by Owen Thomas
“I tried. You banished me and then hung up before I could tell you. I called back later, but…”
“But my phone was … out of order.”
“I could have tried harder. But I don’t think it would have been good for you to know everything anyway. I kind of had a plan. I already had too many moving parts to contend with. I didn’t really want another one.”
“A plan.”
“Yeah.”
“Which was what?”
“Well part of it was to call him up and tell him my concern.”
“Who? You called Shepp?”
“Yeah. A little research. Got his number. Held on to it for a little bit until I was sure I wanted to do it. Then I just called him up. First try.”
“Why … what did you say?”
“I told him I was a friend of yours and that I learned he had been subpoenaed to testify at the hearing. I told him that I wanted to warn him that he might be walking into a trap; that he might get questions about distributing drugs at school. First he tried to laugh it off. Then he tried to sound incredulous. Then outraged. Inside, the man was freaking out. I knew I was on to something.”
I try to imagine laid-back, whatever-dude, Shepp in a state of outrage.
“What did he say?”
“He wanted to know how I knew what I thought I knew. I told him I did not want to reveal any names. He asked if you had put me up to it and I assured him that you had no knowledge of any of anything I was telling him. I told him that I thought he should have legal counsel. I gave him my cell number. I told him to have his lawyer call me immediately.”
“I’m totally lost. Why on earth would you tell him any of that? Why would you want him to lawyer up? Why would you want to speak to his lawyer? I mean…”
“Two part answer. The first part is that I wanted to find a way to shut him up. I figured that nothing good for you was going to come from Shepp’s testimony. That, actually, turned out to be wrong, thanks to Glenda. But at the time, I figured that a good lawyer might think of a way to keep him from testifying and that if he had to testify, then maybe a good lawyer would get him to take the Fifth.”
“If you’re trying to impress me it’s working.”
She smiles wickedly and bounces her eyebrows.
“So what’s the second part of the answer?”
“The second part of the answer is that I really wanted to speak to his lawyer. So first I needed him to get one. And then I needed him to get her to call me.”
Cait finishes her beer and drops her bottle on the grass at her side. She leans back on her hands. Karl Gustafson is using a broom and a shovel as a makeshift dustpan to pick up the sawdust and lumber scraps. He looks over at us every time he bends down. I wave just to make him uncomfortable.
“Okay,” I say, finishing my own beer. “I’ll bite. Why did you want to talk to Shepp’s lawyer?”
“Because I needed to put a lawyer in the room to shut down Chuck North.”
I laugh out loud.
“Shut him down? Fuck me, Cait. How did you even know he was going to testify? I didn’t even know that because I didn’t read my stupid mail. You bug Melvin Etus’ phone or something?”
“No. Just think about it for a second. If you assume, as I did, that they were going to put on evidence about what happened at Billy Rocks, and drugs, and Brittany, why would they not call the investigating officer? I mean, what a waste. He’d be as good or better than Shepp on those issues. Shepp can’t testify to the drug indictment. Shepp can’t testify to you being a person of interest in Brittany’s disappearance. How did you ever get by thinking that they weren’t going to call him as a witness?”
I fall back on the lawn with a sigh, pondering the single cloud in the sky.
“You may not have noticed, but I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, Cait. Okay, I guess that makes sense. How exactly did you think you were going to keep Chuck North from testifying?”
“I didn’t know how, exactly. But I knew it would have to involve convincing North that if he testified, we were prepared to have him prosecuted for sex crimes.”
I sit up, staring. My mind racing.
“What?”
Cait nods.
“The sister! I knew it! That sick mother-…”
“Settle down.”
“But…”
“Not the sister.”
“Then…”
“Brittany.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Brittany.”
“You talked to Brittany?”
“Yeah. Well, first I talked to her dad, who talked to Brittany, and Brittany talked to him. I was kind of the go-between. The facilitator. Then we all talked.”
I lay back down. The cloud is longer. Thinner. My head is spinning. I let her talk.
“Brittany told you that her dad was in the FBI; that he and Chuck hate each other; that her dad outranks Chuck in the hierarchy of law enforcement officers. Right? My dad can kick Chuck’s ass kind of thing.”
“So.”
“Well, Carmen told me that her friend’s dad was in the CIA and that when he finished his undercover assignment he would swoop in and rescue them from the clutches of Chuck North who Carmen believed was on to the drugs.”
“Yeah. So…”
“So Chuck told you that Brittany’s dad is a mailman in Buffalo.”
“Cait, this is starting to hurt. Pretend I’m six.”
“If I told you that one of your students had run away from home; that she had run away from her mom and her stepdad…”
“But…”
“Just wait. She runs away from her mom and her stepdad, and that she romanticizes the idea of her father, once banished by the stepdad, riding back into town and busting chops. What would you think?”
“Problems at home. Could be anything. And Chuck is not her stepdad.”
“No, but he may as well be. He’s the replacement. That’s the main thing. Brittany even likes to tell you that Chuck is having sex with her mom, his own sister. Chuck is, in every meaningful way to Brittany, her father’s replacement.”
“Okay. But it still could be anything. Doesn’t have to be molestation.”
