Amina Ch. 01: The Interview

Chapter 1 - The Interview

"You don't have a problem with this case?" Andrew asked her when they sat in his study.

"You mean because it's a rape case?" Amina looked up from the thick case file on her lap. "No," she continued. "You know how prevalent rape is in our society and how gender-violence is directed against women 9 times out of ten." Amina took a breath. She had written two dissertations on this topic and, even though her uni days were some years behind her, she still felt very passionate about gender-based violence and its consequences.

"And you do know that a huge number of rape-cases go unreported. For a woman to step forward and accuse someone of rape is a very positive and courageous step. And that... she... needs support in any way possible. So anything I can contribute to help with this scourge of humankind, I happily do," she answered, sitting very straight in her chair, her sizeable chest pushing out her white blouse.

"I had hoped you would feel that way, Amina," Andrew smiled. He looked at her and saw nothing but determination in her green eyes. And the will to prove her worth.

"But you know what's weird about this case?," he continued. "All five women said he had raped them repeatedly over several days. And all of them made very positive remarks about the sex during the course of the interview - despite not being asked about it and despite Polinda forcing himself on them... Makes you wonder: why did they consider it rape then? And why come forward if they liked it?"

"Hmmm, that's indeed strange," she answered and looked again at the court files and the photos of the accusers.

Andrew looked at her. "And the guy seems to have a liking for models... I mean have you looked at the photos of them? All of them are drop-dead gorgeous, like a quite busty version of a Claudia Schiffer or Cindy Crawford in their prime. If I was a guy with his penis for a moral compass, I'd definitely want to get in their pants."

"Well, maybe he's just a lucky guy," she answered reservedly. Mentor or not, Andrew could be a bit... brusque.

"But you're right: they all fit the conceived notion of beautiful." She took a breath and looked at the photos again. Strikingly beautiful every single one, all of them tall, long hair, very curvaceous. "Some very beautiful, even... almost hyper-feminine."

Andrew looked out of the window, then spoke. "So, Amina, what we'll do is profile him. Don't worry, this is standard procedure: there are established methods and standard questionnaires. I'll email them to you well in advance so you get an idea of what it's all about. The interviews themselves are usually done over two to three days, depending on progress, naturally. And don't worry: I'll lead, of course. You can just observe if you like - and give me your professional opinion afterwards. If you do want to participate: stick to the questionnaire."

Andrew took a breath. He continued slowly. "Also: because the court ordered Polinda to be under house-arrest until the proceedings, we'll have to do the interview at his place. That's a little bit unusual, but not out of the norm in rape cases."

"Ok. Do I need to bring anything?" Amina asked.

"Your role is to be the second expert opinion, Amina. We'll write the report together, so bring a notepad and some recording device. I've had trouble with mine once and it resulted in quite a bit of awkwardness. Always good to bring a backup."

"Sure, will do," Amina said.

"And Amina?"

"Yes?"

"Do dress down, ok? It's not that you dress like a vamp or anything, but dress as conservatively as you can. He is an accused rapist after all. You're 29, tall, beautiful and could fit his type. Tie up your hair, don't dress overly feminine - and no make-up."

"Eerrrrrm, of course, Andrew... Listen, I am honoured that you're letting me do this with you. I really am," she replied.

"See you next week at his house. I'll text you the details," Andrew said.

One week later

Amina had driven almost an hour from the city, and while her dark green Fiat Punto always held up, she did get worried about some of the scraping noises it made. Not a great place to break down here. It was beautiful and lush this late spring, but Amina was a city girl. She was used to a very different population density. Some farms seemed half-a-mile from the road and then miles from their next human neighbors. Cows, sheep and horses outnumbered humans by factor 100 at least. Really not a great place to break down... Maybe I can get Mike the Mechanic to check it out again. She chuckled: Mike and Mechanics - like that 80s band. That guitar riff rang in her ears and she smiled. "The Power of Love" - one of those quintessential 80s anthems. She made a mental note to rewatch Back to the Future again.

"Turn left in 200 yards," said the female Maps-Voice and the Punto creaked over a rough dirt road. Amina did and was shortly after rewarded with "You have reached your destination." She parked off the dirt-road and was sitting in her car. No sign of Andrew. Amina craned her neck - she could see Polinda's house maybe 300 yards away. She pulled the case file from her leather backpack and went over the details again, nervously tapping the steering wheel.

