Due Process

by Scott Pratt

  “This thing at ETSU is getting crazier by the second,” I said.

  “I think somebody’s stealing my meds,” she said.

  I looked up from the paper.

  “Are you serious?” I said.

  “Remember when I came up short on the 80 milligram pills a few weeks ago and we thought maybe the maid had stolen them at the hotel in Nashville? I don’t think it was a maid.”

  Caroline took a lot of OxyContin. She had to. There were tumors virtually all over her skeletal system, and if she didn’t receive high doses of pain medication, she wouldn’t have been able to survive. She took the Oxy in two dosages—one eighty milligram pill in the morning and another at night, and thirty milligram pills for what they called “breakthrough” pain. If she had a lot of pain in her knees or her back or her hips during the afternoon or at night, she could take a thirty-milligram pill and it would usually help. She didn’t take the thirties all that often. She’d told me she’d been hoarding them because the doctor prescribed them once a month, the insurance company paid for them, and she picked them up at the pharmacy. What she didn’t use, she stashed in a bottle that she kept on her vanity in the bathroom. She never knew when she might need them.

  But when the eighties came up missing, she was miserable for more than a week. The kind of pain that cancer causes in a person’s bones is the kind of pain you have to stay ahead of. Without the eighties, she got behind, and she suffered tremendously. Twelve pills were gone, and she couldn’t just go to the doctor and get another prescription. The insurance company wouldn’t let her have more than the prescribed dose, thief or no thief. Oxycontin was heavily regulated, sometimes, I thought, to the point of ridiculousness, but it was being abused all over the country and the government—and the insurance companies—had really cracked down. You couldn’t just go to your doctor or to the pharmacy and say, “Somebody stole my eighty-milligram Oxycontin tablets.” The doctor couldn’t prescribe more, and even if she had, the insurance company wouldn’t have paid and the pharmacy wouldn’t have dispensed the pills.

  “You know how I store up the thirties?” Caroline said. “I should have about ninety of them. I looked last night and I only have around twenty. Somebody’s stealing pain medication from a cancer patient, and I think I know who it is.”

  “Tracey?” I said.

  “It has to be.”

  Tracey Rowland was Caroline’s home health care nurse. He’d started coming to the house to give her intravenous sodium chloride after a urinary tract infection dehydrated her so badly she didn’t know her name and wound up in the hospital for a week. He was friendly enough, but there were a couple of things that had bothered me about him from the beginning. The first was that he was a pretty boy who gave off a sleazy kind of vibe. He was always chatting and sharing details of his personal life that he shouldn’t have been sharing. He was supposed to show up at eight in the morning on Monday and Wednesday, hook up the IV, and leave. The IV usually took about three hours, and I always went home and turned off the machine, unhooked Caroline from the machine, flushed her PICC line, capped it, and we’d have lunch together. But Tracey texted Caroline a lot and even managed to get her to invite him and his wife out to dinner. He acted like he wanted to become a friend of the family, but I just wanted him to do his job. I wasn’t jealous of him; he simply made me uncomfortable. I’d mentioned it to Caroline and she agreed that he was a little too friendly, but Caroline wasn’t as cynical as I.

  The other thing that bothered me about the guy was that he went into our master bathroom, which was where the drugs were, every time he came to the house. He said he was washing his hands, but I noticed he had hand cleaner with him and he always put on gloves. So why all the hand washing? And why in our bathroom? He could have washed his hands in the kitchen or in the half-bath right outside of our bedroom. But he always washed them in our bathroom, and he did it twice during every visit. He washed them as soon as he got there and he washed them right before he left.

  “That miserable son of a bitch,” I said. “I knew there was something wrong with the guy. I’ll break every bone in his body.”

  “Joe, you can’t do that.”

  “The hell I can’t. You were crying when you ran out of the eighties. You were in so much pain you barely slept for a week. If he’s doing this, I’m definitely going to see to it that he suffers as much as you did.”

  “You’ll go to jail. And besides, we have to prove it,” she said.

  “I won’t go to jail. First things first. We have to catch him red-handed.”

  “How do we do that?”

  “I guess a nanny cam would probably be best. I’ll get Jack to help me set it up. We put it at a good angle and when he goes in to wash his hands, if he’s stealing, it’ll be on the camera. They’re compatible with phones now. I can’t wait to sit down with him and show him a video of him stealing your medication. The look on his face will be priceless.”

  “And then you’re going to call the police.”

  “Not before I hurt him. I can’t believe this, baby. A freakin’ junkie working as a home health nurse and stealing Oxycontin from a cancer patient. I wonder how prevalent it is.”

  “I’ll bet it happens a lot,” Caroline said.

  “I’ll get a camera today,” I said. “We’ll catch him.”

