Trial by Fury

by KG MacGregor

  He nodded along as she spoke. Theo knew what he already was thinking—if Vargas hadn’t physically participated in the rape, he might be a candidate for a plea bargain in which he testified against the others. Letting him off easy would be an outrage, especially if he’d been responsible for rendering her unconscious.

  “And I can show you a copy of the receipt for Hayley Burkhart’s rape kit. I’ll also provide a physical description of the campus officer who collected it from the student health center. You’ll need that, since his signature isn’t legible and you won’t have any other way of knowing who it was. For what it’s worth, that kit may or may not be held in evidence at the Harwood police station. Our private sources tell us it’s presently unaccounted for.”

  “That would be very bad news for a potential criminal investigation.”

  “Unless you’re trying to prove obstruction of justice. Then it’s a pretty clear case. I’m telling you, there’s a lot of blame to go around.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips together. “Hypothetically speaking, I might be persuaded to look into whether or not certain individuals acted as accessories after the fact. But I’ll be honest with you, Theo. What I’m really after is those boys who assaulted that young woman. If that video holds up as evidence, it’s easily enough for a sexual battery conviction.”

  “Sexual battery!” She felt the blood of rage rush to her face, and almost leaped from her chair. “Christ, Shane. That’s a misdemeanor. Twelve months max. What they did to Hayley was straight-up rape.”

  He shook his head. “I agree with you but I’m not sure it’ll fly. Physical contact without her consent, yes. But the rape statute says ‘forcible and against her will.’ We can’t prove either one.”

  “That’s such bullshit.” Thanks to Jalinda’s research, the relevant case law was top of mind. “Dorsey says neither substantial violence nor vigorous resistance is required if force is otherwise found. Did it look to you like Hayley Burkhart invited those men to join a rape line? Or did they force themselves on her?”

  “You know it’s not that simple. If we overreach, all it takes is one juror to sink us. And those guys’ll walk.”

  “Not if you turn around and try them again. You can do that over and over if there’s a hung jury. I guarantee you’re never going to get an acquittal.”

  The oldest emotional trick in the book would be to ask if he’d settle for misdemeanor charges if it had been his daughter instead of Hayley. But then Shane knew all the old tricks too and would manage his detachment with cool logic.

  “Whereas if I had a rape kit that showed this young woman was drugged,” he went on, “well, that might be a game changer. We’re talking an extra five to fifteen years for illegal possession and administering of Schedule II narcotics. I’d probably only get one of them for that though.”

  She appealed next to his territorial nature, a common theme across jurisdictions. “I might as well take this to the US Attorney…try to get them to file felony charges against all of them for drug-facilitated rape. The video and that sadistic photo they left on Hayley’s phone might net the full sentence of twenty years.”

  He held up a hand. “Not so fast. I want to try this case, Theo. I’m just looking for the best outcome. All I’m saying is we’ll know more when we get the rape kit.”

  Unless the rape kit was missing. “You may not need it if all you’re looking for is drugs. Check with the coroner’s office. They should have hair samples from the autopsy. Test them for GHB.”

  Gamma-Hydroxybutyric acid was the most common date rape drug on campuses, and it was detectable in hair strands even months after use. The fact that it also was used to enhance athletic performance made it the likely culprit in this case.

  “Good, that’s a plan…I can do that this afternoon. And you can bet I’ll be talking to these young men. Their friends too. Somebody’s bound to know something. It’s my experience that when push comes to shove, everybody’s first instinct is to save their own hide. But it would help me a lot if I knew where to start. Somebody on the inside…like the one who gave you this video.”

  Theo wasn’t convinced anyone besides Michael’s boyfriend, Gavin Sandifor, would turn on the others, and she couldn’t give him up. That didn’t mean Shane wouldn’t get to him eventually if he interviewed all the players. Harwood only carried sixteen on its roster. “I already told you—start with Ruben Vargas. I’ll have my paralegal send over a copy of our evidence this afternoon.” Minus Gavin’s confirmation, of course.

