Due Process (Joe Dillard #9)(14)
“Oh, you mean standard operating procedure for journalism these days.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Who knows?” I said. “It might be nothing or it might be a serious crime.”
“Sounds to me like people might be needing lawyers,” she said.
“I don’t do sex cases, Caroline. You know that.”
I hadn’t had a nightmare about my sister, Sarah, being raped by my sixteen-year-old uncle when we were very young since Caroline and I had talked about it in the car on the way home from Vanderbilt a few days earlier. The incident had had a profound impact on both Sarah and me, because I’d tried unsuccessfully to stop him and because Sarah had had to endure the terrible humiliation of the rape at such a young age. When I started practicing defense law, I vowed I would never defend a rapist.
“But you now practice law with your son, Jack Dillard, and a young woman named Charlie Story, who just happens to be his girlfriend and who I predict he will marry sometime within the next year. I know your reasons for not taking sex cases. Will your associates be barred from taking cases because you refuse to do so?”
“There may not even be a case, Caroline.”
“But if there is, will you keep Jack and Charlie from taking on a rape case because your sister was raped when she was a child? That doesn’t seem quite fair to me.”
“Wow, you must be feeling pretty good this morning. You’ve come out of the bedroom with both guns blazing. Has anyone even tried to hire us? If so, I’m unaware.”
“Just think about it,” Caroline said as she turned away. “Jack and Charlie share your law practice now. They also share your passion and your talent. But they don’t share your past, and they shouldn’t be burdened by it. If someone is accused of committing a rape in that house, needs a good lawyer, and wants to hire you, you should give some serious consideration to taking it on and letting them help you.”
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28
The president of East Tennessee State University was as angry as he’d ever been in his life when his football coach walked through the door of his expansive, tastefully-appointed office at 8:00 a.m. the morning the story broke about the rape allegations against football players. Already in the room were the university’s general counsel, the director of community relations, and the athletic director.
The president, a forty-six-year-old named Dean Brady, had been employed by the university for five years. During his tenure, he’d worked hard to engage the university with the community, he’d worked hard to improve programs in the arts, in academics and in athletics. He’d spearheaded the movement to return football to the university after the program had been shut down for ten years. Brady, who had never played football, nonetheless believed the sport to be an important part of the student experience on a college campus and an absolute necessity if the university was to improve itself and thrive in the future.
Brady had taken a great deal of criticism for his stance on football, especially from faculty members and administrators on the academic side who believed the sport to be a burden on an already strained budget. There were also a majority of students who didn’t want the sport returned to campus and had made their feelings known through a vote. But in the end, it didn’t matter. The powers that controlled the purse strings—and the ability to assess students’ extra tuition to pay for the football program—ultimately prevailed and the sport returned. A veteran football coach named Mike Springer had been hired to build the program. During their first season, where they played on a local high school field because they didn’t have a stadium, they posted a predictable but abysmal record of 2-9. The following year, still playing at the high school, they improved to 5-6. This year was to be the true beginning. A new stadium had been built on campus. The players were experienced and the team had become stronger in every phase of the game. Springer had been quoted as saying he believed his team could win at least seven games.
There was a long silence after Coach Springer took his seat at the round table in the corner across the office from Brady’s desk. The president had a copy of the Johnson City newspaper spread out in front of him. He finally looked at Springer and said, “What in the hell are we going to do about this?”
“I don’t believe she was raped,” Coach Springer said. “I just don’t see my guys doing something like that.”
“Did you envision your guys hiring a stripper for a party?” Brady said. “Did you know anything about it?”
“Of course not,” Springer said.
“Have you talked to any of them yet?”
“I talked to the three captains who live in the house where the party was held. They all say nothing happened, and I believe them. The stripper idea started as a joke and then turned into a real thing, but again, I don’t believe for a second that a rape took place. I plan to talk to every player on the team. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“We need to respond to this as quickly as possible,” said Blakely Burton, the director of community relations for the university. She was a blonde former television news anchor who was now the university’s mouthpiece and drafted or approved nearly all official communications that went from the university to any news outlet. “There needs to be a statement from you, Dr. Brady. What we have to decide is whether we announce that we’re going to be proactive and what kind of action we plan to take or whether we plan to refrain from comment, rely on the laws that protect students’ privacy, and allow the police investigation to run its course. We can take appropriate action accordingly. That would be my recommendation. A statement that basically says nothing.”