16
Wednesday afternoon, before I leave for Fayetteville for the hearing on my motion to introduce evidence of Robin’s past sexual conduct, I have an inspiration and call Amy to ask her to sit at the counsel table with me for the trial on the seventh, still five days away. We have been inseparable since her successful Christmas Day visit. With Sarah invited by a friend from school to a party New Year’s Eve in Memphis, I spent the entire night at Amy’s, where we conducted our own private celebration to welcome in the new year.
When she finally picks up the phone in her office, I ask, “Would you be interested in coming up to Fayette ville for the trial next week? You could examine a couple of the witnesses. I’ll have plenty of time before then to prepare you.”
Amy is too smart not to guess my motive.
“You want a female lawyer to try to add credibility to Dade’s defense, don’t you?”
“What would be so wrong with that?” I ask, trying to conceal my irritation with her tone. She knows what lawyers do.
“I don’t think you’ll want me,” Amy says abruptly.
“I feel sorry for the girl. She’s been through hell.”
Standing in my kitchen, I watch the faucet drip in the sink. This room could stand some major work if I’m going to remain in the house. Lately, I’ve been thinking it’s time I ought to move.
“Bullshit!” I say emphatically.
“The National Weather Service, or whoever names storms, ought to name a tornado after her. If you get in Robin Perry’s way, you’re history….”
Amy interrupts, “First, she gets seduced by a professor, then probably raped by a student, and now she’s going to be publicly humiliated at a trial. She’s just a kid.
What if this had happened to Sarah? Then you’d see Robin Perry a lot differently.”
Why did I call Amy? Bad idea.
“You should have stayed a prosecutor, Gilchrist,” I say, unwilling to start a fight, but wanting to have the last word. Yet, I know I’m not being fair. We both know she loved the prosecutor’s office.
“Men say they understand, but you don’t,” Amy lectures me.
“The emotional pain and frustration women go through in a rape case is absolutely sickening. Men can’t even imagine it.”
Amy’s beginning to sound like Paula Crawford. I look at my watch. It’s four o’clock. I’ll be driving in darkness over the mountain.
“I need to get on the road,” I tell her, and hang up a moment later, after trying to smooth things over between us. I should have known better than to call her. I need her right now a lot more than she needs me.
Thursday morning, as Dade and I enter the Washington County courthouse for the hearing, I wince at the irony of the mural’s written script, our hope lies in heroic men.
My hope is in a man who is hardly heroic. Joe Hofstra, according to Barton, who has had his feelers out for gossip, is suicidal because of having to appear at this hearing The hearing is closed to the public, and with no students in town and the actual trial not to begin until Monday, we have attracted no media attention. Unless I miss my guess, however, word will get around that some thing big is going on in Judge Franklin’s court, and we’ll have a handful of reporters interested in talking to us when we come out.
In his chambers Judge Franklin studies my Motion to Introduce Evidence of Past Sexual Conduct as if he is seeing it for the first time. He has asked us to leave our witnesses in the courtroom. I pick a piece of lint from my new suit. It fits great, unlike my old standby gray pin stripe, which was so tight that if I didn’t wear my coat, the inside of my front pockets were exposed.
Seated across the table from me, Binkie Cross gives me a pained look, as if what I am doing is somehow un ethical. We have barely talked since he suggested that Dade take a lie detector test. Glowering at me over dimestore reading glasses identical to my own, he seems his usual rumpled, world-weary self. Doubtless, before this morning is over, we will be at each other’s throats. He seems to be taking this rather routine defense tactic a little too personally; yet, by the time this hearing is over, the case may be changed from a relatively straight forward swearing match to a situation that has implications beyond the Razorback athletic program. If Judge Franklin grants my motion, this case will turn much uglier than it is already. The University of Arkansas looms over everything up here.
I glance at Judge Franklin’s stenographer. A handsome woman, in her early sixties, I would guess, she, too, seems to be irritated at me. Hasn’t your client caused trouble enough? How dare you accuse a professor? I warn myself against the typical paranoia of the outsider and busy myself with the display on Judge Franklin’s walls. A hunter, he has pictures of himself surrounded by dead animals and dogs. Yet, even in this masculine corner of the world, he may be offending somebody. He asks me to summarize my position, and as precisely as I can, I take him through my argument. I conclude by saying, “The bottom line. Your Honor, is that Robin Perry’s past sexual conduct is part and parcel of this case. There was no rape, or if there was, it was purely in the mind of Robin Perry, who couldn’t stand the thought that she was about to lose the attention of Dr. Hofstra, and my evidence is going to show that this morning.”
Judge Franklin grunts and asks abruptly, “Does the prosecution want to respond?”
“Indeed, I do. Your Honor,” Binkie says, his voice already harsh and combative.
“This case is no different from any other situation in which the defense tries to put a rape victim on trial. Following Mr. Page’s reasoning, evidence of prior sexual conduct by any rape victim can be introduced to show some supposed motive to lie. To allow this type of evidence would be to circumvent the rape shield law in its entirety. The probative value of any evidence of a prior sexual relationship in this case is out weighed by its prejudicial and inflammatory nature, which this court has the discretion, fixed by statute, to prohibit. Mr. Page wants to put the University of Arkansas on trial. Your Honor, instead of his client.”
This is weak. Binkie is down to his last bullet. The judge looks at me, and says, his voice slightly ironic, “Is that what you’re trying to do, Mr. Page?”
Binkie is already anticipating my closing statement to the jury Monday, but I’m damned if I’m going to admit it.
“The last thing I want to do in this case is take on the university. Judge. What this case has been about since day one is credibility. If Robin Perry had any motive to lie about what she says occurred to her as a result of my client’s actions, the jury is entitled to hear it.”
Binkie tosses his pen on the table, a gesture ordinarily reserved for a jury and not a hearing back in chambers.
“He wants to turn the case into a circus. Judge,” he complains.
Poor Binkie. This case is unraveling right in front of him. Judge Franklin leans back in his padded chair and puts his hand over his eyes as if to shield the prosecutor from his sight. Finally, he says, “Well, let’s go out to the courtroom and hear some testimony.”
I feel in control of things for the first time. If this hearing goes as I intend, we could conceivably get a dismissal by Binkie this afternoon. This case will be a black eye for too many people. I come out to the counsel table and smile at Dade, who has been waiting in the courtroom with the other witnesses, who include Lauren, Robin, Joe Hofstra, and Robin’s roommate. Shannon Kennsit. Following my advice, Dade is wearing the same too-tight suit he wore at the administrative hearing. If I have my way, he’ll wear the same clothes throughout the trial, if there is one. The last thing I want him looking like is some slick black pro athlete. As he sits down by me, I tell him that things are going fine. All he will have to do to day is watch. I “invoke the rule” so that the witnesses will not be present in the courtroom. As Judge Franklin instructs each witness not to discuss his or her testimony with any other, I glance back and forth between the faces of Robin and Joe Hofstra. They are about as far from each other in the courtroom as two people can get. As Lauren leaves the courtroom for the witness room, I nod at her, trying to get her to smile. She looks more scared than I would like. Yet, testifying can be an unnerving experience if you haven’t done it before. I forget how young these kids are.