Illegal Motion g-4 Read online

“I’ve got some time that day to take his statement.”

  I pull out my calendar. Hell, I might as well move up here.

  “That’s fine,” I say, eager to leave so I can go over the file.

  Binkie looks at me square in the face.

  “I knew Chet Bracken,” he says.

  “You must have been pretty good if he wanted you to work with him.”

  Now I understand the reason for the respect I am get ting. I don’t say that if he knew the circumstances of my relationship with Chet he wouldn’t be impressed.

  “Chet was the one who was pretty good,” I say.

  “He was the best damn trial lawyer I ever saw,” Binkie says flatly.

  I don’t disagree, but at the time I knew him Chet was riddled with cancer and couldn’t think straight for more than an hour at a time. I stick out my hand again.

  “Maybe in the next couple of weeks we can figure out what really happened. I know the last thing a prosecutor wants to do is to send an innocent kid to jail.”

  As I hoped, Binkie does not give me an automatic response He clasps my hand and looks me in the eye.

  “If I’m not convinced this boy raped her,” he says earnestly, “I’ll dismiss the charge. You can take that to the bank.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” Maybe I’m a fool, but I believe this man. He doesn’t seem the type who needs any trophies on the wall. Indeed, he doesn’t display even a single diploma. Behind him are pictures of him and presumably his family in the mountains. If he is as decent as he appears, we might not have to try this case.

  In my room at the Ozark, I begin to have some real hope. Robin’s statement, and that of her roommate, Shannon Kennsit, aren’t as strong as I feared. Robin’s ex planation of why she waited a full nine hours

  to go to the hospital comes across, on the printed page, as vague and not particularly believable. According to her, she was afraid that she would get in trouble with her parents be cause they would think she had been dating someone black, when, in fact, they had only been friends. Too, she was afraid nobody would believe her because of the incidents involving athletes in the past. What incidents? She doesn’t say. According to Shannon Kennsit, it was she who convinced Robin that she had to go to the hospital and report the rape. On this point, Robin seems to suggest that she had been planning to go to the police when the shock of what happened had worn off. She claimed to be in a daze when she had returned to the Chi Omega House that night and had gone straight to her room and had taken a shower, telling no one what had happened until four that morning when she had awakened Shannon with her crying. She didn’t remember if anybody had seen her when she came in.

  On some points, with the exception of the sexual encounter itself, her story resembles Dade’s, but, of course, here it differs dramatically. He was the aggressor; he grabbed her arm and said, “Don’t make me have to hurt you.” He forced her to undress and get in the shower with him. The questioner, a Detective Parley, got her to state there had been penetration (as he had to for there to be a charge of rape), but she was vague on other details. All she had come over to do was to work on the speech with him. They had been friends since the spring. She’d had nothing to drink. It was obvious that Dade had a couple of beers at least, but she hadn’t thought he was too drunk to work on the speech. He had let her go afterward with the warning that if she told anyone, no one would believe it was rape, and he would smear her name all over cam pus.

  The statements of the Rape Crisis counselor and the hospital nurse are predictably supportive. They were al ready preprogrammed to believe Robin and accordingly interpreted her every act and emotion as consistent with someone who had been raped. It crosses my mind that by the time she went to the police she may have convinced herself that Dade had raped her. Consensual sex became an act of force. If people can convince themselves they’ve been kidnapped by aliens and then returned safely to earth, concocting a rape story and then believing it should be a simple enough task for a college girl who has all night to dream it up.

  My stomach growls, letting me know it is already past noon. I walk across College Avenue to a Burger King and order a Whopper. I sit next to a window in relative peace, mulling over the possibilities of what actually happened. Robin could easily be telling the truth; yet, for all I know, this could be the tenth lie she’s told this year.

  It would be nice to know what her credibility level is.