  Shane stood and pushed his hands in his pockets. “We’re on the same side, Theo. It’s good for both of us if we’re sharing information, ’cause if I convene a grand jury and don’t get an indictment, it’s gonna sink your case. No rape means no responsibility for wrongful death.”

  Walking him to the door, she replied, “Come on, we both know you’ll get an indictment if you want it.”

  “But will I get a conviction?”

  “I have faith in you. But I can’t help you any more than I already have. Not right now, anyway.” Though the possibility of seeing Frazier, Caldwell, Watson and Vargas arrested and charged was worth going back to Michael and Gavin to ask if they were willing to cooperate with Shane if she vouched for him. Especially since he had subpoena power and could compel their testimony anyway.

  She’d lost her window for calling out the US Attorney’s office through the media, shaming them for not taking up the case. But now that the DA’s office had responded, at least she could hope for a criminal conviction on rape charges if her wrongful death case went down the tubes.

  * * *

  With her phone tucked under her chin, Celia turned out the light in her office and closed the door behind her, twisting the knob to be sure it had locked. “I can talk to Michael again if you need me to, but you’d probably have better luck if you went straight to Gavin—cut out the middlemen. Once he realizes the DA’s going to track him down eventually, he might decide to come forward on his own.”

  “I could probably get Shane to meet with him off the record,” Theo said. “But no matter what, it’s good news, right? The DA’s going to do the dirty work. In my book, that’s a reason to celebrate. How about dinner on my terrace again? I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Celia groaned. She could honestly say she wasn’t looking forward to going home to an empty house, but a voice in her head warned her not to let her feelings for Theo—no matter how strong—tempt her away from her school duties, especially since the higher-ups probably were waiting patiently for a screwup. “I can’t, Theo. I want to, but I’ve got lots of work to do. If I bear down during the week, I won’t have to feel guilty about playing on the weekend.”

  “Spoilsport. My calendar says that’s only a couple of days from now.” Which meant Wednesday.

  “How about Thursday? That’ll give us an early start.”

  “You can’t see me but I’m pouting.” With a garbled voice, Theo added, “My lower lip is sticking out so far I can’t talk plain.”

  “You’re officially nuts. Call me later. We’ll talk about that crazy calendar of yours.”

  On the way out, she stopped by the administrative office to check her mail. Conference announcements, calls for papers. And another sealed envelope from her boss.

  She hadn’t seen Andrew since the case was filed and had no idea how he felt about her involvement. She wanted to think he’d be supportive—Hayley was one of their brightest and most talented students, after all—but he was forced by his position to straddle the line between administration and faculty. With a quick glance she noted the lights were out in his office. He’d already gone for the day or was in a meeting in another part of campus.

  Her hands trembling slightly, she slid her finger through the seal. A one-page letter congratulating her on her promotion.

  In reviewing our spring production budgets for the past several years, I find a disturbing pattern of diminishing support. As the celebration of stage performance is an
integral component of our departmental mission…

  She was stunned by the amount he’d awarded for next spring’s performance, the most she’d ever received. Plenty for scenery and props, costumes, marketing and advertising. Best of all, he’d authorized enough to secure the rights for a modern musical.

  The letter was dated several days ago, but well after the news broke that she was cooperating with a lawsuit against the university. This couldn’t possibly have happened if the administration was out to get her.

  Or maybe they were, and Andrew was using his discretionary budget to push back against them on her behalf. Nearly all of the academic departments resented the special treatment afforded athletics. The men’s basketball coach was the highest-paid employee at the university, making four times as much as a Nobel Prize-winning professor of chemistry.

