(Author’s Note: I have decided to break up longer chapters into smaller parts, starting with this one, to make for easier, quicker reads. Please let me know your feedback in the comments.- Wes)
(Part 1 of 2)
The interview continued...
“Why did you choose to move to Oregon? Why here?” Bob asked.
“To tell you the truth, I fell in love with Oregon a while back. My parents were divorced when I was a second grader, and shortly thereafter my father moved to Eugene with the airline he worked for,” I said to Bob. “I would spend the summers out here and I really came to love it. I decided a long time ago that I wanted to move out here permanently after finishing school.”
“You don't have any desire to go back to North Dakota?” Peter asked.
“No way. There's nothing to go back to. North Dakota's number one export is its youth, and there are plenty of reasons for it. Ever since the oil bust of the mid-80's, there is simply not much opportunity unless you inherit a farm or something like that. Also, I've got a few aunts and uncles who've lived out here for decades, and my brother lives in Portland now, too, so I've already got family connections here.”
“Good to hear. I'm sure that'll help get settled,” Patty said.
“Absolutely. But I want you to know that I came out here a week after graduating on a one-way trip, and I only took the Oregon State Bar Exam, so I am locked into Oregon for good.”
“On a related note - and I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything, this is not a formal interview question - do you have anybody in your life right now?” the D.A asked innocently. “Someone who might be inclined to move down here with you? The reason I ask is that Coos County can be a very lonely place for young adults. There's not much of a social scene around here, and it's pretty common for us to lose good prosecutors to the bigger cities, so I guess it's kind of a stability issue.”
“Well, I had a girlfriend who was supposed to move out here with me, but she got cold feet just before I left,” I replied without showing much emotion about it. “There's still some hope she'll change her mind and come out, but what is certain is that I am not going back. So what I'm saying is that if I get this job, I will be committed to it as long as it works for both the D.A.'s Office and for me, however long that turns out to be.”
“Well, that's good enough for me. I hope it works out for you either way,” Peter said.
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August 1994, two weeks before DUI sentencing, Grand Forks, ND…
I saw Tami anxiously waiting just inside the doorway to the South Forks Mall. She rushed to jump inside my white Geo Prizm before anyone else could catch a glimpse of her. She crouched low in the seat, acting every bit as suspicious as her meeting me - her ex-boyfriend - actually was. Even though the current incarnation of our relationship was strictly platonic - at Tami's insistence, of course - and even though separation papers had been filed, her husband of three years had no idea that she was going to see me at all, and Tami did not want to get caught sneaking around with me. Her own neighborhood was only two blocks away, and you never know who might see us together.
She still looks stunning.
She always did. Tami was a complete knockout at 26 every bit as much as she was at 18, when we first started dating. Standing a very fit 5'6” with sandy-blonde hair and big green sparkling bedroom eyes, she grabbed the attention of most men she passed. And more than a few jealous women, too.
"Let's go for a drive in the country," Tami said with a smile as soon as the door closed.
From Grand Forks, finding “the country” was easy - just pick a direction and drive 10 minutes, and you've found it. Tami was on fire today, letting off steam from her most recent visit with her parents as I drove. She stayed low in her seat until we were safely out of town. We traveled around the dirt section-line roads until we spotted a quiet place between two amber wheat fields. It wasn't much more than a turn-around, just off the side of the road, with just enough tree and wheat-field cover to be out of sight.
Tami was a passionately expressive person, especially when riled up. She spoke with animated facial expressions and exaggerated hand gestures, sometimes to the point of being unintentionally comical. As I shut off the car, I turned to face her as she continued an angry rant about her mother's treatment of her 7-year-old foster daughter, Abby.
"She didn't even treat Abby as good as a neighbor kid, much less my foster-daughter! I couldn't fuckin' believe it!" Tami exclaimed. Tami had just explained to me on the road that she brought her foster daughter to a family reunion of sorts at a July 4th celebration, and the poor little girl had been utterly rejected by most of her family. Which was a very marginal improvement over how they had come to treat Tami.
"Your parents have never really supported you in anything, baby, so why are you so surprised now?"
"You'd think that they'd at least be good to my kid, even if they can't manage to be decent to me. I mean, come on! We're talking about a seven-year-old girl here who has already been all fucked-up by her own parents, then bounced around through the system.
"Yeah, I know. I'm working the child support case." I had been working for the Grand Forks Child Support Unit for the last year. Among the many cases we regularly handled was establishing child support orders for children taken away from abusive parents via Child Protective Services. I knew this poor girl's history well enough.
"Well, then you'd know how badly abused and mistreated this kid has been. The least my mom could do is be nice to her, ya' know? Not treat her like some friggin' juvenile delinquent, " Tami steamed.
"I'm sorry it was that bad," I said.
