by E B Corbin
"You named an O'Malley." Roxanne spoke to Sylvia while looking at Callahan in confusion. "Is he any relation to Dan O'Malley?"
"He's Dan's cousin," Sylvia said. "Why? Is that important?"
"Not to the rape case," Callahan said. "But the O'Malley's are hip-deep in my current case."
"Oh, I see." Sylvia took a deep breath. "So we might not want to spook them?"
"I don't give a rat's ass about spooking them." Roxanne leaned against the wall switching her coat to the other arm. "It makes it all the more important to see that some sort of justice is done for Sandy."
"All three families, not just the O'Malleys, are big-shots in town," Sylvia explained. "Richard Cummings is the so-called mayor. He doesn't do much for the town, but he has the money to buy an election. His great-great grandfather, or something like that, was one of the investors in Seneca Oil--the original oil company in this area.
"When Rockefeller bought it, Cummings' ancestor didn't take cash; he took stock in Standard Oil. Probably the last smart thing done by any of that family." She shook her head in disgust. "Even so, most of the original owners in Seneca Oil died broke. But not old man Cummings. Oh, no, he hung onto his Standard Oil stock, passed it on to his kids. He started out digging shafts for oil. Now his descendants are too good to do a decent day's work."
"I didn't know where the Cummings money came from." Callahan scratched his chin. "But I know they aren't afraid to show off what they have. Their spread out on 62 is impressive."
"Oh, they flaunt it, all right. Esther Cummings makes spring and fall trips to New York and Paris to update her wardrobe. They're a bunch of self-important peacocks and that son of theirs, Sean, is the biggest braggart of them all. They keep a house in town for when school's in session so Sean is close to his friends. He, Mike O'Malley and Bryan Haynes all live within a block or two of each other." Sylvia pursed her lips. "I wouldn't mind taking them down a peg or two."
As her friend spoke, Roxanne felt increasing pressure to do a good job. She theorized a few possibilities on how best to approach the civil suit. It wouldn't look good that no criminal charges had been filed, and it didn't help that all of the boys were from prominent families.
"I'll try to come up with something," she told Sylvia even as she mentally kicked herself for offering to help. This was a more difficult case than she had imagined and she didn't want to get Sylvia's or her friend's hopes up. "But I can't make any promises."
"I'm not asking for promises," Sylvia said. "Anything that teaches the young brutes a lesson will do."
Roxanne turned to Callahan before she started for her office in the rear. "You coming?"
"I'll wait out here." He nodded to the street where a young, attractive blonde dawdled behind an older, overweight woman. The young girl kept her head down, the woman marched with purpose. "Looks like your clients are coming. I don't want to make Sandy uncomfortable."
Proving him right, the door opened.
"Welcome." Sylvia jumped from her seat behind the desk and went to give Ruthie an air kiss. "It's been too long."
"That's life, isn't it?" Ruthie grunted. "No time for anything, including friends."
"Yes, well..." Sylvia was at a loss for words. "I'd like you to meet Roxanne Boudreaux. She's an attorney and my new partner."
Ruthie ignored Roxanne's extended hand and continued speaking to Sylvia. "Sorry to hear about Ralph. Just goes to show, you never know what to expect."
"It's been difficult, but I'm adjusting," Sylvia managed before turning to Roxanne. "Perhaps you'd like to show Ruthie and Sandy to your office."
"Yes, please follow me." Roxanne tried not to look offended at the ignored handshake. This woman's attitude didn't bode well for the outcome of their meeting.
When mother and daughter sat across from her desk, Ruthie charged right to the point. "We need to file a civil suit."
"Perhaps we should discuss it first." Roxanne hoped explaining the legalities would help the woman take a more reasonable stance. "As I understand it, no criminal charges were filed."
"That's only because that lazy deputy never looked for any evidence."
Roxanne looked at Sandy. "Did you go to the hospital after you were attacked? Are there any medical records to back up the complaint?"
"No, I wasn't injured." The young woman spoke to the floor, her long hair hiding her expression.
