The rest of the weekend was a blur. On Monday morning Detective Sam Easley showed up at Braeckel’s apartment. He photographed the crime scene and had Braeckel walk him through the events of the previous Friday night. Then he talked to Gavin.
It wasn’t the first time that Gavin and Easley had met. Six months earlier—on January 11, 2010—Gavin filed a police report of her own, alleging another Missouri athlete—the basketball standout Michael Dixon—had raped her in her apartment. Gavin underwent a rape kit at the hospital, and Easley conducted the criminal investigation. In his report, he noted that “she was afraid of what might happen” if she pressed charges. Ultimately, Gavin declined to cooperate with prosecutors, choosing instead to meet with the head basketball coach, which led to Dixon issuing her an apology. She dropped her complaint at that point. (Dixon would later withdraw from the University of Missouri after a second woman on campus accused him of rape in November 2012.)
Gavin’s ordeal turned out to be the tipping point for Braeckel. “Lauren and I never went to another basketball game after that,” Braeckel explained. “And I quit tutoring at that point. It was no longer worth it to me.” And Gavin went to the head of the tutoring program and said she no longer wanted to tutor basketball players. But she continued tutoring football players.
Sensitive to Gavin’s history, Detective Easley went gingerly when he questioned her about Derrick Washington. But Gavin was mortified and said little to help the investigation. She confirmed that Washington had been at the apartment on the night in question. But when Easley asked if Washington had said anything incriminating about Braeckel that night, Gavin told him, “Derrick didn’t say anything to me.”
“How could I tell the detective that I knew this guy did this, but I slept with him?” Gavin explained. “Plus, there was the huge embarrassment that I was still hanging around with these types of guys. So I lied to him.”
The next day—June 22, a Tuesday—Derrick Washington was at his apartment when one of his roommates told him there were two police officers at the front door to see him. Puzzled, Washington nonetheless had been coached on what to do in such situations. Every year during fall camp, Washington had listened carefully as attorney Bogdan Susan (pronounced su-zon)—a leading criminal defense lawyer in Columbia—paid a visit to the football team and talked about what to do if approached by law enforcement: Say you want to talk to your lawyer. Naturally, Susan and his firm represented Missouri athletes who ran afoul of the law. On the firm’s Web site, Susan’s bio states: “Because of his successful representation, and despite the heightened intensity of media attention, athletes have been able to continue both collegiate and professional careers.”
Washington stepped outside on the porch and faced the officers.
“Can you come down and talk to us at the police station?” Easley said.
“I would rather talk to my lawyer,” Washington told them. “What is this about?”
Easley said there had been an incident at the Campus View Apartments recently. He did not elaborate any further.
Washington said he didn’t remember being at the Campus View Apartments, a point that Easley noted in his report. He advised Washington to stay away from that complex. Washington politely said he understood.
After hearing from the police, Washington called one of his coaches, who gave him Bogdan Susan’s number and advised him to contact him right away. “Susan was the team lawyer,” Washington said. “He came in and spoke to the team every year since I was a freshman.”
Teresa Braeckel talked to Detective Easley after he visited Washington’s apartment. She wanted the investigation to go forward, but she was scared, especially since Washington had been contacted. Easley told her about the option of taking out a restraining order against Washington. It would put him on notice to stay away from her. She went to the courthouse and filled out an application. In it she detailed what had happened to her. A restraining order was issued against Washington, and a sheriff notified him. Any questions about why the police had been at his door a couple days earlier had been put to rest. That made Braeckel even more nervous. She ended up packing her bags and heading for the security of her parents’ home in North Carolina.
The results of Detective Easley’s investigation landed on the desk of prosecutor Andrea Hayes. The minute she read the reports and spotted the name Derrick Washington as the accused in a sexual assault, she knew what to expect. Hayes was a huge Missouri football fan. But she was a bulldog when it came to going after sex offenders, and she had previously prosecuted a Missouri student-athlete for sexual assault. “It’s a nightmare when we get one of these cases,” Hayes said. “It’s the big story. The local press starts calling me at home. And it’s very unpopular to accuse a football player.”
Hayes tracked down Braeckel in North Carolina. By telephone, she went over the ramifications of pressing charges against Washington. They also talked about the strengths and weaknesses of the case. The upside was that Braeckel had been consistent in her telling of the facts to everyone she had talked to—her father, the hospital nurse, the police officer who took her initial report, the detective and Hayes. Consistency builds credibility. So does reputation. On that front, Braeckel was in great shape, too. She had graduated with excellent grades. She had glowing reports from her employers. She’d never been in trouble with the law. Most important, she had no history of sexual liaisons with athletes. The fact that she was a virgin would make it very difficult for defense lawyers to convince jurors that she had pursued Washington for sex or had somehow invited him into her room.
Rather, the defense was likely to be that she had fabricated her story, made it up. After all, no semen or other body fluids had been recovered. No hair fibers. Nor did Braeckel show signs of physical injury. As is typically the situation in cases of digital penetration, the physical evidence was scant. Complicating matters further, there was nothing to corroborate Braeckel’s claim that Washington had entered her bedroom, much less assaulted her. As things stood, the case would boil down to Braeckel’s word against Washington’s.
