Justice Denied - A Harper Ross Legal Thriller

by Rachel Sinclair

  Others just refused to listen to me and wanted to bulldoze ahead, no matter what I said or did. In those cases, it was best for me to withdraw from the case, but, since this case was something that was assigned to me by the State, I didn’t really have the choice to get off. I could only hope that I could find his angle, the words to make him realize the folly of taking the case to trial, and he would agree to a plea.

  I saw no other way. I could do everything that I needed to do – discovery, depositions, investigations, the whole nine – but the fact was, he killed her. He admitted to it. There was no SODDI here, no justification. He needed to take any plea that I could get, and take it with a smile.

  He was still staring at me. Only now, he didn’t have the same jovial expression that he had on his face the first time he saw me. His blue eyes were trained on me, and they now looked dead. As if there was not a soul behind them. I shuddered, my blood running cold. I had seen that look too many times. The last time I saw it was with a gang-banger who had burned a guy alive in the car – Randall Thompson. Like Elmer, he told me that he did it. Like Elmer, he wanted a trial. No plea bargain. When I informed him that he needed to either plea his case or I would withdraw, he lunged at me and almost strangled me. His hands were around my neck, and he was squeezing hard. Thank God I was in the jail, so the guard came out and got him off of me in just the nick of time. Otherwise, I probably would have been killed.

  I took a deep breath. “Elmer, you admitted that you killed her. And, no, you don’t have a legal justification for doing it. I think that I need to see the prosecutor and see what we can get for you. Bear in mind, that-“

  He stood up, and he looked as large as a bear to me. I’m a slight woman – 5’9” and 130 pounds on a good day. I worked out as often as I could, lifting weights and running, but still…this man was easily 6’5” and 300 lbs, and he wasn’t going to be intimidated by me or anyone else. “No plea,” he said. “You get that persecutor, and you tell him that we’re going to trial. I’ll just get up and tell the jury that I don’t know what the Hell the persecutor is talking about, that I didn’t kill that woman and I don’t know who did.”

  I sighed. I was going to have to explain one more thing to him, and that was that I couldn’t put him on the stand, since I knew for a fact that he killed the woman. “We can’t win. I can’t put you on the stand. Not when I know that you did it. Now-“

  All at once, he was enraged. I stood up and backed up, but he came at me. The gang-banger incident flashed through my mind as I put my hands up defensively, and he charged me so that I was up against the wall. I looked up at his face, and his eyes were now wild. They were no longer dead, and they certainly weren’t friendly. It occurred to me that I saw all of his faces in this one visit – he was friendly at first, then he looked like a sociopath, and now he looked like a demon who was determined that I was going to bend to his will.

  I desperately looked over at the guard’s station, and realized, to my horror, that nobody was paying attention to what was happening to me. They all looked pre-occupied with something else. Maybe there was a riot or perhaps there was just a lot of activity. I relied on them paying attention. When I was dealing with dangerous criminals, such as this Elmer, it was always imperative that somebody was diligent and looking out for me. Right now, I saw that nobody could see what was happening, because nobody was looking in my direction.

  He didn’t attempt to strangle me, but, rather, he decided that he was going to rain body blows. White-hot pain shot through me as he smacked my face with his shackled wrist. The hard metal made contact with the skin and bones of my face, and I tried to fight back tears. “You’re going to try this goddamn case, and I won’t take a goddamn plea bargain. Do you hear me, you little bitch?”

  Finally, there was a guard who was coming through the door. He had a stun gun in his holster and he immediately tased the enormous man. Unfortunately, because of his size and girth, Elmer seemed not to feel the taser. He probably also had adrenaline coursing through his veins, which also meant that he wasn’t going to go down right away.

  The guard tased him three more times before he finally slumped down on the ground.

  “I’m very sorry, Harper,” the guard, Scott, said to me. “We were dealing with a rising insurrection in one of the pods, and we should have been paying more attention to you.”

