by Chris Culver
“Are you here for Ms. Wellman?”
“Is she the young woman from Waterford?” I asked. The nurse nodded and led me to a private room inside the ER and knocked on the door.
“Ms. Wellman?” she asked, peeking her head inside. “A detective is here to see you.”
An older woman’s voice answered. “Please send her in.”
The nurse stepped back and mouthed get him before pushing the door open. I nodded to her and then stepped inside the room. A young woman in pajamas sat on a hospital bed. She held her knees to her chest and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. Tear streaks stained her cheeks. Beside the bed, an older woman sat on a chair and held her hand.
I grabbed the doctor’s rolling stool and pulled it toward the head of the bed so I could talk to everybody.
“Hey,” I said, my voice soft. “I’m Detective Joe Court from the Sheriff’s Department. The hospital called my office when you came in. Can we talk?”
Ms. Wellman, the girl, looked to her companion as if for permission.
“You’re safe, honey,” said the older woman. “You can talk to her.”
Ms. Wellman looked at me and then nodded.
“Good,” I said, keeping my voice soft. “Before we begin, do you feel comfortable and safe here, and would you like me to call anyone for you? I can call anybody you’d like. Mom, dad, big sister, grandma. Whoever you want. And if you’re not comfortable, I can drive you somewhere else.”
She blinked and looked away.
“I’m okay here.”
Her voice was so soft I almost didn’t hear it. That was okay, though. The important thing was that she spoke.
“I’m glad,” I said, reaching into my purse for a pair of business cards. I scribbled my cell number on the back of both and handed them to Ms. Wellman and the older woman beside her. “Before we get into anything else, this is my business card. It has my desk number on the front. That’s my cell phone number on the back. I work regular business hours, but you can reach me twenty-four hours a day on that cell number. If I don’t answer my cell, leave a voicemail. Even if it’s two or three in the morning, I’ll call you back as soon as possible. I get cranky sometimes, but I’m always willing to listen. Does that sound okay with you?”
Ms. Wellman nodded. For the first few minutes of our interview, I let her talk. She was worried about what her mom and dad would think, but more than that, she was scared. She was a college student, and the boy who attacked her ran in her social circle. They had a lot of friends in common. She didn’t want to lose them, and she didn’t want them to think she was stupid or that she was lying about what had happened.
I hated to think it, but she had every reason to fear that. Nobody asked to be the victim of a crime, but too many people judged rape victims before knowing their complete stories.
We talked for about fifteen minutes. I couldn’t allay her fears, but she seemed better after giving them voice. My victim’s name was June Wellman, and she was nineteen years old. Her family lived on the Missouri side of Kansas City, and she hoped to become an elementary school teacher after college. The woman with her was Claudette Everly, and she was the house mother in June’s sorority house. June seemed comfortable with her, so I was glad she was there.
“In just a few minutes, I will ask you some questions about what happened,” I said. “Some of them will be uncomfortable. If you want me to stop, let me know. You’re in charge of this interview. Before we talk, though, know that rape investigations take time to develop. We won’t make an arrest today, and we probably won’t make one tomorrow.
“No matter what happens, though, please don’t think I didn’t believe you. There’s a long process we have to go through, and it takes time to collect the evidence we need to secure a conviction. Do you have questions before I get started?”
She didn’t, so we dove into things. The interview took almost two hours, including several breaks. June said her attacker was a young man named Chad Hamilton. The two of them had met during June’s freshman year and became fast friends. She attended parties at Chad’s fraternity house, and she had even taken him to her sorority’s formal dance her freshman year. I suspected there was something more than friendship between them, but she didn’t volunteer the information, and I didn’t want to pry it out of her right away.
June said she’d visited Chad’s fraternity house last night to hang out and watch TV. They had several drinks together and fooled around. June told him she didn’t want to have sex and tried to leave. He refused to let her go. When she tried to leave anyway, he held her down and raped her. Then, he forced her to take a shower before kicking her out of the house. She was still drunk when she got back to her sorority, so her sorority sisters helped her to bed without realizing something had happened to her.
The next morning, she woke up crying and told a friend what Chad had done. June’s friend told Claudette, who drove her to the hospital.
The story was heartbreaking but familiar to anyone who had ever worked sex crimes. It would also be hard to prove. Chad had forced her to take a shower, which told me he knew he had done something wrong. He was covering up the evidence. It made me wonder whether he had done it before.
The more June spoke and described the event, the hotter my skin became, and the tighter my muscles grew. FBI reports say eight percent of all rape claims are demonstrably false. In my career, I had investigated two false rape claims, and from the beginning, those claims had seemed…off. I didn’t doubt June one bit, though. The man who’d attacked her didn’t deserve to walk around like nothing had happened while she cried in a hospital bed.
At the end of my interview, I hugged her and promised to do my best for her before leaving the room and walking to the nurses’ station. There, the same nurse who had greeted me when I walked into the hospital handed me a standardized sexual assault evidence collection kit. As I signed my name as the collecting officer, I glanced at her.