“Right. So what if I tweak the hypothetical to include the fact that the girl has previously claimed to have been molested. And that the stepfather, a police officer, ran the father out of town shortly thereafter?”
“I’d say… the father… was molesting the girl. And the stepfather … okay stop with the hypothetical shit. I’d say Brittany’s father, Desmond Kline, was molesting Brittany, or that she accused him of molesting her.”
“And…”
“And that officer Chuck took her to the hospital where they tested her.”
“And…”
“And he confirmed Brittany’s claim, and then ran Desmond out of town.”
Cait leans over and whispers. “Not prosecuting him because…”
“Not prosecuting him out of sensitivity for … not prosecuting because Brittany’s relationship with her father…” The gears in my brain seize, grinding to a halt.
“Doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No. Chuck would have prosecuted no matter what.”
“Shit Dave, he would have dismembered Desmond first and then prosecuted.”
“So… then… what happened?”
“What happened was that Chuck hated his sister’s husband, Desmond. So he manipulated his young impressionable niece into falsely accusing her own dad. A little suggestion. A reinterpretation of an ambiguous event. A little reward. An implied threat. Not hard with someone that young. He then goes through the trouble of taking her to the hospital and requesting a rape test. The results are negative, but Chuck controls the information. He claims that the results confirm the allegation. All pretty easy for a cop to do. He then threatens Desmond with prosecution.”
“What about his sister? Desmond’s wife.”
“Convincing MaryAnn to divorce Desmond is easy because she believes
her brother is a saint and all she needs is one more reason to cut Desmond loose. So there goes Desmond.”
“What was so bad about Desmond? Assuming he didn’t molest anyone, I mean.”
“I basically assume what Chuck told you in the interrogation room was true.”
“Remind me.”
“Desmond was an philandering alcoholic loser and just not good enough for her.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“Well, I think that description is probably about right. A little over the top maybe, but mostly true. There was plenty of booze and carousing, that’s for sure.”
“So Brittany just made it up? Framed her own father. Because he was a bad guy.”
“Yes and no. She was seven. Think like a seven year old.”
“That’s not much of a stretch.”
“Desmond gave Brittany and her mom plenty to be mad about. I imagine it was easy to dislike Desmond in those years. You’re seven. Imagine the late night yelling and screaming coming through the wall of your bedroom. Imagine the sense of betrayal. Imagine the power of the need to make your mom happy. Now imagine that the cool guy in your life, the one you like to pretend is your daddy, the one who is always coming by the house to bring you things and to help mommy, the one mommy never yells at, the one you always like to please, the one in the uniform…”
“Uncle Chuck.”
“Right. Now imagine that Uncle Chuck has predilections a bit darker than booze and women.”
“Oh man.”
“And now imagine that poor drunken Desmond walked in on something while mommy was on shift and when he was supposed to be off on one of his five-day benders.”
“So that’s why Chuck…”
“Yeah. Chuckie was motivated. He went to work on that poor kid’s head until she didn’t know up from down. She thought she was doing the right thing. Everybody wins except mean ol’ Desmond. Desmond knew he was no match for Chuck, the testimony of his own daughter whose affections he had severely abused, a doctor’s report and the Columbus Police Department. He knew no one would believe him.”
“So he got the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Right.”
“Brittany told you this?”
“Desmond.”
“And how, exactly, does Desmond suddenly turn up?”
“I called him.”
“Of course you did. Why and how did you track down Desmond Kline?”
“I figured the FBI thing was baloney. Especially when Carmen said she had been told he worked for the CIA. That’s knight-in-shining-armor rescue bullshit. Little girl fantasy. Chuck told you that Desmond was a mailman in Buffalo. It was a place to start. I have a good friend who works for the Postal Service. I …”
“Let me guess. He owes you a favor.”
She smiles. “Yeah, as a matter of fact.”
“What, are you the fucking Godfather?”
“You want to hear this or…”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s just…” I shake my head in bafflement. “Go ahead.”
“So I called up my friend. He broke a few rules. In twenty minutes I had a phone number. Chuck was right. Desmond Kline is a mailman in Buffalo.”
“So you just called him out of the blue?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me any of this?”
“You’ve gotta get over that, Dave. Let it go.”
She reaches out for my wrist and pulls my hand to her. In my palm is a small pile of grass I have been picking as I listen to her describe a universe I never knew existed. She brings my palm to her lips and blows the grass out over the lawn.
“Let it go.” She smiles.
“Okay, okay.”
“And get me another beer.”
“There’s only one,” I say stupidly, taking my hand back.
“And?”
I stand to do her bidding.
“So is this the favor that you want from me?”
“Not by a long shot.”
When I return with the last beer to my name, Cait is laying on her back with her hands beneath her head staring up at the sky. Her legs are stretched out towards the street, boots crossed. Her cap is upside down on her stomach. For a second I see her as a child, eleven or twelve, her own best company, trying to figure out who she is. I want to be twelve again with her, meeting her for the first time, offering her my Grape Nehi. I want to be innocent again. I want to start over. I want the river to flow in circles.
