Trial by Fury (8 page)

“Sounds like he could be our kind of guy.” For some, money was a stronger motivator than justice. “What did he know about Belinda?”

“He said it was some kind of prenatal accident where she didn’t get enough oxygen. They put her in an institution when she was twelve because she got too difficult to control at home.”

“Anything on her rape?”

“He didn’t know much.” He checked his sideview mirror and signaled to change lanes. Inch by inch, they overtook a dilapidated pickup truck driven by a bent woman who could barely see over the hood. “There was a lawsuit against the state, but nothing in the records about the perpetrator. They settled for eight hundred grand.”

“Sounds like the state was protecting itself. Either she was raped by an employee, or it happened while she was unsupervised. Maybe she wandered off and they found her after it happened.”

“I don’t get it,” Hank said. “Are there guys really that hard up for somebody to have sex with? Who gets off on doing it with a woman who doesn’t even know what’s going on?”

“If that’s a serious question, I happen to have a list of names right here.” Theo slapped the complaint against her knee.

“Nah, that’s different. This campus business…it’s way worse if you ask me. It takes a real creep to go gangers on a girl who’s passed out and then take pictures of her. If I ever caught my son doing something like that, I’d make him sorry he was ever born.”

“You won’t though, because Mark’s not like that.”

Despite his generally boorish manner, Hank redeemed himself regularly as a fierce protector of women. Raised by a single mom who’d worked two jobs and practically dared him to misbehave, he carried a chip on his shoulder when it came to women who’d been taken advantage of, no matter the circumstances. His career as a police detective had given him the tools to right the wrongs, while Theo gave him the opportunity.

“Here, one of you read me this,” he said, thrusting a crumpled page of directions in her hands.

Jalinda poked her head forward over the console and said, “You know, the new cars have tiny people living in the dashboard who tell you how to get wherever you want to go.”

“You’re starting to sound just like her,” he snarled, jacking his thumb toward Theo, who called out the turn-by-turn instructions. The scribbled note led them to the end of a cul-de-sac and a neat split-level brick house with tan siding. A white van was parked in the driveway in front of what appeared to be a converted garage.

“This is it,” Hank said. “According to state records, it’s licensed for four ambulatory adult clients. I looked it up—that means no wheelchairs. Doug and Debbie Robeson are the foster parents.”

Theo could honestly say she knew little about adult foster care. Had she been hired to represent someone like Belinda Burkhart in her rape case, she’d have demanded enough to cover the costs of private care for the rest of her life.

The door was answered by a heavyset woman who identified herself as Debbie. She wore what looked to be nurse’s scrubs—blue drawstring pants and a floral V-neck shirt. “Are y’all the ones who called about Belinda?”

“Yes, thank you for seeing us,” Theo answered. “We’d like to speak with her if we can…ask her a few questions.”

“Sorry, she don’t talk. What do y’all need to know?”

For all practical purposes, that was the sum of it. If Belinda was nonverbal, she likely was incapable of standing for herself as a plaintiff in her biological daughter’s wrongful death case. Still, it was necessary for Theo to conduct her due diligence.

“If we could just sit with her for a few minutes…and it would be helpful if we could record our conversation. Is that all right?”

“I guess.” Debbie gestured toward the sofa in the well-kept living room. “Y’all have a seat. I’ll go get her.”

“I get the feeling we’re going to need the uncle’s address too,” Theo whispered to Hank.

He patted the chest pocket of his sport coat.

When Debbie returned, she was holding the hand of a woman in her late thirties—about the same age as Theo. With her oval face and prominent brown eyes, she bore a distinct family resemblance to her late daughter, who’d been a pretty young woman.

“Can you wave to these nice people, Belinda?”

The woman’s hand went up and down in a mechanical motion, though she never made eye contact.

“She’s calmed down a lot since they took her off Keppra. That stuff was making her act out…screaming all the time. She’d hit herself and throw stuff. And push everybody. I’m telling you, it got scary for a while there.”