“Who conducted Ms. Wellman’s exam?”
“Dr. Shah, but I assisted,” she said.
“What do you think?”
The nurse blinked and then looked down at her desk. “Something happened to that young lady. She’s not making this up.”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding my agreement. “Not going to be easy to prove.”
“We included pictures,” she said. “She has bruises on her inner thighs, wrists, triceps, and upper back. Someone held this girl down and raped her. Dr. Shah found significant anal and vaginal bruising consistent with a rough sexual encounter, but I’m not hopeful we’ll find DNA. Ms. Wellman said she took a shower before coming in.”
She had only confirmed things I already suspected, but I squeezed my jaw tight and drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth, anyway. Drunk or not, she didn’t deserve what had happened to her.
“Thank you for your help,” I said. “June may not seem appreciative, but she might be one day.”
“I’m just doing my job,” said the nurse with a grim, resigned expression on her face.
I nodded my thanks and walked back to my car with the rape kit tucked under my arm. My heart pounded against my chest hard enough I was sure people who walked past me would notice.
The whole situation pissed me off, but the worst part was that even if we made an arrest, Chad would get a plea deal. He had given her a lifetime of nightmares, and he’d get six months of probation because that’d be easier and cheaper than taking him to trial. The world wasn’t fair or right. Some days, I loved my job. Some days, I hated it. Today was one of the latter.
I walked to my SUV and then climbed inside. Chad may not stay there long, but I would do everything I could to put him in jail. I may not have been able to protect June from a predator, but I wouldn’t let her down now. That was the least I could do.
This would be a long day.
10
Since I didn’t plan to stay long, I parked in the fire lane in front of my station and grabbed June’s rape kit, which I took to Darlene in the for
ensics lab in our basement. After that, I went back upstairs, hoping to drive to Laura Rojas’s house. As my hand touched the front door to leave the lobby, though, someone called out from the waiting area.
“Detective Court.”
Even without seeing the speaker, I recognized the voice. Darren Rogers. Rogers was probably a decent man in his private life, but at work he became a politician with an agenda. He owned two restaurants and several bars in town and thought St. Augustine should try to turn itself into some kind of tourist destination.
It wasn’t a bad idea. The county was gorgeous and had plenty of lakes and trails to draw people in. Because of our Spring Fair—an enormous undertaking that brought in tens of thousands of people every spring—we even had the infrastructure set up for a tourist-based economy. I wished, though, that he would concede that some things were more important than making money.
I turned to him and smiled.
“Mr. Rogers, I didn’t see you there,” I said. “It’s nice to see you, but I can’t stay. I’ve got a murder to work.”
“I understand, Detective,” he said. “This will only take a minute.”
In a larger department, we would have had a dedicated administrative staff to handle stuff like this. Here, we shoveled our own shit.
“I’m working several important cases right now. How about you set up an appointment for later this week?”
“This is a delicate matter, and it’s best if we go over it now,” he said, grinning. “You’re not getting out of here without talking.”
“Okay,” I said, sighing to myself. I led him through the bullpen to the conference room, where we sat on either side of the long conference table. He smiled at me.
“Thanks for taking time out of your schedule,” he said. “You’re a busy woman. You’ve got those missing kids, you got a murder, and just a moment ago I saw you come in here with a sexual assault kit. Did somebody get hurt?”
“Yeah,” I said, drawing in a breath. “What can I help you with?”
He smiled. “You’re a girl who gets right to the point, aren’t you? That’s admirable.”
I considered telling him I was twenty-eight years old and preferred that people avoid calling me a girl, but that would start a conversation I didn’t want to have.
“Glad to hear that. What can I do for you?”
“It’s about this murder case you’re working,” he said, crossing his arms. “I understand you found this woman’s body on property owned by Ross Kelly Farms.”
“That’s right,” I said, nodding. “As soon as we learned that, Harry called the company. They sent out a representative. Harry can fill you in if you’re looking for background information.”
“I think I’ve got all the background I need, young lady,” he said. His smile turned from something friendly to the look I would have expected from a high school principal. “I understand you have your own way of doing things, but we live in a world of rules. We can’t go around doing whatever crazy thing pops into our heads. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Already, my head started pounding. After spending two hours at the hospital with a rape victim, my temper had already grown short. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.
“I think I understand what you’re saying. Thanks for coming down.”
“I don’t think you do understand,” said Rogers, his voice growing sharper. “And I’d appreciate it if you would look at me when we’re trying to talk. I’m a county councilor. I pay your salary. It’s rude to roll your eyes or close your eyes or whatever you were doing.”
I opened my eyes as wide as I could and focused on him without blinking. “Better?”
“Staring at me isn’t any better.”
I forced my expression to soften. Then I smiled.
“Okay,” I said, nodding. “Let’s try to start over. You’re a county councilor. The good people of St. Augustine County elected you. I respect that. Please tell me what you need, and I will tell you if I can do it. If I can’t do it, I’ll try to tell you who can. Sound good?”
He crossed his arms. “You don’t have to get snippy.”
