Illegal Motion g-4 Read online

  “I couldn’t have done it.”

  “Yeah, how did Paula manage to bring that off?” I ask, noticing that Sarah is wearing no makeup. Great. Next, she’ll be telling me she’s joining a convent.

  “I’ve told you,” Sarah says, spooning ice from her water and putting it into an ashtray.

  “Paula is very persuasive. I think you’re afraid to take her on.”

  A no-win situation if there ever was one.

  “You make her sound like a prize fighter,” I say, over “Midnight Hour,” the Wilson Pickett version, though I like the way it was done in the movie The Commitments. Maybe Sarah and I should just listen to the music.

  We continue bantering throughout the meal. Sarah hits me with a few feminist jabs, but I don’t have the heart to take the gloves off, or maybe I have too much sense.

  Maybe she’s right and women are exploited night and day in this country. But if things are so bad for them, why do women outlive men so long? God help us if the statistics were reversed. Before she cranks her engine in the Volkswagen outside the restaurant, I tell her once again that I still think Dade is probably innocent.

  “Why? Why can’t you believe her?” Sarah demands, hugging her jacket against her in the cool mountain air.

  “I can’t go into the reasons,” I say hiding behind legal ethics and feeling guilty because of it.

  “Mainly, I just think Dade is telling the truth.”

  “And I think Robin is telling the truth! Why would she lie about a thing as serious as rape?” Sarah says, her voice trembling now.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “I wish I did.”

  “I wish you did, too.” Angry, Sarah roars off, grinding gears as she goes. I need to get her a new car. What she’s driving now would crumble if she went over a curb at ten miles an hour.

  Friday morning at ten the press is out in full force. I’ve told Dade to ignore the questions and the cameras again as best he can. The

  hearing itself is supposed to be confidential, but as I shove a microphone out of my face going up the stairs, I get the feeling the hearing is going to be televised to the entire country.

  We are apparently the last to arrive. Inside room 213 the’T’ Board is lined up on one side of a long conference table, and the witnesses, including Harris Warford, I’m relieved to see, are lined up on the other. The head of the board, a Professor Haglar from the history department, tells us to sit across from him and introduces the “J” Board members too fast for me to write all their names down. Robin is sitting in a chair off to the side, presumably with her attorney, and only looks up briefly. Up close she is even prettier than I had imagined and looks as if she had just come from a modeling assignment. Her face is made up to beat the band and she is wearing silver jewelry over a flax vest that covers a scoop-necked cotton T-shirt. Her outfit is completed by an expensive-looking long green print skirt.

  Haglar seems nervous and keeps turning to look at Clarise Dozier, the Coordinator of Judicial Affairs, who is seated on his left, for reassurance. She smiles as if he is doing beautifully although he is visibly sweating, and we’ve barely begun.

  “I want to remind Mr. Page and Mr.

  Sanderson that under our rules you may not ask questions of witnesses or argue the case, but you can advise your client on any matters you wish. I also want to point out that Professor Haglar is sitting in for the regular “J’ Board chairperson, who is ill today,” Ms. Dozier explains, reading my mind.

  “We’ll probably go a little slower than usual.”

  That’s okay with me. Dade seems lost already, which is understandable under the circumstances. The board is right on top of him. In a courtroom the defendant has more personal space, but I remind myself this is educational.” Sure. I write Sanderson’s name down and make a note to ask Barton about him. For all I know, he may be a family friend and not a lawyer. I’m surprised one of Robin’s parents is not here. But perhaps she didn’t want them. On the conference table in front of Ms. Dozier is a tape recorder which may come in handy later. While Haglar assures us that this proceeding will be very informal and goes over several items that I’ve already covered with Dade, I study the faces of the rest of the board.

  Though a couple of the male professors have opted for shirts open at the throat and sports jackets, the others, perhaps sensing this may be the high point of their semester are wearing their Sunday best. The black female, a Ms. Osceola Glazer (whose name I did get), is actually wearing a dark jade polo dress identical to one owned by Sarah. Introduced as an assistant professor in the math department, she looks young enough to be a student. The university had few black teachers when I was here. I doubt if it is any different now. It occurs to me that no Arkansas jury will be as educated or as economically well off as this group. Unfortunately, what they may make up for in their presumed lack of racial prejudice may be overshadowed by their political correctness.

  Dr. Haglar asks me if we have any more witnesses who will be showing up, and when I tell him that Harris is our only one, he has each witness formally identify him-or herself and then explains to them that they will now be excused so that they won’t hear each other’s testimony.

  Ms. Dozier leads them out a door in the back of the room to another office where they will wait until they are called. It is my first glimpse of Shannon Kennsit and Mary Purvis, the Rape Crisis counselor, neither of whom would talk to me. Shannon is by far the more interesting looking of the two. A redhead with permed hair down to her shoulders, she is wearing a hot pink silk blouse and tight black pants. She looks nothing like a female sports junkie, but I overheard her ask Harris about the Alabama game as they walked out the door.

  When Ms. Dozier is seated once again, I whisper to Dade that he should read aloud the first question on his pad. He raises his hand and is recognized by Haglar.