  How do I find out about her? Dade may or may not be much help. I doubt if he spends a lot of time at the Chi Omega House. Sarah must know a dozen kids who are at least aware of Robin’s reputation if she doesn’t already know it. I get up and call her from the pay phone and leave a message on her machine that I’m in town. It should be an interesting conversation if I ever get hold of her. I got your letter and think you’ve lost your mind.

  Typically, a no-win situation with my daughter. She won’t be satisfied with anything short of total surrender.

  I pick up a copy of the Democrat-Gazette and see an article in the second section on Dade’s hearing. So much for confidentiality. WAR will probably hold a rally out side the Union calling for Dade’s castration, I think gloomily. Yet how could I expect that information to re main a secret? I myself told Dade to tell the coaches.

  Suddenly, it hits me that Coach Carter would make a perfect character witness for Dade at the hearing. Even if the faculty and student members of the “J” Board pretend that it’s no big deal for the Razorback football coach to appear before them, it would be, and some of them will be influenced whether they admit it or not. If Carter had a losing record, it might be a different story, but the Hogs for the first time in years are now ranked in the top ten, thanks to the win over Tennessee. There can’t be five people on the campus who don’t know about the game this weekend with number one ranked Alabama.

  Back at the Ozark, I call Carter’s office and am told by his secretary that he is in a meeting. Undoubtedly he is with his assistant coaches drawing up a game plan for the Crimson Tide. The best time to get him, I realize, is late at night. I leave my name and number and say it is important.

  Then I call the Cunninghams collect and report on the upcoming hearing. Roy, who takes the call in his store, asks the same question as his son: Is Dade going to be kicked out of school? I assure him, without the slightest evidence to back me up, that his son is in no danger of

  being separated from the campus. I know he and Lucy will be talking to Dade before Friday, and any lack of confidence I convey to them will get back to Dade. Acting in effect as his own lawyer at the hearing, Dade must not panic. I promise to let them know as soon as we get a decision and hang up, knowing how helpless they both must feel.

  Resigned to a sickening long-distance bill, I call Clan and ask him for some names of kids at the university who might know something about Robin.

  “Doesn’t Brenda have some friends who have kids up here who are sorority types?” I ask. Brenda, not Clan, had family money in the beginning of the marriage. She has always struck me as the kind of woman who still goes up for alumnae weekends and bores the girls to death.

  “I need to get the inside skinny on the girl and I can’t get my own daughter to do any of my legwork for me.”

  “Brenda and I haven’t spoken to each other for weeks,” Clan laughs.

  “What else is new?” I say half seriously. I never know how to take Clan on the subject of his marriage. He and Brenda appear to me to have a terrible relationship, but seem determined to outlast each other. He has me on the speakerphone. I hear a crackling sound. As usual, he must be eating something and needs both hands. If he doesn’t die of heart disease, nobody should.

  “Hell, I know a couple of kids who are up there,” Clan says.

  “Want me to call ‘em and see if they’ll talk to you?”

  Bless Dan’s soul. Of course, he owes me for taking on his prostitute.

  “If you would,” I say sincerely, “I’d be grateful. Dade’s got a university administrative hearing F
riday, and it’d be nice to find out

  that the victim was a known pathological liar. Apparently, they’ll let in the worst gossip imaginable. You ought to be up here. This is your kind of law practice.”

  Clan snickers appreciatively.

  “What’s your number?

  I’ll call you back when I hear something.”

  I tell him and get off the phone. It’s my dime. While I am working on some questions that Dade can ask of Robin and her witnesses, I get a call from Carter’s secretary telling me to hold on for him. Normally, I can’t stand people who are too self-important to make their own calls, but I make an exception for Carter. We need him too bad.

  “Carter,” he barks.

  “Is this Page?”

  “Coach,” I plunge in, “we need your help at the hearing.

  I’d like for you to be a character witness for Dade.

  As you know, they could kick him out of school, not just off the team.”

  For an instant I think I’ve lost the connection, but Carter comes back on after a moment and says, “I’ll have to think about it. They’re scorching my butt over this.”

  I don’t doubt it.

