Broken (The Raiford Chronicles #3 Book 1)

by Janet Taylor-Perry

  Kyle looked back at Mr. Desmond and received a nod of encouragement.

  "Well, I had become involved in a group of, I guess, neo-Nazis. I really don't know what they were or are. I just wanted to be accepted—to feel like somebody cared about me. We all shaved our heads and got hideous tattoos. Officer Palermo was one adult involved. He came to the Gulf Coast and talked to some of the other guys and me. He paid us to find Christopher Reynolds, Chief Reynolds's son, and beat him up. He said he didn't want the boy killed, just hurt."

  "What did you do to Christopher?" asked Desmond.

  "Nothing."

  "Why? Please, explain."

  "When we found Christopher, he was making out with my sister. I guess I wasn't a total slug. I mean, how do you beat up the guy your sister's kissing? Then, Christopher recognized my tattoo as the one Miss Rivers, Mrs. Gautier, had identified on one of the guys who attacked her. He started explaining to me what I was really mixed up in and convinced me to talk to his dad."

  "Where are those other boys?"

  "I don't know. I haven't seen any of them since that day."

  "Kyle, would it interest you to know that we can't find any of the other boys whose names you gave us?"

  "I'm not surprised. I'm not sure I knew their real names. Maybe I was just too naïve and gullible to not use my real name."

  "I see. Now, I want to take you back to two and a half years ago. Tell us about that experience."

  Kyle shivered.

  "Are you all right?" asked Desmond. "Do you need a break?"

  "It's really cold in here, but I'm all right. I can do this." Once again, Kyle found his mother and Courtney. Both nodded encouragement. Kyle breathed deeply and continued.

  "That's when I first became involved in the skin-head gang. They called themselves 'The Bald Eagles.' Most of them had a grotesque bald eagle that looked as if an amateur had tattooed it over their hearts. A few had other things. Once again, it was Officer Palermo who talked to me. There were four other guys. I guess this was some of our initiation, but at least one of them had previously been involved in something. Palermo told us to get in we had to beat and rape the owner of Timeless Tattoos. He took me to the side and told me if I wanted in deep, I had to kill her."

  Kyle began to sweat in spite of the temperature in the room being uncomfortably cool. He felt lightheaded. Mr. Desmond prompted, "Go on."

  Kyle breathed deeply again. "He gave us money and told us to pretend to want 'MOM' tattoos. We went in and told her that. She was skeptical because she asked to see cash up front and I.D. because she said the law forced her to be sure we weren't too young to get tattoos." Kyle gripped the rail in front of the witness chair.

  Mr. Desmond asked gently, "Kyle, did you do anything to Miss Rivers?"

  Before he could say anything else, Kyle leaned to the side and vomited. The judge ordered a fifteen minute recess.

  During the short break, the witness area was cleaned and Deanna and Courtney met with Kyle in a witness holding room. Courtney handed Kyle a ginger ale. "Here. This will settle your stomach."

  "I'd rather have a hug."

  "Drink," commanded Courtney as she put her arms around Kyle. "You can have both. Relax. You're doing great."

  Deanna stroked Kyle's hair. "I'm proud of you, honey," she said softly. "You can do this. Kyle, just tell the truth. I've been in court every day. You witnesses have been isolated so you can't hear what anybody else says. Honestly, Chambliss is good enough to get Lloyd off. There's no definitive evidence except a gun he might have used. So far, your testimony is all that points a real finger at him. Hang in there, baby. The case Desmond is mounting isn't strong. Robert might have been a horse's ass, but he was an excellent prosecutor. He would never have gone to trial with such unsubstantiated evidence even if it took two years to mount the case." She handed Kyle a suede jacket he had worn and left in the car. "It's like an iceberg in there. Wear this."

  Desmond stepped into the holding room. "Kyle, about the other fellows not being found…"

  "Let me guess"—Kyle closed his eyes—"You're taking back my immunity. You think I lied."

  "No. I wanted to reassure you that I believe every word you told me. Relax. We need to get back in there now." He knitted his brow. "Oh, and don't let the judge intimidate you. He kind of does things his own way, but so far, he's been fair, if not a little bent to our side."

  With the slight change of clothes, Kyle retook the stand. The judge asked, "Do I need to provide you with a barf bucket, young man?"

