by Scott Pratt
“Somebody at the university will be the scapegoat, and I’m guessing they’ll put it on the coaching staff. The head coach will get fired or resign, probably within the week. If this kind of thing runs deep at the university—and I’m talking about accusations of athletes sexually assaulting young women—then a few more heads will roll. But I’ve never heard any rumblings that the athletes at ETSU are thugs who prey on college girls. This case is more than likely an outlier. After talking with Kevin, I don’t think a rape occurred, although just the fact that the football team threw a party with a stripper as entertainment is going to cause a lot of suspicion and a lot of problems for the football team.
“Now, for starters, we need to find out who this woman is that’s making the accusations. Kelly, I need you to call Stony and see if she can get on it right away. I want to know everything about her. I also want her to check out Kevin Davidson’s background. If there are skeletons in his closet, I want to know about them. Tell her to do her best to find out everything the cops have done.
Jack and Charlie, I want you to go to the neighborhood around Kevin’s house and talk to people. Let’s find out what they saw and heard the night of the party. I’m sure the cops are already doing the same thing, so they might be reluctant to talk to you, but we have just as much right to conduct investigations as the police, so suck it up and be persistent. Let’s try to get ahead of the cops if we can. I also want you to find out which cop was the first to have contact with this girl. Find out if a rape kit was done. Find out if they took blood from her, because if they did, we’re entitled to a sample for independent analysis. I’m going to talk to the other two guys that live with Kevin if they haven’t hired lawyers. If they have, I’ll see if I can talk to them with their lawyers. I’m also going to talk to the football coach and the president of the university to see if they’re going to back these guys up or hang them out to dry.”
“What about the sheriff’s girlfriend?” Jack said.
“Are you talking about Erlene Barlowe?”
“Yeah, she runs a strip club, right? Maybe she knows the stripper.”
“She doesn’t run an escort service that I know of, but I haven’t seen her in a while. Maybe she’s expanded her business empire. I’ll pay Erlene a visit.”
“Where? At her club?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Mom might have a problem with you going to a strip club.”
“I’ve been there before, and your mom knows Erlene. They’re friends. Besides, I won’t go when they’re open. I’ll catch her in the afternoon when she’s doing her paperwork. That way I won’t see any of the girls in action. Will that satisfy you, you prude?”
“Just looking out for Mom,” Jack said.
“Your mom trusts me, obviously more than you do. How about this? You can go instead. Charlie, you wouldn’t mind if Jack went to a strip club to talk to the owner, would you?”
“Not as long as he wears a blindfold,” Charlie said.
I smiled and looked around the table.
“I’ll talk to Erlene. The rest of you know what to do. I think we have the rarest of opportunities in the world of criminal defense. We have a client who’s actually innocent. There’s a downside to our client being innocent, though. It raises the stakes. None of us wants to see a young man go to prison for something he didn’t do, and none of us wants to see his future ruined. So, we pretty much have to prove he was innocent, and we have to make the state say it out loud. So let’s get our act together and do this right.”
THURSDAY, AUGUST 29
I pulled my pick-up truck onto the gravel driveway that wound about two hundred yards through a stand of birch trees, across a narrow creek, and finally crested a ridge before the cabin came into view. It was a little after five o’clock, and the breeze coming out of the west was still warm and smelled of pine. I’d called my sister, Sarah, earlier in the day and asked if I could come down and talk with her. She’d agreed. She didn’t ask the purpose of the visit, although I could tell by the tone of her voice over the phone she was curious. She’d moved to this isolated, seven-acre piece of property in southwestern Washington County a couple of years before, and I didn’t often get a chance to visit.
As I got closer to the cabin, I noticed movement to my right. A young girl riding a black pony was racing toward me at full gallop. The girl was my seven-year-old niece, Grace, and as I parked the truck and got out, she jumped out of the saddle and into my arms.
“Uncle Joe!” she said, a huge grin crossing her face. “Momma said you were coming to visit!”
“You’re growing like a weed, Gracie,” I said. The child was nearly a mirror image of her mother, dark haired and dark eyed and dark skinned. She was truly delightful. “What’s your pony’s name, and when did you learn to ride like that?”
“Her name is Pepper, and I rode every day this summer. She even jumps. Do you want to see her jump, Uncle Joe?”
“Sure, if it’s okay with your mother.”
“Momma doesn’t care if I jump. She thinks it’s cool.”
Grace led Pepper to a tree stump and climbed back into the saddle. She nudged the pony with her heels and it took off full speed. They headed straight for a line of low, plastic tubes that looked like PVC pipe. The tubes had been fitted into plastic cubes and were about a foot off the ground. Grace and Pepper jumped four of them and were back by my truck two minutes after they took off.
“That was impressive, Grace,” I said. “You’re quite the little equestrian.”
“Eques...what? What’s that mean?”
“Equestrian. It means horse rider. You’re good at it.”
She smiled and nodded her head.
“Where’s your mother?” I said.
