Termination Man

by Edward Trimnell

  Still, I knew that I was going to contact her. It wasn’t only that Donna Chalmers had worked her way into my head. It was also the fact that by meeting with Dave Bruner, I had involved myself. I wasn’t a mere bystander anymore.

  When I called per the request on her handwritten note, Donna did not answer my call; but she responded with a text message, asking me to meet her at an Applebee’s on the west side of Columbus. We met that night at 5:30 p.m., in between her afternoon cleaning jobs and her work at UP&S.

  You might be surprised to learn that Donna was still cleaning the UP&S facility. However, that sort of situation is common in the corporate realm: Two parties often preserve their economic exchange even while they are attempting to sue the pants off each other. In this particular situation, both sides had an interest in maintaining the status quo for the time being. Donna needed the work and the money, plain and simple. TP Automotive did not want to cancel the cleaning contract: Any lawyer worth his salt would be able to paint such a move as a large corporation’s flagrant attempt to cover up its guilt by resorting to economic intimidation.

  To my surprise, Donna was not the only one waiting for me in the booth at Applebee’s. Another woman was with her. The woman introduced herself as Tina Shields.

  Tina Shields was perhaps in her mid-thirties, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a petite figure. She was loosing her youth prematurely. It wasn't merely the frown lines that creased her forehead; she had the overly guarded bearing of a person who has seen too much of the darker sides of the world. Superficially, she was prettier than Donna, but she lacked the warmth and empathy that gave Donna a softer and more inviting edge. Tina Shields barely accepted my handshake; and my smile elicited only the barest traces of a smile in return. The trademark good looks and charm of Craig Walker had no effect here, it seemed.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” Tina Shields said, dispensing with all preliminaries. “I’m here tonight because of Donna’s daughter, Alyssa. I was also sexually assaulted by Shawn Myers.”

  “I see,” I said, as delicately as I could.

  “This was back in January, 1997. Shawn Myers and I were both students at Ohio State. One night I had the bad luck to attend an off-campus party in which Shawn was already in attendance. Then I had the even worse luck to attract his attention.

  “At first I was mildly interested, I’ll admit. I don’t know what he looks like now; but back then Shawn was tall and broad-shouldered, and possessed what you might call a certain boyish good looks. But then he made it pretty clear—within the first five minutes of our conversation—that all he wanted was a sexual act. He was upfront about it. More than upfront—offensive and crude, like I was nothing but an object for his pleasure.”

  Tina paused for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Every time I tell this story, it’s like I’m back there, you know?”

  “You don’t have to tell us if it’s too uncomfortable,” I offered.

  “No, you have to hear it. Just give me a second here.”

  Donna and I waited for her to continue.

  “I probably could have gotten off without a problem if I had simply feigned shyness and walked away,” Tina resumed. “But I was young and I believed myself to be invincible. No one had ever hurt me before, and I believed that no one ever would. Certainly not a guy who I met at a college party. So I told Shawn off. There were other people around. I humiliated him in front of his friends. That made him angry. He followed me home from the party. Then he beat me up—and—he raped me.”

  She gave us some additional details, and a somber tale soon emerged: Whereas Shawn’s attack on Alyssa was interrupted, there was no mop-wielding mother present on the night that Shawn Myers decided to add Tina Shields to his list of conquests.

  “I suppose I was lucky, in a way,” Tina Shields said. “Shawn might very well have killed me.”

  “Why would you say that?” I asked.

  Tina Shields hesitated for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “Never mind. The important thing now is that he won’t be able to victimize Alyssa again. Donna told me about everything you’ve done for her daughter. That was very brave of you.”

  “I didn't do much,” I said, recalling my failed meeting with Dave Bruner. “How did you know about all of this?” I asked. “How did you know about Shawn and Alyssa Chalmers?”

  “I’m a volunteer counselor for a statewide agency that counsels women who have been the victims of sexual abuse. Donna called me a few days ago. It didn't take long for all of the dots to come together.”

