by Scott Pratt
“How many people were at this party?”
“I don’t know. A bunch, I think.”
“How much did you get paid?”
“Three hundred. I split with the escort service, which means I would’ve made a hundred and fifty. I usually get tips, but not tonight. And the escort service is going to be pissed when I go in there empty handed.”
She’s thinking clearly enough to do the math on her money, Officer James thought. And now she’s worrying about consequences from the escort service.
“So you got there at midnight?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Did you dance?”
“I started, but it went wrong somehow. Next thing I know I was in that bathroom and they were raping me.”
“Did they beat you? Did they have weapons?”
“They just trained me.”
“Trained you?”
“Just one after another. I didn’t fight. I was scared. It’s like a dream.”
“Do you have any serious injuries?” Officer James asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m sore down there, but they didn’t hurt me bad.”
“How did you get out of the house?”
“I think I walked.”
“So they just let you go?”
“When they were done.”
Officer James didn’t quite know what to think. She took out a note pad and jotted several things down while they were fresh in her memory.
“I’m going to have to take you to the hospital, Ms. Self. You’re going to need to do a rape kit, talk to the nurse and the doctor, and I’m going to get in touch with a detective and he’ll be there to talk to you, too.”
“He? Don’t you have a woman who can talk to me?”
“Not right now. We had a woman on the detective squad, but she got married and moved away a couple of months ago. Right now, all we have are men. We’re not a very big department.”
“Don’t take me to Woodlawn. I’m not crazy. And I have babies at home.”
“Babies? How old are your babies?”
“Two and three. My cousin is keeping them tonight.”
“So they’ll be all right? Do you want to call your cousin?”
“They’re asleep. I’ll see her in the morning.”
“Have you ever been through a rape examination before, Ms. Self?”
“Yes.”
“You have? When?”
“My stepfather raped me when I was young. Then my foster father and brother both raped me. I’ve been through it twice.”
Officer James shook her head, not knowing whether what she was hearing was the truth. If it was, then the person she was carrying in her back seat had to have some serious psychological baggage.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Officer James said. “At least you know what you’re about to go through. You know it isn’t going to be fun. But it’s extremely important. So just be brave and do what the medical people tell you to do, okay?”
“I can handle it.”
Officer James turned her blue lights on and did a U-turn in the parking lot. Twenty minutes ago, this woman could barely talk, or at least that’s the way she was acting. Now, she seemed far more lucid and was telling a tale, albeit an unusual one, of being gang-raped.
James called her supervisor.
“She claims she was raped,” James said. “The plan has changed. I’m going to take her to the medical center.”
SUNDAY, AUG. 25
Investigator Bo Riddle was dreaming of putting the noose around the neck of a black man named Howard Felts when his cell phone began to buzz on the bedside table. Riddle had been instrumental in convicting Felts of murder a week earlier, and the jury had later come back with a death penalty sentence. A thirty-year-old patrol officer with a wife and two young daughters had responded to a domestic disturbance at Felts’ apartment eighteen months earlier, and as soon as the patrolman walked through the door, Felts ambushed him and shot him in the face. Felts had never shown a bit of remorse and had been a terrible disciplinary problem at the jail and in the courtroom for the past year-and-a-half. As soon as the verdict was announced, he’d been shipped off to Death Row at Riverbend in Nashville, which, Riddle believed, was exactly where he belonged. The only problem was that he’d be on Death Row for fifteen years. Riddle believed death penalty sentences should be carried out on a flatbed truck in front of the courthouse in the county where the crime was committed. And forget the appeals process. The man was tried and convicted by a jury and that same jury sentenced him to death. End of story.
It was 6:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, and Riddle would have rolled out of bed in fifteen minutes, so the hour didn’t annoy him. But the interruption of the dream did. It was one of the better dreams Riddle had experienced in a while.
He picked up the phone and growled, “What?”
The voice on the other end of the phone was Tonya James, a five-year patrol veteran of the JCPD.
“There’s a woman who claims she was gang-raped by at least three ETSU football players at a party last night,” James said.
“And?”
“The watch commander wants you to take the interview and get a statement. I took her to the hospital and they did a rape kit. They’re just finishing up, but she’s a little strange. There were some problems with her story.”
“What kind of problems?”
“Details. Important things. Like what time she arrived at the party, what time she was raped, how long she was raped, what time she left, exactly how many attackers there were. She can’t describe them. Then there’s the fact that she’d been hired to strip at the party.”
“Sounds to me like you don’t believe her,” Riddle said.
“She didn’t mention being raped until she figured out I was taking her to Woodlawn for a mental evaluation. I ran her name through a couple of databases and talked to a guy at the Carter County Sheriff’s Department because she lives over there. She’s had some problems in the past. The guy I talked to in Carter County thinks she’s got a screw loose.”