Andrew was still not here and he was ten minutes late. Very unlike him, he usually was early. Amina's palms were a bit sweaty. She had put Mace into her bag, just in case. If things get out of hand. With the rapist... accused rapist, she corrected herself.

Her phone disturbed her train of thoughts. It was Andrew.

"Amina. I can't make it. My car is dead. Yeah, I charged it overnight, but it won't start... really annoying. I tried everything. The battery needs to charge at least another four hours... I am sorry, Amina. You'll have to do the first interview with Polinda by yourself."

Amina paled. Alone with a rapist? A man who raped women over days and days?

"Aaandrew, really... I... really don't know. I am not comfortable with being alone in a room with a serial rapist. Have you checked where he lives? The nearest house is at least a mile away. Makes you wonder how he gets his supplies with that electric ankle monitor he has to wear, right?" She breathed in and out. Nah, she definitely would not do this all by herself.

"Why don't we postpone to tomorrow or next week and then both of us can do the interview together?"

She could hear Andrew taking a breath before he replied. "I'm afraid it has to be today, Amina. You know courts operate on tight deadlines and for Polinda's assessment we have to do three rounds of interviews, deadline is Friday. Today is Monday and I am not available tomorrow. If we don't do it today, the prosecutor won't have a psych profile and that would seriously weaken his case. In short, Polinda might get away with everything he's accused of."

"Really, Andrew... really?!! So you're telling me if I don't do this interview today... now, actually, he will likely walk free?"

"Yes, really, Amina. That's exactly it. The court won't admit late submittal of auxiliary evidence after it started it's proceedings. That how the system works.

"But listen, Amina, you'll be doing great. There's really nothing to worry about - do you have the questionnaires printed out with you?"

"Yes, I do," she replied. "And also on my laptop."

"Fantastic. Then you are perfectly prepared. Simply stick to the questionnaires and you can't go wrong." Andrew sounded almost upbeat. "You know, just view it as an exam which you've prepared for, you can't go wrong.

"And, well, do make it clear right at the start that you are a representative of the judicial system. Slip it into the conversation every now and then - reinforced learning, right?" Andrew chuckled. "Like they do it training AI systems."

He can really be quite the geek, Amina grinned inwardly.

"But listen: you know that his case will be frontpage news - it is quite a boon to be involved so prominently, Amina. Being involved in this will open doors for you, trust me."

Amina had just opened her psychotherapy practice three months ago and really could do with some exposure - and more clients. Andrew had referred a couple of but it was just enough to almost scrape by. If her little Fiat Punto gave up on her completely, she'd be without a car unless someone gave her one for free.

Writing a psych-eval profile that would be key in a case discussed in the national news would make her the envy of her ex-classmates. And Andrew was right: it would definitely open up doors to the upper echelons.

"I am still quite nervous about it, Andrew," Amina sighed and sat up straight, her white blouse stretching over her ample breasts.

"But we can't let him walk free, right?"

Andrew briefed her on standard procedure, what to watch out for, character trait markers and patterns. "And, by the way, the report needs to be pretty final by this Friday. I'll help you write it. But we can't postpone today's meeting. Court deadline is Monday next week and we need Friday and possibly the weekend to finish the report. I've got three other cases to work on and we need to meet with him again tomorrow and the day after for this."

"I know the deadline, Andrew, you already said," Amina rolled her eyes.

"Great. Now go and get that questionnaire filled in!" he said cheerfully.

"Ok. Thanks, Andrew," Amina smiled, "now go and stop buttering me up."

She was on her own. You can do this. You can do this... I shouldn't have put on rouge today. Why did I do make-up when I am visiting a rapist? Andrew said I shouldn't, stupid. She sighed. At least she did dress down massively: a bulky white blouse, revealing nothing of her full, round breasts underneath, dark pants and flat, black shoes. Her long blonde hair was tied into a bun, the most unsexy granny hairstyle she could think of. Quite the operation to tame her blonde curls.

Good thing I printed the questionnaires and brought my own recorder. She grabbed her backpack, closed the creaky car door, wiped her sweaty hands on her dark pants, straightened her plain white blouse.