  Donna nodded. “The county prosecutor gave me Tina’s card—right after he told me that he wasn't going to press criminal charges against Shawn.”

  “If someone had only stopped Shawn Myers years ago,” Tina said. “Stopped him before…” Her voice trailed off.

  I watched Tina Shields’s hands on the surface of the table. She was shredding a paper napkin that bore the Applebee’s logo. Tina was reliving her own ordeal with Shawn Myers, no doubt. She had probably relived it everyday since that night in 1997.

  In the few minutes since she had told it, I had been mulling over Tina’s story. There was something about her tale that didn’t add up. If Shawn had raped her, why wasn’t he sitting in a prison cell somewhere? Shawn’s attack on Alyssa had left no evidence. That wouldn't be the case with an actual rape.

  “This high-powered lawyer came into town, a guy with a beard,” she said, in response to my question.

  “Bernie Chapman,” I said.

  Tina was astonished. “Yes! How did you know?”

  I brought Tina—and Donna—up to speed regarding Bernie’s current employment with TP Automotive.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Tina said. “Anyway, Bernie Chapman hired some investigator who dug into my past. I’m not proud of the fact, but some of my conduct in those days was self-destructive. I partied too much. And yes, slept around.”

  “But that was in 1997,” I said. “Not 1897. Bernie couldn’t have gotten Shawn off with the alibi that ‘she was a wild girl, so I raped her, beat her up, and left her in the alleyway.’ And what about DNA evidence? That technology existed in 1997. As a matter of fact, DNA forensics was already ten years old in 1997.”

  “Chapman built a defense based on pure denial. He said that I had actually been beaten up by one of my old boyfriends. He hired an investigator who did some research. He found out that one of my previous boyfriends had been charged with domestic violence. So it had to be him, Chapman said. Then he started probing into the rest of my past, uncovering my past relationships. Digging up all my skeletons, so to speak. Can you see what I’m getting at?”

  I could see, as a matter of fact. Bernie Chapman had been using the same character assassination techniques that I now regularly employed myself. He had simply been employing them for different ends. Whereas I used my skills to nudge bad apples out of corporate organizations, Bernie had apparently drudged up Tina’s past so that Shawn would be cleared of rape.

  “What about DNA evidence?” I asked.

  “Shawn used a condom,” Tina said. “Can you believe that? So there wasn’t any DNA evidence to be had. They probed beneath my fingernails for skin samples, too. But it was winter, so Shawn had been wearing a heavy coat. I was scratching at him, but I could only reach his chest and arms, which were covered. I tried to scratch his face once—and then he punched me, hard. I didn’t try that again.”

  I took a moment to let all of this sink in. I wanted to believe the worst about Shawn Myers. Nevertheless, I had to maintain my objectivity. There were aspects of Tina’s story that didn’t jibe with probability.

  To begin with, once a crime has been committed, it is the prosecuting attorney—and not the victim—who makes the ultimate decisions regarding whether or not formal charges will be filed. What Tina described went beyond attempted sexual assault or mere harassment. If she had in fact been raped, then there would have been physical evidence—even if Shawn had used a condom. And while Bernie might h
ave been able to intimidate a college-aged girl, he wouldn’t have been able to scare off a prosecuting attorney in the state capital.

  I began to wonder if Tina was hiding something. One thing I have learned during my career is that there are few devils, and even fewer angels. Most people stand somewhere along the great continuum between selfless perfection and bottomless evil. I knew that Shawn was skewed toward the darker end of the scale. But how far would he actually go? I had no way of knowing. Not for sure.

  “I was so shocked when I received Donna’s call the other day,” Tina said. “At first I hoped that it would turn out to be a different Shawn Myers, you know? But something told me that it had to be that Shawn Myers—and that he had assaulted another woman.” She took a sip from her wineglass. “Only this time it turned out to be a minor: Just a girl, really.”