“So she has mental issues? Has she been committed?”
“A couple of times, both involuntary and short term. I don’t have official confirmation of that, no records. Just going by what my guy in Carter County told me.”
“And who is your guy?”
“I talked to the Chief Deputy of the Sheriff’s Department. Name’s Clinton Drake. Known him a long time. Good guy.”
“Yeah, I know Drake,” Riddle said. “Does this woman have a criminal record?”
“Minor stuff. Drug and alcohol related. She’s on probation for a possession charge right now, plus she has one D.U.I. and two public intoxication charges. Drake said she came up really rough. Sexual abuse by her father. Mother wouldn’t intervene. She was removed from her home when she was fourteen and the father went to prison, but then she was raped by a foster father and a foster brother. The foster father went to prison. The brother went to juvy.”
“Good God,” Riddle said. “She must be the personification of jail bait.”
“She’s good looking. I spent a couple of hours talking to her. She’s been a stripper since she was eighteen and has done some hooking through the escort service. She has two young kids but no man. What’s weird is that she managed to earn an associate’s degree from a junior college and is enrolled at ETSU part-time.”
“What is she majoring in?” Riddle said.
“Psychology. I guess she’s trying to figure some things out.”
“Who’s doing the rape kit?” Riddle asked.
“A nurse named Franklin and a doctor named Bosco. Don’t know either one of them, and they don’t seem too friendly. So how about getting here as soon as possible and helping me out? I don’t want this woman to get away. She might be nuts, but she might have been raped. If she was, I want whoever raped her held accountable.”
“I’ll call Judge Murphy and go by his house. We need an order for a blood draw that we can send to an independent
lab for Drug Facilitated Sexual Assault analysis,” Riddle said. “The TBI isn’t set up for that kind of test. I’m sure they’ve done a tox screen, but from what you’ve told me, that might not be enough. We’re going to need to know exactly what was in her system and how much.”
“I already did that,” James said. “I did it as soon as I brought her in and they started the exam. I didn’t go to Murphy, though. I woke up Judge Tinker. He’ll sign anything and he’s friendlier than Murphy. I figured we’d need the blood before so much time passed they couldn’t get a reliable result from the test. They drew the blood about 2:30 a.m., two-and-a-half hours after this alleged party.”
“Well, aren’t you just an up and comer?” Riddle said. “Nice work. I can be there in about thirty minutes, but don’t get too close to me because I’m not gonna take a shower.”
Riddle arrived at the emergency room exactly thirty minutes after he hung up the phone.
“Morning,” Tonya James said. She introduced Riddle to Sheila Self, who was sitting in a chair wearing a paper gown covered by blankets. Riddle was immediately struck by how pretty she was, although it was a rough kind of pretty. He guessed she was quite a bit younger than she looked. Still, she had long, striking red hair and clear, blue eyes, cream-colored skin and full, sensuous lips.
“I’m going to talk to Officer James out in the hall for a minute, Miss Self,” Riddle said. “I’ll be right back. Just sit tight.”
“What do the nurse and doc say?” Riddle said when he and James were outside.
“The nurse told me the vic had definitely been involved in sexual activity. There was some swelling of the vagina and a couple of bruises, but the bruises were minor. No cuts, no tearing of the vagina or anus. She obviously didn’t fight them, or at least she didn’t fight them hard, and they didn’t beat her. The rape examiners got a bunch of hairs and fibers and she had sperm in her, so there will be DNA.”
“What did the nurse say about rape?”
“She said it was possible.”
“Possible? Is that a strong possible? A probable? Or anything is possible?”
James shook her head. “I pressed her, but that’s as far as she’d go.”
“What about the doctor?”
“He left at six. The nurse said he’d tell me the same thing, though. Based on their observations, the swelling, the sperm, the bruising, and the victim’s account, it’s possible that a rape occurred.”
“Talk to the vic any more about descriptions, who the perps might have been?”
“She said somebody gave her a drink when she got there and it must have had something in it. She said she doesn’t remember much after the drink. I asked her to sign a consent form so we could get a copy of her tox screen and see what kind of drugs or how much alcohol she had in her when I brought her in, but she wouldn’t sign it.”
“Doesn’t really matter if we got blood for the DFSA,” Riddle said, “but I think I can get a look at it anyway.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve been at this a long time, James. I have friends in low places.”
James shrugged.
“She’s not a suspect in a crime unless maybe it’s for filing a false report, so I guess there’s no harm in you going around the rules. It isn’t like we’re going to use the results against her in court.”
“Right,” Riddle said. “You can take off now. I’ll handle it from here.”
Riddle walked back into the room where Sheila Self was sitting. She hadn’t moved.
“Can I get you anything?” Riddle said.
“A different life,” Sheila said.
