The Raping of Ava DeSantis Read online

  “I’ll find you a lawyer. Today.”

  ***

  Back at the front door, Dorothy followed Wesley outside to the front porch.

  “Oh, and can you call your mutual friends and let them know the funeral is on Saturday? Buckhead Baptist Church. The service starts at ten in the morning.”

  “Sure. I think I still have everyone’s number.”

  “And what about your old college roommate? The slow one. I forgot his name.”

  “Oh, David. David Reilly. We lost touch, I don’t know, around six or seven years ago, but I’ll try to find him. Anyone else?”

  “Just whoever you think should be there. But don’t invite any of his whores on the side. There’s only enough room for 500 people.”

  Dorothy shot Wesley a look.

  “Just hang in there, Dorothy. We’ll all get through this…somehow.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Finding David Reilly

  Wednesday, October 4, 2006

  9:12 P.M.

  Wesley sat at his brand new kitchen table in front of a laptop computer, talking on the phone. Sitting immediately next to him was his wife, Michelle, so disgustingly cute and pregnant, dressed in adult size footed duck pajamas. She was holding a purple magic marker in one hand, and a list of crossed out phone numbers in the other…

  Only one phone number remained on the list.

  “Hello. May I speak to David Reilly?…Hi, David, this is Wes Scarborough from Anniston University. Do I have the right David Reilly?…No problem, sir…Have a good night.”

  Wesley hung up the black cordless phone as Michelle crossed off the last number on her list. She gave Wesley an endearing look that said, at least you tried. After a long bit of silence, tears started to stream down Wesley’s exhausted face.

  Michelle moved in closer and hugged Wesley as he cried like a little boy in her arms.

  CHAPTER 15

  My Big Fat Southern Funeral

  Saturday, October 7, 2006

  12:58 P.M.

  Yes, the interior of the O’Connor house was so repulsive, it looked as if it had been decorated by two straight men on a dare. The mauve and seafoam green Miami Vice era furniture was now filled with large black blobs of people in mourning…socializing and exchanging business cards now that Sebastian’s mega-rich investor clients were up for grabs.

  All three of Susie’s flame-haired, chubby children were horsing around on the stained living room floor while the TV played Sponge Bob on Nickelodeon. Wesley and the very pregnant Michelle stood in the living room near the television, chatting with the invisible widow.

  “No, the music was perfect. The whole service was excellent. You did a wonderful job,” shared Wesley.

  “Thank you, but my mother gets all the credit. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her help.” Susie’s eyes fell to the floor.

  “I completely understand. My momma is everything to me too.” Michelle’s kind eyes responded in a way that showed how much she genuinely felt Susie’s pain. In her mind, losing Wesley was her greatest fear of all time.

  “I just wish she could help me wake up from this nightmare,” said Susie.

  “I know. We feel exactly the same way.”

  Just then, Susie’s youngest child grabbed the remote control and started flipping the channels. The other two siblings fought hard to get it back.

  “Give it to me!”

  “I want Sponge Bob!”

  During the fight, the TV landed on a local news station. On the screen, a young black anchorwoman spoke while the words Breaking News scrolled across the top…

  “Jacob Saffroy, a partner at the prestigious law firm of Holt, Weil, Richardson and Saffroy…”

  Wesley immediately turned his attention to the TV.

  “…has just been arrested by the Atlanta police moments ago.”

  The television showed a live image of an attractive dark-haired man being led out of an office building in handcuffs.

  “Sources say that an unidentified woman, who is an employee of the firm, claims that Saffroy raped her while they were working late last Monday night…”

  Wesley’s cell phone rang. He answered it abruptly.

  “I’m leaving right now.”

  CHAPTER 16

  The ScarCom Gang

  Monday, October 9, 2006

  8:03 A.M.

  Wesley, Lilly and eight other staff members (affectionately known around the office as the ScarCom Gang) sat at a spaceship sized steel conference table, wearing the same smelly clothes as the day before. A large, steaming double necked coffee thermos and two brand new boxes of donuts sat in the middle of the table, teasing everyone who was starving in the room.

