Promise You Won't Tell? (15 page)

“And say what?”

“Exactly what you said to me. About what you think happened. You can tell them about the picture Rick Hooper bought from Nathan Cain. That puts Nathan right in the middle of it. The police are good at intimidating teenagers. He’ll roll over on Ethan and Ronnie. I guarantee it.”

“It’s all hearsay,” she says, sounding mature beyond her years. “To an attorney the photo shows a girl sleeping on a bed in her pajamas. And after making all those threats to Nathan, they’ll go to Rick Hooper and find out about you and Dillon, and how you obtained the evidence, and that whole can of worms will be open. How would I feel if, because of me, you lost your license? Or if Dillon gets arrested for breaking and entering? Plus, Ethan and Ronnie are juveniles. They’ll probably get their hand slapped, at worst. And everyone will talk about me, and I’ll be a social pariah. It’s just not worth it.”

I sigh, thinking Riley Freeman, at seventeen years of age, might be twice as smart as me.

“Can we at least try to get Kelli to call the police? She shouldn’t have to be in the house with that man. And honestly, Riley, he needs to be put away.”

“She’s not going to do that, Ms. Ripper. She’s just not.”

“Can I at least call her on the phone? I’d like to—”

My phone’s being called. I check caller ID.

“Riley, can I put you on hold a second? Rick Hooper’s trying to call me.”

“Okay.”

I click Rick’s call through. “What’s up, Rick?”

“I feel badly for what happened the other day. How we left things.”

“It’s okay, Rick.”

“The first time we met, you walked away thinking I was a nice guy. The second time, I disappointed you.”

I can’t believe I’m having to deal with this right now.

“Truly, Rick, it’s okay. You’re a guy who’s never been kissed. Never seen a girl naked, except for porn sites.”

“Porn sites?”

“Don’t lie in the middle of your apology.”

“Okay.”

“You had a chance to see the homecoming queen naked. I get it.”

“Homecoming queen?”

“Figure of speech.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re forgiven. You’re still a nice guy. Just a little more human than I originally thought. And that’s probably a good thing.”

“Thanks, Dani.”

“My pleasure.”

I take a deep breath and say, “Was there anything else?”

“Yes. The main reason I called.”

“Which is?”

“You said to let you know if anything changed. Or if there were any new developments. Something like that. I can’t remember your exact words.”

“And has it?”

“Huh?”

“Has anything changed or happened? Have there been any new developments I should know about?”

“There is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The nude photos of Riley just hit the internet.”

A lot happens in a short period of time. First, I break the news to Riley.

“How bad is it?” she says.

“I’d rather not describe it to you over the phone. Can I come to your house?”

“Why?”

“I’d like to be there for you, when you see them for the first time. I’ve been through this. We can talk to your mom together, let her know what happened. It’s time to get her involved.”

“Ms. Ripper,” she says. “Can I call you Dani?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Everything’s about to blow up now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Then I think we’ve hit the point where you and Dillon can’t be involved.”

“What do you mean?”

“You guys have broken numerous laws to help build this case. I’m incredibly grateful, but now that the photos are on the internet, the case will take on a life of its own. But if
you’re
involved, the defense attorneys will drag you into it and distract the police, the attorneys, and the judge.”

“What about Kelli?”

“What about her?”

“This can be an opportunity to put Mitch away.”

“Kelli and her mom should be the ones to make that decision.”

“Okay, fair enough. Are you sure
you’ll
be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m a survivor. All week we knew this could happen, so it’s not like a complete shock.”

“It’s going to be very difficult for you. I’d like to help if I can.”

“You can help by sending me the link to the photos.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. And Dani?”

“Yes?”

“I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and all the time you put into this.”

“I’m still here for you, Riley. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, please let me know how I can help you.”

“Thank you. I would like to clear one thing up, though.”

“What’s that?”

“When you said you’ve been through this, it’s not exactly true. What you went through was
far
worse than what happened to me. But how would you feel if naked photos of you were released on the internet?”

“I’d feel awful. I can’t imagine it.”

“Try to.”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you realize everyone who knows me will look at those photos? Guys I know, their little brothers, and possibly their fathers, and some of my teachers—will probably masturbate to my photos. I doubt you have any idea what that’s going to be like for me. Not to mention, I’ll have to see all these kids and teachers at school every day.”

“I’m so sorry, Riley. I didn’t mean to compare our situations.”

“I know. I’m just saying…”

I sigh. “I’ll send the link. And the offer to call me, see me, work with me—will always be open.”

“Thank you.”

I send her the link, tell her goodbye, and pray she’ll be okay.

That was around eight-fifteen p.m.

By eleven, Riley has become the lead story on all local news channels. They’re not mentioning her by name, but they’re scrambling to piece her story together.

By noon, Saturday, it’s all anyone in town is talking about.

By five o’clock, there’s a new lead story.

Mitch Underhill has been found dead in his own home, the result of an apparent suicide.

Saturday.
As expected, the media loves the story of “the seventeen-year-old female student from Carson Collegiate.”

