Due Process (Joe Dillard #9)(3)

My son-in-law, Randy Lowe, had graduated from medical school and was now in an oncology residency program at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. Caroline and I loved Randy deeply and were both extremely proud of him, but at the same time, we resented him for taking our beloved daughter and grandson to Boston. Caroline looked at me and tears filled her eyes.

“But you’re still here,” she said, “and I have Jack and Charlie. I just hate the thought that I’m causing you to have nightmares. And I thought the thing with Sarah was put to rest a long time ago.”

“I guess it’ll never be put to rest,” I said. “I don’t know why I’m dreaming about it, but let’s just do what we’ve always done. Let’s just hang in there and keep loving each other.”

She leaned across the seat and kissed me on the cheek.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” I said. “Hand me one of those beers. We’ll be naughty together.”





SUNDAY, AUG. 25

“I was raped,” the girl said in a voice that could barely be heard. The Johnson City Police Officer, Tonya James, looked into her rearview mirror.

“What did you say?”

Officer James had put her passenger, a redhead who gave the name of Sheila Self and said she was twenty-four years old but didn’t have any identification, into the back seat of her cruiser five minutes earlier at a convenience store on Walnut Street not far from East Tennessee State University. It was 1:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning. The passenger wore a tight, short, red spandex dress, spiked heels, heavy make-up, and looked like a hooker. Ms. Self was under the influence of some substance or was, perhaps, mentally ill. She initially made absolutely no sense at all when Officer James showed up after responding to a 911 call that reported Ms. Self was wandering around inside the convenience store muttering to herself and had refused to leave. After speaking to Ms. Self for several minutes and consulting her supervisor, Officer James determined that an involuntary mental health commitment may be in order, and she was transporting Ms. Self to Woodlawn Mental Health Facility for an evaluation.

“Do you know where I’m taking you?” Officer James asked.

“Woodlawn, but I’m not cra...crazy. I was drugged and raped.”

“Raped? When?”

“Not really sure. Hour ago, maybe? Longer?’’

The woman’s speech was slurred and she smelled of alcohol, but this was the first time she’d mentioned drugs or being raped. Officer James needed to pay attention in case it was true.

“Do you know who raped you?”

“Some guys, maybe three. They puh…pulled me into a bathroom.”

“Where did this happen?”

“Party. Tree Streets.”

Officer James pulled into a church parking lot, turned toward the back seat, and gave her passenger her full attention.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I went there to dance. I work for AAA Escort. Sometimes I do exotic dancing. They set it up.”

“What time were you supposed to be there?”

“Midnight.”

“And you got there at midnight?”

“I think I took a cab. It’s still fuzzy, but some of it’s starting to come back to me.”

“Do you know the names of any of the people who raped you?”

“No.”

“Can you describe them?”

“Not really. Not right now. It was dark.”

“Were they white or black or Hispanic or Indian or Asian? Can you tell me their race?”

“At least one of them was black. They were football players.”

“Football players? How do you know that?”

“Football player party. The escort service told me. The guy that paid me said he was a captain.”

Officer James found it interesting that the young woman was suddenly recalling some details, but nothing that could really help the police find who committed the rape, if a rape had really been committed.

“Who paid you?”

“Some big guy.”

“Was he one of the men that raped you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How did he pay you?”

“Cash money.”

“Do you have the money?”

“Did you go through my purse?”

“Yes.”

“Was it in there?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know what happened to it. One of them probably stole it. Maybe I lost it.”

“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.”