign the contract, and he might even have control of her body, but “you can never have my soul,” she told him.