"So a rape kit wasn't done?"
"I didn't want to go through the hassle." Sandy scrutinized her shoes. "Plus, I didn't want to be some hashtag on Twitter if word got out at school."
"I told you we should go to the hospital." Ruthie pinched her daughter's arm. "But, no, you're too ashamed. It's them boys that should be ashamed, not you!"
"Mom, please." Sandy's voice held all the anguish of a seventeen-year-old.
"Tell me what happened." Roxanne leaned back in her chair trying not to add to Sandy's discomfort. A personal injury suit based on mental anguish alone would be hard to prove, especially if the girl kept insisting she wasn't physically injured. "From the beginning."
Sandy twisted a few strands of her blond hair around the finger of her right hand as she stared at the floor. Finally, the teenager began to speak in a quiet voice. "I was running late at the office we use to put out the school paper. I'm the editor, and football practice ended just as I finished up the latest issue."
"You finish the paper by yourself?"
Sandy shook her head. "Usually there's two of us handling final touches. That day, my assistant, Jenny, left for a dental appointment. It was no big deal; we were pretty much done with everything.
"Then Mike came into the office with a last-minute schedule change for the weekly football game. He asked me to the Homecoming dance at the same time. I lied and told him I already had a date." Sandy tucked her hair behind her ears before continuing in a whisper. "He'd been nasty to me ever since I wouldn't let him copy my math homework, so I couldn't figure out why he wanted to go to the dance with me."
"Mike was alone when he came to the office?" Roxanne prodded.
"Yeah, at least I thought so. At first." Sandy stared at the untied shoelace on her left sneaker.
"How did he react to your answer?"
"He got angry. Started calling me names and said I'd be sorry." Her eyes watered. "I thought he was just blowing smoke, until Sean and Bryan pushed their way into the room and locked the door. I told them they were scaring me, to cut it out. But they backed me into a corner. Before I could scream, Sean put his hand over my mouth and ripped open my shirt. Mike had his hands up my skirt and pulled down my panties." Sandy sobbed the last few words, tears streaming down her face.
"Okay, I get the idea," Roxanne soothed. "Did all three of them rape you?"
"I...I think so...they took turns. Two of them held me down while the other, the other..." The teenager went silent.
Roxanne rounded her desk and grabbed a box of tissues from her bookshelf. She patted Sandy on the back as she put the Kleenex in her lap. "It's okay, you don't have to say any more."
"So you see what I have to deal with," Ruthie said in a loud voice. "I couldn't even get her to talk to the police about it. I had to report it myself with her sitting right there."
Roxanne wondered how Sylvia could be friends with such an insensitive person but she focused on the sobbing teenager instead.
"Sandy," Roxanne said softly, "Do you want this civil suit?"
The girl looked at her with a stricken face. "N-o-o-o," she cried. "I just want to be left alone!"
Roxanne turned to Ruthie. "I'm not sure where we should go from here." She pointed out Sandy's distress just talking about it in private, and how much more difficult it would be in a courtroom. "Have you tried counseling?"
"I don't have the funds to pay for college tuition, let alone some expensive shrink." The woman frowned at her as if she had suggested something obscene. "The best way for Sandy to get over this is to make them pay! She was in line for a full scholarship at Edinboro, but now her grad
es have tumbled and she hasn't even filled out the paperwork. This has ruined my daughter's life! We can't let those bastards get away with it!"
"I agree." Roxanne drew a lungful of air to speak in measured tones. "That's why I suggested counseling. A good counselor may convince Sandy to file criminal charges. You have a much better chance at a personal injury suit if criminal charges have been filed. These boys need to be punished before they do it to someone else."
"I can't do it!" Sandy bawled.
Roxanne inwardly cringed. Much as she hated theatrics, she empathized with the girl. Even with therapy, a gang rape could leave her scarred for life. "No one's going to force you to do anything you don't want to do. It was just a suggestion."
"Sylvia said you could help us." Ruthie glared at her across the desk. "I guess she was wrong."
