For rape victims, DNA brings closure to once-cold cases

All she remembers is her rapist's eyes.

He approached on a bike, offering an escort to a friend's house. She was drunk and it was late, but she was pretty confident she could find her way in the relatively safe south Minneapolis neighborhood.

Without warning, he kicked her from behind, her head smacking on the sidewalk. She fought, but then went into survival mode. "That's when he raped me," she said.

For the next eight years, she lived in fear. She eventually moved her young daughter out of state and started a new life. But the nightmares didn't stop, and she beat herself up because she couldn't give police a description of her attacker.

Then last summer, the 32-year-old came home to visit family. Mail gathered by her dad included a letter from the Hennepin County attorney's office. There was a break in her case.

A DNA search matched physical evidence from her case to Dorian Olson, now 27. DNA hits have led to sexual assault charges since October against Olson and six other men whose Minneapolis cases had gone unsolved for years. One suspect is accused of raping a 12-year-old girl. Another is in a Wisconsin federal prison until 2015 for bank robbery.

The DNA checks by the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension are done routinely, but the recent cluster of Minneapolis hits is highly unusual. In all the cases, the victim didn't know her attacker.

"When I heard they found the person who raped me, I cried uncontrollably for a couple of hours," said the woman, who was willing to tell her story if her identity could be protected. "I was resentful it took so long."

Her emotions collided: There was relief that he was off the streets, but anger because he had raped another woman in 2004. The news also brought back all the feelings "I had worked so hard not to feel anymore," she said.

"I never went to therapy. Every day was trial and error," she said. "In a sense, I was taken back to the day of the rape all over again."

A few mistakes, then rape

That day was April 19, 1999. Well after bar closing, she and her friends and a sister-in-law got into an argument after their car broke down near Cedar Avenue and E. 24th Street. She decided to walk to the home of a friend of her boyfriend who lived nearby.

She admits she recalls only bits and pieces of what happened next. There was the man on a bike, a kick to the legs. He pulled her hair as he dragged her off the street. She fought back, which drew repeated punches to her face.

He tore off her clothes and raped her. She was told somebody later saw her lying on the ground and called police. She said she has a "flash memory" of screaming and crying in the squad car.

Waking up several hours later at Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis, she realized she was in restraints. Nurses explained it was for her own safety. She was given clean clothes in exchange for an outfit covered with dirt and blood.

"At that point I knew I had been raped," she said. "They had taken physical evidence during the exam. I always assumed something would come of it in the near future."

But rather than a suspect's ID, she learned she was pregnant with her boyfriend's child. A few days later, she went through with an abortion of what would have been her second child.

"I felt dirty. I felt I couldn't bring a child into this world after what happened to me," she said. "It's something I've regretted every day since."

Would they meet again?

In 2001, she moved from Minneapolis, leaving friends and family. Before she left, she was terrified she might somehow run into her rapist. "Did I ever see him again?" she asked herself.

She had sleepless nights. She became overprotective of her daughter and the son who was born later. Moving away helped, but as a single parent, raising children was a struggle.

"It was important to make sure my rape didn't affect them," she said. "Keep your thoughts and feelings inside."

When she did discuss the rape, it was only with immediate family. But the thought of her attacker freely roaming the streets lurked in the back of her mind. "That bothered me."

She said the experience has shaped the person she now is.

"It's affected my relationships, but it's also made me a strong, independent woman," she said. "You try to take away anything positive from what happened, which is obviously hard to do."

Since the rape, she called Sgt. Bernie Martinson of Minneapolis' sex crimes unit two or three times for updates. The last call was in 2003. She spent the ensuing years working on a bachelor's degree in sociology.

DNA checks turn back time

She and the other victims of the seven men might never have seen their attackers arrested if not for the DNA checks. Less than 10 percent of rape cases involve strangers, and are the highest priority for investigators, said Lt. Jack Kelly, head of Minneapolis' sex crimes unit. DNA is key to solving such cases, he said.

In 2005, the BCA notified Minneapolis police they had a DNA match connecting Olson to a rape in 2004.

In April 2006, a DNA search linked Olson to the 1999 rape. He pleaded guilty earlier this year to both cases, and the county attorney's office negotiated a 12-year prison sentence. He received credit for serving 391 days in jail, and will be eligible for parole in about eight years.

Olson will then be placed on conditional release for five years. He will have to register as a sex offender for 10 years and provide a DNA sample for a national database. He is also required to be tested regularly for HIV, and the results will be given to his victims.

"I would love for Olson to be in jail for the rest of his life, but it's not going to happen," she said. "The county attorney's office did the best job they could.

"I'm glad Olson isn't on the street committing more crimes," she said. "You always think there could be others out there who haven't come forward."

She is happy he pleaded guilty to the rapes, because her case was scheduled for trial last month. She and the other victim were planning to testify against him.

"I don't want what happened to me to make me bitter the rest of my life," she said. "I've come to terms with it, I guess."

David Chanen • 612-673-4465