Layton was a huge football school and the biggest university in the state. It wasn’t a surprise that they would cover our football team for sound bites or footage to use during the upcoming game on Saturday.
Finley broke off for the women’s pool locker room once we entered the building without a word. The rest of us rode the escalator up with a few others who were also cutting it close to making it on time.
The locker room was eerily quiet. Muted conversation and furtive glances my way had me on edge. I’d just deposited my things in my locker when Coach appeared.
“Connelly, with me, now.”
I glanced at August who said nothing but let me know with a quick nod he had my back. I followed Coach, guessing at possible reasons he could have to single me out. Did everyone else know? Is that why they’d looked at me and whispered when I’d arrived?
Two uniformed cops stood near the entrance. When they moved, Coach barked, “Not here.”
My mind went on red alert. Had something happened to my mom? Was she okay? And darker thoughts. My dad? Had he gotten out, rather broken out of jail?
Once we were in the hall, one cop stepped in front of me. His eyes were dark as night. I’d never forget the hateful stare he gave me as he said, “Shepard Connelly, you are under arrest for the rape of Lacey Foster.”
I really didn’t hear anything else once I spotted Finley. She’d arrived in time to see the other cop cuff my hands behind my back.
21
shepard
Finley Farrow was a fighter, one of the reasons why I loved her so much.
“No, he would never do that,” she shouted to the cops, wedging herself between them and me.
“Go,” I said.
Though I must have whispered it because she was still yelling at them.
“Back inside,” Coach said.
I turned around and caught sight of August and Cooper’s anxious glances and a few others behind them. I shook my head and turned forward as I was led by the shoulders toward the escalators.
It was then I caught the steely-eyed cop pushing a shouting Finley aside.
“Don’t touch her.” There was enough growl in my tone to cause him to pause. I faced Finley. “Go.”
She looked on the verge of tears, and I hated she had to see this. “I’ll call my father.”
“Don’t!” The last thing I needed was her dad to be proven right that I was nothing but a cancer to their family. “Call Finn.”
He was smart and would know what to do. I hadn’t mentioned my mother because she wasn’t in a position to help, and I didn’t want her to worry.
“I will,” she said.
“Farrow, in the locker room,” Coach demanded.
I nearly cracked a smile when she said, “I’ve got cramps. I have to run home for supplies.”
He knew she was lying, but Coach had no way to prove it.
“You better be here for afternoon practice, or you’ll be benched.”
She nodded and followed us down as Coach went back to talk to the team. What would he say? No doubt some had heard. How would I be treated once this was all resolved?
“There she is,” someone barked out.
We’d made it to the bottom where a film crew had gathered. A woman with a mic stared with open curiosity.
“Wait,” she ordered. “There might be more of a story.”
As they hustled me outside, I caught Finley’s gaze.
“Don’t follow me,” I nudged my head in the direction of the crew.
I wasn’t sure she heard since her phone was to her ear.
“I’m coming.”
She was oblivious to the cameras and what would happen when they tied the first female football player at Layton to an accused rapist. I had to stop her. “Listen to me. Don’t come. I don’t want you there.”
That was all true, but I hated the hurt in her eyes. I’d used the anger I felt at being wrongfully accused to force a blistering cool tone to my voice.
It had stopped her cold. I was roughly shoved in the back of a cruiser, hoping for once in her life Finley would listen to me. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken a ride in one of these. I closed my eyes and thought about what I faced.
When we arrived at the station, I was read my rights once again after being placed in a small room with a one-way glass. The metal chair was uncomfortable, but that was the point.
An older, surprisingly fit balding guy came in with a younger one both dressed in plain clothes.
The younger one spoke first. “I’m Detective Greg Hastings, and this is my partner Detective Pete Miller. Do you know why you’re here?”
Though I knew exactly who’d pointed a finger at me, I didn’t understand what evidence they had to file charges.
“No, because I didn’t rape anyone.”
Detective Miller coughed out a laugh that sounded like he was losing a lung.
“Maybe he doesn’t get no means no,” he said to his partner as if I wasn’t there. “How about we start with have you had sex with anyone in the past seventy-two hours?”
“No. I haven’t had sex in weeks.”
You might have thought I was a comedian the way Detective Miller hooted with laughter.
“A pretty boy like yourself hasn’t screwed in weeks?”
Detective Hastings hadn’t broken a smile. He studied me like a science project.
“Let’s start from the beginning. What happened Friday night? And let me remind you of your rights . . .”
Detective Miller glared at his partner. “If he wants to talk, let him. It could have been your sister.”
“But it wasn’t. She graduated from Layton, and he’s entitled to a lawyer,” Detective Hastings said to him and then aimed shrewd eyes at me. “Do you want to contact a lawyer, or we can arrange for one to be appointed for you?” he asked as he recited the Miranda warning.
It was the third offer that had been made for a lawyer. But I’d seen enough cop shows to know if you did, you looked guilty as hell.