She sits up and takes the bottle. Karl Gustafson has taken his project inside his garage and closed the door. The saw is quiet for now. Cait drinks and hands it back.
“Thanks.”
“It’s yours,” I say, sitting back down.
“We’ll share. Don’t make me feel guilty about thirst.”
I drink, savoring an intimacy I know was probably never intended.
“Where were we?”
“Desmond. Buffalo. Telephone.”
“Right. So I called the guy. Left a message saying I thought his daughter was in trouble. He called me back two hours later. We talked for nearly five hours.”
“Whoa.”
“I ran out of juice and had to call him back on a land line. I asked if he knew his daughter was missing. He had no idea. He has not had any contact at all. For years. Not since he left. I told him about the whole FBI, CIA thing. I told him that Brittany had told you that she had once falsely accused someone of rape and that I thought that person was him, Desmond. I explained my theory that she had run away from home to get away from Chuck and that she wanted his help. I explained that if Brittany had, for whatever reason, falsely accused him of something, then she may feel too guilty and ashamed to reach out now and ask him for help.”
“So you didn’t know about Chuck and Desmond and that whole thing?”
“What?”
“Desmond walking in on Chuck…”
“No. I had no idea. I just knew I needed to talk to Desmond.”
“So wha’d he say?”
“He was quiet for a long time. The first thing he said is that he has been getting at least two calls a day, every few days, for weeks. Hang ups.”
“Brittany.”
“He said he started getting used to them. He had no idea it was her.”
“Star 69.”
“I know. Never occurred to him. He thought it was a prank. But after listening to what I had to say, it all fell into place. Then he started talking and wouldn’t stop. He told me everything.”
“Everything like…”
“Everything. He’s been sober for six years and change. He says he was a lousy husband and father. Full of self-loathing. It was a vicious downward spiral. We spent a solid hour just working through that mess. There’s enough guilt packed into that guy to stop his heart. I’m setting him up with someone I think can help.”
She flicks her hand in the air as if at a fly and then grabs the beer. She takes a swig and hands it back.
“I’ll spare you all of that. Point is, Desmond has kind of pulled his life together. He’s kept the same job. He likes his mail route. Makes it a point to know his customers. He’s still single. Bowls in a league. Volunteers at the animal shelter. Likes to garden in the summer. Seems like an okay guy. Although I kinda get the sense that if he misses more than three or four meetings, he’s right back in the bottle.”
“And he told you about Chuck?”
“Always hated Chuck. Pushy. Officious. Self-righteous. Know-it-all.”
“That’s our boy.”
“Except that he never pegged him for being a predator. A lot of his recall of those years is pretty saturated, if you know what I mean. Lots of blanks. But he sure remembers the night he saw Chuck and Brittany. He had, in fact, been out on one of his benders. He wanted to avoid MaryAnn so he was coming home when he knew she would be at work. He figured Brittany would be there with a sitter. He wasn’t expecting Chuck.”
“And he walked in …”
“Not quite. I guess
the walkway to the house passes beneath a window that looks into the kitchen. The blind was down except for a tiny space at the bottom. He peaked in the window just to make sure what he was coming home to. They were at the kitchen table. She was in his lap. She was in a nighty. Chuck’s pants were down. He thinks he got there before... you know.”
“What did he do?”
“Who, Desmond? Fucking froze is what he did.”
“They saw him?”
“No. The blind was down. He said Chuck heard him before he saw him. He was drunk and off balance. Fell against the side of the house as he was looking inside. Chuck stood up like a shot, dumping Brittany on the floor, and pulled his pants up. Desmond turned and ran. Chuck blew out of the house and caught him at the car. Told him that if he ever came around again he would put him in the hospital. Next thing he knew, MaryAnn had a restraining order. Within three weeks she had filed for divorce. They put all of his stuff in boxes out on the driveway. He had to rent a truck. At the appointed time, he showed up. Drunk, of course. Chuck was waiting for him. In uniform. Squad car parked on the curb.”
“What a…”
“Yeah. So Chuck laid out the evidence. Told him about the doctor’s report, which Desmond knew was a crock, even in his impaired state. Told him that Brittany was upset and did not want him around. His soon-to-be ex-wife obviously did not want him around. The options were pretty clear: leave the state or go to jail.”
“Did Desmond even push back? Did he accuse Chuck?”
“Sounds like he tried. In his own ineffective way. Chuck pulled out the handcuffs. Called for back up. That was all it took. He never came back.”
I take another drink and hand over the bottle.
“Finish it.”
She does. She lies back down.
“So then… all these years later… he starts getting hang-up phone calls. And then you, a total stranger, calls him out of the blue and tells him that his daughter is missing and may need his help.”
“Right. Well, that and that his daughter has told my friend – that’s you – that she had falsely accused someone, presumably him, of rape.”
“How does he make sense of that? I mean…did he even still care about her?”
“Yeah, but I think he had bottled her up and packed her away with the rest of his past as something forbidden. Something he felt too guilty about to confront. I mean, he saw that she was being abused and he basically just abandoned her. I think his past was toxic. The only way for him to climb out of the bottle was to start a new life in Buffalo.”