Crash Into Me_ A Survivor's Search for Justice - Liz Seccuro [39]
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, I would like to press charges, please.”
They thanked me for my time, my story, my bravery. They said they’d be in touch with me to explain the next steps, and warned me that the road ahead would be a long one. They gave me their cards and I hugged them both as we exited the conference room.
It had been a long, exhausting day. Mike and Ava were waiting for me when we stepped out into the sunlight.
Rudman and Godfrey introduced themselves and marveled over Ava. I scooped up my daughter and hugged her tightly as we went on our way. I was a normal wife and mother again. Mike attempted to ask me some questions about how it had gone, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted my baby girl to see me smiling, so Mike just held my hand and we took Ava to the ice cream shop down the street.
Later that day, I met with Courteney Stuart and her photographer from the Hook, Jen Fariello, to continue our interview and have photos taken for the story we were working on. They were both so professional and friendly, putting me immediately at ease, despite the day I had already had. It felt good to unload my story.
The next steps came as soon as we returned to Greenwich. First, the police had to ensure that the e-mail address and computer that the e-mails were coming from indeed belonged to William Beebe. The computer crimes desk of the CPD contacted me, and we were able to determine conclusively that the e-mails had come from him.
In the following days, I combed through the online alumni directory, providing Rudman and Godfrey with every detail of every witness I could remember. This became a full-time job, but it was good to feel that I was actually doing something for myself, and was no longer stuck staring at my computer screen, anxiously, fearfully awaiting Beebe’s e-mails. On December 19, 2005, Rudman and Godfrey flew to Las Vegas to obtain a search warrant for Beebe’s home there; they worked with the Las Vegas police. However, two days later, when they set out with Vegas police detectives to visit Beebe’s house, there was no one home. When they reached Beebe on his cell phone, he said he was in Florida on a business trip. Rudman questioned him further on the phone, and Beebe admitted that he had indeed written those e-mails to me and that the content was his own writing. He also admitted that he had had sex with me in October 1984 and that I had been incapacitated at the time. Although he wouldn’t use the word himself, that, by definition, is rape. Using Beebe’s instructions to disarm his home alarm, the police entered the house. They needed evidence in order to obtain an arrest warrant. They seized Beebe’s computer, a journal with handwriting that matched that in the letter to me, and an electric bill with his name and address on it, proving residence. On December 23 Godfrey and Rudman traveled back to Charlottesville with the evidence, before joining their families for the holidays.
A few days after Christmas, the police contacted Assistant Commonwealth Attorney Claude Worrell. His job was to ascertain whether there was enough evidence for an arrest and, subsequently, a prosecutable case. Worrell was professional and friendly and I put my faith in him entirely.
But as the days dragged on and no arrest was made, I became very anxious. Unfamiliar with the criminal process, I had no idea how long these things could take. We had a confession, corroboration, evidence—what else did they need? And as I learned more about William Beebe, I became more disturbed. Although he had sent me a business card from his realty office, he had not actually worked as a real estate agent in almost three years. Rather, he was working as a massage therapist, touching the bodies of clients who presumably trusted him. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think of this admitted rapist enjoying a free life. Of course, he had been doing so for years, but now that the wheels were in motion, I needed closure.
On January 4, 2006, Sergeant Rick Hudson, a trusted colleague of Chief Longo, called me. William