Though it was likely Belinda couldn’t understand the meaning of Debbie’s words, Theo was nonetheless uncomfortable speaking about her as if she weren’t present. “How are you now, Belinda? Do you feel better?”

“She still gets seizures ’bout once a month. He wants to start her on Dilantin again. Last time she took it, it made her sleep all the time. But it’s better than seizures ’cause she can fall and hurt herself.”

Jalinda, ever efficient and capable, took notes with one hand and held out her digital recorder with the other.

Hank leaned forward so he was in Belinda’s line of sight. “Belinda, do you know who Hayley is?”

“Oh my goodness, that’s her daughter, the one who killed herself. The social worker told us all about that. They said they were gonna put her school money in Belinda’s account.”

So much for seeing if Belinda might react to hearing her daughter’s name. There was no apparent recognition at all, even after Debbie interjected and explained who she was.

“Mrs. Robeson, is Belinda getting all the services she needs? Doctors, therapy?”

She squinted and tipped her head thoughtfully. “I guess. The only real problem she has are the seizures. She eats good, sleeps good.”

“And what about material things?” Theo made note of Belinda’s clothing, a Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt tucked into elastic-waist jeans, and bright-white sneakers with velcro straps.

Debbie shrugged. “She pretty much has all-new everything. We buy her clothes and bathroom stuff out of her account two or three times a year. I cain’t think what else she’d need.”

Their case for legal standing was on shaky ground. Belinda Burkhart wasn’t competent to make a wrongful death claim on her own. Even if her uncle was convinced to sue on her behalf, the argument for financial compensation would be weak. Belinda didn’t even know her daughter and could hardly claim pain and suffering from her loss.

Theo’s head was already spinning the options for a backup plan. It was inconceivable these monsters would get away with what they’d done—she’d practically promised Celia she wouldn’t let that happen.

* * *

“O, devil, devil! If that the Earth could teem with woman’s tears, each drop she falls would prove a crocodile. Out of my sight!”

Duncan Tripp, a sophomore who’d barely passed Celia’s Intro to Theater class as a freshman, delivered the lines with all the emotion of an ax handle. It was a mystery why he’d signed up for Fundamentals of Stage Acting.

“Whose voice is that, Duncan?” she asked, walking across the stage to face the students in the front row of the tiny theater. “Yours?”

“It’s supposed to be Othello’s.”

An Othello who sounded like Duncan
. “And what is he feeling?”

“He’s upset.”

“What could he possibly be upset about? He has power as a general, and he’s married to a beautiful woman who loves him.”

The silence went on long enough for her to know he’d memorized the lines without comprehending the story. He was bailed out by Hayley’s friend Michael. “He believes he’s been betrayed by Desdemona.”

“Correct.” She spun back toward Duncan and noticed several of her students had begun stowing their scripts and notes, as the hour had ended. “We’ll give this another try on Monday. A little practice in front of the mirror, everyone. And read the script—several times if you have to. Acting is about occupying these characters.”

Though she’d managed not to completely humiliate Duncan for his abysmal performance, she still felt guilty for calling him out in such a negative manner. It wasn’t her usual teaching style.

“Duncan.” She strolled deliberately toward him with her arms folded across her chest. “You’re the only one in class who got all the lines right. Good job. We’ll work on that delivery next week.”

“Dr. Perone?” Michael had lagged behind waiting for the others to leave.

A gifted stage actor, he had delicate features she could only describe as pretty. His future as a leading man would be enhanced if he added muscle to his slender frame and grew some facial hair.

He produced a thumb drive. “I got what you asked for—all the IMs from Hayley since the rape—but I deleted the name of the guy who gave me the video. That needs to stay confidential.” He must have noticed her confusion because he clarified, “Instant messages, Facebook. A couple of gmails too, but what’s weird is that all the stuff we sent through our student accounts is gone. It was mostly notes for class, nothing personal. Looks like Harwood deleted her account. That makes sense, I guess, but I thought it was weird they even wiped the ones I sent to her.”