"Yeah, well I'm through with it! I feel full - just totally fuckin' full, and I've had enough. I don't give a shit what she thinks about my separation, or about anything else." Having vented some of her rage, Tami started simmering down. I felt an opening.
"Well, I'm here for you, Tami. And don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad to hear you finally say that," I gently said.
"What do you mean?" Tami asked.
"What I mean is that you've lived too much of your life under your parents' cloud already. There comes a time when you have to start living your life for yourself, and to Hell with your parents' expectations, or opinions. Tami, you are far too good a person to let their pettiness bring you down. And I'm here for you - as much as you want me to be. Nothing matters as much to me as you, and no matter how bad things may seem, I don't want you to ever forget that."
Tami, who had lightened up considerably by this point, reached for my hand and held it in both of hers. I automatically took her hands into both of mine and caressed her hands against my cheek. "I love you, Baby. Things will probably get worse before they get better, but they will get better. And I'll be there for you."
We stared into each other's eyes for a while before I lowered her hands, holding them between us. "I don't want to sound pushy, or seem like I'm pressuring you, or anything, but...when's it actually going to happen?" I asked.
Tami broke her gaze from my eyes and looked down before saying, "He's looking for a place this week. If he doesn't find one by Friday, he's going to stay with a friend until he does."
"What are you going to do about Abby?"
"I'm going to keep her."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes before they find a permanent foster home, I hope. The poor kid has been bounced around so much already…I hate to be the reason she gets shuffled around again."
I absorbed what she was saying before asking, "How are you going to handle the Danny situation with her."
"A lot better than she's used too, that's for sure. Danny's been real good with her, you know, and we're going to try to handle this thing like adults. We plan on sitting her down and try to make it clear to her that our separation has nothing to do with her; that it's problems between Danny and I, and that he still loves her, and he will be there for her..."
"Do you think he'll be able to pull it off?" I inquired.
“I'm pretty sure. She listens to him, and we've been consistent with her..."
"Darling?"
"Yes?"
"Are you sure you should hold on to her at all during this? I mean, the kid's been through enough already. Are you sure she'll be able to handle going through another divorce?"
Tami started with her comical expressiveness again. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it.” Then she got more serious and continued, “She probably won't be with me for that long, anyway. But if she is, I'll make sure she understands."
"Divorce is never easy for anybody,” I said. “I was just thinking that maybe you'd both be better off if she was placed with someone else first. You know it's going to be that much harder for you, too, with a kid involved, even if it's not your own."
"I'll be okay - really...” Tami said, already shifting to a more upbeat attitude as she changed the subject. “So what's going on with you?" She asked glibly.
I clenched her hands tighter. It was not a story I wanted to tell her, and I'm sure she could see the anguish on my face.
"I just came as close as I ever want to get to fucking up my entire life, that's what."
Tami raised my hands to her lips and tenderly kissed and caressed them. Slowly. Comfortingly.
"It's okay, my Wesley. Just tell me." She could become insanely adorable instantaneously when she wanted to, and right now, she wanted to. She had that way of disarming me, of taking away my fears. She made me feel loved, not judged. She had been my best friend and complete confidant for so many years, and now, even with several years apart and her soon-to-be-ex-husband still lurking in her life, she was making me feel as though we had never really been apart. It was so easy to fall in love with her...
Tears well up in my eyes and started flowing freely as I finally began to speak.
"I've been so afraid of what you would think, or how you'd react...I've waited for so, so long, to have an opportunity with you again...to...to have a life with you again," I stammered.
As I started to wipe the tears that were streaming down my face, my hand was quickly replaced by Tami's hand on my face. She wiped my tears, then turned my face to meet her eyes.
"It's okay, Baby. I’m here, aren't I?" she gently said.
"Yeah...I just don't want you to walk away...” As my tears were wiped, I tried to regain some composure as I continued talking. “Like a total dumb-fuck, I got busted for a DUI last week...I quit drinking, completely, the day it happened, and I've already started an outpatient treatment program...Now I get to go in front of one of my favorite judges to plead guilty and get sentenced in two weeks, and I'll be fuckin' lucky if I get my license to practice law - assuming I pass the bar exam, of course. But what's worse has been chewing on it, wondering if I'm going to scare you off, just when what I've waited so long for is finally happening... with you, I mean. I know you've always worried about me becoming like my dad, and I've done enough stupid fucking things to give you that concern... I really need for you to understand that I'm not 19 years-old anymore - I'm not that immature, vindictive little jerk that frightened you. I am the guy that you first fell in love with...but so much better... 'Then I go out and show you just the opposite..."
My emotions got the best of me again as more tears started falling down my face.
"Easy there, cutie-pie...I'm still here, right?" Tami said with a big smile. She knew how to handle me.
