Judge Me When I'm Wrong

by Cheryl A Head

  Chapter 6

  Thursday

  It felt good to be sitting in her chair again in the office of the firm that bore her name. Charlie traced her finger along the top drawer and the brass pull of what had been her father’s desk. Judy, or maybe it was the temp, had dusted the mahogany surface during her three days away from the office.

  Throughout high school, Charlie thought she’d become a lawyer like her father, but in college her ambitions took a back seat to pleasure. She managed to get her degree, but the bulk of her pursuits focused on serious partying, travel, and sexcapades. After graduation, and a variety of jobs including small-business ownership, she finally applied to law school. Not to honor the memory of her father, but because she’d been in the midst of a divorce and needed to demonstrate to herself that she could turn in a new direction.

  “You’re here early,” Judy said, turning on the overhead lights. “Couldn’t wait to get back to work?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how good it feels not to have jury duty today. I gave Mandy a break from all the morning duties. I walked the dog, picked up the yard, took out the trash, and made her lunch.”

  “Good for you. Family life suits you.”

  Judy placed a handful of pink telephone messages and a folder with checks to be signed in front of Charlie, then headed back to her own work space in the anteroom. Charlie followed.

  “I’ve gotten used to being ready to work by eight-thirty,” Charlie admitted.

  “But it seems like you’re ready to be done with jury duty.”

  “No, not really. It’s dull when there are a lot of transcripts, but some of the witness testimony is really interesting, and you know me, I love observing all the personalities.”

  Charlie flopped into Judy’s side chair. “When’s the temp coming in?”

  “Her name’s Tamela. She’ll be in at nine-thirty, and she’s doing a good job—answering phones, ordering supplies, sorting the mail. Gil has her transferring his notes on the Ferry case into a database he set up. Yesterday, Don asked her to sit in on a meeting with the subs to take notes on the surveillance cases.”

  “Great. What have you been doing? Let me guess. Filing.”

  “Not a day goes by; not a single day,” Judy sang. “Filing’s not a part of my life; and it’s here to stay.”

  Within seconds, Charlie picked up Judy’s parody of the song from Sondheim’s Merrily We Roll Along. She started in on the next stanza.

  “As the days go by I keep thinking when does it end? Where’s the day you’ll have started forgetting.”

  Judy finished with, “But I just go on filing and sweating.”

  They giggled, did a high-five, and complimented each other on their wit.

  “Does Mandy know Broadway musicals like you do?”

  “No. She usually smiles and leaves the room if I start singing. But Hamm likes it.”

  “That’s the wonderful thing about dogs. No judgment.”

  “They also know good singing when they hear it,” Charlie added cheerily.

  Suddenly, Don rushed through the door as if executing a drug bust. Charlie and Judy’s frivolity dropped like a jar of jam crashing onto the kitchen floor. He gave his office mates a “what?” look, then slammed the door and flung his raincoat on the clothes tree.

  “What were you guys talking about?”

  “Good morning to you, too,” Judy said leaning back in her chair.

  “Yeah. Good morning. What’s going on?”

  “Show tunes,” Charlie said, grinning.

  “Glad I missed that. No jury duty?”

  “Not today. Starts again tomorrow.”

  “That Canova guy is a real creep,” Don offered out of the blue.

  “I’m not really supposed to talk about the case.”

  “Right,” Don sneered. “When’s Tate coming in?” He tossed the question at Judy.

  “Tamela will be in at nine-thirty,” Judy responded icily.

  “Are you two like this even when I’m not around?” Charlie asked.

  “Like what?” Don and Judy almost responded in tandem.

  Don headed for his desk. Charlie waggled her head and returned to the office bullpen. She watched Don loop his sports jacket over the back of his chair, remove the gun from his holster, and put it in his top drawer.

  “How are Rita and Rudy?” she asked.

  “Good. How’s Mandy?”

  “She’s doing great. There have been rumors swirling around the department about layoffs, but with her seniority she thinks she’ll be all right.”

  “Hmm,” Don responded, shuffling through papers on his desk.

  “We’ll do case updates this afternoon when Gil gets back from Kalamazoo.”

  “Fine,” Don said, not looking up.

  Charlie returned to the anteroom and leaned over Judy’s desk. “What’s with him?” she whispered. Judy gave a head shake and a shrug.

  # # #

  Gil met Maya’s friends at a neighborhood park about a half mile from their high school. The square-block green space was well maintained with different sections to accommodate the needs of the community. There was a picnic area, a playground, and a skateboard park that could be configured into an amphitheater. A woman in jogging clothes played fetch with her beagle in the dog run, and a young couple wearing identical knit scarves cuddled at a bench on the opposite end of the park.

  From the Facebook photos Gil recognized Amy and Carrie sitting atop a picnic table where they smoked cigarettes and chatted with a third girl. Amy had suggested he email his photo to her, and she waved back when he raised his arm in greeting. Maya’s friends moved his way with the third girl trailing behind.

  “We thought you could buy us some burgers in exchange for us talking to you,” Amy stated when they all stood face to face.

  Amy was the ringleader—brash and confident. Carrie and the other girl looked away, but Amy stared at Gil, defiantly waiting for his response.