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 30

  The Mouse’s Tail hadn’t changed at all over the past several years. Erlene Barlowe, the owner, put a fresh coat of paint on it every once in a while, but it was still the tacky, unseemly, block building it had always been. There was an awning on the front and an air-brushed painting of a large mouse with a long tail that formed into the shape of an erect penis. I suppose the mouse could have been declared obscene and Erlene could have been forced to remove it, but nobody seemed to care enough to force the issue. The place had been there for a long time, it was in the county, out of sight from the road, and after the initial resistance from the preachers finally died down, people pretty much left Erlene alone to bilk money from horny, lonely, stupid pervs.

  I arrived at 1:00 p.m. and spotted Erlene’s red Corvette immediately. I hadn’t seen her in several months and wanted to surprise her, so I didn’t bother to call and tell her I was coming. I walked up to the side door of the building, which is where I knew she entered. It was locked, so I knocked. It opened a minute or so later to reveal a redhead in her early to mid-fifties who looked ten years younger. She was wearing pink spandex pants and a pink, cheetah print blouse that was open at the neck and revealed a large portion of her extremely large breasts. They were natural, by the way. She’d told me so on more than one occasion, and she was extremely proud of them.

  “Well, I swan, if it isn’t my favorite lawyer in the whole wide world,” she said as she opened her arms and squeezed my neck. She gave me a peck on the cheek and stepped back.

  “Hi, Erlene,” I said. “You’re looking outrageously hot, as usual.”

  “Thank you, sugar,” she said. “You look plenty sexy yourself. How’s that wonderful wife of yours?”

  “She’s good, thanks for asking. Still fighting the fight. How are you and Leon getting along?”

  “We decided to take a little break, which I think will probably turn into a permanent break,” she said.

  I was genuinely surprised. She and Leon Bates, the sheriff, seemed well-suited for each other. Any time I’d been around them, they’d acted like teenagers.

  “What happened?” I said. “I thought you guys were great for each other.”

  “I still care a great deal for Leon,” she said. “He’s a sweetie pie. But the lust started to wear off and then I think we both realized what could happen to his career if people started finding out he was dating me. We just thought it was best to be friends. I take it you haven’t seen him lately.”

  “I talked to him not long ago, but we didn’t talk about you. Plus I’ve been so busy with Caroline and everything that’s going on with her. I’ll have to call him back and see how he�
�s doing.”

  “Give him my best when you do,” she said. “Come on in here and have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “I’ll take a bottle of water if you have one,” I said as we walked into the club and I sat down at a table near the bar.

  “We don’t sell bottled water, sugar. Be happy to get you a glass of ice water, though.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Erlene brought the water and sat down across from me. As always, I had to force myself to keep from looking at her breasts.

  “So what brings you out here?” Erlene said. “Not that you need a reason.”

  “Have you heard about what’s going on at ETSU?” I said.

  “Of course,” she said. “I don’t live in a cave.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just didn’t know how much attention you paid to the news. I’ve been hired to represent a young man who might be charged with raping the dancer that was hired by the football team. He swears he didn’t do it, and I tend to believe him. The players pooled their money and hired her through an escort service called AAA Escort. I was wondering if you know anything about the escort service or if you might have heard anything about who the girl is. I don’t even know her name yet.”

  A look of confusion came over her face. It was a look I had never seen. Erlene was an intelligent, even cunning, confident woman. She was not easily confused.

  “I seem to remember you telling me that you won’t represent men accused of rape,” she said.

  “I’m making an exception.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you why?”

  “The reason I wouldn’t take rape cases is a long story I’d rather not get into, but with Jack and Charlie joining the law firm, Caroline thought I shouldn’t limit them because of something that happened in my past. I agreed to talk to this kid and his parents and I liked what I heard. He seems to be a good kid. I don’t think he raped anybody.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Do you think somebody else raped her?”

  “He says no, but I have no idea. That isn’t my concern. My concern is to make sure he doesn’t get a rape pinned on him if he’s innocent.”

  She nodded her head slowly.

  “I have a little surprise for you,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “You came to the right place, sweetie pie. I own AAA Escort Service.”

  I was stunned. She had never mentioned owning an escort service. It made sense, but she’d never said a word.

  “No kidding? Been in that business a long time?”

  “A couple of years. It goes well with what we do here. Extra income for me. Extra income for the girls. They usually make good money.”

  “So you know who the girl was at the party?”

  “I do. I sent her.”

  “Mind telling me her name?”

  “Sheila Elizabeth Self. You’ll find out soon enough anyway.”

  “Has she told you about what happened?”

  “She said she was drugged and pulled into a bathroom. She thinks three men raped her, but she’s fuzzy about the details.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think she has any reason to lie, sugar. Sheila’s had an incredibly difficult life. She’s been used and abused by so many people it’s a wonder she hasn’t killed herself by now. You know how I am about girls like that. I do what I can to help and protect them. And she’s trying to keep it together. She graduated from junior college and is working on a degree at ETSU. She has two small children and nobody to help her raise them. I sent her hoping she’d make some decent money. She needs it for those kids.”

  “Have you heard from the police?”

  “Of course. Some skin-headed bully named Investigator Riddle came out here and made a bunch of empty threats. I would have called you if I thought it was anything serious.”