Braeckel couldn’t imagine going to trial. The last thing she wanted was for the public to find out what had happened to her. She got embarrassed and humiliated just thinking about it. Yet she wanted him held accountable.
Hayes had been through this with many sexual assault victims. After a series of phone conversations, she laid out the cold, hard facts. “You’re accusing one of the top players on the football team,” Hayes said. “Your identity will get exposed. You’re going to have to talk about your vagina in front of strangers.”
It was a lot to process for a twenty-one-year-old woman who had grown up in Catholic schools and lived a pretty conservative college life. Braeckel wished there was another alternative. Hayes said there was—a plea bargain.
The Missouri athletic department has a policy that prohibits student-athletes charged with a felony from competing. Braeckel’s allegation certainly constituted a felony. If Hayes brought felony charges against Washington, he’d be forced to sit out until the matter was resolved. In theory, he’d miss the entire season if the case went all the way to trial. Not a very good prospect for a guy with hopes of getting drafted into the NFL at the end of the season.
Hayes figured that the threat of being removed from the team was a pretty big carrot to get Washington to the negotiating table. Her offer was simple: plead guilty to misdemeanor sexual assault, and the state will forgo felony charges.
If he accepted, he could play his senior season, and Braeckel would be spared from testifying.
Braeckel liked it.
Hayes believed timing was on their side. It was mid-August, and the start of the season was just two weeks away. She told Braeckel she’d pursue the plea deal.
Sarah Washington was trailing her husband, Donald, into a meeting with a high school principal back in Kansas City when her cell phone began vibrating. She looked at the number and noticed it was one of Derrick’s coaches. He always called whenever
Derrick had a problem, such as poor grades or a minor injury. “Coach,” she said jokingly, “if you’re calling, something must be going on.”
But the smile quickly left her face as the coach explained that Derrick had been accused of sexual assault. There was talk of a possible plea deal. The team had hooked Derrick up with a criminal lawyer. They were reviewing Derrick’s options. The situation was quickly coming to a head. He suggested Sarah and her husband come fast.
The minute Sarah got off the phone, Donald knew something was terribly wrong. Sarah looked sick. She told him what was going on. They canceled their meeting and started driving to Columbia.
Neither of them could get beyond the shock. They had taught their son values. They were a God-fearing family, not perfect, but earnestly striving to live the Golden Rule and treat others with respect and compassion. Hearing that their son was the subject of a sexual assault probe was like a kick in the stomach.
“I was floored,” Sarah said. “My first thought was that he didn’t do it. But I wanted to sit down and look him straight in the eye.”
It was Monday, August 23, 2010. Two months had passed since their son had told his coaches and a lawyer that the police had shown up at his door. Two months had passed since the restraining order had been issued. Yet Sarah and Donald were hearing about the situation for the first time. They couldn’t help thinking the worst.
“As African-Americans, we have to teach our boys that this happens,” Sarah said. “We always teach that you have to be careful. As a mother, that is always going through your head. It is almost like a black mother’s worst nightmare. You know what could happen, and you try to avoid it. Sometimes you can and sometimes you can’t.”
Sarah was heartbroken. Donald was frustrated. In his college football days he had seen players accused—sometimes falsely—of taking advantage of women. To help his son avoid getting into trouble with girls, he had given him some simple advice before leaving home. “I told him to leave them alone,” Donald explained.
Yet they found themselves rushing to the University of Missouri to deal with a crisis that involved a girl and an accusation.
When Derrick Washington had a football under his arm, he was elusive. He had visions of running through NFL defenses. But all of a sudden he felt trapped. Prosecutors were threatening to indict him. His coach might suspend him. Worse still, his parents had been notified and were en route. Facing them was going to be the hardest part.
“I didn’t know how to tell my mom,” Washington said. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to say.”
When Sarah and Donald reached the Missouri campus, they huddled alone with Derrick. They wanted to know what had happened.
“Just tell the truth,” Donald said. “Don’t make us look like no fool.”
Washington faced his parents.
“I was there to see the victim’s roommate,” Derrick Washington later recalled. “Lauren let me in and we went in her room. She started giving me oral [sex]. I stopped her and went to the restroom. Before I left the room, she [Lauren] said: ‘Can you check on Teresa?’ So I went to the bathroom and washed my hands and then peeked my head inside Teresa’s room. That was as far as me going anywhere close to Teresa. Then I went back into Lauren’s room. ‘She’s in there, knocked out.’ That’s what I told her [Lauren]. After that we did what we did. She led me out. I left. That was that. I think it was a Friday night.”
Washington gave his parents essentially the same account, minus the bit about the oral sex. “He said he went to see the other girl,” Sarah recalled. “He went to the bathroom and then went back and had sexual intercourse, and then he left twenty minutes later. He said, ‘Mom, I never stepped a foot in her room. I did not touch her.’ ”
Sarah and Donald believed their son. But they knew he needed a top-notch criminal lawyer. “Try to get a misdemeanor,” one of the coaches encouraged them. “Try to get a misdemeanor.”