  With that she drained the rest of her glass. I had a sudden intuition that Tina Shields was battling a serious drinking problem in addition to the bad memories that Shawn had left her.

  Our food was served, and we continued the discussion about Shawn Myers. I attempted to get more information out of Tina Shields, without much success. The woman ordered another glass of wine, then a lemon drop martini. And then one more martini. By the time I finished the last of my Cajun skillet meal, Tina Shields was tilted against the wall of our booth, visibly intoxicated.

  “We need to get her to her motel,” I said.

  “I could skip the cleaning at UP&S. Just this one night.”

  “No,” I said. “You go ahead. I’ll make sure that Tina here gets back to her motel safely.”

  With Tina Shields fading fast, Donna and I were now effectively alone.

  “You’re probably wondering why I asked you here tonight,” she said. “Why I wanted you to hear all of this.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” I admitted.

  “Okay, I’ll lay my cards out on the table for you. I’m alone, Craig,” she said. “And I’m not only talking about being a single mother. That’s difficult enough, but I was doing a pretty good job of handling it, if I do say so myself. I’m talking about being alone against Shawn Myers and his father, and maybe even the police department of New Hastings. I’m no match for them.”

  She reached across the space of the booth and placed her hand on my forearm, then quickly withdrew it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I barely know you, after all. If you want to, you can feel free to bow out now. I understand that none of this is your business. It’s not your problem. But you seem like the sort of person who would know what to do. I’d be grateful for a little advice. I’m in over my head here.”

  I smiled, and took her hand in mine. It was a friendly gesture; but there was something about it that was more than friendly as well. What did I actually feel for this woman? Donna was right: I could have simply “bowed out”—as she put it. Was I driven primarily by my loathing for Shawn Myers and my guilt over Alan and Lucy—or was it more about this woman sitting beside me in the booth?

  “Don't worry about it,” I said. “But I might not be as helpful as you seem to think I am.” Then I told her about my awkward meeting with Dave Bruner. “I appreciate your confidence in me—but it might be misplaced. I’m just a corporate cubicle hack.”

  “Yeah, right,” Donna said. She gave me one of those looks that Alan used to give me, when I had the feeling that he had seen through my cover. “But I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my daughter. Is it okay for me to call you then, only for advice?”

  “Of course,” I said. And although I couldn't deny that this woman was growing on me, there was another reason for my response: After my assault on Shawn Myers and my meeting with Dave Bruner, Donna and I were in this together. I felt that I needed to tell her this.

  “We’ll work together,” I said. “I’m on your side. And you’re on mine.”

  She leaned across the booth again and gave me a hug. She was warm and soft and firm, and her scent was inviting. I felt myself stir. I felt a sudden urge to kiss her. But then Tina Shields groaned.

  “Oh, man,” Tina Shields said from across the table. “Oh, man.”

  I was uncertain of how to interpret Tina’s observation; but clearly kissing Donna would have to wait for another time—if it would ever take place at all. It might be a bad idea. Donna might not be the only one who was in over her head.

  So I simply said: “Let’s get going, Ms. Shields. I’m driving you back to your motel room. No arguments.”

  Tina said almost nothing during the drive to the Super-8 where she had rented a room. Once in the parking lot, I maneuvered my rented Toyota into a space close to her room. With considerable difficulty, I helped the half-asleep woman out of the car and into her room. She leaned on me the entire way—and I was grateful that I had drunk only a single beer with my own dinner. I was also relieved that her room was on the first floor, and could be entered directly from the parking lot.

  Somehow I fished the room key out of her purse. (She was so far gone that even this was beyond her.) Tina collapsed almost as soon as we had passed through the doorway.

  “Ms. Shields,” I said. “I need to get you into bed.”

  “I feel like I’m gonna frow up,” she said woozily.

  “Please don't do that,” I said, dreading the various dilemmas that this would present. “Only a few more steps to the bed. Come on, now. You can make it.”