  Wesley cleared his throat. “Let’s go ahead and get started. What do we have?”

  A young bi-racial woman with natural, bushy hair spoke up. “Sarah Elizabeth Vinson is a twenty-six-year-old divorced mother of three. She enjoys riding horses, mainly because she was born on a horse farm in Louisville, Kentucky—”

  “I’m not writing a fucking Biography episode, Dierdra. Give me what I need.”

  Dierdra straightened up in her chair. “Miss Vinson was a stripper at the Emerald Club before it was shut down.”

  “Really? And you confirmed that?”

  A thin man in a lime green sweater chimed in. “Yes, we did. Dierdra and I visited one of her co-workers last night. She said that everyone who worked at the Emerald Club knew Sarah offered more than just lap dances for a living.”

  “Which means what exactly?”

  The gang was taken aback. Wesley wasn’t usually this condescending.

  “Sarah Vinson was a prostitute.”

  “And you base this on one person’s allegation? That’s weak, Ed. Not enough.”

  Before he could respond, a middle-aged black woman in a purple power-suit interrupted. “Well, I have her mug shots right here.” The woman tossed two full-size police photos across the table. “She was arrested twice for solicitation. Once in 2001 and again in 2003.”

  Wesley picked up the photos, examining each one closely. “That’s only three years ago.” But just as the words came out of his mouth, his heart sunk. He knew without a doubt that Sarah Vinson was an innocent victim of a brutal attack. But now a lethal mistake in her past would make it that much easier for him to destroy her. And like a hired soldier paid to kill the enemy—without any regard for their guilt or innocence—Wesley had to finish off Sarah Vinson, without any regard for the individual cost to his soul.

  “Is the co-worker you visited willing to sign an affidavit?” asked Wesley.

  Dierdra replied. “Unfortunately, no. Reason is, she respects Sarah too much for cleaning up her act and going back to school to become a paralegal.”

  Wesley felt a pang of guilt. Despite his discomfort, he proceeded with his mission. “Dierdra. Ed. I need you both to leak the co-worker’s name to the press. They’ll make her talk.”

  “Will do.”

  “Anything else?”

  A young, heavy-set man with black-rimmed glasses raised his hand.

  “Yes, Derek.”

  “Maybe we can find someone who paid Sarah for sex? Like one of the NBA players who got busted there a few years back?”

  “We’ll need more time for that,” added Ed.

  “And why would an NBA player publically admit to such a thing?” asked Dierdra.

  “Perhaps a lifetime of free legal counsel would be an incentive?” replied Derek.

  “That’s a good idea. Get on it,” added Wesley.

  A meek Indian woman in the back of the room raised her hand. “Wait. How much time do we have, Wes?”

  Wesley looked at his Rolex. “I’m scheduling a press conference just as soon as Saffroy posts bail, so that means y’all have…six hours.”

  The crowd reacted, that’s not enough time.

  “Good. Let’s get to work.”

  The entire group rose from the table, preparing to exit the conference room. Derek grabbed a
fresh box of donuts; Dierdra poured herself a small vat of black coffee.

  Wesley quietly pulled Ed aside. “I need you to find an old college buddy of mine. It’s important.” He handed him a yellow post it with writing on it.

  “No problem. I’ll get right on it, sir.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Lights, Camera, Fiction!

  Monday, October 9, 2006

  2:37 P.M.

  The Blue Room at the Ritz Carlton was packed with TV camera crews and newspaper reporters. Wesley stood center stage on the podium, with Daniel Holt immediately by his side. Dressed like twins, they looked dapper in their Conservanazi power uniforms of navy blue business suits, crisp white shirts and matching bull red ties.

  Wesley pointed into the audience. “Yes, you.”

  A petite brunette reporter from the third row stood up. “Mr. Scarborough, is it true that your clients were fully aware of the problems between the unidentified employee and Mr. Saffroy?”

