by KG MacGregor
The irony was, despite her expertise and text, most of Harwood’s TV performance classes were taught by someone else—a longtime adjunct—while she was relegated to theater courses. She hoped her new promotion would change that, along with ending her responsibility for the spring theater production.
“Did you see the Daily Hornet?” Duncan asked, his reference being the student newspaper. “They say Sacramento’s going to take Matt Frazier with the number one pick. Then D’Anthony Caldwell could go second to Detroit. One and two from Harwood—how awesome is that!”
The mere mention of their names shattered her upbeat mood and made her want to spew obscenities. The endless accolades from the media—how Frazier and Caldwell’s hard work had paid off, how they were good kids, good role models—sickened her. No one in the sports media, not even the outsiders who wrote provocative blogs, had written a word about their monstrous behavior, despite the number of people who knew about it. Somehow every whiff of allegation about the rape had been squelched.
“Duncan, did you happen to catch any rumors about those guys being involved in an incident last winter at one of the dorms? Something about a woman at a party?”
“Yeah, it turned out to be bogus. Some girl said she was raped, but all the people who were there said it didn’t happen like that, that she made it all up to get the players in trouble. The cops didn’t press charges, so there must not have been anything to it.”
“I heard there was a video.”
He shrugged, clearly oblivious.
It was infuriating how quickly the controversy had vanished, how the players’ denial had completely shaped the narrative. People shut out the stories they didn’t want to be true. Willful ignorance. Celia felt she was as much to blame for that as anyone, having given in to threats from the chancellor and board chair not to go public right away with the allegations.
How many others had been intimidated into silence?
* * *
Theo held the phone to her ear as she walked. “I’m on campus. Would it be all right if I stopped by your office?”
After a measured silence, Celia replied, “Oh, what the hell. Sure.”
Even after Celia had agreed to proceed as a witness, her anxiousness was unmistakable. It said a lot about her commitment to the case that she was willing to meet in public.
The visit to campus had paid off so far. Sarah Holcomb proved an excellent witness, accurately chronicling Hayley’s fall from a happy, friendly sorority sister to one who refused to socialize. One who cried frequently and suffered nightmares. And who grew especially despondent once she felt she’d exhausted all avenues of retribution.
That was the thrust of their case—the rape had thrown her into a depression that could have been mitigated had the university stood beside her and punished the men responsible. Instead, they’d further victimized her with overt threats of expulsion if she continued to tell her story. Their treatment of her amounted to depraved indifference.
Strolling across the azalea-lined campus, she took in its elegant beauty. It was a costume, not unlike the one Celia had worn to her office to disguise her identity. Underneath its veneer of Southern charm, Harwood was a bastion of misogyny.
Dropping in on Celia unannounced wasn’t a professional necessity, but the temptation had proven too strong to resist. Ever since Hank had remarked on her flirtations, she’d kept her distance, waiting to see if her interest in Celia was only a passing fancy, something that would naturally fade if she didn’t indulge it. Instead, she found Celia invading her thoughts each time she uncovered a new piece of information or identified a new witness. Justice for Hayley was her goal, but winning for Celia had become her motivation.
Unfortunately their case was still tenuous with a razor-thin margin for error. If they failed to prove the rape and subsequent coverup had caused Hayley to take her own life, Celia and the others would have sacrificed themselves for nothing.
She paused in the foyer of Forbes Hall long enough to view the building’s directory. Faculty offices were on the third floor.
The antebellum building was as well kept as the university grounds. Marble stairs, glossy tile floors, mahogany wainscoting polished to a reflective shine. The aura of tradition and privilege was undeniable. No wonder Celia valued her position.
A young man, obviously a student, emerged from a room near the end of the hall, never looking up from his texting as he passed.
Theo continued to the open office to find Celia arranging things on a shelf, her back to the door. Clearing her throat, she leaned against the doorjamb. As Celia turned, her eyes lit up and she briefly smiled. “Playing hooky from your office, counselor?”
“Sort of,” she said with a chuckle. “I came by for an interview with one of Hayley’s sorority sisters. Thought I’d stop by. Are you sure you’re okay with me being here?”
“Of course.” Despite her statement, she scooted behind Theo to close the door. For obvious reasons, she didn’t want to be overheard talking about a lawsuit against her employer.
The room’s centerpiece was an L-shaped desk covered with folders that surrounded a computer monitor and keyboard. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall. The only decorative piece in the room was a framed poster for The Pirates of Penzance.
“I take it you’re a Gilbert and Sullivan fan,” Theo said, her eyes drifting downward to note that Hayley and Michael had starred in the production. She’d hardly recognized them in costume.
“We staged that a year ago last spring. I wouldn’t call it my favorite, but it’s hard to find quality musicals that fit our theater budget. We picked that one because all the Gilbert and Sullivan work is out of copyright.” She arranged the armchairs in front of her desk so they faced each other. “I thought I’d hear from you sooner. I know you’re busy, but…”
Theo had no choice but to come clean. “To tell you the truth, it took me a few days to get over myself and start focusing on the case instead of my sudden infatuation with Little CeCe. I’m really sorry about that. It was unprofessional…and not something I usually do. Or ever do.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Celia’s thin-lipped smile was hard to read, but she definitely wasn’t annoyed. “I enjoyed talking with you at the pub.”
