“Hey, what a nice surprise! How’s my favorite nephew?” She looked tired and grayer than he remembered, but the sparkle and light in her eyes were still there.
“I’m your only nephew. And I’m well, so glad I caught you.”
“Great, but it’s 5 a.m. there, so something must be on your mind. I have plenty of time to chat today. Tell me everything.”
The connection was great, and Clint told her about the shooting, about Leah, and about the Hangmen. He’d only wanted to talk about the shooting, but once he got going, it all came spilling out. GiGi interrupted once or twice, but mostly she listened, which was what Clint loved about his aunt.
“You talk so nonchalantly about your shooting—” she patted her chest—“but you made my heart race. I know that’s your calling and God has you in the palm of his hand, but for once I’m glad news is slow here. I would have hated to read about something like that without having talked to you first. Also, glad you saved the day. You’d better call your mom too.”
Clint smiled, feeling so much better. “I will, I promise.”
“Now, about this other officer—Leah? You say she was being abused and that her husband was in some secret club called the Hangmen?”
“Yeah, I saw her the morning of the shooting. She’d practically been choked to death.”
“And you think this Hangmen club may have perverted justice somehow?”
“That’s what I’m afraid of. I think I got on their bad side by asking questions.” He told her about the IA complaint.
“What will happen with that?”
“Not sure. I got involved in the shooting, missed my appointment, haven’t heard from them.”
“I’m thinking you need to stay out of it. If such a club really exists, it sounds dangerous. Get these Hangmen off your back by staying away.”
“I don’t know if I can do that, GiGi.” He took a deep breath. “This is all so wrong. I keep asking how God could let such a great injustice happen and I don’t get an answer.”
“Clint, you’re asking the wrong question.”
“What do you mean?”
“God works in ways none of us understands. If we completely understood everything that goes on in the world, then we would be God, or at least we’d make ourselves gods. Have faith that God knows the big picture and it will all work out the way he intends it to. The right thing to ask is ‘Show me how you’re working and what my job is in all of this.’”
“Wow.” Clint pinched the bridge of his nose and felt a great weight lift from his shoulders. “Thanks. I knew that, but I was lost in the moment and not thinking of the whole picture.”
“That’s easy to do, especially if you’re too close to the situation. As for your friend Leah, you need a lawyer, someone outside who can review her trial transcripts and tell if anything was off. A good lawyer can also get ahold of what wasn’t presented at trial and will work through this situation faster and easier than you can.”
“I’m guessing you have a suggestion for a lawyer.”
“I do. Gretchen Gaffney. She happens to be from Oregon, a lot further north, though—she’s in Bend, if I remember right. Specializes in domestic violence, is affiliated with a nonprofit called No Violence at Home. I met her at an international domestic violence conference in Singapore a couple of years back. She made an impression. She’ll help—I’m sure of it.”
Clint felt another weight lift, his prayer for Leah answered. “I knew you were the person to call.”
“Of course you did. Now I’ll text you Gretchen’s information. You call your mom; then you go straight to bed, young man. You look exhausted.”
Clint laughed. “Love you, GiGi.”
“Love you too.”
He signed off, then called his mom. By the time that call was over, he was dead tired. The text came in from GiGi, and Clint obeyed his aunt and went to bed.
The phone ringing woke Clint up around noon. It was Jack, checking up on him.
“I’m fine,” Clint told him. “I was sleeping.”
“Well, wake up. Check out the news online. A lot has happened in the last few hours.”
“You’re not going to tell me? You’re going to make me get up and look for myself?”
“What are friends for?”
Even as Jack hung up, his phone beeped with another call. Clint didn’t recognize the number, so he let it go to voice mail. Yawning, he went back to the computer.
The headline for the Table Rock Tribune website floored Clint: Hero Cop Saves Daughter of Prominent Judge.
Clint read the story. The sobbing girl from the robbery was Christie Revel, the daughter of Judge Revel, the very same man who had presided over Leah’s trial. He was big in the county, had been a judge for a very long time. The story contained eyewitness statements from the shooting, people raving with praise for Clint’s bravery.
He moaned, even as his phone went off again. I just did my job, Clint thought. I don’t need to be called a hero. He picked up the phone. This time it was a number he did recognize, his supervisor, Lieutenant Haun.
“How are you holding up, Tanner?”
“I’m tired but okay.”
“Things have kind of exploded around here. The cable news services have even picked up the story. You’re gonna be famous.”
“Not something I relish.”
Haun laughed. “Well, I saw the video. You were an action hero, my friend.”
“The store had cameras?” He’d had tunnel vision for the bad guys. Hadn’t noticed the cameras.
“Yep. Good ones too. Caught the whole thing, from the time the robbery started to the time you ended it. Witnesses say the guy who grabbed the judge’s daughter was planning on taking her into the office, having his way with her, and then destroying the camera.”
“He really thought he’d have that much time?”
“Drug-induced thinking. Both crooks were bad actors from California. A two-man crime spree over the last three days. We think we can connect them to robberies from Redding to Medford to Table Rock. They were working their way north. I think everything will be fine for you.”
