by Scott Pratt
I looked over at her and shook my head.
“He hurt Caroline,” I said. “You weren’t here when she was crying from the pain because she didn’t have her medication.”
“I didn’t know anything about that,” she said. “You didn’t tell me.”
“We haven’t exactly been staying in close contact. You work hard, you live in the boonies. I work hard, I take care of Caroline the best I can, I live in the boonies. We’ve kind of drifted apart over the last couple of years.”
“Yeah, life happens,” she said.
“I thought you might bring Greg,” I said.
She paused for a few seconds.
“I asked him, but he said he didn’t think you’d want him around.”
“Really? Why would he say that?”
“Because he’s a convicted felon. He said it might cause a problem with you.”
“Why would he think that?”
“You have a bit of a reputation, Joe. Some people think you run a little hot.”
“What did he do?”
“Robbed a bank over in Elizabethton almost ten years ago. He spent more than eight years in the federal pen in Beckley. He did five years in the medium security behind the walls and then they moved him out to the minimum security camp.”
“Why’d he rob the bank?”
“The same reason I stole from Mom and from you back in the day. The same reason Caroline’s nurse is stealing from her. He was an addict.”
“He’s clean now?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re comfortable with him being around Gracie?”
She stopped peeling the eggs and turned around to face me.
“Isn’t the answer to that question obvious, Joe? Of course I’m comfortable with him being around Gracie. If I wasn’t, he wouldn’t be anywhere near her. He’s been great to Gracie. He’s been great to me.”
“How’d you meet him?” I said.
“He came into the diner and asked me if I had a job open. Said he’d do anything: wash dishes, sweep and mop, cook, clean the toilets. He was open about having just gotten out of prison. I liked him, so I gave him a job.”
“And things are heating up between the two of you?”
“We’re friends, Joe. We’re becoming closer friends, but I’m not sleeping with him or anything. He’s been a huge help around the house and with Gracie’s horse. He says he grew up with horses. He knows a lot about them.”
“Where’d he grow up?”
“Over in Carter County. Buck Mountain.”
“Pretty rough place, from what I’ve always heard.”
“That’s what he says, but he’s really nice. He’s quiet and polite and intelligent. He reads a lot. Not what you’d expect from somebody from Buck Mountain who’s spent nearly a decade in prison.”
I walked over and pulled a pan of baked beans out of the oven, set them on the counter, and covered them in aluminum foil.
“I’ll help you with those eggs,” I said.
“Are you satisfied with what I told you about Greg?” Sarah said.
“All I want is for you and Grace to be happy and safe,” I said.
“Did you already know about him before I told you?”
“Some.”
“How’d you find out?”
“I had a friend run his tag after I came down there last week.”
“And you’ve been waiting to have this conversation ever since?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’m not trying to interfere—”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, really—”
“It’s okay, Joe. I know you’re just concerned. But everything is fine.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so. He’s a good guy who made a terrible mistake. It happens.”
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
When Tracey Rowland showed up on Wednesday morning, I was waiting for him. The video very clearly showed that both times Tracey went into the bathroom, he turned on the water, grabbed the bottle of Oxycontin, poured a few into his hand, put them in his pocket, put the bottle back, and turned off the water. He didn’t even bother to wash his damned hands.
Caroline and I had battled heatedly over what I was going to do. I wanted to tear his head off, and I knew I was perfectly capable of doing so. She wanted me to call the police and have him arrested on Tuesday. We wound up compromising. I promised I wouldn’t assault him, but I wanted to at least confront him face-to-face. I’d also had to beg Jack to stay away. He desperately wanted to hurt this man who had caused his mother so much pain and anguish.
Caroline chose to stay in the bedroom with the door closed. Rio was raising hell in the garage. Tracey looked surprised when I opened the front door.
“Hey Joe,” he said. “Decide to sleep in this morning?”
“Nah, I was up around five, just like every other day. I have something I want to show you.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” I detected a bit of trepidation in his voice. He knew something was up.
“C’mon into the kitchen. It’s a short video on my phone. I’ll show it to you and we can talk.”
“What kind of video?”
I walked toward the kitchen and he followed me. I sat down and picked my phone up off the table. I pulled up the video of him stealing the drugs and showed it to him. To my surprise, he showed no reaction.
“I don’t understand what you’re showing me,” he said.
“Are you out of your damned mind?” I said. “That’s you stealing my wife’s pain medication. You know exactly what it is. Are you selling it or are you addicted?”
“No. That isn’t me. It just looks to me like some guy washing his hands. You can’t even tell it’s me.”
“I promised Caroline I’d try to remain civil, but I swear to God if you deny it again I’m going to slap you in the mouth.”
He stood immediately.
“You can’t threaten me like that,” he said.
“I can do more than threaten you. I look at this as defense of another. I think I’d be well within my rights to beat you within an inch of your life and there isn’t a jury in the world that would convict me. Hell, with the connections I’ve made over the years around here, I wouldn’t even get charged, not after the DA sees this video and I tell my good friend the sheriff what’s been going on around here. Do you have any idea how much pain you caused Caroline when you stole her eighties?”