“Good…so did I. But I want you to know my head’s back on straight and Hayley’s my priority now.”
Celia gestured toward one of the chairs. Then she took the opposite seat, crossing a leg to show half of her thigh beneath a black denim skirt as she leaned across the desk to grab a piece of paper. “I was planning to call you later anyway. I got this letter today. It’s a done deal.”
Theo smiled to read of the promotion. “Congratulations. This puts that issue to bed. I bet you’re relieved.”
“You have no idea.” She pushed the letter aside and instantly shifted to a businesslike tone of her own. “So how did it go with Michael and Gavin?”
“I got what I needed for now,” Theo said, making a conscious effort not to let her eyes drift downward toward Celia’s exposed leg. “I’ve also talked with several of Hayley’s friends. I think we’ll be ready to file soon. Just a few loose ends.” She updated Celia on the case so far. “I stopped by because, well…we’re putting together a strong case, but I want to make sure you’re clear that it’s not a sure thing—not by a long shot. We’re going to make a helluva lot of noise when this goes public. First is a press conference in front of the entrance to Harwood University, timed so it hits the evening news cycle. Then if all goes as planned, I’ll spend a couple of days in our teleconferencing studio doing all the news shows. This will be a major story because the players are well known. You can expect to see it in all the papers, all the talk shows, practically everywhere.”
“You don’t have to sell me on it, Theo. I’ve seen you in action. Teresa Gonzalez. Loretta Collingwood.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. If we’re lucky, the press conference alone will be enough to get someone to file criminal charges against the pla
yers involved—either the DA or the DOJ. The board of trustees will go into damage control. And I can all but guarantee you there’ll be a Title IX investigation too. Those things have serious teeth. You end up with rape crisis centers and compliance officers scrutinizing every single reported case.”
“Which is exactly what Harwood needs.”
“Right.” And that was the disconnect for Theo—the best outcome wasn’t necessarily a judgment in a civil trial. “But the way it’s all coming together, I honestly don’t know if we’ll have enough evidence to convince a judge to let us bring the wrongful death suit to trial. I just felt like I needed to be honest with you about that.”
“I’m not worried about your honesty, Theo.” Celia patted her hand, a familiar gesture Theo found charming. “Besides, it’s what happens in the end that matters, isn’t it? Like you said, this is going to stir things up. I just hope Gupton and Tuttle don’t weasel their way out of this. If they covered it up, somebody ought to file charges against them too.”
Theo savored Celia’s touch, almost taking her hand. Yielding to that urge would only confirm her concerns about stopping by in the first place. Theirs was supposed to be a professional relationship.
She shifted and put her hands in her pockets. “I want those two to face the music as much as you do, and anyone else at Harwood who had a hand in this. But it’s a tough case to make if you’re the prosecutor…legally speaking, that is. What they did was reprehensible, but it didn’t break the law. And keep in mind, Harwood’s going to do everything in its power to get the entire case thrown out. Even if we get to court, Hayley’s uncle doesn’t give us a whole lot of leverage. He won’t garner much sympathy from a judge or jury because he didn’t have a close relationship with her. They’ll be reluctant to give him a large award for pain and suffering. The defendants know that, so they’ll push us to settle for peanuts just to get this story off the front page.”
“Such bastards.” In a matter of moments, her gentle face had turned to an angry scowl.
“We’ve got one thing in our favor though. No matter what else happens, the facts as we know them will come out the moment we file. From a PR perspective, this will be a nightmare for Harwood. Think Sandusky at Penn State. Gupton could be pressured to step down. Tuttle could lose his seat on the board. Is that justice? No, but it’s better than nothing.”
Celia walked toward the window and folded her arms as she looked out. “They traded a woman’s life for a goddamn basketball trophy.”
A pithy line, which Theo committed to memory so she could work it into her comments at the press conference, minus the swearing. “We aren’t conceding anything. I’m only trying to manage your expectations.”
She answered without turning around. “I get it, Theo. It boils my blood how apathetic people are about this. Not just here—everywhere. Men do whatever they want, don’t they? It’s been like that since the beginning of time. People cover their ears so they can pretend it doesn’t happen. That way they don’t have to feel responsible, so they don’t have to do anything about it.”
After a thoughtful silence, Theo replied, “That’s exactly why our firm exists, Celia. I promise you we’ll take it right into their teeth.”
“I know you will.” She smiled weakly and returned to her seat. “I appreciate what you’re doing. Not just for Hayley, for all of us. You make a difference, Theo.”
Between the two of them, Celia was the real hero. It took a lot of courage to stand up to power, especially to those who controlled her livelihood. The fact that she’d done so to win justice for someone else made her someone Theo couldn’t stop thinking about.