  “You’re getting a lot of support, too, though” I guess, although my actual knowledge is limited to the two letters in the paper.

  “Some,” he admits.

  “But I haven’t exactly made myself popular with the university bigwigs. A lot of ‘em wanted me to suspend Dade the rest of the season. It’s not just pressure. I’ve had some calls from administrators who sincerely believe he shouldn’t be playing until he’s had his trial. Hell, my own wife thinks I did the wrong thing.”

  This confession is alarming. If it gets out that Carter is having second thoughts, Dade won’t have a chance.

  “I’ve finally gotten the statements of the witnesses if you want to see them,” I tell him, trying not to sound as if I’m begging

  “I’m even more convinced now that Dade didn’t do anything the girl didn’t want done. She corroborates everything Dade told you except for the alleged rape it self. It’s just her word against his. Her roommate sure doesn’t help her, and the nurse and the Rape Crisis woman just say what you’d expect. What you said at that press conference last week is truer today than when you said it. He shouldn’t be punished until he’s had his day in court.”

  “Bring the statements by in an envelope and drop ‘em off with my secretary,” Carter instructs.

  “I suspect we both want this kept confidential, so I’ll burn ‘em when I’m through.”

  “I’ll get them to you in the next hour,” I promise. I hang up, wondering how cynical Carter’s decision to keep Dade on the team really was. Maybe, down deep, there’s a little bleeding-heart lawyer trying to get out.

  Somehow, I doubt it. Coaches at this level know the public wants only one thing and that’s to win.

  As I look through the Yellow Pages to find a copy place, the phone rings. It is Sarah.

  “I got your letter, babe,” I say carefully.

  “It was interesting.”

  “Dad!” she yells into my ear.

  “I blew your mind! You can admit it. Have you thought about what I asked you to do?”

  Anxious to drop off the statements, I plead a standard excuse.

  “You mean withdraw? I haven’t had time, but I will.”

  “At least come to the rally tonight, okay?” Sarah says.

  “You’ve got to hear Paula. Even if you don’t agree with her, I think you’ll be impressed. It’s at seven in front of the Student Union.”

  “I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off getting ready for this hearing on Friday,” I explain, trying not to sound irritated.

  “But if I can come, I’ll drop by” “It’s the last one being permitted on campus this week,” Sarah says.

  “There’s a rumor that Robin is going to speak.”

  “Be identified publicly?” I ask, skeptical.

  “I thought she had quit cheerleading because of all the trauma.”

  “She probably felt ashamed,” Sarah says, “until someone explained that it was Dade who ought to feel too ashamed to show his face in public. That’s what our society does to women.”

  Maybe I will come after all.

  “Are you sure you did the right thing in quitting?” I ask, unable to keep my mouth shut.

  “You really seemed to enjoy it.”

  “Absolutely,” Sarah assures me.

  “I was willingly participating in my own exploitation.”

  For God’s sake!

  “What do you mean?” I ask, knowing I don’t want to hear this answer.

  “For example,” Sarah says earnestly, “women who act in pornography films are often physically and emotionally coerced into it. They don’t have a choice. I have a choice in whether I should take part in a spectacle that glorifies violence, the passivity of women, and male dominance.”

  And all this time I thought it was just a game. Why did I think the University of Arkansas was a safe place for her? First, it’s blacks in the Delta, now it’s women-what next? But I am living proof a person can get into trouble up here. Except my trouble was more traditional. Too much Southern Comfort, too many girls, and not enough elbow grease.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to talk about all this,” I say, “when you come home Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving weekend,” Sarah says promptly, “I want us to drive over to Bear Creek and talk to Dade’s great-grandmother if she’s still alive. I know you say it’s gossip that your grandfather had a child by her, but I want us to check it out.”

  How did this conversation get so quickly out of control What has gotten into her head?

  “That’s fifty-year old gutter talk,” I say, knowing the hold on my temper is going.

  “The last thing that poor old woman needs is to be stirred up.”

