Thinking of Leslie, of Julie’s conviction that someone didn’t want her speaking about the past in relation to the rumors regarding Ryder Morrison’s collage, Chantel had a really bad feeling about the whole thing.
“They didn’t have to catch him. He was right where everyone knew he would be—home in bed. Julie knew him. They were at a party together. She was his date.”
Oh. This was going to be bad.
“I’ll leave any details to her to tell, if she ever needs or wants to tell you. But in order for you to understand yesterday, and the door Julie opened...the guy is a member of our social circle. Julie told me what had happened as soon as she got home that night. I took her to the hospital. A report was made. I stayed on top of it by the minute. But the case stayed hushed behind closed doors. A couple of days later, the story was that the sex had been consensual, that when Julie found out that sex was all it was, that the guy wasn’t interested in a relationship, she made the accusation of abuse out of bitterness and hurt. No charges were ever filed, and as far as we know, no one in our circle even knows they were ever even considered. It was said that the secrecy was to protect Julie from any possible embarrassment or repercussion for making a false report.”
The commissioner had to hear about this. Chantel was going to tell him. There was no other choice.
“Who was it?”
His gaze dropped, but only for a second. “I can’t tell you that.”
“The doctor’s report...did you see it? Medical reports are pretty specific. The doctor would have said if there’d been any...” She’d almost said tearing, but realized Chantel Harris’s dinner conversation could not come out of Chantel Johnson’s mouth.
Pushing her glass of wine farther away, she bowed her head. She had to be careful here. More so now than ever.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking back up at him. “I just... This is so upsetting. I don’t really know what a medical report would say...just what I see on television, and I know how naive it sounds of me to think that in real life...”
He shook his head, his look all intimate again. “No, you’re absolutely right,” he told her. “They can tell if there was...force. And, well, let’s just say it was obvious. But what I was told was that rough sex is not all that uncommon these days. It was very clear that Julie and I were going to get no help. Either we agreed to be quiet about the matter, or she would be charged with false accusation and sued for slander. I told her I would proceed, that I would stop at nothing to get her the representation she needed to win her case. But she said no. It would be her word against his, and the family is prominent. And well liked. Julie and I had only each other, and I was still in law school. It was somewhat known that Julie had had a thing for the guy. She’d agreed to attend the party with him. Had arrived with him. We had money to buy the best of the best, but so did her opponent.”
“I wish she’d fought, anyway.”
“I know. But I agreed with her decision to let it go. She was right—her chances of getting a winning judgment against the powers on the other side weren’t good.”
“The powers? You’re telling me that a judge was involved?”
“I’m neither confirming nor denying that. Powerful people in prominent positions need only to have one highly appointed, respected confidant to make things disappear. It shouldn’t be that way, but you know as well as I do that in our world that’s how it happens.”
Just like all Chantel Johnson knew about cop work was what she’d seen on TV, all Chantel Harris knew about his world was what she’d either seen on TV or read about in the past weeks. So she took his word for it and nodded. “You didn’t have a higher higher-up you could grease,” she guessed.
She hated the idea of living in such a world. And hearing her cop radar buzz over and over.
Julie had refused to press charges, to fight the beast who’d hurt her, because she knew she couldn’t win. Leslie Morrison was refusing to press charges, denying any crime had been committed against her. Because she knew she couldn’t win?
Judging by Leslie’s hospital records, Morrison’s abuse of her—if it was real—had been going on for some time. Which meant Leslie had been hiding the truth for a long time. Hiding her pain, living without justice.
Was that what the two women had in common?
And this “higher-up” with greased palms—was he the same, too? Was that why Julie was certain that people wanted to keep her quiet?
“The Fairbankses don’t grease palms.” Colin’s expression had firmed, losing the warm touch.