"Girl is doing it by herself!" she said aloud, then walked on the wide dirt road towards the large, rustic wooden house.

The wooden planks of the veranda creaked loudly as she stepped on them in her flat leather shoes. He probably doesn't need a doorbell, she thought. She paused in front of the door. Her fingers were inside her small leather backpack, fingering the Mace. Ok, Amina thought, he is an object of study. Nothing more, nothing less. No judgement. You can do...

Suddenly the front door opened. Amina stepped back, startled. Opposite her was a tall man, lean with a certain ruggedness. Quite handsome... for a rapist, Amina thought. Muscular with slightly curly dark hair closely cropped, an angular, very maskuline face. Sharp, observant blue eyes. The afternoon sun set him in a golden light. His shirt sleeves were neatly rolled up, his jeans worn, but sturdy. He certainly would not have looked out of place in one of the TV series about farms and cowboys and the beautiful countryside.

"Hi there," he said, and held out his hand. "You must be the psychologist?"

"Dr Amina Marten. Nice to meet you," she said flatly. "I am here part of the judicial investigation into the alleged rape cases."

He looked straight into her eyes when they shook hands and didn't flinch at all when she mentioned the rape cases. Not even a micro-expression, Amina thought. Definitely confident.

The house was nicely furnished, a big, light-brown leather sofa dominated the living room, a faded blue rug stopping well short of the fireplace. Tasteful.

"My colleague, Dr Cauldridge, will join us from tomorrow onwards to conduct the second part of the interview."

"Oh, well. I'll have to make do with you then," Polinda said with a wry smile.

Did he just eye me up and down? Amina wondered, the hairs on her neck slightly alert. Normal male behaviour, she thought.

"Please, do sit down. Can I get you anything?" he asked.

"Water would be nice," she said. When he turned towards the kitchen, she noticed a lump on his ankle. Yep, there's the monitoring anklet. Well, he knows that this is serious then and that he better cooperate.

She looked around - not a bad place. The back wall with the fireplace was exposed brick giving the living room a rugged and homely atmosphere. Expensive furniture. A big flat-screen, of course, shelves stacked with books and a very prominently placed turntable - very top-of-the-range looking, "RP8" it said in abstract letters. Polinda had about three meters of records in his shelves. He must earn quite well to afford all of this, she thought. So, why is he single, then?

Her eyes fell onto a large black and white photo-print in the far corner of the living room. A young, beautiful woman with short, black hair looked straight into the camera. She was on all fours on a sumptuous bed in what looked like a hotel-room or a loft, wearing only a bra and riding boots - and a saddle strapped to her back. The meaning was obvious. Amina sneered. Of course, she thought. Men and their fantasies...

"An original print. Helmut Newton, the master himself," she heard Polinda say from behind.

She turned around, startled. She hadn't heard him approach. The carpet had cushioned his steps.

"He is one of photography's greats, right up there with Cartier-Bresson. This is a rare print, signed by Newton himself."

"I see. Very...objectifying," Amina tried to keep the condescension out of her voice. She knew Newton, of course, and always thought of him as a artistic pornographer, a dinosaur with views of women that had fortunately belonged to centuries long past.

She took a moment, then walked to the sofa chair and said nonchalantly: "You know why I am here, Mr Polinda. The prosecution in the rape case against you was asked by the court to have a psychological evaluation done of you in relation to the alleged rapes of five women. My partner Dr. Cauldridge will attend as well from tomorrow's meeting onward."

"Yeah, you said," said Polinda with no chance in expression. He placed the glass of water in front of her and held out his hand towards her. "Please, call me Tom."

Amina ignored his outstretched hand, pulled out her files, placed her audio recorder next to her, switched it on.

"This is the psychological evaluation of Mr Tom Polinda in Case NJ48938, date 15. March 2023. It's 15:45h. Present are Mr Tom Polinda as the interviewee and Dr. Amina Martens who is conducting the interview.

"Mr Polinda, this is the first of three sessions to develop a standardised psychological profile in relation to the judicial case alleging you of forced sexual congress brought against you," Amina continued.

"I understand."

"I will ask you a series of questions, please answer as truthfully as possible. If you are not sure of an answer, take a moment."

"I understand," Polinda answered.

