The target was sitting as usual at an outside table at the coffee bar across the street. She nursed her one cappuccino carefully making it last a full hour while she read. She was tall with long flowing limbs that looked athletic but were unearned by any sweat. She usually wore jeans with trainers, a tight colorful top sometimes covered by a scuffed black leather jacket. She looked about 20. There were two things though that suggested some money and care. Her dark brown hair that floated about her long pale neck was obviously an expensive cut and the glasses she wore, small lenses and elegant minimalist frames, were pricey. She had a habit of flicking her hair from her face as she read with a quick twist of her head. I had watched a guy try to start a conversation with her the other day and noticed how timid and shy she seemed. She didn’t look him in the eye and was clearly awkward. He had retreated when she opened up her book and ignored him.
We had set up the room in the office block the day before with the connivance of the security guard. Outside the entrance to our suite was a sign announcing us as “Medical Research Associates.” The room itself contained an examination bed, a counter covered with various chemistry-like instruments, a desk and a few chairs. Several diplomas hung on the walls and a large indoor plant completed the picture. My partner, Steve, looked the part of the avuncular doctor. He was older than me, had salt ‘n pepper hair, had a round stomach and a deep reassuring voice. But it was my job to lure the victim in.
I had noticed that she read books about ancient Greek philosophy and knew that the only topic of conversation that would attract her was her area of study. I knew a little from some philosophy courses taken years ago. I hoped I remembered enough to get through the first couple of minutes of conversation. I waited until just before lunch when the tables began to fill up and her coffee was almost drained. I asked her if I could sit at her table. She nodded barely looking up. I sat and immediately launched into my prepared speech.
“Doesn’t Socrates annoy you? He always has an answer but the questions he gets asked are invariably dumb and then everyone nods in agreement with him but the real questions never get answered.”
She looked up from behind her book and without a thought of where she was and who I was and launched into a spirited defense of Socrates. Her voice was pleasantly girlish and she used her long slender fingers to emphasize her points. As she spoke the waitress appeared and I ordered two cappuccinos without asking her if she wanted another one. By the time the waitress returned we had reached the outer limit of my knowledge of Plato and Aristotle and so I introduced myself, leaning across the table to shake her hand. Her name was Samantha.
“I wanted to study philosophy but medical research is my calling.”
“Oh, that’s cool and important I suppose.”
“Yeah,” I replied, “someone’s got to do the work. Even philosophers need healthy bodies.” She laughed sweetly in acknowledgement.
“What kind of research do you do?” she asked, the cup poised at her mouth.
“At the moment, we are researching the best methods for analyzing samples from victims of sexual crimes. But the whole project is about to flop. Two years of work going down the drain.”
“Why?” she asked, her forehead creased into a concerned frown.
“It’s such important work but the funds are going to run dry. You know these conservative types. They’d rather use the money for research into the diseases of the rich.” She nodded, her generous mouth tightening in angry sympathy. “I had a deadline for today to get samples to the main lab but my volunteer stood me up. Can you believe it? It’s not as if we don’t pay anything. I mean its a thousand dollars for half-an-hour. It makes me so mad.” She leaned across the table towards me, blowing away a strand of hair that had fallen across her bright young face.
“Surely you can get someone else if the money’s that good.”
“I need someone who fits the profile. She has to be under 25 and healthy and not sexually promiscuous. In particular she shouldn’t have had sex in the last two weeks.” This was a gamble, but I guessed she didn’t have a steady boyfriend and she didn’t look the type to have strings of one-night-stands. “And this is to the benefit of thousands of women,” I continued. “You’d think she would have the decency to turn up.” I fell back in my chair with an air of exasperation. I could see that she was thinking through the possibilities. I hoped my guess that she had some credit card debt was right. Those haircuts and glasses had to be paid for somehow.
“How long did you say it took?”
“Half-an-hour, forty-five minutes tops,” I paused and looked up at her with a puzzled expression on my face. “You’re not thinking … no, I couldn’t ask you …”
“But your research,” she protested. “And it’s for a good cause. Plus the money would come in handy to be honest.”
“You must have a boyfriend surely, pretty, sexy girl like you.” She blushed deeply.
“Not at the moment” she announced. “What’s involved exactly?”
“I tell you what,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing up, “why don’t we just go across the road and I’ll let Doctor Rogers explain it all to you.”
Five minutes later she was seated opposite Steve and me, an envelope containing the thousand dollars in cash resting heavily in her hands. Steve had bustled about her when she came through the door making her feel comfortable and welcomed. After she had filled in a couple of bogus forms Steve started the questioning.
“So, Samantha we need to know a little about you before we start the examination and take the samples.” She whispered her agreement.
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“Um, about three months ago,” she answered a little warily.
“How many sexual partners have you had in total?”
“Two.”
I sighed loudly.
“Look, I’m sure she is telling the truth,” Steve said to me. He reached across and took her hand. “Don’t worry about him he is just wants to make sure we get things right. Now, you are a sexy girl and, well, we would expect that you would have had more sexual experience than you say. But if you are telling the truth that’s okay. Just answer the questions truthfully.” Steve beamed his caring smile at her and let go of her hand.
“Really I have only been with two guys,” she looked from me to Steve with an earnest look on her face.