  Kyle blushed, but replied, "No, sir. I think I'll be all right. My girlfriend gave me some ginger ale."

  "Are you cold, son?" the judge asked, noting the jacket.

  "I was, but I'm okay now."

  "Then, let's continue." The judge ordered the stenographer to read Mr. Desmond's last question.

  The woman read, "'Kyle, did you do anything to Miss Rivers?'"

  Kyle nodded. "Yes."

  "Please, tell us what you did," prompted Desmond who had also put on his suit coat during the recess.

  "We locked her door and turned off her lights to make it look like she was closed. I grabbed her and punched her in the face. Then, one of the other guys helped me drag her behind the counter. Then, we all took turns."

  "What do you mean?"

  Kyle closed his eyes. His long lashes barely had a tint of brown, but it was enough contrast with his complexion to see the tears escape.

  "Kyle?" prompted Mr. Desmond.

  Kyle swallowed hard to control his voice. "We took turns raping her. I was first. We all wore condoms so there would be no DNA. We'd shaved our entire bodies. Lloyd told us to. Then, we hit and kicked her. I straddled her and put my hands around her throat. I was supposed to kill her, but she was so beautiful. I couldn't kill her."

  Desmond cleared his throat and gave Kyle a stern look. He'd warned the boy not to talk about the fact that he thought Neely was beautiful.

  Kyle gasped, catching his blunder too late. Desmond's caution that the defense would rip him to shreds over that tidbit made him nervous.

  Desmond prompted, "Continue."

  "We ransacked the place. One of the guys, I don't know which one, but the one I think had been involved in stuff before, grabbed a long shard of glass from the broken cases and rammed it into her over and over while a couple of guys held her legs apart." He shivered. "They laughed, and it was as cold in there as it is in here. She passed out." He shook his head. Even with the blood and bruises, she was so beautiful. She looked like a Barbie doll with a perfectly bloomed rose on her arm. How could anybody kill something so lovely? I couldn't do it. Does that mean I am evil? Could I have killed her if she'd been fat and ugly? "I told that guy she was already dead, but I knew better. We left. I didn't know her name until last year."

  "Kyle, Mrs. Gautier has said under oath that she can't with certainty identify any of her attackers. Why didn't she testify against you?"

  "When I finally met her, she really only remembered my tattoo. I confessed to her. She said she wouldn't testify if I gave up the others, especially Lloyd, and if I got counseling. I did what she asked. I've been seeing a counselor once a week. I gave the New Orleans police and the FBI everything I had. Those names were probably fake, too."

  "Probably since we haven't found any of them either. Kyle, are you lying to keep yourself out of jail?"

  "No." Kyle looked Desmond in the eye.

  "Did your group have anything to do with the other twelve women who were raped and beaten to death in New Orleans?"

  "I don't know about the other guys"—He turned again toward the jury—"but I did not."

  Desmond's stomach roiled. He knew the next leg of Kyle's testimony was the most crucial. Without finding any other Bald Eagle members, the link to Lloyd was tenuous at best. My boss just wouldn't listen to Parker Reynolds, Ed Pickering, or me. We needed more time.

  "All right. Kyle, before that night, had you ever been involved in any kind of criminal activity?"

&nbs
p; "No."

  "Kyle, we're about to go back further. You said earlier under oath that Officer Palermo raped you. Is that a true statement?"

  "Yes."

  "We need to hear what happened. Do you need a break before we start?"

  "No. I wanna get it over with."

  "Very well. Please, tell the court what happened when you were ten years old." Desmond again blocked Lloyd's line of sight with Kyle.

  "One day our baseball practice got cancelled because of rain. My coach was supposed to drop me off at my dad's Baton Rouge office. He dropped me off an hour early. Nobody was in the outer office, so I went on to my dad's inner office. I didn't knock." He shrugged. "I was ten. When I walked in, Officer Palermo was having sex with my dad."

  The murmuring started again. The judge pounded his gavel and ordered, "Bailiff, clear the courtroom. Kyle, is your mother present?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Point her out."

  "Mrs. Blackwell." Kyle pointed toward Deanna.

  "Mrs. Blackwell, you may stay."

  "Please!" begged Kyle. "Please, let Courtney stay? I need her here. Please?"

  "Courtney!" snapped the judge.

  "Yes, sir?" Courtney replied.