  She liked thinking Andrew was on her side, that he was protecting her from the fallout. Whether that was true or not, good things were happening career-wise, and she was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Celia staked out permanent space on the right side of Theo’s double vanity. Makeup, cleansers, toothbrush. Everything she’d need for those days when Theo talked her into a spur-of-the-moment overnight stay. Or a longer one, she conceded, eyeing the open suitcase in the closet behind her. She had no intention of returning home until Monday.

  Theo had taken her suggestion to kick off their weekend on Thursday as fact, setting up an impromptu NBA draft party. The sportscasters were in a frenzy over rumors Atlanta’s District Attorney’s office was considering sexual assault charges against four players, one of them Ruben Vargas. How far would Frazier and Caldwell fall in the draft?

  It was also a coming out party, since Theo had invited several of her co-workers, including both of her law partners and everyone working on the Hayley Burkhart case. Tonight they would announce their relationship.

  She aimed to impress in black leggings and a sleeveless white tunic, with gold sandals showing off her deep red pedicure. Classy but casual. Though she was pleased with her overall look, it did little to calm her nerves. Her concern wasn’t what they’d think of her, but how they’d feel about Theo seeing someone who’d brought them a case.

  The phone rang as Theo was stepping out of the shower. “That’s the caterer. Can you let them in? I’ll be out in five minutes.”

  Celia supervised the arrangement of a Southern feast—pulled pork and all the trimmings. By the time they finished, Theo arrived to sign the receipt and fork over a generous tip.

  “This is enough to feed an army, Theo. How many did you say were coming?”

  “Probably only five or six. Kendra and Rob couldn’t get a sitter. And Jalinda—that’s my paralegal—she doesn’t usually go in for social things with people from the office. The only reason she comes to the Christmas party is because that’s when I hand out bonuses.”

  They set out dinnerware, then carried the love seats from the bedroom and terrace into the living area, arranging all the seating so everyone could see the large-screen TV. It was already set to the sports station but muted.

  After three days of incessant sports chatter, there was nothing new to be said. Tonight would tell if the allegations were enough to torpedo the players’ draft stock. In response to news about the DA’s office opening an investigation, the Department of Justice had released a statement saying it too was monitoring events.

  “Did you read Ivan Wallace’s column in the paper today?” Celia asked. “It’s just bizarre to think the public is divided over this. But I’m not surprised. Jocks get away with anything.”

  “I doubt what they’re printing is representative,” Theo scoffed. “The sportswriters go looking for quotes from Average Joes to fill up space in their story. If they talk to a supporter, they feel like they have to include a critic too. They don’t tell you how many people they have to talk to so they can scrounge up someone willing to turn a blind eye to a gang rape. What they print or put on the air always makes it look fifty-fifty. It’s misleading as hell, but that perception becomes reality. On the other hand, as long as there’s conflict, our story stays on the front page.”

  The phone rang again and Celia anxiously checked herself in the foyer’s full-length mirror. It was silly to be so nervous about meeting new people, but there was a lot at stake tonight. If Theo’s friends were put off about them seeing each other, it could drive a serious wedge into their relationship.

  Theo pressed the entry code for the security door downstairs. “They’re all here. Gloria says they’ve been fighting over the guest parking spaces in the garage.”

  “You told them we were seeing each other, right? What did they say?”

  “I think they were glad to hear it if you want to know the truth. It’s good for office morale if the boss is happy.” She pulled Celia into a kiss. “Besides, no matter what they think, they’ll pretend to love you because they know I can fire them if they don’t.”

  First through the door was a paunchy man who carried a six-pack of bottled beer. “I figured you’d put out wine and cheese, Theo,” he said mockingly. “I wanted to be sure you had the good stuff.” Offering his other hand to Celia, he introduced himself as Hank Maloney.

  Celia recalled his name as the investigator Theo had mentioned. The young man with him was his son Mark, mid-thirties and clean shaven with glasses. He wore khakis and a T-shirt that read BYTE ME.