“I didn’t steal anything,” he said. “And you can take your threats and your ugly-assed wife and go straight to hell. I’ll never set foot in this house again.”
That did it. I snapped.
“You’re right about that,” I said.
I was out of my chair and within striking range in less than a second. I punched him squarely in the nose so hard that blood immediately spurted into the air and he wound up on his back on the kitchen floor.
“Get up, you miserable bastard,” I said, reaching down to pull him off the floor. “Get up and get out of here before I kill you with my bare hands.”
I pulled him up and dragged him toward the front door. He was bleeding like a stuck hog on the tile and hardwood floor and mumbling that he was going to sue me and have me arrested. When I got to the door, I opened it with my left hand. Then I took a handful of his shirt at the back of his neck in my left hand and grabbed his pants at his lower back with my other hand. I picked him up off the ground and slung him off the front porch. He landed in the grass with a thud.
“You’ll be arrested by late this afternoon,” I said. “Your job will be gone before you get out of the driveway. And you can kiss your nursing license goodbye. Now get off of my property before I decide I need to beat on you some more.”
He managed to climb to his feet and staggered off toward his car with his hands over his nose.
I turned around to see Caroline standing just inside the door.
“You promised,” she said.
“Did you hear what he said?”
“
Yes.”
“Then you understand. There’s no way he talks about you that way and walks out without bleeding.”
“He’s a junkie, Joe. He’s in denial. He needs help.”
“Junkies don’t want help. They’re beyond help. Besides, he just got some help. Maybe that’ll wake him up a little.”
“Are you still going to have him arrested?”
“You’re damned right I am. If I don’t, he’ll just go steal from somebody else.”
Caroline sighed and said, “I guess you’re right.” She turned and walked back toward the bedroom and I went to the kitchen and picked up my cell phone. I dialed Leon Bates’s number.
“Brother Joe Dillard,” Leon said when he answered. “What’s going on today?”
“Hey Leon,” I said. “How are you?”
“Better than I deserve, brother. Better than I deserve.”
“I’m sorry to bother you with this, Leon, but I have a little problem.”
“Always at your service, you know that.”
“I need someone arrested as soon as you can get to it. He’s Caroline’s home health care nurse. Guy named Tracey Rowland. He’s been stealing her pain medication. I have him on video doing it. We just caught him. As a matter of fact, he just left our house.”
“What kind of shape was he in?” Leon said. He knew me well.
“Not great. He may have a deviated septum. He was bleeding quite a bit.”
“He should be more careful,” Leon said. “Watch where he’s going. What’d he trip over?”
“Something in the kitchen.”
“Say he just left there? What company does he work for?”
“It’s called ‘LifeCare.’”
“Do you have an address and phone number for him?”
“Phone number, no address.”
“Not a problem. We’ll find him. I’ll send one of my investigators over to take a report and get a copy of that video. I’d do it myself but I have to meet with the county budget committee today. Gotta do a little politicking to make sure we get our fair share.”
“I appreciate it, Leon. Listen, I talked to Erlene last Friday and she told me you guys split up.”
“Yeah, it just wasn’t going to work out in the long run. We’re still buddies, though. No hard feelings on either side. She knows I’d still do anything for her.”
“Good. Glad to hear that.”
“What about that mess over at ETSU?” Leon said. “Are you going to get caught up in that?”
“I might. That’s what I was talking to Erlene about.”
“She help you out?”
“Yeah, but I got the feeling she was holding some things back.”
“Well, brother, there’s one thing I learned about her for sure. She’s sweet as she can be, but there’s a dark side to her. You never know what’s going through that woman’s mind.”
“Oh, I’m with you there. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what shakes out.”
“Good to talk to you, brother Dillard. I’ll get somebody on this drug-stealing nurse right away. Don’t be a stranger.”
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
We’d scheduled a meeting for 11:00 a.m. at the office, and I walked in at 10:45 after speaking—along with Caroline—to Leon’s investigator. He called me less than five minutes after I talked to Leon and showed up about twenty minutes later. He assured me that he would arrest Tracey Rowland that afternoon, call his employer, and get ahold of the Nursing Board.
As soon as I walked in, Jack came straight into my office. He was practically foaming at the mouth.
“What happened?” he said. “Did he show up?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you show him the video?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said it wasn’t him.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, and then he got mouthy.”
“You hit him, didn’t you?”
I nodded and held up my right hand, which was still red and swollen. I’d really hit the guy hard.
“Good. Good for you, Dad. Did you break his jaw?”
“His nose.”
“Did he bleed?”
“A lot.”
“Is Mom mad at you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Is he going to be arrested?”
“Yes.”
“What’ll they charge him with?”
“Misdemeanor theft. That’s all they can do. He won’t do any jail time, but he’ll be on probation and have to pass drug tests, they might require him to go to rehab, and they’ll take his nursing license. I guess all that, plus a flattened nose, is enough.”
“I wish I could have been there,” Jack said.
“It was good you weren’t there. You have no clue how dangerous you can be when you get angry, and you would have gotten angry.”
“I’m not any more dangerous than you are.”
“You’re bigger, you’re stronger and you’re younger. You’re also impervious to pain. I wouldn’t want to fight you.”