  “I could do that,” Gil said. “Is it okay with your parents or whoever? I don’t want anyone to think there’s anything improper.”

  “What’s improper about going to Five Guys?” Amy asked, with hands on her hips. She was the girl-next-door, blonde type. Outgoing and aware of her good looks.

  “Am I taking all three of you for burgers?”

  “Yes,” Carrie said. “You wanted to ask us about Maya. Well, you can talk to her yourself. This is Maya.”

  # # #

  Amy said “sweet” at the sight of Gil’s Mustang and immediately hopped into the front passenger seat. Maya sat in the back with Carrie. Gil noticed her glancing at him in the rearview mirror. The girls directed Gil to a strip mall twenty minutes outside of downtown Kalamazoo, an enormous socio-economic distance from their neighborhood.

  Situated at a corner table out of earshot of others, they gobbled juicy bacon burgers with mustard, pickles, and onions, and shared three cups of French fries with lots of ketchup. Gil had marveled at the amount of food Jason consumed, but these three suburban teenage girls were formidable competitors. Maya’s friends chatted about the two guys behind the counter, their mani-pedi appointments, and some teacher who regularly made passes at the female students. Only a year older than her friends, Maya’s countenance was reserved. She nodded at their remarks and agreed the burger boys were cute, but there was a sadness about her as if she had put her teen years far behind her.

  After the burgers were eaten and soft drinks slurped down to the ice, Maya’s friends excused themselves to visit the accessories store a few doors down. Maya stayed to talk, and share the roasted peanuts—a mainstay at Five Guys.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.”

  “Amy said you were cool. She said I could trust you. You work for Jason’s parents?”

  “Yes. I’m a private investigator.”

  “A lot of the boys’ parents hired investigators. They’ve been snooping around and asking my friends and neighbors a lot of questi
ons about me. One of the investigators even called my ex-boyfriend.”

  Maya drew in a deep breath, pursing her lips and staring at the tabletop. She was a very pretty girl, but seemed not to want to show it. There was a hint of a lighter color at the roots of her short hair. Her tired eyes were the color of chestnuts. She wore no makeup, but Gil noticed her nails were painted a deep purple when she tugged at the sleeves of an oversized gray sweater.

  “It’s not uncommon, as you probably know, to try to make the victim of an assault case look, uh, bad.”

  “It’s not fair,” Maya blurted. Her face tightened in anger.

  “I agree. My business partner and I told Jason’s parents that we’re positive you were given some kind of date-rape drug. We made it clear to them that we wouldn’t be a party to your character assassination.”

  Maya grabbed a few peanuts, glancing up at Gil and then back at the table. “Thanks for that.”

  “Do you mind if I take notes while we talk?”

  Maya shook her head.

  Gil opened his notebook to a new page and retrieved a pen. “Can you tell me what happened the night of the assault?”

  Maya reached up to twirl a strand of her hair, then self-consciously dropped her hands into her lap. She poured a few peanuts onto a napkin.

  “You can start anywhere you want,” Gil encouraged. “How did you know about the fraternity party?”

  “I got an invite and I didn’t want to go alone, so I asked Amy and Carrie. They were excited to be going to a college party. They told their folks they were hanging out with me and would stay overnight at my dorm. We got to the party around eleven. There were a lot of people there, guys and girls. And really good music. I was drinking a lot. Too much. Everybody was drinking. It’s the thing to do. Some people were also smoking weed. I think there were some guys doing lines, but in another room. I don’t do the drug thing; neither do Carrie and Amy. But we had a lot to drink.”

  “Did anyone hand you a drink?”

  “No. Not really. Several times I scooped some of the punch they were serving. It was spiked. With gin I think. But people were passing beers and wine coolers.”

  “Do you remember anyone in particular bringing you a drink?”

  “I think Faith gave me a wine cooler. She’s the one who invited me to the party.”

  “Faith,” Gil said scribbling in his notebook. “What’s her last name?”

  “Victor. She’s a freshman.”

  Gil jotted the additional information. Maya was staring at his notebook when he looked up. He smiled.

  “So you, Amy, and Carrie were drinking, but not using any of the drugs at the party. What happened after that?”

  “At about one-thirty, some of the girls started to leave, so I told Amy and Carrie we should go, but they were talking with a couple of guys and wanted to stay.”

  “Was Faith still at the party?”

  “Yes. I think so. Her boyfriend is one of the Gamma guys.”

  Gil scribbled a note.

  “We were all sitting on the couch. I got up to get another cup of punch, and a guy at the table offered to pour it for me. That’s when I think I got drugged. I know I started to feel horrible. The room was spinning, and I told Amy I was going to be sick.”

  “Did either Amy or Carrie get a bad drink?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not. They were drinking wine coolers. They said they fell asleep.”

  “Do you remember being taken upstairs?”

  “Not really. I remember somebody trying to help me to the bathroom because I was going to be sick. I think I passed out. The next thing I was aware of was when this guy was on top of me. But . . . I couldn’t move.”