“She’s in the house.”
“I’m going to go in and talk to her for a few minutes. Have fun. I’ll see you in a little bit. I want to watch you ride some more before I leave.”
There was a pick-up truck I didn’t recognize, a red one, parked out near the barn and as I walked up toward the cabin. I saw a man I didn’t recognize look out at me from just inside the barn. I raised my hand and waived, but he turned around and walked away from me. I knocked on Sarah’s side door and it opened within a couple of seconds.
“Hey, stranger,” she said as she reached out to hug me. She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Nice to see you.”
“You, too,” I said. “You look good.”
Sarah was also dark-skinned, dark-eyed and dark-haired. She was tall and lean, and her skin smooth as ever. I always marveled at how Sarah could have spent so many years abusing herself with drugs and alcohol and didn’t seem any worse for the wear. I chalked it up to genetics. She was just a beautiful woman, and, it seemed, no amount of self-abuse could overcome the genetic predisposition. She’d spent more than a year in the county jail on a variety of charges when she was younger. She’d caught drug charges, DUIs, theft charges. I knew her self-destructive nature was a result of my uncle raping her when she was a child, and she’d finally seemed to overcome it. She’d been running her diner in Jonesborough for three years. It did well and she worked hard. She and Grace seemed to be doing great, and she’d told me several times how much she loved living in the boonies.
“What can I get you?” Sarah said. “Coffee? Tea? Water? There are a few beers in the refrigerator if you want a beer. And in case you’re wondering, no, they’re not mine. They’re Greg’s.”
“Who’s Greg?”
“A friend. He helps out around the place.”
“That’s his truck?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“I waved at him. He didn’t wave back.”
“He’s shy,” Sarah said. “Don’t think anything of it.”
“Is Greg a boyfriend?” I said.
Sarah smiled. “You never change. Greg’s a friend who happens to be a man. He’s great with horses and Grace thinks the world of him.”
“Good. Does Greg have a last name?”
&nbs
p; “Murray. Why do you want to know his last name?”
I shook my head. “Just curious.”
“You’re going to check him out, aren’t you?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
“I don’t. He’s a good guy.”
“Okay. Whatever you say. And I’ll drink one of his beers if you don’t think he’ll mind too much.”
“He won’t.”
She popped the top off a long neck Budweiser and handed it to me. Then she poured herself some hot water and dropped a tea bag into the cup.
“He has good taste in beer as far as I’m concerned,” I said. “None of this fancy craft stuff for me.”
“You’re stuck in the past,” she said. “Sit, please.”
We sat down at her kitchen table. It was a nice little place, her cabin. I’d been there a few times before and loved the rustic feel. And Sarah kept it spotless.
“So what’s on your mind, Joe?” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“To what do you owe the pleasure of my company? Have you been to finishing school since the last time we talked?” I said.
“No, I’m still a redneck. Nowhere near finished. I just get a kick out of talking that way sometimes. It surprises the hell out of some of my regulars.”
“I’ll bet. I came down here to tell you I’m going to take on a case, and I want to make sure you’re good with it. If you’re not, I’ll tell the client I changed my mind and I’ll move on to something else.”
“The rape at ETSU?” she said. “I knew you would wind up involved in that.”
“Alleged rape. You know I’ve never represented anyone accused of rape, and you know why.”
“I’m aware you’ve never represented a rapist, but you didn’t have to do it for me.”
“I did it for me as much as for you.”
“I’m glad you recognize that,” she said.
“So you’re okay with it?”
“Is he guilty?”
“I don’t think so. I really don’t.”
“Then do that thing you do. Defend the hell out of him. Piss off every judge and cop and
everybody else you can along the way.”
“I like to think I’ve toned it down a little over the past few years. You know, mellowing with age.”
“You’ll never mellow, Joe. You can’t stomach injustice. It makes you physically ill. I’ve seen it plenty of times. You might play a little smarter, you might be a little less rough around the edges, but you’ll never mellow. When was the last time you were in a fistfight?”
“It’s been a while. But I’ve been doing some grappling with Jack just to stay in shape.”
“Grappling? You mean wrestling?”
“Judo, jujitsu, wrestling, that kind of stuff.”
“Jack’s big as a house and strong as a bull,” Sarah said. “He could turn you into a pretzel.”
“I’m not exactly a pushover. I’m older, but I’m nowhere near dead.”
“You’re crazy is what you are. Rolling around with that brute. Don’t let him break your neck.”
“I won’t. And thank you. I appreciate it, Sarah, I really do. Knowing you’re okay with this case will help me do a better job.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen it looks like it’s going to be more of a race case than a rape case anyway.”
“You may be right.”
I finished the beer and stood.
“Gracie has grown so much. And I had no idea she could ride like that.”
“You should come by more. She misses you.”
“What about you? You miss me?”
“I do, Joe. I miss you and I miss your family. How’s Caroline?”
“She’s Caroline. The toughest human being I’ve ever met.”