“I think we all wish for that once in a while,” Riddle said. “Yours truly included. But sometimes we’re stuck with what we have. We make the best of it, right?”
“I wish I could talk to a woman detective.”
“Sorry, we’re fresh out. Looks like you’ll have to deal with me, but I’m not such a bad guy once you get to know me. I’m sure this has to be difficult, but I need to hear everything you can remember about last night. What you’ve described to Officer James is aggravated kidnapping and aggravated rape. Those are extremely serious charges. If we can identify the men who did it and they’re tried and convicted, they’ll go to prison for a long time.”
“They should go to prison,” Sheila said quietly. “They deserve to go to prison.”
“When did you first find out about the party?” Riddle said.
“My escort service called me Friday afternoon around five. Asked if I could dance at this party last night on Elm Street. I said I’d do it and I called my cousin to see if she’d keep my kids. I told her I had a date. She said yes, so I was good to go. She picked my kids up about six.”
“She picked your kids up from where?”
“My apartment.”
“A man live with you?”
“No. Just the kids. We live in Section 8 housing over by the Tweetsie Trail. I get food stamps, Aid for Dependent Children, all that. I go to school part time and I dance and work for the escort service on the side. It’s decent money sometimes.”
“But you don’t declare any of it, right? Are you a prostitute as well?”
“No. I’m a dancer and an escort. Whose side are you on here?”
“Just doing my job. No offense. And you got to the party when?”
“Around midnight.”
“How’d you get there?”
“I already told the other officer. I took a cab from my apartment.”
“What did you do between six and midnight?”
“My boyfriend came over and we partied a little.”
“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I need to know his name.”
“Bobby Vines.”
“Did you have sex?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re a real peach,” Riddle said. “I’m trying to help you and you’re jerking me around. The nurse told the officer who brought you in here they found sperm in you. It’d be good to know if this sperm came from your boyfriend.”
“It might have.”
“Fine. Okay. Did your boyfriend know you were going to strip at a party at midnight, and if so, what did he think about it?”
“He doesn’t care. He knows I have to make money to take care of my kids and pay my rent. He doesn’t give me money.”
“Is he the father of your children?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
“I’m not sure.”
That’s great. That’s just grand, Riddle thought to himself. This is getting better by the second. She’ll be such a sympathetic victim in front of a jury.
“I understand you’re on probation for a drug possession charge. What was the drug?”
“What difference does it make?”
“You’re really starting to piss me off, you know that? I can find out, but that’s extra work and you making me do extra work would make me feel not so sympathetic toward you. You want to do it that way?”
“It was heroin.”
“So you did some heroin last night before you went to dance?”
“No, no heroin. I did some ecstasy and I drank two beers and did a shot of tequila. After I got to the party, somebody handed me a drink, though, and I think there might have been something in it. I lost it after that. Just really lost it, you know? All I have are flashes of memory. I can see hands on my arm pulling me into the bathroom. I can hear the music playing and people hollering.”
“This hand on your arm, was it white or black?”
“It was black.”
“So you remember that? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how sure?”
“Seven or eight.”
“Was there a light on in the bathroom?”
“I don’t think so. Maybe some light filtering through the window from outside, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Did these guys talk to you? Did they talk at all? Did you hear any names?”
“I think they were talking a little, calling me bitch and slut. Talking dirty.”
“Did you see a weapon of any kind?”
“I think I remember one of them had a broom and said he was going to stick the handle in me.”
“Did he?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Were you in a lot of pain?”
“I don’t know. Whatever was in the drink, the molly, the alcohol, all of it combined...I was pretty messed up.”
“Are you in a lot of pain now?”
“Not really.”
“So you don’t know if you cried out for help?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did anyone try to help you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How long were you in the bathroom?”
“Long enough for the three of them to do what they wanted to do, I guess.”
“So when the lab analyzes this rape kit, besides your boyfriend, they’re going to find sperm or pubic hairs or something else containing DNA from three different males in you or on you, and those males will more than likely be ETSU football players?”
“I guess.”
“You guess? That’s not very encouraging, Miss Self. And when it was over, what happened?”
“I don’t remember. I started coming to after that officer arrested me and put me in the back seat of her car. I think I was at a convenience store, but I don’t really know how I got there or what I was doing there.”
“Did you ever actually dance?”
“I think I started, but it didn’t last long. There might have been some kind of argument. They maybe wanted me to use toys or whatever, but I didn’t have anything like that. They started hollering and calling me names and I think I just told them to go screw themselves, I was leaving. That’s when I got grabbed up and pulled into the bathroom.”
“So you remember that? You remember starting the dance, them calling you names, and you telling them to screw themselves? And then you remember being pulled into the bathroom?”
“I think so. Vaguely.”
“And again, you think it was a black hand that pulled your arm?”