  Speaking in a stiff voice, Dade asks, “Are any of you members of WAR or any similar group, or have any of you attended one of their meetings or rallies?”

  No one raises a hand or speaks, and he continues to read questions designed to get at whether any of them know Robin or her roommate. One studious-looking girl with big glasses whose name I have written down as Judith raises her hand and says she sits beside Robin in a psychology class but that they are only acquaintances.

  Dade looks at me uncertainly, but I shake my head. We can’t very well ask her to recuse, nor would I want her to.

  Judging from her tone, she may think that Robin is an airhead beauty queen and not particularly credible. I point to a question on the legal pad, and Dade reads, “Have any of you formed an opinion about this matter as a result of talking to others or news coverage?”

  Typically, no one speaks up, but it is a question that has to be asked and just might keep one of these people honest. The truth is, all of them have some opinion even if it is not a strong one, but human nature being what it is, the answer is almost always in the negative. By letting Dade conduct what in a courtroom would be voir dire, or an examination of the jury’s qualifications, my plan is for him to get over his nervousness before he begins to testify.

  Sanderson, who has a young face but is prematurely bald, asks the board if any of them knows Dade personally.

  Again, no one raises his or her hand. He then asks if anyone will be influenced by Dade’s status as a star football player. Again no one answers. I hope to hell someone is lying.

  Haglar calls on Robin, who has been completely silent, to come sit at the table and give her opening statement.

  Accompanied by Sanderson, she sits toward the end of the table near the door where we entered, and Sanderson sits between her and me, partially blocking my view of her and certainly Dade’s, who is sitting to my right. I start to protest that she should change places with Sanderson, but realize it will just irritate the board.

  Robin, to my dismay, is disturbingly convincing. Without halting or even clearing her throat, she tells the board her story, which uniformly tracks the statement she ga
ve Detective Parley. Though it is vague in spots, she leaves no doubt that she was convinced she had no choice but to submit to Dade.

  “I know some of you are probably thinking I was stupid to go over there, but I never really believed anything like this would ever happen, especially not with Dade,” she says, her head turning slowly back and forth, making sure she has eye contact with each board member.

  “Shannon and I had gone over to that same little house in the spring, really so she could meet Dade when you talk to her you’ll see she’s a real Razorback fan. We felt perfectly safe the whole time. Two other players were there and, I guess, their two girlfriends. They were as nice as they could be. One is here today, I think, as a witness for Dade….”

  As she talks, I go back and forth in my mind as to whether Dade should try to get her to admit that he had tried to kiss her in the spring, but it seems too damaging.

  If she isn’t going to mention it, he might be better off not bringing it up because in some ways her story helps Dade. He comes off as a perfect gentleman. She has admitted as much. As she concludes, I whisper in his ear not to mention it to the board. He nods, relieved.

  Though we have practiced it several times, Dade’s opening statement doesn’t come out of his mouth nearly as smoothly as Robin’s. Halfway through it, he begins to ramble and says crudely, “Robin didn’t get anything she didn’t want.”

  Though it is clear what he means, this one simple statement might well make him sound far more brutal than he is, and I look at the faces of the females on the board to gauge their reaction. Perhaps I am imagining it, but Judith what’s-her-name seems to turn even paler than she already is, and she shrinks back in her seat. Dade comes off in this exchange as a defensive, almost sullen young man with a chip on his shoulder, doubtlessly a victim in his own eyes, but one who doesn’t inspire sympathy. Instantly, I regret not having him admit that he tried to kiss Robin. Without that admission, his actions seem purely motivated by lust.

  The board members begin to ask questions. Predictably they are most interested in why Robin waited so long to go to the hospital. Growing more comfortable by the minute, Robin speaks with a practiced earnestness that is impressive.

  “I think I was almost in shock from the time I left the house on Happy Hollow Road until I woke Shannon up with my crying. If it hadn’t been for her, I don’t think I would have gone to the hospital. I was too ashamed. Until I talked to Shannon, I was afraid nobody would believe me, just like Dade said….”

  The “I Board doesn’t roll over for her. One of the fe male professors asks why she took her car if she wasn’t worried about anything happening.

  “I just wanted to be able to leave whenever I thought I needed to,” she says carefully.

  “Maybe down deep I wasn’t as sure of the situation as I thought I was.”

  “Why did you feel ashamed?” a male professor at the far end of the table asks.

  “I don’t know,” Robin says, her voice hoarse with emotion for the first time. Her eyes redden and she begins to cry.

  “I guess because I knew it was my fault for going over there by myself. And I knew how much pain this was going to cause my parents. They’re very conservative. It was stupid to go there by myself; I admit it.”

  We stop for a moment while she composes herself, and I have a chance to study her. Damned if I can tell whether this is all an act.

  Throughout she is vague on the actual details of the rape, and understandably the “J” Board is reluctant to press her too closely. The student at these hearings, ac cording to the papers Dozier gave me, is permitted not to answer a question if she or he chooses not to, and theoretically, no inference of wrongdoing can be made. She isn’t even under oath. If she chooses not to answer, she can simply refuse, which she couldn’t do at a trial.