  “Can I talk to the girl? To Sheila?”

  “That’d be up to her, sweetie.”

  “Put in a good word for me?”

  “I’ll talk to her, but she’s still pretty torn up.”

  “I appreciate it, Erlene,” I said as I rose to leave. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Give Miss Caroline my best,” she said.

  She walked me to the door, opened it, and as I stepped out into the sunshine, she said, “I hope your client is okay if he didn’t do anything to her, but if he did, I hope he burns in hell. And those folks at ETSU? They need to get their ducks in a row. They need to get some control over what’s going on over there.”

  “And what might that be?” I said. “What’s going on over there?”

  “A lot more than you know.”

  As I walked across the parking lot to my truck, I could feel Erlene’s eyes on me. She had played the Southern belle, honey and sweetie role during our conversation, but she had, for the first time since I’d known her, lost her composure just a bit. It manifested itself as slight confusion, but she’d also gone slightly cold toward me. I could sense it, and that had never happened. Erlene knew more than she was telling me. I had a strong sense that I’d be hearing from her in the very near future.

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 30

  Sheila Self walked into Investigator Bo Riddle’s office just after three o’clock in the afternoon and sat down across from Riddle, who was at his desk. Riddle had stayed in regular contact with Sheila since their first interview. He’d kept her up on the progress of the investigation and seemed genuinely interested in helping her find the man or men who had raped her. He also seemed genuinely interested in what was going on in her life and had assured her that he would help her in any way he could. He asked about her children. He asked about her aunt. He asked whether she planned to stay enrolled in school at ETSU. She said she was going to take at least a semester off and see what happened.

  “I have some photographs I want to show you,” Riddle said after Sheila settled in.

  “Okay.”

  “If you can identify any of the people in the photos as being an assailant, it would go a long way toward helping us make an arrest.”

  “But I—”

  Riddle held up his hand.

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “It might be out of line, but it might not. The answer will also go a long way toward helping me know whether I’m going to become totally committed to this case for you.”

  “What’s the question?”

  “How do you feel about black people, in particular, how do you feel about black men?”

  Sheila bit her lip and covered her eyes with her hand for a moment. When she pulled her hand back, she looked directly at Riddle and said, “When I was in high school, right here in Johnson City, there were two black guys that wouldn’t leave me alone. They snapped my bra, they pinched my ass, they felt my breasts and tried to get their hands down my pants. They were always talking about how much they wanted to have sex with me. None of the white guys would come anywhere near me because they’d heard about what had happened to me with my father and my foster father and brother. I was used goods. But the black guys didn’t care. They just kept coming on to me. I went to the principal’s office and complained, but both of them were athletes and they wouldn’t do anything to them. So finally I put a knife in my purse and brought it to school with me. It was a big knife, a butcher knife I took from the kitchen at the group home where I was living at the time. During lunch, I went outside and here came one of them, a basketball player named Damien Thompson. He walked right up to me and grabbed both of my breasts. I pulled the knife out of my purse and slashed his arm with it. I cut him pretty bad.”

  “Did he leave you alone after that?”

  “Did he leave me alone? He went straight to the office, they called the police, and I wound up getting convicted of aggravated assault. They sent me off to Nashville to the juvenile detention center there, which was awful. I was there for a year.”

  “I’m sorry,” Riddle said. “I wasn’t aware of that. We don’t really have
access to juvenile records. They’re not in any database, so when I looked at your NCIC record, it didn’t come up. So I guess the answer to my question is that you don’t care much for black men.”

  “I hate them,” Sheila said.

  Sheila noticed a slight smile come over Riddle’s face.

  “Okay, I just want you to look at these photos I’m about to show you. And when you’re asked about it later, you’re going to say you picked the photos you pick out of a large group I showed you. I might coach you a little, but if I do, it’s because I’m convinced this is at least one of the people who assaulted you. Can you do that for me?”

  “I guess I can, but I still really don’t remember very clearly.”

  “I think this will help. Scoot up close to the desk.”

  Sheila did as Riddle asked, and he laid out six photographs of young black men in front of her. All of them were in ETSU football uniforms.

  “All of these guys were at the party as far as we know,” Riddle said. “Take a close look.”

  Sheila noticed that Riddle had the index finger of his right hand on one particular photograph. He kept tapping it.

  “That might be him,” Sheila said.

  “Which one?”

  “The one you’re pointing at.”

  “I’m not pointing at anything,” Riddle said as he tapped the photo a little harder. “Now, which one do you think is the one who attacked you?”

  Riddle removed his finger from the photo.

  “That one,” she said, pointing out a photograph of Kevin Davidson.

  “How sure are you?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Fifty percent? Eighty percent? A hundred percent? It would be perfect if you could say you’re a hundred percent sure it was him.”

  Sheila paused for a minute, playing along. She knew exactly what was going on. She also knew this needed to happen. She scanned the photos one last time, acting as though she were studying the other faces.

  “That’s him,” she said. “He’s the guy that pulled me into the bathroom.”

  “How sure are you?” Riddle said.