  Somehow we did make it. I guided her to the bed, and Tina fell backwards in a supine position. She was still wearing her coat, but I supposed that this wouldn't harm her. There are limits to what can be done for a stranger in such situations.

  Seeing that she was as safe and secure as she was going to be, I made preparations to leave. I turned on a single light in the bathroom—an inevitable stop for her, based on my own experiences with excessive drinking during my college years. I left the motel room key on the nightstand where she wouldn't be able to miss it.

  “Well, goodnight Ms. Shields,” I said. “I hope you—”

  “Wait-a-minute! There’s something else I need to tell you. About Shawn Myers!” The words came out slurred. I could barely understand her. “Something bad!”

  I believed that I had already heard the worst about Shawn Myers. He was a bully and a sexual predator. And I had no idea what I was going to do about him—if in fact I could do anything at all.

  She started to tell me more, and I strained to listen.

  But before she could say anything more, Tina Shields passed out.

  Chapter 49

  The very next day, Kurt Myers buttonholed me and pulled me into a private meeting. Beth and Bernie were not included. It was the two of us, alone—man-to-man.

  “I wanted to get a quick update from you,” Kurt said. “To see if you’ve come up with anything that could help us defuse this situation with the cleaning woman.”

  I wondered: Could this be a test? Had Dave Bruner already contacted Kurt and told him about my visit? Was this Kurt’s way of trying to smoke me out?

  It’s only a job, I thought silently. Tell Kurt Myers to shove it, and walk out of here.

  But it wasn't only a job. The consulting industry is extremely competitive; and I was a lone operator in a field dominated by larger players like McKinsey, Deloitte, and Accenture. It had taken me more than a year to build trust with TP Automotive’s senior management team in Detroit. If this job crashed and burned, my name would become tainted. No one would remember that one of TP Automotive’s managers had done wrong. But they would all remember that Craig Walker had backstabbed a client—had gone to the police in an attempt to bring about the arrest of a client. My near fistfight with Shawn Myers would also come out, no doubt—and it would be the TP Automotive version of the events.

  This would result in me being blacklisted. You would be surprised to discover how easy that can be, if you screw up. The Fortune 500 clients that use consulting services are an extremely close-knit, chummy crowd.

  “I have nothing
to report about that,” I said. “I am, however, proceeding as planned with the items on my original contract.”

  “But I asked you about Shawn’s situation,” Kurt countered. “I’ve already told you—you’ll get paid for anything you do to help Shawn out of this mess.”

  I took note of the subtle but unmistakable shift in language. Only seconds ago, we had been talking about a problem between TP Automotive and Donna Chalmers. Now it was “Shawn’s situation.”

  I wondered if I should tell Kurt about what I had seen that night in the hall––Shawn leaning so close to Alyssa, in an obvious sexual overture. And the million-dollar question: What did Kurt already know? My guess was that he knew a lot more than he was revealing. Kurt Myers was no idiot. He was a man who had risen to the upper echelon of an extremely competitive industry. A man like that could not be fooled by his own flesh and blood. He had raised Shawn Myers, after all; he had to realize what Shawn was.

  I recalled my discussion with Donna and Tina. Even if the charges were subsequently dropped, Shawn Myers had been accused of rape in 1997. This fact would not have escaped Kurt Myers’s notice. But knowing this, he had chosen to defend his son, to protect Shawn from the consequences of his actions.

  “I suppose that we’ll have to let the legal process work itself out,” I said. Needless to say, this wasn't the answer that Kurt wanted.

  He glowered at me. “Craig, this is my son's life we’re talking about, not to mention a situation that could be very damaging for TP automotive. Just imagine what could happen if these allegations make their way into the media.”

  I wondered if Kurt knew about the brief article in the Police Beat section of the New Hastings Journal, though I didn't ask him, of course. Kurt leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling contemplatively.