“What about the IA complaint?”
“What IA complaint?”
That gave Clint pause. Haun should have known about the complaint. “I got it yesterday morning, was supposed to report to IA yesterday afternoon.”
“I heard nothing about that. I’ll contact IA and get back to you.”
A few minutes later, Haun rang back. “If there was something, it’s been withdrawn. I spoke to Racer himself. Hey, the chief wants to milk your heroics. He thinks the department got a black eye over the Radcliff/Draper thing. And really, we need more videos of cops like this out there. It’s unambiguous—you did your job, saved the day. They want you to be the face of the PD now. You on board with that?”
Nonplussed by the missing complaint, Clint needed some clarification. “What do you mean by that?”
“The press is clamoring for the tape of the shooting to be released. I know it’s early in the process, but it really shows a lot of courage on your part to bust into a situation like that and take out two gunmen. You’ll be Hollywood Tanner now. Judge Revel would like to personally thank you, and community relations would like you to give at least one interview.”
Clint ran a hand over his head and blew out a breath. This was the last thing he wanted. “Is that an order?”
“No, I can’t order you. All I can say is that you did a great job and if the judge wants to thank you, let him. It’s not right away anyhow. Everyone wants you to take your mandatory time off and decompress.”
“All right, great. I’ve got a trip to make. I’ll be in Bend visiting a friend—is that okay?”
“Sure. If you need anything at all, call.”
Clint picked Randy up on his second mandatory day off after the shooting, and they made the three-hour drive to Bend to speak to Gretchen Gaffney. Because Gaffney knew Clint’s aunt, he’d made the call for Randy. While she didn’t so
und overly excited about speaking to them, she did sound interested.
Once they got there, Clint liked her immediately. A short, round woman with a head of curly red hair, Gretchen welcomed them into her cluttered office. Everything looked well-worn and well-used, not messy or beat-up. It was just obvious that someone worked a lot of hard hours here. She opened the meeting with prayer, asking for guidance and clarity.
“I’m glad to meet the both of you,” Gaffney said, prayer finished. “I followed the story of Leah Radcliff—” she nodded toward Randy—“your daughter, with some interest. It’s difficult sometimes to convince a jury that a spouse was killed in self-defense. In Leah’s case maybe more so because she never told anyone she was experiencing abuse.”
Randy shook his head. “She never said a word. I didn’t like the guy, and Leah pretty much cut me off after the wedding. I knew it was because of him. . . . All I could do to bring her back was to pray.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I sure wish I had an inkling about what was happening.”
“In my experience, there are myriad reasons why women say nothing and simply accept the abuse. And make excuses for the abuser. In your daughter’s case, perhaps she knew a charge of abuse could cost her husband his job. It hadn’t gotten to the unbearable stage. She was most likely in denial.”
“There’s something I’d like to throw in the mix,” Clint said. “Maybe something else was at work in the trial. Maybe it wasn’t just the evidence the jury saw that convicted Leah.”
“What do you mean?” Gretchen raised an eyebrow. “You know of evidence that was withheld?”
“Not directly, but I think you should know something that might have played a role in her conviction.” He glanced at Randy, swallowed, and then shared with Gretchen what he’d heard about the Hangmen. When he finished, he said, “I know it’s rumor and innuendo, but there is a chance the entire trial was rigged against Leah, that nothing about it was fair.”
Randy came up out of his chair, face red with anger. “Good old boys club? Protecting Draper and railroading my daughter?”
A glance from Gretchen calmed Randy and he sat back down.
“That’s interesting.” She steepled her fingers, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Getting a judge to grant a new trial, as the two of you are hoping, is a rare thing. There are three reasons a new trial would be granted. First, to fix a legal error. Second is the discovery of new evidence. And the third is to correct an injustice. Proving the existence of ‘the Hangmen’ is one thing. We’d also have to prove that they had a direct effect on the trial. I’ll be honest—it’s a long shot.”
“My daughter did not murder Brad in his sleep. That is not Leah. She shot him because she saw no other way,” Randy said.
“I’ll try to help any way I can,” Clint offered.
“I have my own investigator and I wouldn’t want to put your job at risk. First, I have to decide if I can take the case on. That would mean reviewing the trial transcripts and meeting with Leah. Can you talk to your daughter and see if she is amenable to a meeting?”
“You bet I will,” Randy said.
“I’ll clear some time on my calendar and travel to Wilsonville then.”
CHAPTER 20
As the months progressed, Leah felt a certain comfort in the prison routine. It kept her from having to think too hard about anything. Even holidays faded into the backdrop of routine, Christmas and New Year’s having passed with a whimper. Every minute of her life was regulated: meals, showers, free time, sleep. Since she still didn’t feel very balanced, the strict timetable helped her feel propped up.
Normal morning lights on was five. Leah woke earlier than that because Nora worked in the kitchen preparing breakfast and the cell door opened for her to leave for her assignment. Leah would lie in her bunk, awake, until the cell lights came on and it was time to get dressed for breakfast. The cell doors opened at 5:45, and Leah would fall into line for the dayroom and the meal.