“I don’t need one because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I shifted in my seat, my hands still bound behind me. I wasn’t sure if that was procedure or not. I hadn’t been fingerprinted nor taken a mug shot. But apparently they saw me as a threat. What the hell had Lacey told them?
Detective Hastings nodded. “So tell me about Friday night.”
The first thing I thought of was my bungled attempt to tell Finley how I felt about her. But she was the last person I’d mention in this interview. They would bring her in for questioning, and I didn’t want her a part of this mess.
“I went to a party, and then I left.”
Detective Miller jumped in. “Come on. Don’t dick us around. What happened at the party?”
“Why that party?” Detective Hastings asked instead.
“It was a sendoff for the football team.”
“Your first game isn’t until next week. Why not Saturday night or next Friday?” Detective Hastings asked.
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.”
Detective Miller spoke up. “What does it matter? Little shitheads like him don’t need a reason to party. They just want to get laid, and in his case the willingness of the girl doesn’t matter.”
“I didn’t touch her,” I declared.
“Oh yeah. So you deny leaving with her.” The older detective was either really good at playing bad cop or he’d tried and convicted me based on what she’d told them alone.
“She offered me a ride home,” I answered.
“Did you arrive there alone?” the young one asked.
“No.” I hated to bring my friends into it. But if they decided to ask anyone who I’d arrived with, they’d find out I was lying and wouldn’t trust anything else I told them.
“You didn’t wait and ride home with whoever you came with?”
Detective Hastings sounded reasonable, but he was just trying to put me at
ease so I’d slip up. I had nothing to hide except Finley. I wouldn’t say her name even if it meant never seeing outside of a jail cell.
“I don’t have a car, and my friends didn’t drive there.”
“You could have walked or called an Uber,” Detective Hastings said.
There weren’t cabs in the small college town. I shifted in my seat, knowing my answer could add to my troubles.
“I was drunk and wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“You got that right. Rape is a felony, and now we can add underage drinking to the list of charges against you,” Detective Miller spat.
Underage drinking was the least of my worries. It wasn’t a felony and wouldn’t send me to prison.
“I didn’t rape her, and whatever she said to you is a lie.”
Detective Miller looked ready to argue, but the other cop lifted a hand.
“Walk me through what happened after you left with her.”
My memories had been foggy Saturday morning, but before the night was over, I remembered the ugly exchange.
“She drove me home and helped me to my door.”
Hastings cut in. “You couldn’t walk on your own.”
“I didn’t ask for her help. I got out; she was there. I wasn’t very steady on my feet and didn’t protest.”
Miller said, “I’ve seen her. She’s small. How could she possibly help you?”
I shrugged, wondering if I’d insisted for her not to help me would I even be sitting there.
“So she helps you to your door. What next?” Hastings asked.
“I told her thank you. She offered to come inside and tuck me in. I told her no after she put her hands on my dick.”
“So your pants were off?” Miller asked, looking like he’d won the lottery.
“No, at the door she reached out and grabbed me through my jeans. I told her no thank you, and she took exception to that.”
Miller was unconvinced. “I’ve seen her. She’s hot.” He continued like that wasn’t creepy. The guy was old enough to be her father. “You’re saying she came onto you, got your dick hard, and you turned her down.”
“I didn’t get hard that time or the other. I—”
“Other time?” Miller snapped.
“Let’s finish with this first,” Hastings interjected.
He nodded at me. “I moved back, stepping inside, and told her thanks, but no thanks. She was pissed, again reminding me that no one turned her down, and I would pay.”
“You must think we’re some dumb hicks to believe a story like that,” Miller said.
I pulled at my arms wanting to rub at the ache in my temple but remembered I was still cuffed.
“I don’t care what you are, that’s the truth,” I said.
“Let’s go through it again,” Hastings said. We took it slower. He forced me to go through the tiniest details like the color of the interior of her car and the temperature outside. After that he asked me what I’d meant about the other time.
“The first time I met her, she invited herself to my room.” I explained how she’d appeared, and I hadn’t stopped her from following me. I told them about her impromptu massage that led to her grabby hands, me asking her to leave, and her giving me much of the same threat.
Hastings startled me with his next question. “So who’s Cricket?”
I’d mentioned my music notebook in my retelling of that day, but I hadn’t been specific about the questions she’d asked me about it because I didn’t think it was relevant. Only Lacey had used my music to bolster her claim against me.
“Not her.”
“You have to admit that she fits the description of honey or whiskey colored eyes.”
“Those words aren’t in my lyrics.”
Hastings glanced down at the papers in front of him. “Sorry, gold or golden and fire colored eyes.”
“I used those terms as metaphors, not the actual color.”
Miller leaned forward and menacingly asked, “What metaphors would you use to describe the bruises on the outside and the scarring and tearing on her insides that you inflicted?”
“No metaphors, just lies,” I said, holding his gaze.