I cocked my head to the side and blinked. “That’s not my intent. I’m tired, and I have a lot of work to do. I don’t have a lot of time to sit and chat. Please tell me what you need, and I will do what I can to help. Okay?”
I flashed him a big grin.
“That’s all you needed to do. A little smile. Young ladies ought to smile when men come calling.”
“You’re right,” I said, not taking the fake grin from my face.
“I want to talk to you about your investigation. Several people have contacted me about the things you did at Ross Kelly Farms this morning. I can’t say I approve of your methods.”
“That’s unfortunate,” I said. He waited as if expecting me to say something else. I raised my eyebrows, unsure of what he wanted me to say.
“Do you understand what Ross Kelly Farms does for this community? They’re one of our biggest employers, they contribute many hundreds of thousands of dollars a year in property and income taxes, and they ask very little from us in return. They even police their own employees. St. Augustine can’t ask for more.”
“I guess not much when you put it like that,” I said, hoping he’d either go away or get to his point.
“I’m glad you see it like that. And that’s why I’m here. We all need to understand the situation. You can’t harass your partners, and you can’t arrest their head of security for doing his job.”
“That’s a fair point,” I said, nodding. “We’re all on the same page. I promise I won’t arrest Mr. Molina for doing his job. Anything else?”
His bushy eyebrows formed a V shape, and his mouth opened in surprise.
“Well, I guess not, but I want to impress on you how important Ross Kelly Farms is to this community. They’re an asset, and when dealing with assets like that, sometimes it’s best not to rock the boat. I don’t want to get another call from them.”
I gave him a halfhearted salute. “Message received, Mr. Rogers. I’m on board, and I won’t rock any more boats.”
He hesitated.
“In that case, thank you for your time and discretion,” he said. He started to leave but then stopped and cocked his head at me. “Detective Court, can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” I said, smiling that fake smile he seemed to like.
“I guess I did,” he said, taking a step toward me. His breath smelled like beef jerky. “Is there a Mr. Court, Ms. Court?”
He smiled at me, and I shuddered as if I had just passed a week-old dirty diaper on the sidewalk. He didn’t seem to notice.
“There isn’t, but I’m not looking for one, either.”
“I understand, but you never know when Mr. Right’s going to knock on your door. I’ve got a son. He’s in his fourth year of medical school at St. Louis University, and he’s as handsome as they come. You guys are about the same age. You two would be a real smart pair. How would you like to meet him?”
It wasn’t what I had expected him to offer, but I shook my head anyway.
“I’m flattered, but I don’t have time to meet anybody right now. I’ve got too much stuff on my plate.”
“You’re a career woman,” he said, nodding. “I get it. That’s admirable. It wouldn’t hurt your career if you married a county councilor’s son, though. Consider that, Detective. I’ll talk to you later.”
He winked and left the room, and I shook my head. At least he wasn’t interested in dating me himself.
I waited in the conference room for a few moments, half expecting someone else to knock on the door and demand my time. Nobody did, so I walked back to the lobby and found Trisha at the front desk. She gave me a sympathetic smile.
“Sorry about Councilman Rogers,” she said. “He likes to think he’s the most important person in the world.”
“So I should feel flattered that he offered me his son’s hand in marriage?”
&nbs
p; Trisha smiled from ear to ear. “Looks like that old dog learned a new trick. He must like you. I’ve never heard him offer his son to anyone before.”
“I feel special. If anybody asks, I’m driving to Mehlville to visit Laura Rojas’s house.”
“I’ll call ahead to let the locals know you’re coming.”
“I appreciate that,” I said, heading out the front door to do the job I had intended to do hours ago.
The sun would set in two hours, which meant I wouldn’t make it home until late. I hoped this would be worth it.
11
Even though I’d grown up in St. Louis County, I knew little about Mehlville. The town didn’t make the news often except on severe weather reports, but there were grocery stores, drug stores, hotels, and restaurants just off the main highway. If I looked hard enough, I was sure I’d find bars and movie theaters somewhere, too. It looked like a nice place to live.
I drove through town before turning into a neighborhood of small, single-story homes about ten minutes after leaving the interstate. Laura owned a brick ranch-style house with a bright yellow front door. An unmarked police cruiser had parked out front, while a red Honda occupied the driveway. A plainclothes detective sat on a rocking chair on the porch.
The detective was about my age—a rarity among detectives—and his shaggy jet-black hair framed his angular, thin face well. He wasn’t a handsome man, but he held his head high and kept his shoulders back. A lot of women found confidence attractive, so I bet he did all right for himself in that department.
I parked on the street near the cruiser and held my hand out to him as I walked up.
“Joe Court,” I said. “St. Augustine County Sheriff’s Department.”
“Mathias Blatch. County police. Nice to meet you.”
I nodded my agreement and looked toward her house. “You knocked yet?”
“Yeah. Nobody’s home,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his navy jacket for a stack of papers. “Our prosecutor’s office got a search warrant while you were driving up here. We’re ready to go when you are.”