  “Yes, my clients were aware of unsubstantiated rumors that the two were romantically involved, but naturally, that does not warrant an official investigation into the personal lives of two consenting adults.”

  Wesley flashed his multi-million-dollar smile.

  The female reporter beamed right back at him. “Thank you.”

  A flock of hands rocketed back into the air.

  “Yes. You.” Wesley pointed to a short African-American man in the back row.

  “I understand that the unidentified employee is actually Sarah Elizabeth Vinson, a former stripper who worked at the Emerald Club.” The audience faked a gasp of surprise. “Is this true?”

  “It is not my place to confirm or deny the identity of the accuser, Mr. Johnson. It is up to her as to whether or not she wishes to reveal her identity to the public. Next question.”

  A buffed bald man with glasses rose from the left corner. “Mr. Scarborough, another exotic dancer who worked with Sarah Vinson at the Emerald Club claims that Sarah was a prostitute before joining the firm. Were any of your clients aware of this?”

  “Again, it is not my place to share information about an employee’s past. You will have to wait to speak to the accuser should she decide to reveal her identity in public. Next question.”

  Wesley pointed to a delicate Asian lady wearing a red sweater in the front row.

  “Mr. Scarborough, now that her name has been used, I might as well use it too…”

  The audience erupted in laughter.

  “Sarah Vinson told a close friend of hers that she received a large bonus from the firm two months ago to withdraw a sexual harassment claim. How do you respond to this?”

  “It is true that my clients gave the unidentified employee a bonus for her outstanding work several months ago. In fact, a large percentage of employees at Holt, Weil, Richardson and Saffroy receive bonuses for work well done. However, it is important to stress that my clients had no knowledge whatsoever of the accuser’s intention to file any type of claim against the firm. Next question.”

  An older man with a deep-toned radio voice rose from his seat. “Mr. Scarborough, do the other partners fully back Mr. Saffroy in this matter?”

  “My clients have absolutely no reason to deny Jacob Saffroy his absolute right of remaining innocent until proven otherwise. Therefore, he will remain a senior partner throughout this matter and will continue to conduct business as usual.”

  “What about Miss Vinson? Does she still have a job?”

  The reporters laughed.

  “The unidentified employee is again, quite valuable at the firm and has an open invitation to resume her duties whenever she wishes to. Next question.”

  “Mr. Scarborough, do you think Jacob Saffroy is guilty?”

  Wesley hesitated. “This is a matter for the police to resolve, and in the meantime, my clients will continue to serve their clients with impeccable legal counsel as they have for the past fifty-seven years—”

  A male reporter interrupted. “But Mr. Scarborough, aren’t you a rapist?”

  Time froze.

  There standing in the middle of the sea of reporters was Ava DeSantis—naked, bloodied and battered—smiling like the Devil waiting for good news.

  Wesley’s heart pumped out of his chest. His ears were ringing with fright.

  “Excuse me?”

  The male reporter repeated his question. “I asked if you thought he was a rapist.”

  Evil Ava grinned a wide toothless smile.

  Wesley mustered everything he had to answer. “I have no reason to believe the accusations made against me, nor do my clients. There is no concrete evidence to support this very serious allegation.”

  Daniel shot Wesley a serious look of concern. “Let’s wrap this up.”

  Wesley blinked his eyes hard. Suddenly, Ava disappeared from the audience. After a few long seconds, the room was confused by Wesley’s silence.

  Daniel stepped up to the podium. “We will keep y’all posted as additional information develops. Thank you, thank you all for your time.”

  The reporters reacted, they obviously wanted more.

  Wesley exited the podium and walked backstage. Daniel Holt followed him.

  “Great job there, son,” Daniel patted Wesley on the shoulder. “I especially liked how you made it personal by saying ‘accusations against me’”

  “I did?”

  “Just shows the press how much you take our defense to heart. That’s why we hired you, son. You’re the best crisis man in town.”

  Wesley’s knees suddenly became weak.