Chapter Eight
Theo had temporarily traded the sofa and chairs in her office for a small conference table. She needed a workspace, and all the common areas were now taken up with the wage theft case. As Kendra hit her stride, the interruptions grew less frequent, allowing Theo and her team of two to focus almost exclusively on Hayley Burkhart.
They were building quite a library of evidence for their case. Jalinda had catalogued the messages between Hayley and Michael, cross-referencing them with the known timeline and the relevant social media posts of everyone linked to the basketball team or Hayley’s sorority. To that list, they added the recollections of the women who talked with Hayley after the assault.
Hank was working his sources to identify anyone in the DA’s office who might be friendly to the idea of pursuing criminal charges. The last thing they wanted was an assistant DA who would give the illusion of a serious investigation, but then follow the campus police’s lead and declare the sex was consensual.
Jalinda sat at the far end of the table arranging documents for their afternoon meeting while Theo scanned the Atlanta Journal-Constitution for updates on the Harwood players. Frazier and Caldwell were splashed across the front page in living color in a feature touting their promising NBA careers. The draft was two weeks away, after which both players were set to become multimillionaires. Rich, privileged rapists.
“Any more news on the whereabouts of the rape kit?” Theo asked hopefully.
“None that I know of, but Hank was supposed to check in with his friend again. Maybe it turned up.”
If Hank didn’t get his hands on it soon, the results could be moot in a court of law. It was bad enough the chain of custody was now suspect, since someone could have tampered with it while it was unaccounted for. Even if it suddenly appeared in the police’s evidence locker, any proof that Hayley had been drugged would be gone if the biological samples suffered chemical breakdown because they hadn’t been properly refrigerated.
The “maybes” were piling up too fast for Theo’s comfort. Chief among them was the precarious relationship between Donald Lipscomb and his great-niece.
She flipped through several photographs Lipscomb had sent to prove their familial bond. The most recent was a Christmas gathering at his sister’s house when Hayley was twelve. His only documented tie to the family, it seemed, was his conservatorship for Belinda, for which he was paid a modest administrative fee each year. Hayley’s trust, the one her grandmother had set aside for college, had reverted to the state for her mother’s care.
“Pain and suffering,” she mumbled. That was their first avenue for recovery, so they’d have to prove Lipscomb was emotionally distraught over Hayley’s death. She was, after all, his last living relative.
From a business standpoint, Constantine and Associates didn’t stand to collect much unless they went to trial and won substantial damages or disgorgement. But could a jury be convinced to award that much money to someone like Lipscomb? That was a question she tried not to think about. If the case had required more time and resources, it would have been difficult to proceed, no matter how much Theo wanted to win for both Hayley and Celia.
“Is there anyone else we need to interview?” she asked.
Wordlessly, Jalinda produced an interview log with names and addresses.
All were checked off except one—Jordan Cooke, the sorority girl who reportedly had experienced a similar assault. Now that spring semester had ended, she was traveling for the summer with her mother in Europe.
“Lunch is here if you’re interested,” Penny said. She rolled in a cart with a small tray of salads, sandwiches and sodas, a standing order from the café downstairs for anyone too busy to step out.
Hank followed on her heels and wasted no time helping himself to a corned beef on rye. Before sitting, he slid a thumb drive across the table.
“Check it out, Jalinda,” Theo said. “Hell has frozen over. Hank Maloney just handed me something related to a computer.”
He was notoriously anti-technology, favoring legwork and phones over computers. “It’s not mine. Came from my son Mark. I asked him to help me out. He found something you need to see.”
After taking a bite of a tuna wrap, she inserted the thumb drive into the USB port on her laptop. It opened to three numbered video files. “What have we got here?”
�
��Listen to the first one. It’s our cameraman.”
The clip in question contained a snippet of the rape video. “Get out the way, man.” It was said to D’Anthony Caldwell, who’d lunged into the camera’s line of sight to say he had next.
“Notice what he said. Not ‘get out of the way,’ just ‘get out the way.’ Now click on the second one. It’s an interview after the Tulane game with Ruben Vargas, the reserve shooting guard. He’s talking about D’Anthony Caldwell.”
“He’s a beast. We get him the ball down low and get out the way, man.”
The third file was audio-only, looping the common line from both files over and over. The voice and inflection were indistinguishable.
“Looks like we found another name for our defendant list,” Hank said smugly.
The voice file was convincing, especially with Sarah Holcomb’s testimony that Vargas was the one handing out drinks at the after-game party. Still, they couldn’t risk having their entire case thrown out over a mistaken identity. “Probably…but I don’t particularly relish the thought of being sued for guessing wrong. Find him and talk to him. Let him hear this. Tell him we’re having our experts track the digital fingerprints of the video to identify who recorded it. See if he’ll admit to anything.”
Hank mumbled as he scribbled on his notepad, “Track the digital footprints…whatever the hell that means.”
“He’ll figure it out.” She turned to Jalinda. “Assuming we hold off on adding another defendant, could we be ready to file on Monday?”