“It’s not weird to me, Michael. I think the university’s trying to get rid of all the evidence against the players. That video you gave me…I had a copy saved on the computer in my office and now it’s gone. Wiped off Harwood’s server. Good thing I still had it on the stick.”

“Joke’s on them then. Like I said, practically every time we talked about private stuff, it was IMs on Facebook. They’re all here, including the chat we had the day after it happened. She told me everything she remembered, and then all about what they did at the health center.”

After hearing the video had been erased from the folder on her computer, Theo had asked her to help collect preliminary information that might be relevant to their case. She’d get access to everything else through discovery, she said, but only if she could convince a judge they had a legitimate cause of action. She’d be glad to get her hands on these messages.

“Michael, this attorney I told you about…she really needs to talk to you and your friend in person.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No way. I’ll give you everything I have, but I can’t be involved any more than that.”

“You’re already involved.” She guided him toward the wings of the stage where their voices wouldn’t carry. “You’re the one Hayley talked to most. There’s a process called discovery. It basically means the players who did this are legally entitled to know how we got our hands on the evidence—especially the video. Not only that, they can ask a judge for permission to look at all of your emails and messages with Hayley…and anyone else who might be related to the case.”

“That’s not fair!” He literally withdrew, taking a step back as though separating himself from both her and the case. “Hayley’s been my best friend…like, forever. What we talked about is private. Secrets other people have no right to know.”

Alarmed by the panic in his voice, she closed the distance between them and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Michael, it’s going to come out anyway if we go forward with the case. That secret list the team had, it’ll be subpoenaed. They’ll be able to determine who posted the video and who shared it with you. But all the attorney cares about at this point is what happened to Hayley. Anything else you talked about…nobody has any reason to make that public.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew she couldn’t make that guarantee. The university administration had already shown its capacity for dirty tricks.

“But they’ll—God, they can’t do that. Somebody’s going to get hurt.”

“Look, Michael. I get it. You’re protecting someone on the basketball team, right?”

He looked as though he might cry. “You have no idea what the rest of those guys are like. They’ll make his life miserable. I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”

“Michael, they raped your friend and she killed herself.”

“He had nothing to do with it. Don’t you see? He tried to do the right thing. But if they find out, they’ll beat the crap out of him, Dr. Perone. And then Coach T’s going to kick him off the team.”

“For doing something brave? He’s a hero for standing up to those guys. So are you.” She couldn’t bring herself to shame him for wanting to hide, not after first going to Theo in disguise so it wouldn’t cost her a promotion. “Michael, I didn’t want to be involved either. There’s a very good chance I could lose my job over this, but we both know that’s not what matters here. We have a responsibility to Hayley. We can’t stop caring about her now, not until we make those people pay for what they did to her.”

His face contorted with anguish, but she could tell she was getting through.

“I’ll talk to the attorney and tell her how important your privacy is. I’m sure she’ll do everything in her legal power to protect you.” That much she could promise. “I know it’s tough right now, but someday you’ll look back on this and be so proud you did the right thing. Your friend will feel the same way. It’s who you are.”

* * *

Theo was pleased Celia had followed her directions to leave a callback message that gave nothing away. Pressing a finger to her ear to shut out the road noise, she shouted, “You do good work, Doc. If they sack you at Harwood, I can probably find a place for you in the firm.”

“Doing what exactly? You guys need a drama coach?”

“Uh, not really…but how’s your driving?” She glanced over at Hank, who was creeping down the interstate again. “Never mind. You were right about Belinda Burkhart. She can’t help us at all. We’re heading back to Atlanta to talk to the grandmother’s brother.”

She proposed meeting Celia for a drink to pick up Michael’s thumb drive.

“I dropped it off at your office this morning. I didn’t know you were out.”

Theo was both pleased and disappointed. Pleased to know Celia had gone out of her way to deliver the data, and disappointed they had no pressing reason to see each other again, at least not right away. When she ended the call, she heard a distinct chuckle from Hank.

“What?”

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

She glanced back at Jalinda, who was wearing earbuds so she could transcribe the recording she’d made with Belinda. She’d missed the conversation.