After the first half-hour Amina was satisfied with the progress they had made. She had to hand it to him: Polinda did know his way around words. After a good hour not a single one of his answers seemed to indicate that he had violent fantasies or that violence was part of his sexual preference. She looked up from her notes and asked whether he would like a break. To her surprise, he said yes. Polinda put his arms up on the backrest of his leather seat.

"And now that you have asked me so many questions, you certainly don't mind if I ask you one."

"Sure," Amina said, leaning back and switched off the recorder, "but keep it brief, please, we have still plenty of questions ahead of us." She took a sip of water and continued typing on her laptop.

"Are you a C-cup?"

The water in her mouth sprayed onto her notepad.

"WHAT?" she shouted flabbergasted.

"Are you a C-cup?," Mr Polinda repeated. Amina held her breath, her large, green eyes wide in shock. "I have been wondering for a while now." He paused.

"Come on, this can't come as a surprise to you. You are a young, very beautiful woman with a quite shapely figure. I am a healthy male. Of course I wonder what size your breasts are."

"Mr Polinda, this is inappropriate and I must remind you that we are still being recorded.," she said and tried to sound unshaken. Her face had rapidly paled with anger and anxiety. She felt her palms becoming sweaty. Where is my backpack? Where is the Mace?

"You switched it off about two minutes ago, Dr. Marten," Polinda said with only a hint of wry smile. "You know these women who are now accusing me of rape... if they were here now, they would each beg me to have 'sexual congress' with them as you put it so eloquently.

"Did I rape them? Of course, they weren't interested initially, and of course, I had to convince them. But once they were lying underneath me, legs spread, my manhood inside them, they were begging for more. Now that's not rape, is it?

Amina opened her mouth in shock. "Mr Polinda, you are aware that you are self-incriminating? That this information can and will be used against you in the court case?"

"Don't think I am stupid, Amina"

"Dr. Marten, please", she said a little bit too loudly.

"So, is it a C-cup then?"

"Mr Polinda: you are not stupid, but continue to self-incriminate in the presence of a representative of the judicial system. Why?" she asked, trying to bring the conversation back to a professional, non-personal level. While she looked him in the eye, her hands were frantically searching for her backpack.

"I think I know what the psych eval will conclude."

The confidence of this guy. "And that is?" she asked.

"That I am a normal, healthy male with no preference for forced intercourse or rape scenarios."

"Despite the fact that you admitted forcing yourself onto all of the accusers just now? You're self-delusional, Mr Polinda. Including your statements in the interview so far there are many markers pointing towards a violent disposition with regards to sexual congress." Amina was only partly bluffing, but she needed to gain the upper hand in this conversation, steer it back on course. Her backpack was on the far side of the sofa she sat on. Dammit, Amina!, she scolded herself. He'll overpower me before I can reach it. She tried to think of other ways to defend herself.

"That's ridiculous. Every healthy male likes the hunt. And for any man there is no greater prize than conquering a woman and having her submit to him. Sex is power. Everything else is foreplay," he said.

"Take you, for example. I've been thinking about how to best take you the moment I opened the door. You are quite beautiful, Amina, in a valkyrie-kind of way. Tall, blonde, statuesque. Large, deep eyes - like a doe. Proud chest. Great tits, great ass. Begs to be conquered. If you entered a room, would you not feel every male thinking exactly this?

"And you, as a woman, deep down, you want to be conquered, you were made to submit to a strong, dominant male. In fact, you are longing for me to take you as we speak."

"Mr Polinda, I am leaving." With shaking hands Amina gathered her things as quickly as possible steering towards her backpack.

"You'll be begging me to have a piece of this, Amina," Mr Polinda said and she heard a zipper being pulled down. She looked up. He had opened his pants, his circumcised cock semi-erect and already huge, strong veins ranked around it like ivy, the head an angry purple. A musky smell wafted towards Amina. She noticed that white goo dripped from it. She paled, got up from the couch, grabbed her brown leather backpack, her fingers opening the zipper to get the Mace. Faster than she could react, Polinda simply grabbed and pulled her backpack towards him, unbalancing her. She struggled to not fall onto the small glass table in front of the sofa. He reached over as she tried to regain her balance and pushed. Amina fell heavily back onto the sofa which made a sound as if deflated.