"I'll do what I can." Roxanne grew tired of trying to placate the woman. "You need to realize how difficult this case will be. There's no back-up evidence and rape is almost impossible to prove without it."
"Sandy is all I got," Ruthie said in a lowered voice. "I just want to help her get over this. Don't need you calling her a liar."
"I'm not. I believe her one hundred percent, but I'm trying to point out the problems we'll face." As Roxanne wrote the names of the three punks on a yellow legal pad, her mind scrambled for a solution. "I know the Cummings have money and clout, and Mike O'Malley probably trades on his last name, even though he's only a cousin to his wealthy relatives. What can you tell me about Bryan Haynes?"
Sandy had pulled herself together enough to look at her mother. "Do you want me to answer that?"
"You probably know more about that little bastard's family than I do," Ruthie said.
"Well, Bryan is a nice enough guy, or at least I thought he was. His father started with a small grocery store on the corner of Main and Fifth Street. They opened the supermarket just north of town when Bryan was about five or six. They have money, but they're not filthy rich like the Cummings."
"I'm thinking about having a talk with the Cummings, see if they'd rather come to a financial settlement or face a lawsuit."
"They'll never pay," Ruthie said. "They think they're too good to admit any wrongdoing."
"A lot of people bluster about never settling but in the end, you'd be surprised how many give in." Roxanne tapped her pen against the legal pad. "I think it's worth a try."
"They won't even talk to us." Ruthie clutched her oversized purse in her lap, then adjusted her oversized rear-end on the chair.
"They might talk to me," Roxanne said. She had no idea if it would work or not, but if she could get the Cummings to pay for Sandy's education, it was worth a shot. They might intimidate the long-term residents in Oilville, but no matter how much money they had, they weren't immune from the threat of nasty gossip. Besides it took a lot to strong-arm a former tax attorney; in the past, she'd faced the best and won. Even with everything going on in her life, part of her relished the challenge.
"I'll stop in for a visit with them today or tomorrow," Roxanne told her new clients. "Maybe we can't get justice, but at least we'll get a little satisfaction."
- 19 -
Callahan was nowhere in sight when Roxanne led Ruthie and Sandy out of her office.
"He said to tell you he had to go." Sylvia spoke before Roxanne could ask. "Something about a sighting of 'persons of interest', I believe he called them. A good-looking blonde picked him up--probably a colleague of his. But he left his car keys for you."
Roxanne nodded and returned to her office, leaving Ruthie and Sandy to Sylvia's ministrations. It irked her that he jumped into action whenever Tiffany showed up although she knew catching those guys trumped guarding her.
Her call to Callahan went straight to voicemail and she had no better luck with Pete. Then she phoned Kate hoping for some information.
"I don't know," Kate told her. "Tiffany heard from Ron and grabbed Pete to help her find Callahan. Do you think they're about to nab those guys who were watching us last night?"
"It could be anything." Roxanne thumped a pen against her desk in frustration. "No one's answering their cell."
"If I hear from them, I'll be sure to let you know," Kate said. "Right now, I have to run and pick up Jonathon. His bus is due any minute."
"Go." Roxanne clicked off. She stared at her diploma from Tulane hanging on the wall, not really seeing it or anything else in the room. Why the hell didn't one of them think of keeping her in the loop? As she ran her fingers through her hair in disgust, several pink phone message slips caught her eye. At least she could do something.
Contacting her clients consumed the next couple of hours. She answered questions and set up appointments for the next week, confident this mess with Roxy would be settled by then. With her desk finally cleared, her thoughts ran in circles again.
What was happening? Did they catch the Irishmen? Did they locate Roxy? Why hadn't they contacted her? The possibilities overwhelmed her as her gaze drifted to the yellow legal pad with three names written in black ink, underlined several times.
She buzzed Sylvia. "Where's the best place to catch Sean's father?"
"He's seldom in town unless he has some mayoral function. Probably their estate out on 62 is best." The other woman gave her the address.
