Due Process

by Scott Pratt

“A hundred percent.”

  “And after he pulled you into the bathroom, this is one of the young men that raped you?”

  “Yes. It was him.”

  “You would swear an oath to tell the truth in court and testify that it was him?”

  “I would.”

  Riddle handed Sheila a felt tipped pen.

  “Put an X on the photo, initial it and date it,” he said.

  Sheila did as he asked.

  “Okay, so that’s done,” Riddle said. “At least we have one of them. But you told Officer James and the people at the hospital that you thought you were raped by three people, so you need to pick two more.”

  “Which ones?” Sheila said. “I don’t really recognize anyone.”

  Riddle tapped his fingers on the photos of two more of the black players.

  “These will do,” he said. “But I need to hear you say you’re a hundred percent sure and be willing to testify to that in court.”

  Sheila nodded her head. “Okay. I’m a hundred percent sure and I’ll testify.”

  “Make an X on each, initial and date, just like with the other.”

  Sheila did as he asked.

  “Thank you, Ms. Self,” Riddle said. “This takes us another step closer to making sure the right thing gets done.”

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 30

  As soon as Sheila Self left his office, Investigator Riddle picked up his cell phone and dialed the number of District Attorney General Mike Armstrong. Riddle was almost giddy. Sheila Self actually hated black people as much as he did. It was a tremendous stroke of luck for him.

  Mike Armstrong had sensed that the chief of police was not particularly interested in pressing the case, but that Riddle was. Therefore, he’d asked Riddle to personally inform him of any developments and to put together a case as quickly as possible. Riddle knew Armstrong was out on a limb, but Riddle was willing to climb out there with him because of his hatred for both the black football players and the institution they represented.

  “Sheila Self just left my office,” Riddle said when Armstrong answered the phone.

  “And?”

  “She positively identified three players that raped her.”

  “I thought she couldn’t remember what happened.”

  “It’s coming back to her. I showed her a group of photos and she picked out three guys.”

  “How many photos did you show her?”

  “At least forty. I showed her white guys and black guys and Hispanics.” It was a lie, but Riddle didn’t care. He was going to make this case come hell or high water.

  “Who are they?” Armstrong asked.

  “All three of them are black. The quarterback, Kevin Davidson, a linebacker named Demonte Wright, and a defensive back named Evan Belle.”

  “Oh, man,” Armstrong said. “What a powder keg.”

  “Do you want me to arrest them?”

  “Not yet,” Armstrong said. “Keep it under your hat for now, and let’s pray to God we get some DNA evidence.”

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 30

  University President Dr. Dean Brady was holding yet another meeting late Friday afternoon with the same group with whom he’d been meeting throughout the week. This meeting, however, would be a bit different.

  Seated around the table were George Darden, the university’s lead lawyer, Raymond Winters, the athletic director, Blakely Burton, the director of university relations and Mike Springer, the head football coach.

  “We might as well get right to it,” Brady said. He was a clean cut, handsome man with short, salt and pepper hair parted neatly on the left side of his head. His countenance was that of a banker or a politician who took excellent care of himself. He was partial to bow ties, and was wearing a black and white polka-dotted one at the meeting. “I’ve had many discussions with the Board of Trustees over the past few days and we’ve made some decisions. They’ve been extremely difficult decisions, but I feel we’ve made them with this university’s best interests at heart.”

  Dr. Brady looked across the table at Coach Springer.

  “Coach,” he said, “we’re going to let you go. I’m sorry, but I can’t get past the fact you didn’t know that fifty or sixty young men for whom you are ultimately responsible could throw a party involving a stripper. Either your senior leadership let you down, or you haven’t taught them how to be leaders. Either way, as much as I hate it, this axe falls on you. We’ve also decided to forfeit the first two games of the season as punishment to the team for their behavior and to let the community know we’re taking this seriously. We’re also suspending the three senior captains who hosted the party, Kevin Davidson, Dominic Vasso, and Henry Treadway, for the remainder of the season. We haven’t yet decided which one of your assistants will become the interim head coach, but that decision will be made in the next couple of hours. The rest of the staff is safe for now.”

  Springer looked down at the table and then back up at Brady. Bags had formed under his eyes during the week, Brady noticed, certainly from stress and lack of sleep. His eyes were now glistening with tears.

  “I’m sorry I let you down, and I understand to a certain degree,” Springer, who, at sixty-two, was still a powerfully built man with a full head of gray hair, said. “I figured this would ultimately fall on me. Part of me accepts it, and part of me doesn’t. They’re college kids, for goodness sake, and whether you or anyone else wants to believe it or talk about it, they’re interested in the opposite sex. And I can’t be expected to keep tabs on them twenty-four hours every day. Should they have hired a stripper? No. Should they suffer some consequences for that? Of course, because circumstances arose that have caused the university embarrassment. But there was no rape. There was no crime committed. I’d bet my life on it. I don’t agree with the forfeits and I don’t agree with the suspensions. They’re too harsh. These guys have already been through the wringer, Dr. Brady. And suspending Kevin and Dominic and Henry for the season, which effectively ends their football careers? That’s just heartless. You don’t know those guys the way I do. They made a mistake, but they’re good kids.”

