O'Toole's eyes grew hard. "I know Idaho gets the rap as the home of the Aryans and neo-Nazis and all that crap," he said. "And for sure, there's some of it. Starting about twenty or so years ago, they began moving to rural areas in Idaho, Washington, and Oregon with the idea that because there weren't many people of color living there, they could create an all-white homeland when the inevitable 'race war' began. In fact, there's a big compound about ten miles from Sawtooth that's home base to the Unified Church of Aryan People. But I've lived in Sawtooth for three years now and the vast majority of people aren't like that."
"So what is the state of race relations between the 'brothers and sisters' and the townspeople?" Karp asked.
"Actually, quite good by and large," O'Toole replied. "To be honest, there aren't a lot of minorities who have been longtime residents of the community, other than a few American Indians. Most blacks and Hispanics are students at the university, and they're there because they play for one of the teams, like mine. But most of the locals are really good to the kids; they follow the teams and are great fans. Like I said, Sawtooth is pretty small, so attending games is a major diversion. The fact is, the average citizen doesn't like these racist assholes-pardon the language-any more than we do, and resent that they moved in from other places and have given Idaho a black eye."
"Sometimes they try to run for office-like mayor or the school board," Meyers added. "But they never get very many votes. A couple of years ago, they held a rally at the city park, and there were maybe ten times more people there telling them to leave town."
Karp glanced at a clock on the wall. Damn, twelve-thirty, better get started or we'll be here all night, he thought. "Tell me about your team."
O'Toole beamed. "They're good kids. Some of them come from pretty rough urban backgrounds, but for the most part have proved that just because you might have an absentee, deadbeat father and live from hand to mouth, it's no excuse to become a criminal or join a gang. Several of them have the talent to play at the Division I level, but didn't have the grades to qualify for a big school. But Division I's loss is my gain. And we've done pretty well, too. Last year, we were a couple of games from going to the College World Series and playing against the big boys. That was our goal for this next spring, but…well, unless things change, I won't be there."
O'Toole looked down quickly as he made his comment, but Karp caught the hitch in his voice. "You really love coaching there, don't you?" he said.
O'Toole nodded and took a swig of his beer. "Yeah, I do. When I first got there, I saw it as just a step to something bigger, such as a Division I school that always has a shot at the College World Series. Like my brother, I wanted-still want-to win a national championship. But now I want to do it with the kids from this school. What they may lack in polish, they make up for in heart and desire."
O'Toole gazed at his beer bottle as if hoping to see a vision of a better future in the brown glass. Then he looked up, ready to answer the questions they all knew were coming.
"So how'd you end up in hot water?" Karp asked.
O'Toole took a deep breath, gulped down some beer, and then began. The specifics of the recruiting violations he'd told Karp about were that he'd condoned, even financed with university money, a party at which recruits were plied with alcohol and attended to by girls who'd apparently been paid to have sex with them.
"I'll get to those allegations, which are crap, in a moment," O'Toole said. "But first I need to go back a little ways and put this into context. The main character in this little drama was one of my players, Rufus Porter. He happens to be the prodigal son of one of our wealthiest and most influential citizens, 'Big John' Porter, who owns a couple of local car dealerships and is the real estate mogul of Sawtooth. Big John has his hands in just about every civic organization from the Kiwanis to Friends of the Library, and has dabbled in politics at the state level, though not very successfully because people see through the good ol' boy bullshit."
The event at the heart of the matter had occurred the previous spring during Recruit Week at which a half dozen high school players were brought to the campus to get O'Toole's sales pitch. After the talk and a tour of the facilities, the recruits were sent off to dinner with their potential teammates, who were supposed to return them to the dormitory with lights out at ten o'clock.
"However, two of the recruits were lured out of the dorm by Rufus and taken to this party," O'Toole said. "Sometime during this little gathering, Maly Laska, a female roommate of the hostess who was supposed to be out of town-apparently their rooming together was out of necessity, not friendship-came home unexpectedly. The next day, she reported that she'd been raped by Rufus. I had no idea about the party until it hit the local newspaper the day after the cops arrested Rufus."
"I hate to be the one to say this, but this wasn't a case where the girl gets drunk, has sex and regrets it the next day, and then cries rape?" Marlene asked.
O'Toole shook his head. "No. According to the local district attorney, a good man named Dan Zook, her injuries were consistent with sexual assault and one of the strippers told police that she later saw the girl in her bedroom crying. She told her that she'd been raped by Porter."
"What about the recruits?" Karp asked.
"They both said they saw the girl head back to her room, followed by Rufus a few minutes later. The door was closed and they say they didn't hear or see anything else until Rufus came out and they then left the party. Rufus, of course, claims that the sex was consensual."
"Still, seems like a pretty good case," Marlene ventured.
"It was. Zook charged Porter with sexual assault," Meyers said. "I should point out that doing that was no small act of courage in Big John's town."
"Hell, it took brass balls," O'Toole agreed. "I immediately suspended the jerk from the team. The university was a little slower. The president, E. 'Kip' Huttington III, and university attorney Clyde Barnhill didn't like it-Big John is the number one alumni club booster-but in the end there wasn't much they could do about it either."
"So they put this Rufus away?" Marlene asked.
O'Toole shook his head and took a swig of beer. "Nope. He's free as a bird. The charges were dropped."
"Why?" Karp frowned.
"Well, one thing was that the evidence-the DNA tests and samples-disappeared," O'Toole said.
"What do you mean 'disappeared'?" Karp asked.
"The investigation of the case was originally being handled by the university police," O'Toole said. "Their office is closed at night except for the guys on patrol, and there was a burglary. A number of files and items from the evidence locker were removed. Funny thing, but the burglars didn't touch the pot or cocaine that had been confiscated from college kids and was there for the taking, nor was there any sign of forced entry."
"The prosecutor could have still gone forward on the victim's testimony and that of the stripper and recruits," Marlene pointed out.
"The stripper changed her story after Rufus Porter's lawyer talked to her," Meyers said. "She decided that the victim could have been crying because she'd 'given it up' but then got dumped by Porter. Her new statement indicated that the victim was getting back at Rufus by accusing him of rape."
"And what about the victim?" Marlene asked.
"You'd have to talk to Zook about that, but he's still fuming," O'Toole noted. "She decided not to cooperate at the eleventh hour. Then she just packed her bags and left."
"They got to her," Marlene hissed.
"That's what everybody figures-Rufus runs with some of those Aryans we've talked about, and they play rough," O'Toole replied. "Zook had no choice except to drop the charges. And now he's got to be wondering where his next job will be. Big John doesn't take kindly to anybody being mean to his baby boy."