“That didn’t answer my question,” I said.
She chuckled.
“No, it didn’t. Here’s the situation: I couldn’t use anything you tell me now because we’re just having a conversation. You’re not a suspect in anything, and we’re just friends talking. Granted, it is about a legal matter, but it isn’t a case I have jurisdiction over. I give you my word that if you make a mistake and tell me something you shouldn’t, I’ll stop the conversation. Let’s treat this as I’m giving you full immunity over anything you say right now.”
“I was the shooter on the grassy knoll,” I teased.
“I suppose you did some kind of time travel,” she said.
“Perhaps. So, did you really want to know how I got the files?” I asked.
“Out of curiosity,” she admitted.
“I hired someone to get me information. And before you ask, I don’t know who they are.”
“How does that work?”
“A friend contacted them. From what you’ve said, I’m better off not knowing.”
“Okay, I won’t press you on that,” she said.
“Just out of curiosity, what would I be looking at if I took the files?”
“Up to a $1,000 fine and 6 months in jail,” she said.
You had to be shitting me. They were worried about something that would result in a slap on the wrist when there was a potential serial rapist on the loose? They would never prosecute something like that. I would get a plea deal and possibly pay a fine. If I ever got in front of a jury … let’s just say it wouldn’t happen. No prosecutor would want me talking nonstop on TV about his or her warped sense of priorities.
Bev continued on as if the penalty had shocked me silent.
“After I got the Middlesex DA focused on the real issue, the serial rapes, she didn’t bring it up again. I’ve talked to her four times since Monday. She did a little investigating on her own before she believed me. I guess the Cambridge and Harvard University police departments never put together that these cases could be related, which we both agreed wasn’t likely.
“What confused the issue is that while Harvard does have fraternities in the traditional sense, they also have what are called ‘final clubs.’ They’re called ‘final clubs’ because at one time Harvard had clubs for students of each class year. As students neared completion of their studies, the ‘final club’ was the last they could join before graduation. There are 14 final clubs; of those, six are for men only, including the one that Brandon belonged to. Unlike a fraternity, where they’d have a house where people live, these clubs are similar to an upper-end gentlemen’s club. Only the cream of the crop, the most sophisticated of the graduates of the prominent New England private schools are members. In some circles, it’s more important what club you’re a member of than what grades you get.
“The problem is that while they involved club members, their parties were never at the club. The club doesn’t admit any undergraduates to their parties unless they’re a member. Even alumni must wait ten to fifteen years before they may be allowed as a guest. The exception, of course, is female guests, who aren’t members. It isn’t uncommon for the final club to rent out a nightclub for the evening.
“What tripped Brandon up was the last party was held on campus. When the allegations were made, the case fell to the university’s police. The university didn’t want any part of it. They gave him the choice of a disciplinary inquiry and possible prosecution, or to withdraw from school. He obviously picked the second option.
“The Middlesex District Attorney suggested that if you wanted to expedite the processing of the rape kits, you could send a check to the lab. She gave me a reference number to attach to the check, and they’d know what to do.”
“Will I be able to get a copy of the results?” I asked.
There was a pause.
“It could be argued that if you pay for it, you own it, but that probably wouldn’t apply to this. We are talking about an open investigation.”
I smiled to myself. Of course I would pay for the kits to be processed. Of course the authorities would keep everything secret. For now, I would hold my tongue about what I thought about all this.
“So, I won’t know if they’re following up or not.”
“You aren’t technically in any way involved with the investigation,” Bev said.
“Except that my friend was raped.”
“David, you have to understand …” she began.
“Bev, I understand completely. Because the girls who were raped went to the parties willingly and didn’t remember what actually happened, it’s no big deal. You and I both know that’s bullshit. One of the definitions of consent is being in control of your faculties. Passed out or drugged doesn’t make it possible to give consent.”
“I understand your frustration, but you have no standing in the open cases. Unfortunately, we could never make a case for Tami against Brandon. I know I sound like I’m being an obstacle, but I don’t want to promise something I can’t deliver.
“Can you at least follow up and make sure they process the kits and get any information you can?” I asked.
“Yes, I can do that,” she conceded.
“Bev, I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I do appreciate what you’ve done. You got the ball rolling on this. When he’s behind bars, you’ll have had a big part in it.”
“Okay, no need to suck up. I won’t let you down.
“Thanks.”
We said our goodbyes, and I looked up. Shit! Cassidy and Brook were staring at me from the front seat.
“There wouldn’t be a chance you didn’t hear all that?” I asked, and from the looks I got, there wasn’t. “I was afraid of that. Can you just let it go for now?”
“If you need me to hurt someone, let me know,” Cassidy offered.
I smiled, thinking of the last guy she said she would hurt. She had threatened Alan, but he ended up being a wuss and wouldn’t take his punishment like a man. Cassidy had given him an offer: she could make him cry like a little girl, or he could start going to her sixty minutes of hell classes. The dummy picked the second option. It had been fun watching him walk around like an old man all week. I gave him credit that he hadn’t quit.
“You’ll be the first person I ask,” I assured her.
We entered the dojo, and Cassidy showed me I wasn’t as good as I thought I was. Someday!
◊◊◊
I went to Brook’s house for dinner because Ian wanted to talk about the political rallies. He and Brook sat down with me after we’d eaten.
“I talked to Governor Higgins’ campaign manager. They plan to hit campuses next weekend. The campaign wanted to have you stand behind the governor on stage. I had some other ideas,” Ian said.
“I look good standing on a stage,” I said.
Both Ian and Brook ignored me.
“I explained to them that we were missing an opportunity. I suggested that they do a voter registration drive. They could allow people who register to meet you and have their picture taken.”
“I’m not sure that would be enough,” Brook said.
Did she just slam me? She caught my evil eye and rolled hers to tell me to quit being a baby.
“We want something that’ll make students want to come. We need to make it an event,” Brook explained.
“Or a concert,” I said. “I met a band from Chicago that’s really good. I saw them in LA and watched the four of them play a couple of times. It would be great exposure for them, and we would create a buzz. It certainly wouldn’t be a boring campaign rally.”
I think Ian was offended by the ‘boring campaign rally’ comment. He certainly didn’t think politics was boring. I gave him my best smile.