  “Coach,” Brady said. “You’re a good man. I thought that when we hired you and I still feel the same. I know you’ve been under a lot of strain, but so have all of us, and to be honest, I don’t care whether you agree with my decisions. You have two years left on your contract. We discussed simply firing you under the lack of institutional control clause in your contract and not paying you, but instead, we’ll be exercising our option under the buyout clause, so we’re not just leaving you high and dry. I’ll expect you to have your things cleared out of your office by midday tomorrow. That’s all, Coach Stringer. I wish you the best. You can go now.”

  “So that’s it?” Stringer said, raising his hands.

  “That’s it. Please don’t make me call the campus police.”

  Stringer rose from his chair and walked out the door without another word. Brady, along with the rest of the group, watched him go.

  “Okay, that’s done,” Brady said. “Blakely, you and George can go, too. Raymond, you stay.”

  The university relations director and the university lawyer got up and left, leaving only the athletic director in the office.

  “What have you found about Title IX violations? Tell me the damned truth,” Brady said.

  Winters, a veteran of the bureaucratic wars in college athletics, simply shook his head.

  “I practically threatened to kill Rhonda James with my bare hands if I found out she was hiding anything,” Winters said.

  Rhonda James was the Title IX administrator at the university, in charge of documenting and conducting investigations of claims of sexual abuse against female students.

  “And she said there’s nothing?”

  “She has no way of knowing if a tennis coach or a baseball coach or basketball coach hid something,” Winters said. “But we don’t have anything ongoing, and we don’t have anything unresolved or suspicious that I’m aware of.”

/>   “Have you talked to the coaches?”

  “Every damned one of them. I made sure they knew if we found out they’ve hidden something, they’d be out on their ass.”

  “Good,” Brady said. “I appreciate it. We’ve done what we can do. We’ve taken affirmative action. Now I guess we just hunker down and see if the storm passes.”

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 2

  Caroline Dillard watched from the bedroom window while the small, white car with “LifeCare” painted on the side pulled into the driveway. It was Labor Day, but she needed her fluid infusion and the home health care service worked on holidays. Joe had gone into town to run a few errands, but Caroline suspected he was afraid of what he might do or say to Tracey Rowland.

  As always, she’d unlocked the front door and shut Rio in the garage. He was going nuts, barking and growling. Caroline had tried to introduce Rio to Tracey. With almost everyone, once they were in the house and Rio had a chance to sniff them and size them up, he tended to leave them alone. He would always bark when someone pulled into the driveway or came to the front door, but he was just doing what German shepherds do—protecting his territory. Once the person got inside the house, he was friendly.

  But not with Tracey. There was something about Tracey that made Rio crazy. When Caroline, and even Joe, had tried to introduce Tracey to the dog, the hair on his back bristled and he growled. Caroline knew if Rio got an opportunity, he would sink his teeth into whatever part of Tracey he could. Tracey laughed it off and acted as though it didn’t bother him, but Caroline knew he was terrified of the animal, as well he should be. Rio and Joe had a lot in common. They were both fiercely loyal, they were intelligent, and they had an amazing instinct when it came to judging people’s character. Rio obviously didn’t think much of Tracey, and now Caroline knew why.

  Joe and Jack had installed the tiny camera above the vanity in the bathroom where Caroline kept the bottle of thirty milligram Oxycontin pills. They’d done an excellent job of hiding it, because when Caroline went into the bathroom and looked after Joe told her they were finished installing the camera, she couldn’t see it even though she knew it was there. Before Joe had left for the office that morning, he and Caroline had gone into the bathroom, emptied the contents of the pill bottle onto the vanity, and counted them in plain view of the camera. Then they returned them to the bottle. The plan was to let Tracey into the house, allow him to do what he always did, and then, after he left, Joe and Jack would hook the camera to Joe’s phone and watch the video. If Tracey stole drugs—and Caroline was sure he would—they would pour out the pills and count them again.

  Caroline was worried about what would happen. Joe was angry, but Jack, after Joe told him what was going on, had become furious. Jack was as protective of his mother as Joe was of his wife, and Caroline was genuinely concerned that one or both of them would seriously injure Tracey and that they would wind up either paying tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills, perhaps wind up in jail, or, even worse, put their law licenses in jeopardy. She didn’t want any of those things to happen, but neither did she want Tracey to continue to steal medication from her. She was also sure that if he was stealing from her, he was stealing from others.

  She walked to the front door and opened it just as Tracey walked up onto the porch. He was a decent looking man in his mid-30s, lean and average height. His hair was sandy blond and he wore it long. Sometimes he wore a man bun, which Caroline found extremely unattractive and which Joe found utterly repulsive. His eyes were a pretty, forest green and he sported a closely-trimmed stubble of beard. He was wearing light blue medical scrubs. It was as though he was trying very hard to look macho, but Caroline had been around him enough to know he was far from macho. She was married to macho. This guy was a cupcake compared to Joe.