“Give her my love.”
“I will.”
I stepped out of the house into the lengthening shadows as the sun slowly dropped toward the ridges to the west. Grace rode up again.
“Are you leaving, Uncle Joe?”
“Sorry, sweetie, I have to go. How about showing me those jumps one more time?”
She turned and galloped off. She cleared all of the jumps easily and was back in just a couple of minutes.
“That’s really cool, Grace,” I said. “I wish I could spend some more time with you.”
“Can I come up and swim in your pool soon?”
“Absolutely. You can come swim any time you like. But Labor Day for sure.”
I reached out and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek while she was still on the pony.
“You and Pepper have a good evening,” I said. “I’ll see you again soon. I love you, pretty girl.”
“Bye, Uncle Joe,” she said as she trotted away toward the barn. “Love you, too.”
I looked up at Sarah, who was standing in the doorway. I waved and she waved back. I saw the man, Greg Murray, again, lurking in the doorway to the barn. Something about the guy gave me the heebies.
I raised my hand to him, but he turned his back on me again and disappeared into the barn. I took note of the tag number on his truck and left. As soon as I pulled onto the road, I dialed Leon Bates’s cell number.
“Brother Joe Dillard,” Leon said in his Southern drawl. “How’s it going?”
“Good, Leon, how have you been?”
“Finer than frog hair, brother.”
“Good, good to hear. I hate to call you out of the blue and ask for a favor, but I need one.”
“Fire away,” Leon said.
I gave him the tag number on Greg Murray’s truck and told him his name.
“He’s hanging around my sister,” I said, “and you know as well as I do she doesn’t have a sterling record when it comes to men. Would you mind checking to see if this guy has a criminal record?”
“Not at all. Want me to do it right now?”
“Do you have time?”
“Sure. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
“Thank you, Leon.”
I disconnected the call. Ten minutes later, he called me back.
“He has a record,” Leon said.
“How bad is it?”
“He’s only been convicted of one crime. He robbed a bank over in Elizabethton eleven years ago. Didn’t use a gun or any other kind of weapon, just handed the teller a note. Walked out the door with a grand total of three thousand dollars. The Elizabethton police arrested him less than a mile away from the bank, so he obviously isn’t the brightest crayon in the box. Feds sentenced him to ten years, he served eight years and eight months, then did six more months in a halfway house in Knoxville. He got out of there in June, so he hasn’t been around long.”
“That’s great. A bank robber hanging around my niece and my sister. I wonder if he’s a druggie.”
“Maybe,” Leon said. “Or maybe he just needed a little cash in a hurry and his momma wouldn’t loan it to him. You should ask him.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Leon. I’ll ask him.”
“I’m sure you will. Try not to hurt him too bad when you do.”
“Thanks, Leon. You’re my man.”
“Careful, brother Dillard. People will say we’re in love.”
FRIDAY, AUGUST 30
I woke up the next morning to the news that every single ETSU football player was voluntarily giving a DNA sample to the police and that the president of the university, an extremely bright and decent man from everything I knew of him, was considering forfeiting the first two games of the football season. I didn’t think either was a good idea. Voluntarily giving the samples was voluntarily giving evidence to the police, evidence that, in the wrong hands, could be misinterpreted or, at worst, manipulated or falsified. Forfeiting the first two games sent the message that the administration believed the players were either guilty or otherwise at fault. The paper reported that the forfeits would be “punishment for having a party where the entertainment was provided by an exotic dancer,” but there were other ways of dol
ing out punishment for the actions of stupid young men. Forfeiting games affected all of the players, all of the fans, the opposing teams and their fans, the marching bands, the cheerleaders, the people who sold shirts and concessions. It affected thousands of people outside of the players, and I just didn’t think it was a good idea. It also ensured that the news coverage, which was building steam every day, would ramp up another notch.
I’d tried to call the president of the university and the football coach the previous afternoon, but I hadn’t been able to get them on the phone and neither had returned the call. I guess I had some answers, though. They were throwing their guys under the bus as far as I was concerned. Having them voluntarily submit DNA samples to the police was a public relations move, not something done with the players’ best interests in mind. Forfeiting the games—if they did it—was more of the same. They were condemning the players’ actions in the public domain. I sat at the kitchen table and thought about the university’s dilemma for a few minutes. It was a nightmare. Because of the stupidity of a few young men, an entire institution that employed thousands of people and was one of the most important economic and cultural entities in the area, was going to be put through hell. There were already angry protests being held on campus, calls to disband the football team, an advertisement in the newspaper taken out by thirty members of the faculty that basically called the players rapists and blamed it on the university administration. As I’d mentioned in the meeting at the office, a lynch mob mentality had developed, just as I knew it would. Everyone wanted blood, somebody’s blood, and they wanted it now. To hell with the truth; they’d sort that out later.
Caroline came padding in around 6:00 a.m. to get some orange juice so she could take her morning pain medication.