The Washingtons were bewildered. When their son left home to play college football, they never anticipated he’d end up in the criminal justice system. Suddenly his freedom was in jeopardy, never mind his career. After meeting with Derrick and his coaches they went to the law office.
Christopher Slusher is the firm’s senior trial lawyer. He’s smart, tough and a seasoned negotiator. Although he and his firm are connected to Missouri’s athletic department by way of referrals, their priorities are not exactly the same. Washington’s coaches were hoping to get their star back in uniform for the season opener. Slusher was looking a little further down the road: Washington’s ability to earn a living as a professional football player was at stake. His bottom line was to fend off any criminal charges that would result in Washington having to register as a sex offender. Even a misdemeanor sexual assault conviction would put a blight on his name for years to come and put at risk his prospects for making it to the NFL.
Slusher got back to Hayes with an answer to her plea offer—no deal.
That put Braeckel in a tough spot. “I felt very weak at the time,” she said. “But I wasn’t going to roll over and play dead. I was going to fight this.”
Missouri coach Gary Pinkel had no choice. On August 26—just nine days before the season opener against Illinois—he indefinitely suspended Washington. He gave no explanation. “I don’t ever talk about those issues,” he told reporters.
Rumors swirled. Four days later Hayes formally charged Washington with felony sexual assault, and Washington surrendered to police. After the arrest, Sarah got a call from Coach Pinkel.
“Coach Pinkel called and told us he was permanently suspended,” Sarah said. “He said he fought for Derrick for over an hour. But he said the curators, essentially the school’s trustees, called him in and told him what they were going to do. He said he wanted to redshirt Derrick until after the trial. And if the trial went well, he’d reinstate him and play him the following year. But the curators wouldn’t go for that.”
Then Pinkel issued a brief statement. “I’m kind of embarrassed,” he told a reporter. “We’ve worked real hard to develop a program that has a very good reputation for being first-class and disciplined. We’ve taken a few hits. And the only way you’re going to get that back is to earn it back, and that’s what we intend to do.”
Two other Missouri football players—a linebacker and a reserve tight end—were arrested for drunk driving within a week of Washington’s indictment. Plus, an assistant coach was arrested in the parking lot of the football facility when police found him behind the wheel of his truck. He was intoxicated at the time. But it was Washington’s arrest that drew national attention.
Braeckel was still at home in North Carolina when the news hit. Her phone immediately began buzzing: the Kansas City Star, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the AP, ESPN and every newspaper and television station in Columbia. She had listed her cell number on the restraining order she had filed back in June. Suddenly every journalist covering the story wanted to talk to her.
She also started receiving menacing text messages. Some Missouri football fans blamed her for destroying the season before it started. Others called her vile names. Some even threatened her.
Braeckel never responded to a single call, and she got rid of her phone. She also started second-guessing her decision to press charges. It felt as if her life were upside down.
Lauren Gavin was having trouble looking in the mirror. It had been more than two months since the incident, and she and Braeckel were still not on speaking terms. The prosecutor had left multiple phone messages. But Gavin had been too scared to call back. All she could think about was the fact that she hadn’t told the police the truth. “I had this huge guilt,” Gavin explained. “I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to get pulled in to testify. I didn’t want to deal with any backlash from the athletes.”
Most of all, Gavin didn’t want to deal with the humiliation and embarrassment that would come when her friends and family found out about her intimate relations with more than one student-athle
te. “I had this huge fear,” she explained. “I didn’t want to feel awkward going out in public, running into people.”
At the same time, the lie she had told was gnawing at her, especially when she thought back to her Methodist upbringing. She started praying for guidance, pleading for courage. “What have I done?” she asked herself.
After some soul-searching, she was determined to face her fears.
“It was just a voice inside my head,” Gavin said. “I just kept thinking, the truth will set you free. I have made a lot of mistakes. But I knew what I had to do.”
On September 7, Gavin went to see Andrea Hayes. At first, Hayes suspected that the football team had gotten to Gavin. That wasn’t it, though. On the contrary, it was one of Washington’s teammates who encouraged her to come forward. Sitting in the prosecutor’s office, Gavin confessed that she had withheld some information from Detective Easley when he questioned her days after the incident. Washington, she told Hayes, had in fact said something incriminating about Braeckel that night. It happened after he had briefly stepped out of Gavin’s bedroom.
“He came back in and I asked him what he was doing, and he said he just went to go say hi to Teresa,” Gavin said.
“And what did you say?” Hayes asked.
“I said, ‘Are you kidding me? You went to go say hi to Teresa? It’s 2:30 in the morning.’ And we just started arguing. And it escalated a little bit. And he’s like, ‘You want me to leave? Like, whatever, Lauren. I just played with her cooch.’ ”
Hayes knew that “cooch” was slang for “vagina.”
“When he told me that,” Gavin said, “I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just trying to upset me. And after that, we ended up sleeping together.”
After having sex, Gavin reported, Washington left. That’s when she got up to use the bathroom and bumped into Braeckel coming out of her room. “She said that she woke up to him trying to finger her,” Gavin said. “And that’s when I knew that he wasn’t just saying it.”
The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football Page 22