  Theo nudged forward an elegant woman in her sixties, dressed in a flowing orange pantsuit that nearly matched the color of her hair. Celia recognized her immediately. “Oh, my gosh. You’re Gloria Hendershot. You used to chair the Women’s Studies department at Harwood. I audited one of your classes about ten years ago.” Looking to Theo, she added, “You never told me she worked with you.”

  The woman covered a brief look of bewilderment with a smile. “I’m Theo’s best kept secret. Did I put you to sleep in my class?”

  There was no reason Dr. Hendershot would have remembered her, not among the thousands of women she’d taught in her long career. “Not at all. I’ve read both of your books. They’re wonderful.”

  With the determination of a border collie, Theo herded the group into the living area. “All right, introductions. You’ve met Hank and Mark, and you know Gloria. This is her husband Lewis.”

  Lewis was slim and as well-dressed as his wife, in slacks and a polo shirt with a sport coat. He greeted her with the charm of a Southern gentleman.

  “And this is one of my law partners, Philip.” A handsome, tanned man in his forties with a younger, very pregnant woman on his arm. Theo placed a hand on the woman’s stomach. “This is his wife Sofia and their soon-to-be daughter, Theo.”

  Philip interjected, “Theo’s convinced we’re going to name the baby after her.”

  “Well, why not?” Celia mustered. “The Theo I know turned out pretty solid.”

  Theo seemed genuinely pleased to greet the last guest, a young woman who apparently had come by herself. “And this is Jalinda Smiley, hands down the best paralegal in Atlanta.”

  Jalinda Doesn’t Smiley was more like it. A round-figured African-American with faint freckles, she looked positively miserable to be there.

  “And this lovely lady, in case you haven’t figured it out,” Theo said as she draped an arm around Celia’s shoulder, “is Celia Perone. Doctor Celia Perone. Professor of performance studies at Harwood, and the person who brought us Hayley Burkhart’s case. She’s also near and dear to my heart, so please try to make a good impression. I don’t want her sneaking out with her suitcase after she’s met my friends.”

  Hank answered cheerfully, “Here, Celia. Have a beer.”

  Cheap domestic beer wouldn’t have been her first choice, but she wasn’t about to refuse and risk anyone thinking her a snob.

  “Grab a plate,” Theo commanded. “The NBA draft starts any minute.”

  The mound of food fell steadily as they filled their plates and carried them into the
TV area. The selection show had begun with a slate of prospective draftees and their families abuzz in Madison Square Garden. Sacramento was already on the clock with five minutes to make the night’s first pick.

  As hosts, Celia and Theo waited until everyone was seated. That left them with chairs on opposite wings of the room. Hank had squeezed onto the couch with Gloria and Lewis, leaving his son to sit with Jalinda on the terrace love seat. Celia caught Theo looking at the pair with a faint smile.

  “Look at that,” Philip said. “Frazier’s strutting around like it’s business as usual. He must be pretty confident he’s going to get picked.”

  Confident didn’t begin to describe his swagger. He wore a designer suit that probably had been purchased by a booster, and sported a diamond stud in his ear. Laughing, back-slapping.

  “He makes me sick,” Celia said. “I’m telling you right now, if he has a good night, I’ll have a miserable one.”

  Lewis Hendershot, who worked as a corporate attorney, said, “I heard on sports talk radio that Caldwell wasn’t even planning to be there. Guess his agent’s been working the phones all week and not getting any takers.”

  The NBA commissioner took the podium, silencing the chatter in both the Garden and the sportscaster booth. “With the first pick, the Sacramento Kings select JaMarcus Hightower, from Indiana University.”

  The camera switched briefly to Matt Frazier, who’d plastered on a smile the whole world had to know was fake.

  “At least he didn’t go number one,” Theo said.

  The next pick and each one thereafter took another excruciating five minutes. In between announcements and brief interviews with the players, the studio commentators speculated on the fate of the Harwood duo, who’d so far been passed over by the first eleven teams.