"Yeah...but only because you're kidnapped out on the countryside," I joked.
"Hardly..." Tami replied with mock sarcasm. Tami moved casually over to me, sitting with her knees on the sides of my car seat, facing me on my lap. She looked into my eyes deeply. With the tenderness of the moment she said, "Don't move."
I sat still. Tami slowly ran her nose around the circumference of my nose without touching. She then gently licked the path of my tears, starting at the lowest point on one side of my face going to my eye. Then she started on the other side.
I was instantly hard as a rock, wanting more. I started to turn to meet her lips on the second side of my face, but she stopped me with her free hand.
In her sweetest, childlike voice she said, "I told you, don't move."
“Okay,” so I held still and allowed her to finish licking the tears from my face. I was both completely stunned and excited to the extreme.
"What happened to the rules?" I asked. She had laid down the law that we couldn't have a physical relationship again while she was still married. She “just didn't feel right about it” until the divorce was final. I didn't like it, but I wanted her forever, so I dealt with it. I wasn't allowed to touch, so I didn't, but I always made my feelings for her - and my desire for her - well known.
“I make them, I can break them."
I tried to kiss her again, but she gently stopped me.
"Ah! No. You just stay still..." Tami repeated.
Tami circled my nose with hers again, this time with her lips very lightly brushing against mine. As she moved up with the circle, she gently licked the bottom of my upper lip and lingered with her tongue almost probing my mouth. She then pulled back several inches from my face and looked at me seductively. I was spellbound.
"God, I love you!" I said.
"I love you more," Tami replied. It had been over four years since she had said “I love you” to me, in that way. To hear her say it again - now, after so much time and all that had happened in between - was exciting in every way imaginable. I wanted her, mind, body, and spirit. My heart ached almost as much as my engorged penis.
"No way. I love you more," I said again.
"No, I love you more," she said again playfully. I didn't want to lose the moment.
"Just kiss me before I wake..." I started to say, but she interrupted me with her full luscious lips pressed against mine. We started a deep, sweet tongue kiss that I never wanted to end…
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The interview continued…
“It seems like I’ve been asking most of the questions so far, so I think I’ll give Patty and Bob I chance to get in here a bit more,” Blanchett said. “Patty, do you have any specific questions for him?”
“Thanks Peter. Wes, our county tends to have quite a few child sex offenses – far too many. A lot of times it’s a juvenile perpetrator,” Patty said.
“You understand that pedophilia is a learned behavior, right?” Peter interjected.
“Oh, most definitely. Kids don’t just come up with that kind of stuff on their own,” I replied.
“That’s right. And there is no cure, either. Not counseling or psych treatment, not the fear of jail time, not real or chemical castration…nothing. Once it becomes ingrained in them, it becomes who they are. For example, you like women, right?” Peter asked.
“Of course!” I said.
“Well, if society told you that you could never be with a woman again, would that stop you? Of course not! Same thing with gay people – it’s not only how they are, it’s also who they are – and you can’t stop someone from being gay through any sort of conversion therapy or anything else,” he said.
“Oh, I get it. Both of my parents went through various types of abuse growing up, one of them sexual abuse, so I’m quite familiar with it,” I said.
“Well then, you’re ahead of the curve. We call it ‘getting bit by the vampire’ around here. Not everyone who gets abused turns into a pedophile but without exception, every pedophile was abused as a kid…Anyway, I kind of got you off track there Patty…” Peter pontificated.
“That’s fine,” Patty replied. I could tell my comment perked up her interest in me another level. “The question I was going to ask is, ‘how do you feel about putting a minor victim on the witness stand?’”
I paused for a moment to gather my thoughts. “Ooo, that’s a tricky one. I think it really comes down to the individual circumstances of the case. I mean, if I can get a conviction without having to put a child victim on the stand, then absolutely, that’s how I would proceed. But when the child’s testimony is critical to obtaining a conviction, then I think it depends on the age, stability, and overall mental health effects on the child. They all have to all be weighed and balanced out against the seriousness of the charge. If a child is capable and wouldn’t be overly traumatized by testifying, then I would go forward. But if we’re talking about a really young or emotionally delicate child, then I guess I would explore all the other options first. It just really depends on the case and the kid,” I replied.
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(THIS IS GOING TO BE A BIG SERIES OF NOVELS - DON’T MISS A THING!)
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September 1995, following the funeral…
After seeing my father for what would be the last time, on the way back to Coos Bay, I was diverted to Ashland, Oregon, for the promised conference on the implementation of Measure 11, particularly as it pertained to juvenile crimes. At that conference, I met up with several Coos County Juvenile Department counselors who were also on hand for the conference. To a person, the folks from the Juvenile Department treated me with grace, respect, and appreciation, as they had been desperate for a dedicated prosecutor for their office for some time. I quickly made a couple of friends there.