“Yeah, well, the doctors who examined her would disagree,” he said.
I sat back wondering who the hell had hurt her and why she chose to finger me for it.
“So something bad happened to her. I’m sorry for that. But I’m not the guy. You guys have to see the timing of it all matches up to her getting back at me. You showing up in front of the team to arrest me,” I pleaded.
“Actually, her friends called it in on Friday. She was reluctant to go through with anything but was convinced to be examined in case she changed her mind. Her parents said they would talk to her. We got a call this morning that she was finally ready to give a name.”
“Mine,” I said bitterly.
It didn’t make sense. She’d threatened me. It should be obvious that her story was bogus. That was what I counted on. But if she’d truly been assaulted, why blame me and let the real guy get away with it just to get back at me. That was crazy.
“It’s crazy because your version is bullshit.”
I glanced up to see Miller’s bloodshot eyes lasered on me. I guess I’d spoken out loud.
“We’d like to do a cheek swab with your permission.”
If I said no, again, I would look guilty. But something wasn’t adding up right. If this was as bogus as I first thought, who knows what Lacey had gotten from or off of me to prove me guilty. I was in over my head and about to ask for a lawyer when a knock came at the door.
Hastings excused himself, leaving Miller to glare at me like he wanted to add some police brutality to his day.
“Miller,” Hastings said, waving him over. “We’ll be right back,” he added to me.
I wasn’t sure I enjoyed the solitude once the door clicked shut. No doubt it was locked, leaving me with only my thoughts. They weren’t good.
If they left because someone had dug up who my father was, a ticket straight to prison would be printed with my name on it. And Finley . . . Finley would be lost to me forever. The truth was, if my connection to that man was plastered on the news for all to see, no matter if I was found innocent, I’d still have to walk away from her.
22
finley
Over the course of two hours, I’d worn a path in the floor as I paced. The deceptively small detached brick building was part of a line of similar structures on the main street in this small town. I’d traded views between the oversized picture window in the small waiting room and the two single stall bathrooms on the opposite wall as I’d walked.
I’d learned some in that time. I’d been in the bathroom when the TV crew showed up. When the county deputy explained that no one had been arrested and brought there, the crew left.
The polite smile the officer gave me in response to my grateful one when I’d exited didn’t explain why he had lied. Then again, I supposed he didn’t want the station to become a circus.
When the doors opened again, I assumed the TV personality had done some digging and realized she’d been lied to. Instead, Finn rolled in with my brothers behind him.
They didn’t seem to notice me at first, and I wondered how many classes they were missing like me to be there.
“I need to talk to the detective in charge of the Lacey Foster case,” Finn inquired.
The desk officer didn’t seem moved. “They’re busy right now. You’ll have to come back.”
My brothers turned and noticed me. I joined them up front.
“I have evidence that can prove Mr. Connelly’s innocence.” Finn tapped an iPad in his lap for emphasis.
My heart kicked up a beat. I hated the idea of Shepard back there being railroaded for something he didn’t do. And I didn’t need the evidence. I knew him well enough to know he would never hurt anyone that way.
The officer looked skeptical, and Finn
handed him the tablet.
“Watch,” Finn declared.
I could only hear muted words, it wasn’t turned up loud enough for me to make out everything. But after a few minutes, the cop looked stunned. He handed the iPad back to Finn.
“Wait in here,” the officer said, walking over to a door in the wall on the right that I’d missed. The room butted against the bathrooms in the waiting area.
He used a key card against a reader on the wall to open the door into a small conference area. We filed in, and Cooper moved a chair closest to the door near the end of the table. Finn’s chair easily fit in the vacated spot. The deputy left via another door in the very back of the room. It too had to be unlocked with the key card.
I glanced back at the door we’d entered to see if we’d been locked in. But there wasn’t a card reader, which thankfully meant we were free to exit at any time.
“What do you have?” I asked.
Finn started to explain something about security cameras when the door opened again. A tall, cute blondish guy with a shield on his belt walked in with a very put out looking older guy following him.
“I’m Detective Hastings. This is my partner Detective Miller. We’re told you have something for us to see.”
Finn pointed at the tablet. “I have proof that Shepard Connelly didn’t harm Lacey Foster.”
“What have you got there? Some doctored up video? I know how savvy you kids are these days,” the surlier of the two said.
Hastings held up a hand. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
We all moved to form a semicircle around Finn. August and Cooper hung back some, having probably already seen the footage.
Finn hit play on the screen, and we watched.
It began with a car appearing partway into the video. It slowly drove by, and I thought maybe he was playing it at half speed when I realized the car was parallel parking on the opposite side of the street in full view of the camera.
The passenger side door flew open, and Shepard unfolded himself from the car. He teetered on his feet, swaying a little as he attempted to close the door. It took him two tries before he accomplished that, and then he stumbled forward.
Lacey appeared, and he waved wildly to ward off her attempts at helping him.
Songs For Cricket Page 12