  “Good morning, Caroline,” Tracey said as he walked into the house.

  “Morning, Tracey.”

  “And how are we feeling this morning?”

  “As well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  “When do you have to go back to Nashville?”

  “I’m off this week. We go back next Tuesday.”

  Caroline went into the bedroom and sat down. Joe had bought her a mattress that was adjustable so she could raise her head and her feet, something that had helped make her far more comfortable than lying flat on her back. She climbed into bed and turned on the television.

  “Let me just run in and wash my hands and we’ll get started,” Tracey said.

  “Okay.”

  He disappeared into the master bathroom, like he always did, and was back in about four minutes. He cleaned his hands with hand cleaner, put on a pair of latex gloves, and began to run the plastic tubing through the IV tower that regulated the flow of the sodium chloride that would be running into Caroline’s body. Caroline had a PICC line (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) that had been inserted into her cephalic vein several years earlier. The PICC line ran to her heart and allowed medical people to give her various medications without having to stick needles into her all the time, something which had once caused her veins to begin to collapse. She didn’t like the PICC line because she had to keep it covered with some kind of sleeve all the time, but it was better than being constantly stuck with needles.

  Tracey flushed the PICC line and hooked up the tubing that led from the bag of fluid to the PICC line. He turned on the machine, set it to the proper flow, and removed his gloves.

  “Is Joe coming home to unhook you or do you want me to come back in three hours?” Tracey said.

  “Joe will do it. Thanks.”

  Tracey removed his gloves, tossed them into a trash can, and returned to the bathroom.

  He came back out a couple of minutes later and said, “Well, I guess I’ll see you Wednesday then, right?”

  “Tracey, is there anything you need to tell me?” Caroline said.

  A look of concern came over his face.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

  “I think I’m missing some medication.”

  “What kind of medication?”

  “Oxy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Why are you asking me about it?” he said. His demeanor had very quickly turned to defensive.

  “I’m just asking if there’s something you need to tell me. Do you have a problem with drugs? Are you addicted? Are you taking my medication?”

  “No, I’m not addicted. No, I’m not taking your drugs, and frankly, I’m offended that you’d even ask me a question like that.”

  “If you’re taking my drugs, Tracey, we’ll eventually find out,” Caroline said. “I haven’t said anything to Joe yet, but if you’re taking my drugs and he finds out you’re taking my drugs, you’ll have to deal with him, and I promise it won’t go well for you. I’ve been married to Joe for almost thirty years and I know how he’ll react. It’ll be violent.”

  “Maybe you should ask LifeCare for another nurse,” Tracey said.

  “Do I need to?”

  “It seems pretty obvious to me that you don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t know what to think. All I know is that some of my pain medication has gone missing, and you’re the only person who is around it besides me and Joe.”

  “Maybe Joe is taking it.”

  “Joe doesn’t take drugs. He wouldn’t.”

  “Well, you might just be surprised. He’s been under a lot of pressure. People under a lot of pressure do strange things sometimes.”

  “Did I just hear you blame me and my cancer for turning my husband into a drug addict and a thief?”

  “I’m just saying you never know.”

  “I do know. It isn’t him. And if it isn’t you, then someone is sneaking in when we’re not around. It has to be someone who knows us well. I’m sorry, Tracey. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s just disturbing to think that someone is stealing from me. I hope you’ll forgive me.”


  “Of course, Caroline. I understand.”

  “See you Wednesday, then?”

  “Nine o’clock, on the dot.”

  Caroline watched him walk out of the room. Her heart was pounding. How dare he accuse Joe of being a thief and drug addict? She’d tried to give him an out, tried to offer help. But if he was a junkie, she knew he didn’t want help. She also knew he’d be back to steal more drugs on Wednesday.

  And if the camera showed what she thought it was going to show, Joe, and probably Jack, would be waiting for him.

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 2

  I smoked a pork shoulder in the Big Green Egg on the deck, and the family gathered on Monday afternoon. It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, and the temperature was in the low eighties. Jack and Charlie, along with Gracie, were swimming in the pool, Caroline was lounging in a chair, and I was keeping myself busy getting all of the food ready. Sarah was in the kitchen helping me. I was a little distracted because I’d watched the video from the nanny cam. It clearly showed Tracey Rowland stealing drugs.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Sarah said as she began peeling hard-boiled eggs that would soon become deviled eggs.

  “We have a little problem with a thief,” I said.

  “A thief?”

  “Yeah, the worst kind of thief. A nurse who steals pain medication from his cancer patient.”

  “Who? The home health care nurse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I have it on video. Her meds have been coming up missing, so Jack and I put a nanny cam in the bathroom. We figured it had to be him. He came this morning, and sure enough, he went into the bathroom and stole Oxycontin.”

  “Have you called the police?” Sarah said.

  “Not yet. I want to talk to him first. He’ll be back Wednesday morning.”

  “And you’ll be waiting for him, won’t you?”

  “Sure will.”

  “You probably don’t want to hear this, but you should try to go easy on him,” she said. “I was an addict once. I know how it is. Maybe you can get him some help.”