  Maya dropped the peanuts. She pulled the neck of her sweater over her face and cried quietly. Gil wanted to reach across the table to touch her elbow, but thought better of it. He turned a page in his book and doodled. After a few minutes, Maya reached for her drink, slurping air and melted ice through the straw.

  “You want another?”

  Maya nodded.

  Gil ordered two more Cokes. When he returned to the table he noticed Maya’s eyes and face were red. They sat quietly for a while.

  “Maya, I’m very sorry about what happened to you.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for any more sympathy or tears. She sat upright and entwined her hands on the table.

  “I don’t remember a lot of what happened that night. I can’t even remember how I got home. All you really care about is finding out if Jason was one of the boys who raped me. I don’t know, okay?” Maya’s voice was angry. She stared at Gil, her eyes challenging.

  Gil said softly, “I do hope I can prove Jason wasn’t one of your attackers. That’s the job I’m being paid for, but I do care. My partner, Charlene Mack, and I both care about what happens to you.”

  Gil let his words sink in. He hoped she believed him. He watched her draw on her straw, then look at her phone. With the grand jury case less than two weeks away, the pressure on Maya and her family—from lawyers, police, prosecutors, and investigators—must be mounting.

  “Do you have any more questions?” she asked, finally looking up.

  “Did you know Jason before the party?”

  “Not really. He’s in one of my classes.”

  “Which one?”

  “Psychology 101.”

  “Do you like that class?”

  “It’s okay. The teacher uses TV and movie clips, so it makes it more interesting than some of the other electives.”

  “Did you know any of the other boys before you went to the party?”

  “I’d seen some of the Gamma guys around. They’re a party fraternity and their members know a lot of people. Some of the Greeks only hang out with their own kind. You know, like the business majors hang together and the sports guys like to party with their teammates, but the Gammas had people from all those groups at their house parties.”

  “I just have one more thing, Maya. I’ve been told there’s a video of your assault that’s on a site called Flickr.”

  “I heard about it,” she said sorrowfully.

  “You haven’t seen it?”

  “No. But I think Carrie has.”

  “I’d like to ask Carrie about it. Can we go talk to her?”

  Gil and Maya walked along the sidewalk of the strip mall to the accessories store. In the window display there were cutout stars and unicorn decals along the border, and half-mannequins wore bracelets, scarves, and boas. It was the kind of place where young women and teen girls could spend hours posing in the mirrors with gold hoops held up to their ears, or checking out the look of a belt or a sequined cap. Gil hesitated outside the shop.

  “Uh, I don’t think I belong in there. I’ll wait for you in the car, and then drive you guys back to your neighborhood.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to wait for us. We can take the bus home.”

  “But I need to speak to Carrie before I leave.”

  “Oh, I forgot. Okay, I’ll get her for you.”

  Maya stepped into the store and moments later Carrie dashed out of the door with a distracted look, already eager to return to her friends and her shopping. Her eyes darted around and finally landed on Gil.

  “You want to ask me something?”

  “Maya says maybe you saw the video of the rape at the fraternity house.”

  At the word “rape,” Carrie’s shopping excitement drained from her face. She stuck her hands in her pockets and scraped the toe of her boot on the sidewalk. Gil hadn’t noticed that Carrie was kind of a chubby girl, not quite as pretty as Maya and Amy, but trying hard to keep up. She wore too much eye shadow, and her teeth were a bit too white.

  “I saw it. On somebody’s phone.”

  “Could you get me a copy of it?”

  “You can get it yourself. It’s online.”

  Gil gave Carrie a clueless look. “Online?”

  “On the internet.”

  “Could you show me how?” Gil handed his phone to
Carrie.

  “Any passcode?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You should get a passcode.”

  She pushed buttons until she found what she wanted.

  “You have to join Flickr. What username and password do you want?”

  Frustrated, Gil thought a minute. “How about ‘SlickGil’ for the name, and ‘all-city’ for the password.”

  “The password has to be at least eight characters, and have at least one numeral.”

  “Okay, use GA5435773.”

  “What’s that?” Carrie asked punching keys.

  “My dog tag number.”

  This time Carrie showed the clueless gaze.

  “Like the number you get when you’re in the military? I was a marine.”

  “Got it. My older brother is in the military. Army. He’s in Iraq.” She looked back at the screen. “Okay. Now you’re a member of the Flickr community.” Carrie held out the phone for Gil to see. “Just use the search function, and type in Gamma Fun.”

  “Wow. You’re good. Where’s the search function?”

  “Right there,” Carrie said, pointing.

  Gil fumbled with the phone, carefully poking at the keyboard.

  “It goes faster if you use your thumbs.”

  “My thumbs are too big.”

  “You should get an Apple phone. It has a touch screen. Easier to use.”

  “I’ll tell our office manager.”

  Gil found the page, and several videos were listed. He held the phone toward Carrie.

  “Which one is it?”

  “I’ve only seen one, but I hear there are two, maybe three recordings.”

  Gil and Carrie shared a somber look. Gil pushed the play icon on one of the videos. It was different from the one Detective Holt had emailed. The quality was a bit better, and it showed a different angle of the bedroom. Carrie slid her hands under her armpits as she hugged herself. She stared at the sidewalk and did the toe thing again.