Chapter 34: The Interrogation (Fragment 9)

February 20, 2014 8:17 PM

Case #: 124.678.21-001

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT OF POLICE INTERROGATION

~~START PAGE 8~~

INTERROGATOR: Tessa, I have some bad news.

HART: What? Now what?

INTERROGATOR: My partner just spoke with your therapist. Dr. Regan, was it?

HART: Is she coming soon?

INTERROGATOR: I'm afraid she won't be able to join us.

HART: What? No! Did he try her cell number? She was supposed to be on call! Just in case I had a panic episode or something. We planned it all out together. She knew about the whole thing - the Catfish episode and the concert and everything. She wanted me to go ahead with it!

INTERROGATOR: Right. That seems to be the problem.

HART: What do you mean?

INTERROGATOR: When Detective Newman explained the situation to her, she referred him to her attorney and declined to speak any further.

HART: I don't understand. Why does she need an attorney?

INTERROGATOR: Her malpractice attorney.

HART: She's worried about malpractice?

INTERROGATOR: That's about the size of it.

HART: Are you kidding me? My single worst fear in the entire universe just came to pass, and she's worried about getting sued?

INTERROGATOR: She provided Detective Newman with a 1-800 hotline you can call if you're in crisis.

HART: If I'm in crisis? I'm supposed to call some stranger on a hotline? Did she miss the memo where I have a debilitating fear of strangers?

INTERROGATOR: OK Tessa. I understand you're upset.

HART: Of course I'm upset!

INTERROGATOR: I'm sorry. I can only relay to you what was said.

HART: Whatever. Is Nev still here? Can I talk to him at least?

INTERROGATOR: Yaniv Schulman? From MTV?

HART: Or Max. Either of them.

INTERROGATOR: I'm sorry, Tessa. The whole TV crew cleared out about an hour ago.

HART: They left?

INTERROGATOR: One of the producers asked me to remind you about the liability waiver you signed. I believe she left a copy for you with the desk officer.

HART: Great. Let me guess. It says I'm not allowed to sue them?

INTERROGATOR: Would you like me to call your mother now, Tessa? I'm sure the hospital can get another phlebotomist to cover her shift.

HART: No!

INTERROGATOR: Is there anyone else?

HART: I can't believe this is happening.

INTERROGATOR: Maybe a cup of tea or coffee? Is there anything I can do to put you more at ease right now?

HART: Yeah, you know what? There is something you can do.

INTERROGATOR: What's that?

HART: You can arrest that animal, and put him in jail, and throw away the key. That's what you can do.

INTERROGATOR: That's what I'm trying to do, Tessa, but I need your help. I need you to stay as calm as you possibly can right now, so that I can take your complete statement.

HART: What else do you need to hear?

INTERROGATOR: Let's talk about Blair Duncan.

HART: If you want me to tell you what happened at college, I can't. Anything but that. I can't talk about that.

INTERROGATOR: That's all right, Tessa. We have a full account from the direct messages you sent over Twitter last night. I've just been reading through them. Do you remember what you wrote?

HART: Basically.

INTERROGATOR: And would you say that it was an accurate description of the events that occurred last spring?

HART: Yes.

INTERROGATOR: Good. I'm going to go ahead and read your messages into the record right now. All you have to do is listen and confirm for me whether you want to make this a part of your official statement. Do you understand?

HART: Yeah. I think I can do that.

INTERROGATOR: OK. For the record, I'm looking at a series of multiple direct messages sent from the Twitter account @TessaHeartsEric to the Twitter account @EricThornSucks. The first timestamp is February 19, 2014 at 11:56 PM, and the messages continue without interruption until 12:17 AM. The messages begin, and I quote:

"I'm not completely sure when it started. I think it might have been over spring break. I was a freshman at Tulane. Do you know that school? In New Orleans?" End of message.

"It's like a 20 hour bus ride from my house. My mom was supposed to get me a plane ticket, but she didn't want to pay for it." End of message.

"I didn't want to go home anyway. I had lots of friends sticking around the dorms, partying and everything. It was Mardi Gras." End of message.

"We went out every night that week, different places every night. I think that's where he first saw me. At one of those clubs." End of message.

INTERROGATOR: Tessa, I'm going to break here for a moment. Can you try to remember for me the name of the club in New Orleans where you first encountered this man?

HART: I don't know. We were club-hopping. There were a bunch of places. I can visualize what it looked like inside, but I don't know the name.

INTERROGATOR: To the best of your recollection, was it more of a dance club? Or would you describe it more like a venue for a music concert?