“Sissy.”
“I said I wouldn’t want to fight you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t kick your ass. Is everybody ready to go?”
“I think so. Stony’s here.”
“Great. Let’s get to it.”
When I walked into the conference room, Kelly Sims, our paralegal was there to take notes. Jack and Charlie were also seated at the table, along with Susan Stoneman, the former FBI agent turned private investigator. I’d previously used a retired Tennessee Highway Patrolwoman named Diane Frye, who had the instincts of a ferret and was, to put it mildly, a bit on the eccentric side, but Diane had become the victim of early-onset Alzheimer’s and could no longer work. Stony was a bit more of a tight ass than Diane, but I’d never met an FBI agent who wasn’t a tight ass. They were expected to be perfect when they were on the job, so tight ass simply became part of their personality. Stony had lightened up a little since her retirement, but her idea of loose was closer to my idea of grim.
“So,” I said when I sat down. “Let’s start with Jack and Charlie. I know you talked to Kevin Davidson’s neighbors. What’d you find out?”
Charlie and Jack looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Jack nodded and Charlie cleared her throat.
“First thing is the neighbors don’t like the football players living there,” she said. “So there’s some inherent bias. But, on the other hand, they said they’re not that bad. They get a little rowdy after games sometimes but always shut it down by midnight, and they throw two big parties a year. Those have gotten out of hand a couple of times and the police were called. As far as what happened Saturday night and early Sunday morning, they just don’t know much. From what the neighbors say, and we talked to ten of them, at least from the outside, it appears the players are giving a pretty accurate account of what happened. People started showing up around eight. They were drinking and music was playing. The crowd kept growing. The estimates we got were anywhere between sixty and a hundred people were there at midnight.
“A couple of the neighbors were watching when a cab pulled up at midnight and a girl dressed like a hooker got out. Red spandex dress, spiked heels, fishnet stockings, bling, the whole nine. Everybody piled into the house—the neighbors heard some people talking about a stripper about to perform—and then, about fifteen minutes later, the girl comes back out. She’s staggering around and yelling at people who have followed her out of the house. Some of the players are yelling back at her, demanding their money back. One neighbor told me she saw the girl throw a wad of cash at a couple of guys. There were some racial slurs, and they weren’t from the players. She was calling several of the players the “n” word. She wound up staggering off up the street, and the next thing the neighbors knew, everybody was gone. They said the place cleared out quickly, like they thought the cops might show up. They said every light in the house went off and there wasn’t a car in the driveway o
r out front in the street.”
“And this took how long?” I said. “Did you say fifteen minutes?”
“That’s their estimate. About fifteen minutes.”
“Did the cops come?”
“Not that we can find. No 911 calls were made.”
“So, if we believe what the girl supposedly told the police,” I said, “she shows up, goes in and introduces herself, gets paid, disappears for a few minutes, comes back out hammered, is unable to perform, gets dragged into a bathroom and raped by three different players, and is back out the door in fifteen minutes. Talk about premature ejaculation. Those boys were quick.”
I looked around the table. Everyone was smiling except for Stony.
“Aw, c’mon, Stony,” I said. “That was at least a little funny.”
“I don’t know that I find it appropriate to joke about gang rape,” Stony said.
“The whole point is that there was no gang rape,” I said. “Didn’t happen. Couldn’t have happened. What have you learned about this so-called victim?”
Stony was an open, unapologetic lesbian, which probably also contributed to her serious nature, given the macho environment at the FBI. I was sure she’d taken her share of barbs over the years, and was probably expected to work harder and better than the men with whom she was competing in order to advance. She was forty-seven, about five feet eight inches tall. Her hair was short and wavy, a dark brown, and her eyes were brown. She wore fashionable, dark-rimmed glasses and understated make-up.
“She’s a mess,” Stony said. “I actually feel sorry for her. She tossed a couple of photos on the table and we started passing them around.
“She looks like a Playboy bunny,” Jack said.
“Read a lot of Playboy, do you?” Charlie said.
“No, I don’t read Playboy. I just look at the pictures.”
The girl was certainly pretty. Red hair, beautiful blue eyes, a face structured like a runway model, full lips, and a body that would make ninety-nine percent of men do a double take.
“Meet Sheila Elizabeth Self. She’s twenty-four. Born to an alcoholic mother and a burglar father. The father dropped out of the picture when she was three. Two years later, he was shot dead in a bar in Jackson, Tennessee. When she was twelve, she developed large breasts and her stepfather apparently couldn’t keep his hands off of her. He raped her. Her mother wouldn’t do anything about it, but she had the courage and the confidence to call the police. The father was ultimately arrested and convicted of aggravated rape. The girl even testified at the trial. He’s up for parole in five months. Sheila was removed from the home by Child Protective Services and taken in by a foster family. She must really be unlucky, because a year later she was raped by both her foster father and her foster brother, who was seventeen. They did it on the same night, at the same time, in the same bed, after they got some alcohol and some cocaine into her and into themselves. The foster mother had gone to Indiana to visit her sister. Sheila called the cops again. The foster father is in prison. The brother made a deal and is on parole, a registered sex offender.