I turn my TV on in time to see the camera zooming in for a close up of our enthusiastic, but somber-faced local TV anchor, Gwen Jeffries, who says, “Channel eight has just learned the photos were taken after the seventeen-year-old female honor student passed out after an evening of binge drinking at the home of Mitchell and Lydia Underhill, on Carriage Town Park, here in Nashville.

“The student had been attending a slumber party a week ago today, with four other teenage girls at the Underhill residence.

“According to sources obtained by our news department, sometime before midnight the girls opened the door to a number of fellow male students. Two of the boys allegedly found the student passed out in an upstairs bedroom, removed her clothing, and photographed her. They sent the photos to fellow students, who apparently forwarded them to others.

“A week after the incident, an unknown person posted the photos to an internet porn site. The photos were removed by the owners of the site upon discovering the student was a minor, however, authorities have filed for an injunction against the site and charged the owners with violating the Child Protection and Obscenity Enforcement Act.

“School officials have asked the student to refrain from attending classes. According to sources related to the story, the student is currently on a suicide watch, under a doctor’s care.

“In a related story, Mitchell Underhill was found dead in his bedroom this afternoon, around four p.m. Underhill, who owned the home where the slumber party took place, is the apparent victim of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Police say no one has been charged in the shooting at this time, pending the results of an autopsy. Viewers having additional information about either of these incidents are being urged by police to call the number on our screen.”

As the anchor moves on to other stories, I receive a phone call from the last person on earth who should be asking me for help.

“Ms. Ripper?” he says.

“Yes?”

“I’m Gavin Clark. I’m—”

“Ethan’s father.”

“Yes. I’m calling to ask if you’d consider meeting me for a candid discussion?”

Curiosity helps me resist the urge to blow my whistle in the mouthpiece.

“When and where?”

“My office? Tonight?”

“Tonight’s fine, but I don’t trust your office. How about mine?”

“Same issue. Would you consider my country club? I can get us a private room.”

“I’d prefer my country club.”

He pauses. “Very well. Which club is that?”

“Actually, I don’t have a country club.”

“Excuse me?”

“I only said that to impress you. I thought you’d decline.”

He sighs. “I’ll come to your office if you give me your word there will be no recording devices.”

“You’ll have to promise the same.”

“Fine. When I get there, we can remove our shirts to prove we’re not wearing a wire. That’s a joke, by the way.”

He’s making a joke? He must have spoken to Allen Roemer, the Underhill’s attorney.

A half hour later, Gavin Clark enters my reception area with two teenage boys. I recognize one of them.

“Hello, Ethan,” I say.

“What happened to your face?” he says.

“I ran into a bore.”

“You mean ‘door,’ right?” Gavin says.

“Nope.”

He says, “It does look painful. Introduce yourself, Ronnie.”

“I’m Ronnie English.”

He moves toward me, to shake my hand.

“I don’t shake hands,” I say. “Nothing personal.”

“Germophobe?” Gavin says.

“No. But my explanation might make you nervous. Why are the boys here?”

“I want to talk to you with them present. At some point, if you’re interested, I’d like you to hear their side of the story.”

I frown.

Gavin says, “I know what you’re thinking, that they’ve been coached. But I’ll ask them to tell you what they told me. I can’t guarantee it’s the truth, but I’d like your take on it.”

“What exactly do you hope to gain?”

“In a perfect world? I’d like to hire you.”

“To do what?”

“Advise my legal team, help us obtain additional information, allow us to benefit from the investigation you’ve already conducted.”

“You don’t see that as a conflict of interest?”

“Not really. From what I understand, you were never hired by Riley or her mother. You were simply trying to find out what, if anything, happened to her at the slumber party.”

“The photos have answered that question.”

He glares at the boys, then says, “The photos are damaging. But they don’t prove molestation.”

I laugh, derisively. “You’ve seen the photos?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you think they don’t rise to the level of molestation?”

“
Proof
of molestation, Dani.”

“Please tell me how you would explain them. In a courtroom.”

“I’d argue the photos have been displayed in the wrong order.”

I laugh.

He says, “Assume Riley was completely naked when the boys arrived. And yes, they wrongly photographed her. But they were simply photographing what they saw when they entered the room.”

“You make it sound like a bird watching excursion.”

He shrugs. “What do you expect? I’m an attorney.”

“It’s exactly what I expect. But please elaborate.”

“If the boys found her naked, and proceeded to dress her, and photographed each stage, to prove they were dressing her, they actually did her a service.”

I wish I could say I never wanted to hurt someone as badly as I want to hurt Gavin Clark at this moment, but sadly, that isn’t true.

Which tells you a lot about my life.

I swallow my anger and say, “The photos show Ethan kissing her genitals. Would I be safe in assuming he was aiming for the top of her head and fell short?”

He smiles. “If I thought the photos conclusively showed him kissing her genitals, I’d be even more furious than I am. Which is plenty. But the photos don’t necessarily show proper perspective. I’ve had them studied and analyzed by professional photographers and criminologists, and the experts’ consensus is the shading, the lighting, the camera quality—all come into play and give the
impression
something happened, when in fact, it didn’t. Perhaps an example might help you understand.”