Once the last full meal tray was picked up, the women had twenty minutes to finish their food. Nora’s friends stayed close to Leah, which didn’t bother her. Pat, the woman who’d confronted her the first day, continued to send hate stares her way. As long as Leah surrounded herself with friendlies, as Nora called them, Pat kept her distance. Leah sat with Nora’s group at meals or during free time. Donna, the woman who’d introduced herself to Leah and tried to convince her to join the running program, fell in with the group and made it a point to chat with Leah.
“How are you holding up?” she asked one morning.
“I’m surviving.”
Donna nodded. “Good. Place can’t beat you unless you let it.” She then chatted on about the rehab class she was in, about the running program, and about other women in the prison. Leah only half listened and nodded from time to time. Donna seemed to like to hear herself talk.
After breakfast triage lines formed for women with medical issues or on medication. Once the lines finished, the women cleaned the dayroom and then it was time to return to their cells for the first count of the day.
The same routine continued for the midday meal, starting at 11:45. After this meal they were given free time to either watch TV or, weather permitting, go out to the recreation yard for forty-five minutes.
Leah played basketball every time she was in the exercise yard. The exertion simply took the edge off of her frustration. At first, a little bit of dribbling and shooting the ball had her out of breath. She’d not realized how out of shape she was. Once she and Brad got serious, she’d stopped playing ball completely but had continued a fitness routine in the gym. After a few days in the rec yard she felt better, especially once her timing improved and she began to sink her twenty-foot jumpers.
“Looks like you worked out the rusty.” Nora picked up the ball. “One-on-one now?”
Hands on her hips, Leah caught her breath. While physically she felt better, her emotions were still all over the map. Was she ready for competition? What would it hurt?
“Sure, I’ll play some one-on-one.”
Nora passed the ball to Leah, who passed it back, and the game started. Nora surprised Leah. While she was overweight and older, she still had moves, showing shades of Leo the Lion, and Leah remembered the player she’d loved to watch. Five minutes in, six points down, Leah knew they had a game. But in the end, Nora was more out of shape than Leah. After about twenty minutes, Leah had her and the game.
Breathing hard, she faced Nora, who was bent over, catching her breath. “We both need to do some working out.”
Nora nodded without looking up. “We should do this more often. It was hard, but it felt good.”
Unable to resist, Leah had to ask, “What happened, Nora? You had game—how’d you get caught up in alcohol?”
Nora straightened up. “My game slowed down. I got old, then cut from the team. I was a second too slow and it rocked my world. I never thought basketball would stop. Drinking, smoking pot were ways to dull the pain.”
“You coached for a while if I remember right.”
“Yeah, but it was never the same for me as being on the court myself. Then the bottle got me.” She wiped sweat from her face. “You didn’t go pro—heard you had the chance.”
Leah shrugged. “I hated the thought of traveling all over the place.”
Nora’s breathing slowed. “You took the wiser route there, yet here we both are, guilty of crimes.”
Fiddling with the basketball, Leah looked away. “Here we both are, guilty of crimes.”
She didn’t know what to say to that. Free time was over. She put the ball away, but Nora grabbed her arm as they walked back inside.
“Look, it’s not easy being here, but I’ve come to terms with what I did. Made peace with it, if you will. If you need help with that, let me know.”
Leah pondered the woman’s words for the rest of the day. My crime was killing the man I loved who was trying to kill me. How do I come to terms with that?
One thi
ng hadn’t changed even with the passage of time. Like Nora said, things were always toughest for Leah after her father’s visits. He came every Saturday even though she knew it had to be a hardship for him. It took all day to drive up and then home again. Gas, loss of work, plus the stress . . .
Leah struggled the most with everything about her life after her father left. Playing basketball when she could helped somewhat.
She noticed that playing was good for Nora as well. After a couple of weeks, she’d dropped a few pounds. And they drew a crowd when they played. Several other women eventually joined them, and they started playing full games regularly. At times it was more like jungle ball than basketball, but it helped Leah to not dwell on the pain, loss, and humiliation that dogged her daily. Her sleep was always shredded by nightmares of the shooting; the activity helped exhaust her so she could fall asleep. But some days, not even basketball helped.
“Off your game today,” Nora commented after Leah’s second missed jumper.
Something snapped. Leah shoved the ball back to her. “Yeah, I am. I’m done for today.” She stalked off the court, angry that tears threatened and frustrated that the game hadn’t distracted her today.
“You just gonna quit?” Nora called out.
Leah waved her hand without turning around and kept walking.
Nora caught up with her. “Hey.”
Leah whirled. “Hey what? I don’t want to play anymore.”
Nora held both hands up. “I got that. I’ve got an assist for you, something I think will help.”
Leah glared and said nothing, fearing the tears would start, and that was the last thing she wanted. As always, Pat was watching, and she was determined not to show weakness.
“You asked me once how I came to terms with what I did?” Nora did not give Leah a chance to answer. “I had to let go of everything. I had to find someone bigger than me, someone who could forgive me and show me how to keep on living. Coming to prison was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
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