Roxanne used Google maps to find the location before she grabbed her coat and the SUV keys.
"You gone for the day?" Sylvia asked as she headed for the door.
"Yes, but I'll try to get in tomorrow," Roxanne called over her shoulder. "There's something I need to do right now."
"Are you going to confront Mayor Cummings?"
She paused before answering. Callahan would probably insist she wait for him to accompany her, but she saw little danger in approaching the mayor in broad daylight. "I'm not sure where I'll be," she hedged as she closed the door.
Even though she'd programmed the GPS for the Cummings' address, she still almost missed the turn. Well hidden by a bower of leafless maples, the unmarked, two-lane blacktop appeared out of nowhere and promptly disappeared into the trees. If it had been summer with all the foliage in bloom, she would have missed it entirely.
She angled into a quick left and followed the road for at least two miles before the line of maples ended at a three-story stone house with gray shutters. Fourteen windows faced the front with more in the turret separating the house from the four-car garage. She had expected an impressive place, not a Downton Abbey knock-off.
Undaunted, she pulled into the circular drive and stopped in front of a carved cherry door. It wasn't until she rang the doorbell and heard the chimes inside playing Beethoven's Fifth that she realized how she was dressed--in jeans and a parka.
A middle-aged Hispanic woman opened the door. She frowned at Roxanne without speaking.
"Hola," Roxanne said. Her Spanish had never been fluent, but she thought it a good idea to be friendly to the help. They were the gatekeepers who could help her or block her.
"Hola," the woman answered. She regarded Roxanne with suspicious brown eyes.
"Es el señor Cummings aqui?" Roxanne said before the maid could slam the door.
"Yes," she answered after a brief hesitation. "I speak English. I was born in this country, so I'm legal."
"I'm not here to cause you any trouble," Roxanne said, sorry that she'd tried to ingratiate herself by using poor Spanish. "I'd like to speak with Mr. Cummings, please."
"Whom should I say is calling?"
Roxanne dug a business card from her purse. "Just give this to him."
The woman raised an eyebrow as she looked at the card. "I'll see if he's available."
Roxanne stood in front of the closed door, stamping her feet to keep warm while gazing at the snow-covered landscape. The frigid air made her shiver. She was contemplating waiting in the SUV when the door reopened.
"Señor Cummings only has a few minutes to spare." The maid's body language and her stiff locution implied that Roxanne was not welcome.
"Come," a voice called from the other side.
The maid announced a visitor without using a name. Then she ushered her in before silently closing the door upon her departure. Roxanne stepped further into the room, feeling like a door-to-door salesperson plying her wares.
Built-in bookshelves lined three sides of the room while flames danced in a huge fireplace. A man with dark hair, greying at the sides, sat at an antique desk, reading the top sheet of a stack of papers. He wore a white silk shirt and a maroon smoking jacket that matched the paisley ascot tucked at his neck. The color gave his complexion an unhealthy yellowish cast. His jowls hung down loosely and the smoking jacket could barely close over his belly. Here sat a big man gone to seed, refusing to accept that his once imposing appearance had turned bloated and puffy.
He didn't stop reading only motioned with his left hand for her to sit.
Roxanne moved forward but remained standing with her hands resting on one of the two high-backed chairs in front of the desk. When she cleared her throat, the mayor looked up in surprise as if he had forgotten she was there. He glanced at the business card she had given the maid.
"Miss Boudreaux, I see you're an attorney." He pushed aside the papers and took off his reading glasses. With no attempt to smile, he regarded her through myopic pale eyes, sunken behind turgid cheeks. "I'm afraid you're wasting your time. All our legal work is handled through Burns and Billingsly in New York. Our endeavors are too complicated for locals."
"I'm not here looking for work," Roxanne said through gritted teeth. Who the hell did he think he was? In her work with her former firm, she'd dealt with CFOs of multi-national corporations. Even the sleaziest of them had more class than the man in front of her. She wasn't some yokel begging at his door. "I need to speak to you about your son."