  I simply shook my head, and felt my cheek. Blood was on my fingers and I looked at the bright red liquid and tasted it. “I have to go,” I said, feeling shaken.

  “Please, stop by the nurse’s station and get that looked at. You’re going to have a shiner, if not more.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Fine. I appreciate your concern, but I really have to get home.”

  “Harper,” Scott said. “Do you need an escort to your car at least?”

  “No. I’m a big girl, I’ll be fine.”

  I staggered out to my car, hoping that this whole thing didn’t give me PTSD. After the incident with the gang-banger, I had nightmares for months. In my nightmares, I would always be cornered by an enormous man. I would be unable to breathe. I would be dead.

  With shaking hands, I got into my car.

  And promptly burst into tears.

  Three

  I got back into the office, feeling shaken but calmer than I was in the jail. This wasn’t the first time my life had been threatened. I doubted that it would be the last. The only bad thing was that I was going to have to face Michael Reynolds, and I wasn’t quite in the mental shape to do it.

  My heart pounded as the clock got closer to 1 PM, which was when Michael was scheduled to come in that door. I looked at my hand and it was shaking. Why was I doing this? Why? Was I really nothing but a masochist? I never thought of myself as that – a masochist. All that I knew was that there was some reason why I had to bring Michael back into my life. To face my demons. My therapist had told me, over and over, that I needed to bring my demons out into the open and try to vanquish them. I never really vanquished this particular demon, and that was the reason for my depression, anxiety and bouts with alcoholism. Or so she said. I personally thought of my depression as being something that had always been with me, off and on. A beast that I couldn’t seem to get rid of, no matter how well my life was going. No doubt my depression got worse after the incident in the fraternity house, but the depression had always been with me in some form or another.

  I closed my eyes and remembered…it was the year 2000, and I was a Freshman at the University of Missouri….

  “Come on up to my room,” he said and I nodded. I could barely stand, so he put his arm around my back to prop me up.

  “I feel really sick,” I said, feeling my head bob on his shoulder. “Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “It’s just a little farther,” he said, ignoring me. “Up these stairs.”

  “No,” I said. “This isn’t such a good idea.” I had the presence of mind to know that what was about to happen was something that shouldn’t. I didn’t know why I told him on the dance floor that I wanted to do this. As he was leading me up the stairs, I knew that it was wrong. Everything was wrong.

  “It’s a very good idea. Harper, I’ve been noticing you in class. You’re so beautiful. I love your red hair and your rack is divine. I’m dying to find out if they’re real. I’ve been dying to find that out all semester.”

  I vaguely knew that I was much drunker than he was. For one, he was walking straight, and I was leaning heavily on him. For another, he seemed to be much more conscious on what was happening than I was.

  “What was in that punch?” The punch, which I had been drinking all night, tasted like it didn’t have much alcohol in it. It was sweet punch, too sweet, and it tasted like some kind of Hawaiian Punch, straight from the can. I always hated Hawaiian Punch. But I had the choice between the punch and the PBR beer that these fraternities bought by the keg. I hated the taste of shitty beer, so I had been drinking the punch all night long.

  “
Everclear,” he said. “It was good, huh?”

  “No,” I said. “It was gross. And I really feel like I’m going to be sick. I need to lie down, too. I need to get back to my dorm room and pass out. Can you take me there?”

  “Just a little bit farther,” he said. He got to a room and opened the door. “Here we are.”

  “Thank you. Can I lie down on your bed?”

  “Of course. I want you to. You need to relax.”

  “I don’t need to relax. I need to pass out. Please leave me alone, or, better yet, please take me to my room. My dorm room. It’s just down the street. Hatch Hall. I live on the sixth floor.”

  At the University of Missouri, most fraternity houses were in Greek Town, which was about a half mile from where I lived, which was a dorm on the edge of campus. The Sigma Chi house was one of about eight houses which were separated from Greek Town and were on what was known as “fraternity row.” It was one of the biggest houses on campus and was the house where Brad Pitt himself was a member at one time. The guys there were clean-cut and “popular,” whatever that meant in college. I assumed it meant that the guys in the house were probably the BMOCs in their high schools – the jocks, the homecoming kings, the student council presidents. The guys that I wanted to date but I never could, because I wasn’t one of them.