HART: It was like a bar or a club with a live band. You could call it a concert, I guess.

INTERROGATOR: OK, thank you. I'm going to continue now with the next message in the thread. The timestamp is 11:59 PM. And I quote:

"It was super crowded, and I kept feeling this guy creeping up on me. I didn't pay much attention. I just tried to give him the brush off." End of message.

"I never even really looked at him. He was just... nondescript. Kind of average. Maybe kind of skinny. I can't remember his face." End of message.

"Anyway, I just shrugged it off at the time, but I started having this weird sensation afterward. Like this nagging feeling that someone was following me." End of message.

"It went on for weeks. I would walk down the street and feel sure there was someone behind me. But when I turned to look... nothing." End of message.

"I told myself I was just being paranoid, but it kept getting worse and worse. It started happening at home, too, in my dorm room." End of message.

"I would get this weird feeling like someone was watching me through the window. But when I went to look outside, I didn't see anyone." End of message.

"So then I really started to lose it. I started keeping my blinds shut all the time, but it didn't really help." End of message.

"Even with the blinds closed, I kept getting all creeped out. Like I would go to bed and wake up with this feeling that someone had been watching me while I slept." End of message.

"It was seriously messing me up. I started having trouble sleeping. So that's when I started drinking a lot more. Just to take the edge off." End of message.

"I guess that was a mistake. The drinking. I still don't know for sure if it was just the alcohol that night, or if he slipped something in my drink." End of message.

HART: I'm not going to get in trouble for the drinking, am I? Underage?

INTERROGATOR: That's all right, Tessa. We've got bigger fish to fry. May I continue?

HART: Do you really have to read it out loud? We both know what it says.

INTERROGATOR: We're almost done. I'm resuming with the next message in the thread. The timestamp is 12:09 AM. The message reads, and I quote:

"The last thing I remember, I was drinking at some party, and then I woke up in an apartment I didn't know." End of message.

"I don't know how long I'd been laying there. It was pitch black outside, and I couldn't find the lights. I was still pretty woozy." End of message.

"But I felt... him. I felt his presence. He never actually touched me, I don't think. But I could hear his breathing next to me in the bed. And I could smell him." End of message.

"He had a very distinctive odor. Kind of chemical-y. It's hard to describe." End of message.

"That's what I remember most about him. The smell. When I have flashbacks, it's always with that smell." End of message.

INTERROGATOR: Tessa, can you give me any more details about the odor you were describing? You said it was a chemical smell?

HART: I don't know. I think I might have been the photo developing chemicals. But I only realized that afterward. After I found the lights.

INTERROGATOR: So you woke up in this apartment, and you switched on the lights, and you saw--

HART: I don't want to talk about the rest. I really, really don't.

INTERROGATOR: That's all right, Tessa. Should we take a break?

HART: Just give me a sec.

INTERROGATOR: There are just a few more messages here that I need to get into the record. I'll skip to the important ones. May I proceed?

HART: OK.

INTERROGATOR: Thank you. I'm resuming now with the message at timestamp 12:15 AM. The message reads, and I quote:

"Every single square inch was covered with photos. Just photos, everywhere, floor-to-ceiling. I couldn't even guess how many. Thousands of them." End of message.

"Pictures of me." End of message.

"Dancing at the clubs..." End of message.

"Walking down the street..." End of message.

"And in my room too. In my own room. In my underwear. Asleep. Everything." End of message.

"It wasn't just my imagination. It was him. That whole time, he'd been-"

HART: Stop. Stop it. Please. Please stop. I don't want to hear anymore.

INTERROGATOR: OK. I have most of what I need now. Just take a deep breath.

HART: Oh my God.

INTERROGATOR: Take your time. That's it. I just have a few more details I need you to confirm.

HART: What? Please, just get it over with.

INTERROGATOR: Am I correct that after you saw the pictures, you then fled the premises?

HART: Yes.

INTERROGATOR: You did not get a good look at the perpetrator's face. Is that correct?

HART: No. I just ran.

INTERROGATOR: And you never went to the authorities?

HART: I-No. I didn't-I was too freaked out. I never told anyone. I just got on a bus and went home.

INTERROGATOR: You never went back to New Orleans?

HART: No. I left. I dropped out of school.

INTERROGATOR: OK, Tessa. You're doing great. I just have one more question.

HART: I don't know. I don't know if I can.

INTERROGATOR: Tessa, this is very important. I need you to take a moment and collect yourself. . . [pause]. Are you ready?

HART: I don't know.

INTERROGATOR: Tessa, the man from the apartment in New Orleans. Was he the same man who got in the car with you tonight?

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