  “Then I’ll go myself.”

  “You will not!” I yell, horrified. I can just see Sarah running from house to house telling my old classmates she’s looking for one of our relatives.

  “Dad, I’ve got to go,” she says.

  “I’m almost late for work. We’ll talk about this later.”

  Great. I don’t know who is worse Professor Birdbath or Paula Crawford.

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly feeling weary.

  “Maybe we can have dinner one night. I’ll call you.”

  “I love you. Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, babe,” I say, grateful for small favors.

  9

  By the time I pull onto the campus for the WAR rally (a little late, so Sarah, if I see her, won’t be as likely to introduce me to anyone my mind keeps playing a tape of me being called up to debate one of the speakers), I am feeling better. It has been a profitable afternoon. Besides getting the statements dropped off, I now have free office space. Barton has taken pity on me and graciously offered the free use of his library while I am working on the case in Fayetteville. I even have my own key. After an hour’s wait at Memorial Hospital I found out that the nurse who examined Robin is on vacation this week and won’t be at the hearing Friday. I’ve also learned that this board does not have the power to subpoena witnesses.

  Bliss Young, the lawyer who had tried to tell me how the “J” Board worked last week, was willing to cover much of the same ground for me again, and this time I actually listened. If for some reason Robin chooses not to appear, they can’t make her. Additionally, Young told me to re member that I could advise Dade to challenge any of the board for bias. Members have recused themselves from hearing a case once they have been forced to admit they have too many connections with one of the parties. Finally Young told me that while the matter is being ap pealed, all action is stayed, which means Dade plays in the Alabama game, even if they issue a decision as soon as we finish the hearing. That should cheer him up considerably

  If I worried about being singled out, I shouldn’t have.

  There must be close
to six or seven hundred people gathered in front of the Student Union. I am amazed. Any other time on this campus you’d only find this kind of enthusiasm for a pep rally. Doesn’t anyone remember the Hogs are playing Alabama this week? When we played Texas while I was in school, the campus was in a frenzy the whole week before the game. I do not see Sarah as I try to make myself inconspicuous at the edge of the crowd. To blend in a little better, I have taken off my tie and have worn a sports coat. The weather is cool and dry perfect football weather. The women are mostly in jeans and sweatshirts (there don’t seem to be many sorority types here), but the crowd seems to be about a quarter male, many of whom are professor types, though not many my age. Inevitably, there are a couple of TV cam eras and several reporters.

  The speaker, a blond woman with a short haircut, who is wearing jeans and tennis shoes (despite my best intentions, I can’t help wondering if she’s a lesbian Sarah would drive a spike in my eye if I admitted this to her), is exhorting the crowd to write or call the university administration to expel Dade. “… He has been charged by the state of Arkansas with a crime of violence, and yet de spite having full authority to remove him immediately if the safety of other individuals is at stake, the university allows him to remain on campus. Why? Because the University of Arkansas doesn’t care about what happens to women if there’s an important athletic contest at stake.

  This is the reality of where women are in this state, in the South, in this nation which gives only lip service to the notion of equality..

  As she harangues the crowd (impressively, I concede her delivery is appealing and well paced despite the scratchy sound system), I tell a male nearby that I just arrived and don’t know who the speaker is.

  “Paula Crawford,” he whispers.

  “She’s a law student.”

  My mouth flies open. What happened to her hair? Is Sarah going to chop off her beautiful, thick, curly mane, too? Why do they do this? It’s a form of mutilation, as far as I’m concerned. I turn back to Ms. Crawford, who hasn’t paused for breath.

  “It is a question of our values as human beings. A woman cries that she has been raped, and no one at the school takes her seriously. But we take football seriously at this school and we take basketball seriously at this school, and if anything jeopardizes the well-being of those sports, another part of the administration acts very quickly, indeed. The first official response on this campus that was taken after Robin Perry said she was raped came from the athletics department, which says volumes about what we value at this university