I wish I could say the same for my first encounter with the staff of the D.A.’s office proper.
Following the conferences, I arrived back in Coos Bay on a Saturday in mid-September. The D.A.’s Office happened to have an end-of-summer office picnic scheduled for the next day at Sunset Beach. I thought it would be a great chance to meet my new coworkers in a relaxed setting, so I accepted the invitation to participate.
Sunset Beach (in Coos County) is a beautiful little beach cove on a winding road leading southwest of the city of Coos Bay, on the way to another gorgeous area of the southern Oregon coast, a state park and Pacific Northwest garden called Shore Acres. Sunset Beach was perfect for a small office gathering, being relatively quiet and secluded, and having restrooms, multiple picnic tables and grill spaces available. I arrived a little late for burgers – they were mostly into the beer-only phase of the gathering.
I was a bit nervous about meeting everyone fresh out of my father’s funeral and wanted to take it easy, so I was relieved when Bev saw me coming, stood up, and gave me a warm greeting, followed by introductions to everyone around her table. One of those people was also new to the job thanks to Measure 11 and increased funding, the new administrator of the Victims’ Assistance Unit, whom I’ll call Ariel. She was around my age (mid-twenties), in relatively good shape, and I thought before she opened her mouth, was a bit attractive. I sat across from her.
Within seconds of sitting down, someone at the table asked me if I wanted a beer. I replied by simply saying, “No thanks, I don’t drink.”
Immediately, Ariel stood up and loudly declared in her best smart-ass tone, “Hi. I’m Wes, and I’m an alcoholic.”
I’m sure my face probably turned beet red as I tried to suppress my anger at having this moron who knew absolutely nothing about me go on to randomly embarrass me during my first opportunity to meet my co-workers. I was livid. I have never wanted to punch a women before then, but if she were a guy and it wasn’t a gathering of cops and prosecutors, I would have been very hard-pressed not to break a nose.
Lucky for us both, Bev was there to distract and diffuse. Ignoring Ariel entirely, Bev asked me how the conferences went. I did my best to make conversation, but my energy and desire to be there had been sapped in an instant. After staying long enough to not be rude, I made sure to introduce myself to everyone, and got out of there as soon as I could.
I wanted to make a good first impression on my first day on the job. I resolved to arrive early Monday morning. I didn’t have keys yet for the Juvenile Department, so I entered the courthouse via the D.A.’s Office. I wasn’t the first to arrive. Chuck, the elder of the young assistant district attorneys at about 30 years old, was holding on to his morning coffee and a couple sheets of paper when I found him coming out of the copy room. Chuck had a stellar reputation as being a hard-charging prosecutor with an alleged photographic memory. He had been with the D.A.’s Office for about three years at that point and had moved up through the ranks quickly to become the lead felony prosecutor after our chief deputy. He had been trying high level felonies and murder cases for some time. He had also obtained a degree of fame or notoriety as having had the Office’s recent “Hard Copy” case, which was an attempted murder at Shore Acres that occurred amongst a couple of tourists. (Hard Copy was a popular tabloid TV show in the 1990’s). Chuck was a tough prosecutor who took no bullshit from opposing counsel, as he was about to demonstrate to me.
“Hey Wes! Getting an early start?” Chuck asked.
“Not as early as you, apparently. How you doing, Chuck?”
“Oh, doing great. I like coming in early to clean up the files on my desk a bit before it gets hit with more,” Chuck said. I would come to find out quickly that the volume of cases coming through that office was enormous for its size and the population of the county. I would regularly find myself buried in eight inches or more of new police reports to evaluate and charge in the days, weeks, and months to come.
“The early morning – before court - is the best time for me to develop plea offers and just get caught up on the paperwork. At least when I don’t have a trial to prep for. You’ll find it’s a steep learning curve here, but once you get up to speed, you should do fine,” Chuck claimed.
I noticed that he was holding a photocopy of what looked like part of a hand. “What’s that all about?” I asked, nodding to the paper.
“This? Oh shit, man, this is great!” he laughed. Then he turned the page so I could see it fully.
“This is my response to a really fucking stupid counteroffer to a plea deal I got from one of the dumbest public defenders in town.” It was a photocopy of his hand giving the middle finger.
I chuckled, “I guess so much for proper decorum.”
“This isn’t going to court, it’s just part of the negotiation process,” he grinned. “This P.D. (public defender) is one of the worst. She always wants to go to trial over stupid shit, and she always loses when she does. On this one, she’s trying to get me to take a class B felony assault down to a misdemeanor. Fuck her…no fucking way. I’ve had enough crap from her, so I’m just stating a proper understanding of my position to her.” He smiled broadly, proud of himself. I appreciated his sense of humor…