  “Just lie down,” he said, and he put on some music.

  “Could you turn the light on?” I couldn’t see a thing because it was pitch-black in his room.

  “Nah,” he said, “Let’s just leave it off.”

  “Please turn the light on. And please leave me alone or take me home. Please. I don’t feel good. I don’t feel a bit good. My stomach is churning and my head is about to burst. Please. I need to go home and drink about a gallon of water.” My mouth felt like a hamster had crawled into it and died.

  “Shhhh,” he said as he lay down beside me. “I’ll get you some water in a little bit. Right now, I just have to feel them.” His hand went up my blouse and landed on my bra. He unhooked it from the back and he felt my bare breasts.

  “Stop,” I said. “I told you, I want to go home.” I tried to squirm just a little bit, but he put his hand on my shoulder to hold me still.

  “You don’t want to go home.” He started to kiss me, big sloppy kisses, his tongue jamming into my mouth. His hand continued to feel my breasts, and I took my right hand and tried to get his hand off of my chest. He immediately took his hand and forcibly took my right hand and pinned it to the bed. His left hand continued to massage my breasts as he continued to kiss me sloppily.

  I vaguely heard the sound of somebody coming in the door. I turned my head and saw a shape standing in the doorway. “What’s going on?” the shape said in a laughing tone. “Mike, you got a girl in here again? Jesus Christ, man, when can I ever get any sleep with you in here macking on somebody all the fucking time?”

  “Come in here, Jim, I want you to feel this.”

  It was then that I really started to get scared. I didn’t know this Jim person from Adam. I had no idea who he was. I had no clue on what Michael wanted him to feel. “Go away,” I said, trying to struggle. Michael pinned me down on the bed and continued to feel my breasts. His hand fumbled with the zipper of my jeans and I swatted him away. “Stop. Leave me alone. Take me home. I want to go home.”

  “You’re not going home any time soon,” Michael said in a tone of voice that was no longer polite or playful. His voice was stern, his tone mean. “Now stop struggling.” He unzipped my jeans and I started to cry. Then I started to scream as he pulled them down.

  I started to hit him with my fists.

  “Come over here,” Michael said to Jim. “I need your help with this.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hold her arms above her head. She can’t be hitting me like this.”

  Jim came up to me and forcibly brought my arms above my head. Michael turned the music up louder as I screamed more and more. I heard him unbuckle his pants and unzip them and I stared at the ceiling as Michael wadded up one of his socks and stuck it in my mouth.

  “There,” he said, turning down his music as I lay there silently. I couldn’t breathe very well with the sock stuffed into my mouth, because my nose was stuffed up from constant allergies.

  As he kissed me, I felt him put his fingers inside me. I didn’t kiss him back. I couldn’t struggle, because Jim had my arms held tightly above my head and he was laying on top of me so that it was impossible to kick him. I couldn’t make a sound because I had a sock stuck in my mouth.

  I felt him jam himself inside of me as tears streamed down my cheeks. I wasn’t even drunk anymore – this whole thing was sobering me up so that I knew exactly what was happening to me. I turned my head towards to door, as I was hoping that somebody would end up coming in to save me.

  I wasn’t wet at all, so the feeling of him being inside of me was excruciatingly painful. Physically painful. I felt like my insides were being ripped apart, but I couldn’t scream out.

  “God, you’re so beautiful, you feel so good, oh my God, you’re incredible.” With a groan, I felt him collapse on top of me. I swallowed hard, happy that it was over, but terrified that he was going to try to do it again. I could feel that his hand was on his erect manhood, as if he was trying to fluff himself up for more.

  He didn’t try to rape me again, but he looked up at his buddy. “Your turn,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for you, since you helped me out with her.”