  Daniel held the exit door for Wesley. “Now let’s go grab a few cocktails at the lobby bar before the General notices I’m missing.”

  Wesley faked a pleasant smile. They walked out of the dark backstage area and into the light of the glittering Ritz Carlton lobby.

  CHAPTER 18

  Kill The Messenger

  Monday, October 9, 2006

  4:57 P.M.

  Wesley drove his brand new black Cadillac Escalade through the city’s busy streets, relieved to be finished with the stress of such a career-making (or breaking) press conference. It was already rush hour (or death hour as Wesley liked to call it), a time where Atlanta traffic seemed to have no mercy on its vehicular prisoners, or provide any rhyme or reason as to why two million people had to be on the road at the exact same moment in time.

  Wesley’s monster vehicle featured a top of the line, in-dash computer system with a voice-activated phone system. And when I-285 turned into a parking lot, Wesley would scream at the little person who lived in his SUV for not reminding him to take an alternate route.

  “Call Lilly,” he said to the computer genie inside the dashboard.

  “Calling Lilly Torres…” replied the female computer voice.

  After two short rings, the line picked up on the other end: “Boy, if you’re half as good in bed as you are on TV, then I’m a jealous girl.”

  Lilly’s loud voice echoed over the speakers.

  “Now what if Michelle was in the car with me? You could get me into serious trouble saying shit like that.”

  “Please. Everyone knows I’m not your type otherwise you would’ve slept with me a long time ago.”

  Wesley laughed. “I’m not that bad…anymore.”

  “A leopard never changes his spots. Or in your case, an elephant never forgets he has a big trunk.”

  Wesley laughed out loud.

  “Anyway, the phone is ringing off the hook. Are you on your way in?”

  Wesley was pleased to see traffic was finally moving at a solid forty miles an hour. “No, I’m heading home to take a nap. But I’ll be back in the office after dinner.”

  “Will you remember to visit Michelle?”

  “Yes, I will visit my wife. Thank you for reminding me, Lilly.”

  “Okay then. Let me get your phone messages…Oh, and your father called to remind you about dinner tomorrow night at their place. Six o’clock sharp.”

  “Shit. I f
orgot about that. What else did he say?”

  “He said that he doesn’t forgive you for taking after your mother in becoming the world’s greatest liar on TV today.”

  “Figures.”

  “I’m joking, Wes! Lighten up. He just asked me to remind you about dinner.”

  Wesley was not amused. His father often made snide comments about how he turned out to be just like his mother. “Okay. What else?”

  “Clark Wright wants to interview you for an article on how businesses can fight bogus sexual harassment claims.”

  “Sounds good. Set that up.”

  “And Barbara from Channel Five wants an interview with Daniel Holt for the eleven o’clock broadcast. I already set that up with him…”

  Wesley cautiously approached an intersection.

  “Good. What time is the briefing?”

  “Nine thirty…Also, Ava DeSantis called. She said she needs to meet with you as soon as possible.”

  Wesley was dumbfounded.

  He ran the red light.

  A large, Italian bakery truck driver SCREECHED his tires as he approached the Escalade, gliding through the intersection like a duck on water. Wesley looked into the driver’s squinted face as he skidded towards him, sweating from his brow…

  CLACK!

  The truck tapped Wesley’s driver’s side door, barely making a dent.

  “Ay dios mio! What was that? Are you all right?”

  Wesley was in shock. He could barely catch his breath.

  “Wesley! Are you okay? Talk to me!”

  Wesley continued to breathe heavily. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’ve got be more careful driving! You have a baby on the way!”

  “Fuck, Lilly. I know that.”

  “You damn near gave me a heart attack. What the hell happened?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Wesley saluted the truck driver and continued driving.

  The truck driver sighed back in relief, grateful he wouldn’t be losing his job for hitting yet another vehicle.

  Wesley brushed off the incident quickly. It was nothing in comparison to what Lilly just dumped upon him. “Give me that last message again.”