  "Are you the ginger ale girlfriend?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Have you already heard Kyle's story?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Stay with Mrs. Blackwell. Everybody else, out! We will resume at one o'clock. Kyle, even if you don't need a break, I do. If you need to vomit, do it during the break." I might have to myself. "Jurors, have lunch, and return with a jacket. I don't know why it's so cold in here." The judge stomped from the bench. He himself felt nauseous. He had voted for Robert LaFontaine. The thought of him possibly being present when another person sexually molested his child turned Judge Gillette's stomach.

  After a long lunch break, Kyle resumed testifying. The only people in the courtroom besides the jury were the judge, the court reporter, the bailiff, two prosecutors, two defense attorneys, Deanna Blackwell, Courtney Reynolds, Lloyd Palermo and Kyle. The silence was deafening, and the voices echoed. The judge spoke directly to Kyle. "Continue. I think your revelation about your father's sexual orientation is very vivid in your memory. There is no need to read your last statement."

  "Yes, sir. When I walked in Lloyd got off my dad. Dad came toward me. I screamed at him, 'How could you? How could you do this to Mom?'

  "Dad tried to calm me down. He kept saying everything was all right and that there was nothing wrong with what I had seen." Kyle gave a little snort. "He said something about his constituents not understanding. I wasn't even sure what that word meant at the time, but I figured it was the people that voted for him.

  "I remember I screamed, 'Your constituents? What about Mom? What about Kim? What about me? I don't understand!'

  "I started crying and I tried to run out the door. Dad grabbed me. He said, 'Listen to me, Kyle.' He told me I couldn't say anything; that our whole life would be over if I did.

  "I screamed, 'I don't care!'

  "That's when Lloyd spoke. He said, 'You can't get through to the boy like that, Robert. Give him to me. I'll make him understand.'

  "Dad said, 'No. Not my son.'

  "Lloyd told him it was the only way.

  "Dad said, 'No,' and put me behind him. He told Lloyd that he'd have to go through him.

  "Lloyd was standing with his arms folded. He nodded and said, 'If that's what it takes.' Out of nowhere, he uppercut my dad and then threw him across the room into a file cabinet.

  "Then, he grabbed me and dragged me to my dad's desk. He said, 'The only way to get through to you is to make you one of us.'"

  Desmond interrupted, "Kyle, how do you remember the conversation so distinctly?"

  Kyle blinked back tears. "I'll never forget that day. It haunts me constantly, even in my dreams."

  With a nod, Desmond said, "Continue."

  "He forced me over Dad's desk and yanked down my uniform. Before I could even try to get away, he rammed into me. I know I screamed. He put his hand over my mouth. Over and over he pushed. He kept whispering, 'Relax. Don't fight. It won't hurt if you don't fight.' He kept on ten, fifteen minutes, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, he climaxed, and it hurt. It did hurt. It hurt so much."

  Kyle was crying. Deanna Blackwell was crying. Courtney was crying. Most shockingly, Lloyd Palermo was crying. Kyle shrugged out of his jacket. The room suddenly became overly warm. Both attorneys loosened their ties. The judge pointed toward the thermostat, and the bailiff adjusted it.

  Kyle continued, "He said, 'If you say anything now, you'll have to tell your friends you're just like us. I'll find you again if I have to. And I'll find your dad. Just be a good boy and be quiet.' He pulled out and zipped his pants. He said, 'Robert, it was the only way. I'll be in touch.' Then, he left.

  "My dad had stayed curled into a ball by the file cabinet. He crawled over to me. I was on the floor crying. He put his arms around me. He was crying, too. He said, 'I'm sorry, Kyle. Don't let this make you like me, but, please, please, don't say anything.'

  "Mr. Desmond, you asked how I could remember so clearly. That's the only time I ever remember my dad hugging me." Kyle wiped tears from his cheeks. "Dad had a black eye. We lied to Mom. We said Dad slipped because of the floor being wet and hit the reception desk. I was walking funny because it hurt so much. We told Mom I had pulled a groin muscle, but I would be fine."

  "Kyle," asked Desmond, "are you fine?"

  "Now?"

  "Yes, now."

  "I'm not like my dad even if he wasn't all bad." He fidgeted. "I mean, I'm straight. I have no secrets from my mother. Courtney loves me, and I love her. Jesus loves me, and He forgives me. Now, I'm fine, but it has taken seven years and unconditional love to get me there."