  I wanted to scream out but I still couldn’t. Jim let go of my arms, and I started to flail, but Michael got behind me and held my arms, just as Jim had done. I realized that Jim’s jeans were already down, because he lay down on top of me and immediately jammed himself inside of me. I frantically looked at Michael as I struggled to free myself. He was way too strong, and he held onto to me tightly as Jim thrust himself into me, over and over and over again.

  Michael didn’t take long with me, but Jim seemed to take forever.

  “Whiskey dick,” he said with a laugh. “I can’t seem to come. But I will eventually. God you feel good. Your pussy is so tight.”

  He grabbed my breasts and laughed. “You were right, Michael, these fun bags are amazing. Goddamn, girl, where’d you get a rack like that? Lucious.”

  I cursed my “gift,” which was my set of double Ds that were perched on top of my size six frame. They were my bane, really, all my life. I would never forgive them for getting me into this.

  I felt my brain leave my body, and I felt myself hovering over myself, watching all of this going on. I was no longer there in that room. I was someplace else. I closed my eyes and imagined someplace else. I was sitting in my family’s living room, in front of the fire, my sisters and brothers around me. We were playing Scrabble, and my brother Brad was teasing me about a word that I had made up. Albany, my slightly older sister, was defending my usage of the word “bogosity.” “It means totally bogus, Joe, get with the program.” We all laughed as Joe rolled the dice and shook his head. “Whatever. I’ll give it to you this time, sis, because I feel sorry for you. I cream you every damned time.” “I’ll take you when we play Trivial Pursuit,” I said. “You don’t have to take pity on me. I’m schooling you, bro.”

  At some point, I came back to where I really was – laying on that dirty bed while the music below thumped loudly. The party was still going on full swing, but I was currently alone in the bed. I didn’t know what had happened to the guys. I looked around, and I didn’t see any figures around anymore. I took the sock out of my mouth and fumbled around, looking for my clothes. I found them and furtively put them on.

  I walked out of the room, seeing people in the hallway doing shots of alcohol. There were about ten guys and girls out in the hallway, giggling and talking and some of them were making out. Down the hallway, a bit further, was Michael. He and Jim were standing next to a couple of girls. They looked at me and the two of them burst out laughing. When I saw them, I felt bile running f
rom my stomach, and I vomited right there on the floor.

  “Gross,” one of the girls in the hallway said. “You’re going to clean that up, Harper.”

  I recognized that girl as a student in one of my lecture hall classes, which consisted of some 500 people who jammed into an enormous lecture hall to listen to a professor talk about American History. She was also in my smaller group, which was led by a teacher’s assistant who tried to help us with the finer points of the professor’s lecture.

  I didn’t answer her, but I stumbled down the hall while the group of kids outside Michael’s room yelled at me to clean up my mess. I flipped them off as I found the stairs, leaning hard on the railing as I slowly and gingerly made my way down them. I could feel the pain between my legs, but I knew that the worst was to come.

  What happened to me in that room was something that I wouldn’t ever forget. Yet, I was ashamed. Ashamed that I let myself be led to that room. That I encouraged him on the dance floor. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have leaned into him when we danced. I shouldn’t have worn my short skirt and my fuck-me pumps. I shouldn’t have worn so much makeup. I looked like a hussy, so he treated me like one. This was all on me.

  I finally made my way through the party, which was still going, even though it was 2 AM. I heard a bunch of kids shouting about an after-bar party at some off-campus apartment. “Six more kegs at Gerson’s house!” some guy was shouting, apparently referring to the private apartment of an older fraternity brother. That was typically where these after-bar parties were held – at a fraternity brother’s apartment. The pledges had to stay there at the house, but, as they advanced in school, they usually ended up living in various apartments around Columbia.

  I went out the side door, and vomited again on the pavement. My head was pounding and the pain between my legs got stronger and stronger with every step I took. My dorm was about a half mile away, maybe less. I didn’t know if I could make it back, so I took off my shoes and walked slowly away from the house.