Win (Windsor Horne Lockwood III #1)(14)

“In his case, Teddy sets up profiles on Tinder and Whiplr and rougher sex apps, ones that deal with BDSM and whatever, as Sharyn. He posts her photos. He carries on conversations as Sharyn, sets up hookup rendezvous. Strange men start showing up at Sharyn’s apartment at all hours expecting sex or role play or whatever. Some get mad when she turns them away. Call her a cocktease and worse. Teddy works it hard. And then…”

Sadie stops. I wait.

“Then Teddy begins a flirtation with one guy on an underground site. As Sharyn. It lasts for six weeks. Six weeks, Win. I mean, that’s devotion, right? ‘Sharyn’”—again with the finger quotes—“tells the guy all about her violent rape fantasies. ‘Sharyn’ tells the guy she wants to be attacked and handcuffed and gagged—Teddy even gives the guy the place to purchase this stuff—and then Teddy sets up a time for the guy to role-play raping her.”

I sit perfectly still.

“This guy, he thinks he’s talking to Sharyn. He’s been told for weeks to be violent, to hit Sharyn and punch her and tie her up, to use a knife. He’s even been given a safe word. ‘Purple.’ Don’t stop, he says as Sharyn, unless you hear me say ‘purple.’”

Sadie looks away and blinks. My hands tighten into fists of rage.

“Anyway, that’s how Sharyn ended up in the hospital. Her condition…it’s not good.”

Again: I already know all this. I wonder how to proceed because I still don’t understand the panic. So I make my voice tentative. “I assume Teddy still hid his identity?”

Sadie nods.

“Ergo the police couldn’t touch him,” I continue.

“That’s correct.”

“He got away with it?”

“So it seemed.”

“Seemed?”

“Teddy’s full name is Teddy Lyons. Do you know the name?”

I tap my chin with my index finger. “The name rings a bell.”

“He’s an assistant basketball coach for South State.”

“Really?” I say, trying not to oversell it.

“We just got word. Last night, after the big game, Teddy was attacked. They beat the hell out of him, did some serious damage.”

They. She said “they.” Conclusion: I am still in the clear.

“Broken bones,” she continues. “Internal bleeding. Some kind of serious liver damage. They say he’ll never be the same.”

I try very hard not to smile. I am not completely successful. “Ah, that’s a shame,” I say.

“Yeah, I can see you’re all broken up about it.”

“Should I be?”

“We had him, Win.” Her gaze through her glasses is an inferno. I see the passion that drew me to her and her cause in the first place. Sadie is a doer, not a talker. We are similar in that way.

“What do you mean, ‘had him’? You just said he was getting away with it.”

“After what happened to Sharyn, I reached out to Teddy’s other victims again. They finally agreed to come forward. Sharyn was ready to go public too. That would be traumatic, of course. Teddy had taken so much from them already.”

“Hmm.” I lean back and cross my legs. I hadn’t really considered the repercussions. I rarely do. But…no, no, at the end of the day, she’s wrong. I say, “Then it seems Teddy’s beating helped them.”

“No, Win, it didn’t. Once you change your mind…It’s cathartic in the end, fighting back, standing up to your abuser. But more than that, we had a big press conference lined up for when Sharyn got out of the hospital. Imagine it—four victims on the steps of the State Capitol, telling the world their stories. We had two state assemblymen ready to appear with us. It would have ruined Teddy’s reputation—but more important, those compelling stories would help us pass a bill—a bill this office”—Sadie taps her desk—“had drawn up. The two assemblymen were going to present it to the governor.”

I wait.

“And now,” Sadie says, “poof, that’s all gone.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

“Why can’t you still tell the stories?”

“It won’t have the same impact.”

“Pish. Of course it will.”

“Someone attacked Teddy last night.”

“So?”

“So now he’s the victim of a vigilante.”

“You don’t know that,” I say. “It could be that he tried again, this time with the wrong woman.”

“And she beat him to a pulp?”

“Or her family did, I don’t know.” I snap my fingers. “Or it could have been an unrelated mugging.”

“Come on.”

“What?”

“It’s over, Win. The war is still to be fought, but this battle is lost. We needed public sympathy. But our monster is in a coma. Someone on Twitter will claim the victims beat him. Teddy’s mother will say that these scorned women lied about her baby boy—that they made him a target. It isn’t just about facts, Win. We need to win the narrative.”

I think about it. Then I say, “I’m sorry,” with perhaps too little enthusiasm.

Just to clarify: I’m not sorry about what I did to Teddy. I’m sorry I didn’t wait until after the press conference. Sadie has to be an optimist. I sadly am not. The law would never have caught up to Teddy. He would have been embarrassed, perhaps lost his job, but he also would have fought back in terrible ways. He would have trashed Sharyn and the other women. He would have claimed to be the victim of their harassment, not the other way around, and too many people would have believed him. That was what Sadie was fighting against here.