  There are several other questions, but Robin, though shaky, handles them well enough, and at a bathroom break requested by the oldest professor there, I take Dade into a corner and try to persuade him that he should ask her if she admits that he tried to kiss her at the party in the spring. If she does, and she further contends she resisted him, then he can ask her why she so willingly came over alone a few months later.

  Dade, sweating profusely in a dark wool suit that is too tight in the shoulders, flatly refuses.

  “I’m not doing it now. I should have told them when I first started talking.

  They’ll think I’m lying now.”

  “No, they won’t,” I plead fervently.

  “Tell them the truth. Tell them your parents told you never to get involved with a white girl, but that you liked her. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Dade shakes his head and leaves me standing by myself.

  I follow him back to the table, feeling terrible. I should have figured this out better beforehand, but I just kept going back and forth in my own mind and had hoped I could resolve it before the hearing in a way that made sense. Shit, I hate this business of the lawyers not being able to ask questions. It isn’t fair to the student.

  The board members are not as gentle with Dade.

  Clearly, some of the faculty members think he forced her to have sex. Though their questions are not unexpected, it is the tone that bothers me. I whisper to him that he should continue to say that he never threatened Robin, nor did he ever say that she would not be believed. All I can do is sit here and listen to him repeat his answers and hope he doesn’t trip himself up.

  “Mr. Cunningham,” a Dr. Darcy asks, after a flurry of questions by the males on the board, “did her coming out there give you the wrong idea, as Robin has suggested?”

  I can’t decide whether she is trying to trap him or not.

  Even if he agrees, that is still no justification to force her to have sex. I whisper to him that now is the time for him to say he had tried to kiss her in the spring and that he thought she had changed her mind about their relationship.

  Even if it sounds crude, it may be his best chance to convince them he didn’t rape her.

  Dade nods, but answers, “It was just how she acted when she got there,” and describes how she had come over to him after a few minutes.

  “She wanted me to kiss her, and it was her idea to get in the shower, but when it was all over she just got up and left.”

  Frustrated, I force myself to sit poker-faced. There is nothing I can do. I don’t want to give them the impression I am arguing with him. Judging by their frowns, this answer doesn’t sit well with some members of the board, who obviously would find more plausible a case of classic date rape. A professor named Dow asks the same question for the second time, “Now, what did you tell her you would do if she told anyone?”

  I can’t remain, in the words of one of the “Irangate” lawyers, a potted plant, any longer.

  “Dr. Haglar, this has already been covered.”

  Professor Haglar, not unlike some judges I’ve appeared before, mutters something unintelligible and clears his throat and nods indecisively. I whisper to Dade to say that he has already answered that question twice.

  He does, and five minutes later there is finally silence in the room.

  Dr. Haglar looks down at his watch, and after consultation with Ms. Dozier, suggests that since we are moving so quickly we work through lunch, since it appears we could be through before two. Not a single board member objects, and Ms. Dozier goes through the door in the back of the room and brings back Shannon Kennsit. I no tice for the first time Shannon is wearing a “Beat Alabama” button over her left breast. She is that not-so-rare article, a genuine female Razorback nut.

  If Dade’s trial comes off, I fear she will be a devastating witness. In comparison to Robin’s coolness, this girl is friendly and open as a puppy and entirely believable.

  She, too, in response to the questions, tracks the statement she gave to the police. She tells the board that she was in the room with Robin the night of the rape and she was sure she didn’t have anything to drink that night be fore she left the soror
ity house. She describes the little party she and Robin attended as “fun” because she got to talk to a real star for the first time.

  One of the male students whose name I didn’t catch asks if Robin had ever said that she liked Dade or thought he was attractive. I listen carefully for Shannon’s answer, but she disappoints me by saying, “She never said she liked him like he was some guy she had a thing for,” her tone matter-of-fact.

  “But she liked him as a person. She thought he was a friend, I guess, not just somebody she was helping.”

  The black math professor. Dr. Glazer, picks up on this question.

  “Ms. Kennsit, if Robin had been attracted to Dade,” she asks, her voice slightly ironical and detached, “given the fact that he is an African-American and she is white, and the fact that public interracial relationships are rare on this campus, is she the kind of person who would be sure to confide in you or her friends, or might she be more cautious and not say anything, especially at first?”

  Shannon, whose most attractive characteristic as a witness thus far has been her lack of guile, hesitates for the briefest of instants before answering, “Robin is kind of private, but I think she would have told me if she had liked Dade, you know, that way.”

  “Ms. Kennsit,” the same woman asks again, “who else might Robin have confided in?”

  Bless this woman’s soul. Whether she knows it or not, this woman is helping us out, if not today, then for the trial. I think she is trying to help us out.

  “Robin and I are best friends,” Shannon says eagerly.

  “If she didn’t tell me, I don’t think she would tell anybody.”

  I don’t think this girl is lying. But if Dade is telling the truth, there is more to this case than meets the eye. Robin could easily be hiding something but what is it? I don’t have a clue. At least I will have plenty of time to work on Dade before the trial.

  The hearing speeds up considerably after Shannon finishes. Mary Purvis, the counselor from the Rape Crisis Center, is the next witness, and I don’t regret not having caught up with her. She is in her early