The Bone House - Brian Freeman [80]
The next day, in hushed tones, she'd told the police every detail about the rape. They'd arrested Palmer. Felix Reich, who was a deputy then, not the sheriff, had sworn to her and her mother that the boy would pay for what he'd done. He was young; he was wrong. Palmer didn't pay; his parents did. They bought a lawyer. They bought the politicians and the county attorney. Delia made it as far as the deposition, in which a middle-aged female attorney asked in a horrifying monotone about her sexual history, her period, her drug use, her grades in school, her preference in birth control devices, her experience in oral sex, and how often she masturbated. By the end of that ninety minutes, she felt as if she had been raped a second time. She had a panic attack leaving the attorney's office. She wound up in the hospital.
Palmer Ford was never charged. She never saw him again. Felix Reich came to their house and apologized to her personally, but she knew it wasn't his fault. You can't fight a system greased with money and power. Rich boys, spoiled athletes, can do what they want. She'd learned a lesson that would be proved again and again in her life.
There was no justice.
Delia thought about Palmer as she stood on the concrete pier that jutted into the rippling waters of Lake Michigan near Cave Point Park. He'd become an attorney, representing victims of sexual harassment in the workplace. That was rich. She wondered what his clients would think if they knew the truth.
She found herself crying. Not for herself, but for Glory. And for Tresa, too. All these years later, it was no different. There was still no justice.
Delia heard footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Troy Geier. She hadn't even heard him arrive in his 1980s-era Grand Am, which was parked next to her car in the huge open lot at the end of Schauer Road. She'd been too caught up in her own thoughts. He came and stood beside her, and she was annoyed by his presence. She'd never thought there was any substance to Troy. He was slow and naive, just as his father said. She'd never believed for a moment that Glory had any serious feelings for him.
They stood silently by the lake. The water was nearly black beyond the land. Close in, by the shore, she saw white seashells and slimy colonies of emerald-green algae. Waves slurped against the rubber tires fastened to the pier. Her eyes fell on the T-shaped boat ties dotting the concrete, which looked like tiny crosses. It made her think of a graveyard. Delia shivered and grew impatient.
'OK, I'm here, Troy,' she snapped. 'What do you want? Why did we have to meet out here?'
Troy glanced nervously behind him, making sure they were alone. 'I just didn't think anyone should see us talking.'
'Oh, for God's sake. We work in the same bar every damn day.'
'I know, but this is different.'
'I'm tired. I want to go home and have a drink, OK? Tell me what's so important.'
Troy shifted on his feet and adjusted himself in his jeans. She felt guilty about treating him badly, but everyone treated Troy badly. He just made you want to yell at him because he was such a pussy.
'I'm sorry, Troy,' she went on. 'I'm just mad at the world. I'm sorry about the things I said in Florida, too. What happened to Glory wasn't your fault.'
'No, you were right,' he said. 'I should have been there for her. I should have protected her.'
'Just tell me what you want, so we can both go home.'
'I've been thinking about things,' Troy murmured. 'Nothing's going right, you know? I don't like this detective. He's acting like I did this, which is nuts.'
'Cops treat everyone like they're guilty,' Delia said, it doesn't mean anything.'
'Yeah, but is he ever going to arrest Mark Bradley? Is that bastard going to pay for what he did?'
Delia thought about Palmer Ford. Harris Bone. People who never paid. 'I have no idea, Troy. There's a different set of rules for people like them and people like us.'
Troy punched his hand with a plump