  "Kyle, are you certain the man who sexually assaulted you is Lloyd Palermo?"

  "Yes. He was younger, and he had thick hair; but it's the same man."

  "How can you be sure? You were ten and under great stress."

  "Ask him to show you the baphomet tattooed on his abdomen."

  Desmond clenched his fist. Kyle popped his hand over his mouth. Desmond rushed to finish his questions, knowing Lloyd had been photographed.

  "No more questions. Your witness." He sat and held his head in his hands. Shit.

  "I request a recess until tomorrow, Your Honor," asked Chambliss.

  "Nope," responded the judge. "Ask your questions now. I'm late for dinner, too, but this witness will not be in this chair tomorrow. Whether your client is guilty or not, isn't my decision. Nevertheless, I have no doubt this young man has recounted the two most horrific nightmares of his life. Finish this."

  "Very well. Kyle, who is Courtney's father?"

  "Objection!" said Desmond. "What does that have to do with this case?"

  Chambliss said, "A great deal, Your Honor. Goes to bias."

  "I'll allow it since I did let the girl stay. Kyle, please, answer."

  A little confused, Kyle answered, "Raiford Reynolds."

  Chambliss threw up his hands. "Is there anybody testifying for the prosecution that is not somehow connected to Raiford Reynolds?"

  "Objection!" shouted Desmond.

  "Sustained," said the judge. "Move on."

  "Kyle, was Officer Palermo even on the beach the night you were supposed to beat up Raiford Reynolds's son?"

  "I don't know."

  "Was Officer Palermo anywhere near Timeless Tattoos the night you raped, beat, and left for dead Raiford Reynolds's future sister-in-law?"

  "I don't know."

  "You testified that you think Raiford Reynolds's sister-in-law is beautiful. Kyle, what if she had been ugly? Would you have killed her?"

  "What? No."

  "Okay." Chambliss smirked toward the jury.

  "Hmm. Kyle, I believe you were sexually abused when you were a child. I just doubt your abuser. Kyle, what other deep dark secret did your father confess to you on the day you were
sexually assaulted?"

  "That he had only ever loved one person romantically."

  "And who was that person?"

  "Raiford Reynolds," Kyle barely whispered.

  "Louder please so the jury can hear you."

  "Raiford Reynolds."

  "Kyle, you said you got a hideous tattoo. Can you show us?"

  "No. I had it removed."

  Chambliss paced back and forth in front of the witness stand, working up a sweat since the temperature had mediated. "Well, what was it?"

  "A red-and-black two-headed serpent."

  "Why did you choose that one?"

  "It was the one my dad had."

  "So, you were trying to be like your dad?"

  "No. It was the ugliest one I could think of."

  "Ugly like your dad?" He stopped in front of Kyle.

  "I suppose."

  "Kyle, who actually raped you in your father's office?"

  "Lloyd Palermo."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you sure your own father, who only ever loved Raiford Reynolds, did not rape you?"

  "It was him!" Kyle pointed at Lloyd in an outburst of emotionally charged rage. "He fucked me just like he was fucking my dad when I came in. My dad was an asshole. He didn't love me enough to have any physical contact with me. He didn't love me enough to sacrifice everything to protect me, but he didn't rape me!"

  "Kyle!" snapped the judge. "You will not use that language in my courtroom!"

  "I'm sorry, Your Honor." He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. "No, Mr. Chambliss, my dad did not sexually assault me. All he could do was huddle in the fetal position as if he were being hurt. Maybe he was hurt as a kid, too. Maybe that's why he couldn't do anything to help me or himself. No, your client is the one who raped me. No amount of twisting my words or Raiford Reynolds's relationships will change that fact."

  Mr. Chambliss gazed intently at the spitting image of Robert LaFontaine. He, too, had known Robert and voted for him. This boy was beautiful to look at just like his father had been. But there was something dynamic about this child. He would not recant or break. Chambliss could not help but admire the boy. Whether Kyle was telling the truth or not, he did not really know, but Kyle believed he was telling the truth. In his heart, Chambliss knew Kyle was being honest, but he was sworn to defend his client. The prosecution needed more than the memory of a ten-year-old. Nonetheless, Chambliss said, "No more questions." He realized it would be futile.