Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

“The incident two and a half years ago with Deputy Wade Travers.”

A quiver runs the length of her. She opens her mouth, but doesn’t speak. Then her face goes cold. “What are you? Some kind of reporter or something? I wish you people would leave me the hell alone.”

She starts to close the door, but I put my hand against it and stop her. “I’m not a reporter.”

“Yeah, well, I still don’t want to talk to you,” she says dismissively. “Now get the fuck off my porch, man.”

“I need your help,” I tell her. “It’s important.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“After what happened to you? You should.”

“I lied about that. Made it all up.”

“Kelly, I know you don’t know me. You have no reason to trust me. But this is extremely important. I need to know the truth about what happened that night.”

Her raccoon eyes narrow. “Who are you?”

Now it’s my turn to hesitate. This is where things get tricky. “Look, I’m a cop, but I’m off-duty so this is sort of an unofficial visit.”

“No offense, but I’m not a big fan of cops. They don’t like me much either. That’s all I got for you, lady.”

She starts to close the door, but I put my foot in the jamb.

“You’re a persistent bitch, aren’t you?” she snarls.

“You have no idea.”

A tinge of amusement melts some of the ice in her eyes. “Why would I even give you the time of day?”

“Because I don’t think you lied,” I tell her. “I think someone persuaded you to change your story. I think you were willing to do jail time to protect yourself.”

She gapes at me and for the first time I see a sliver of vulnerability beneath the brass. I pounce on it. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of … something else. Another case that may be related. If you help me, maybe I can help you, too.”

“What do I have to lose, right?” Bad attitude back in place, she swings open the door. “Welcome to FUBAR. Want a beer?”

*

A few minutes later we’re seated in a small living room with threadbare carpet and curtains the color of mustard. I’m sitting on a sofa that smells of cigarette smoke and mold. Kelly Dennison sits cross-legged in a recliner that looks relatively new. An old REO Speedwagon song about rolling with the changes wafts out from somewhere down the hall.

“So, you’re a cop?” she asks, digging a cigarette from a pack.

“I’m not here as a cop,” I reply. “I’m here as a private citizen.”

“And I should know what to make of that?”

“Look, all I can tell you at this point is that whatever we discuss here today is off the record, okay?”

“Whatever floats your boat.” She follows up with an I-don’t-give-a-shit shrug.

There’s a playpen in the corner. A baby bottle half full of something red on the counter in the kitchen. A child’s plastic key ring on the floor at the mouth of the hall.

“You have children?” I ask.

“My daughter’s three.”

“She’s sleeping?” I ask.

“Just leave her out of this, and get to the point,” she snaps.

“I need to know what happened that night in Chardon two and a half years ago.”

She lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. “Jesus.”

I wait.

“I’d been out with one of my girlfriends.” She slants me a hard look. “Yeah, I’m gay. Bi really. I have girlfriends and boyfriends. So what?”

She’s trying to shock me; it doesn’t work. “You were on your way home?”

“Yup. Karen and I went to dinner and hit a couple of bars in Cleveland. I think I had three or four drinks. Dropped her off at her apartment and started for home around two thirty A.M. I was out in the middle of bumfuck when a Geauga County sheriff pulls me over.”

“You were alone?”

“Yup.”

“Where exactly?”

“I don’t know. Some lesser road off Caves Road. I’d been drinking so I took the back roads, thinking that would keep the cops off me.” Her smile is bitter. “Didn’t help.”

“What happened?”

She glares at me, letting me know her discomfort is my fault for bringing this up. “He started out all professional like. Asked me how much I’d had to drink. I told him one beer.” Another hard smile. “So he gives me a Breathalyzer. He asked me to get out of the car and gives me a field test, you know where I had to walk the line. I thought I’d passed.” Shrugging, she falls silent and concentrates on her cigarette.

“Did he arrest you?” I ask.

“He handcuffed me. Said he was going to call for a female deputy. Then he put me in the backseat of his car.” She stubs out the cigarette and lights another. “By then I was upset and crying. I figured I was going to jail for DUI. I’d have fines and a lawyer to pay, neither of which I could afford.” She makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the interior of the trailer. “As you can see, I don’t have a lot of money. So, yeah, I was upset.

“Anyway, after a few minutes he gets me out of the car. I knew something was up because he was … different. Not quite as professional. He was being, like … nice. He started asking me all kinds of questions. I told him where I worked. That I had a daughter. He let me smoke a cigarette. The whole time I thought he was trying to keep me calm while we were waiting for that female deputy.” She shrugs. “It wasn’t until I told him I was gay that he … I don’t know, he got kind of … excited.”

“What did he do?”

“He asked me if I liked oral sex and then he told me if I gave him a blow job, he’d let me go home.” She sucks hard on the cigarette. “Gotta be honest with you. I was tempted. I seriously couldn’t afford a DUI. But the thought of … I mean, I didn’t exactly handle it right, but how the hell do you handle something like that? Anyway, in the end I said no.

“It didn’t go over very well. I mean, it was like someone flipped a switch in that dude’s head. He got all pissed off. Started pushing me around. The next thing I know he throws me over the hood of his car, slams my face down, and starts yanking down my pants.”

The young woman shrugs as if she’s immune, as if remembering that dark moment doesn’t affect her. But I wasn’t born yesterday. Despite the bad attitude and foul mouth, I see the rise of humiliation, fear, and rage.

“He must’ve had a rubber with him. I don’t remember him putting it on. But he just … clamped his hand over the back of my neck, bent me over the hood, and stuck it in. Started humping me and grunting like some kind of animal. Lasted a minute maybe and he was done.”

A wave of revulsion grinds in my gut. Sexual assault is a hideous crime. In this case, the ugliness is made even worse because it was perpetrated by a cop. A cop who has never been punished.

“He told me if I told anyone he’d hunt me down and kill me. He’d kill my family.” Her voice falters. “My little girl.” Her face splits into that bitter smile again. “Then he let me go.”

“What did you do?”