Miscarriage of Justice

It was 1983. I was 33 years old and it was the first time I had ever been alone. I grew up in a family of eight. . . well, you get the picture. At college, my roommate and I were inseparable. After college I got married, and then jumped into another relationship right after my divorce. Now, my boyfriend had abandoned me for a gold mine in Nevada and I was alone and feeling terribly lonely.

I had been a ballet dancer with Dallas Ballet until 1982 when I was fired by Fleming Flindt, the Artistic Director who was hired after the sudden death of the beloved George Skibine. The dancers were hoping George’s wife, Majorie Tallchief, and the Ballet Master, Gustavo Mollajoli , would be chosen to fill the late Mr. Skibine’s shoes but that was not to be the case. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Flindt liked short, quick dancers who could dart like fireflies across the stage. I was more of the tall, leggy variety—much better at slow dancing—more sultry and languid than perky and peppy.

I started working for my boyfriend, Randy, who had dreams of power and wealth. He and his friend, Guy, had convinced some Dallas businessmen to invest in a surface gold mine near Reno, Nevada. They had procured the rights to the mine through another friend, an actual geologist. Randy and Guy moved out to the mine-site to attempt to set up operations and find an experienced partner with deep pockets. I held down the fort in Dallas, but there wasn’t really much to do. We officed in a one-bedroom condo equipped with a telephone and a computer.

To pass the days, I worked out at the gym, jogged around Bachmann Lake and took classes in Astrology at the Constellation Bookstore. I had a few single friends, mostly neighbors at the River Oaks condominium complex, where I lived and had met Randy. He had left me his sleek, new, black Volvo to drive so, although I didn’t have much money, I was going in style.

I had met a few guys at the gym but none as interesting or intriguing as the attorney, Robert. He frequented the gym almost as much as I did which caused me to wonder if he ever worked. We had talked and flirted some; but because of my relationship status, I hadn’t encouraged him. One day out-of-the-blue, he invited me to a party at his house. Having nothing else to do, I saw no harm in going.

I had tickets to the Dallas Ballet the night of the party but stopped by Robert’s house after the performance. I was astonished by his mansion—I had no idea he was so wealthy and successful. Many of the guests had already gone, but there was food left and I was famished. It was then that I saw a boyish man, shy and charming, a dead-ringer for the famous Russian ballet dancer, Mikhail Baryshnikov. I rushed to introduce myself and spent the rest of the night giggling like a school girl with my new found friend. His name was Kevin and he didn’t know a thing about ballet.

We exchanged phone numbers and he called the next day to ask me to go to the movies. I don’t remember what we saw or where we ate afterwards but we hung out all afternoon and developed an easy rapport. I knew he wasn’t wealthy. He installed carpeting. He was 27 and I was 33. It wasn’t a romantic relationship—at least not in my eyes. I was hanging out with a fun guy who was a friend of a friend. He didn’t try to seduce me or even kiss me good night. It was a friendship, pure and simple. I enjoyed his company and he enjoyed mine. At least that’s what I thought.

He called again the next day. We talked for awhile before he mentioned he would like to see me but he didn’t have a car. His was in the shop and it would be a few days before it was fixed. Since I had an extra one lying around because I was driving Randy’s, I offered to loan him mine. He was overwhelmed; but I assured him it was what I would do for any friend. What was I thinking? I had known him roughly 48 hours.

Over the next couple of days, we talked and laughed and became better friends. He had a magnetic personality with charisma oozing from every pore. He would have made a fantastic actor. He had it all: the looks, the charm and later, I found out, the talent.

About a week after the party, Robert called to ask me out. We had never gone on a date before and, I must admit, his status, notoriety and wealth made me curious to know more. Randy was hundreds of miles away and, besides, we didn’t have an exclusive relationship. So I accepted the invitation from Robert to a romantic dinner at an exclusive Dallas restaurant.

The evening went well. His dark eyes were mysterious and intense. He made it no secret he was very attracted to me and wanted the relationship to progress. He paid me continuous compliments, many of an overtly sexual nature. His talk about my lean, hard, athletic body made me very uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure I was ready to jump into another man’s bed.

Meanwhile, I talked to Kevin on the phone every few days. Kevin still had my car and I was still comfortable with that. He made continuous excuses why it was taking the garage so long to get his fixed. One night I mentioned to Kevin that Robert and I were dating. I sensed an instant change in his demeanor and could tell it bothered him. I was confused as I couldn’t understand why Kevin would mind. I must admit it was glamorous dating an infamous Dallas attorney although I didn’t know much about his practice. I knew he knew everybody in town, and I knew from his boastful conversations, obvious success, and the wad of bills he carried in his pocket, that he was good at what he did.

One night when I was out with Robert, I asked him how he knew Kevin. I was surprised when he confessed to me that Kevin was a client. Robert explained that, when Kevin had gotten in trouble for dealing cocaine to a cartel of South American drug dealers, he had been his attorney. I was aghast. To calm my fears, Robert assured me that Kevin was now on the straight-and-narrow and that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. He went on to explain that for quite some time, Kevin had been seeing a very nice girl who had turned his life around. What? Kevin had never mentioned a girlfriend. Of course, Kevin had never mentioned being a drug dealer either. Robert suggested we all go out together. Again I was shocked. Was that common? Attorneys fraternizing with their drug-dealing clients? There was obviously much I didn’t know. So we planned a double date to go to the ballet the following Saturday.

Jill was so sweet; I liked her instantly. She was a baby of 20, beautiful and curvaceous. After the ballet, we went to the Balboa Café—my former hangout. Many dancers frequented this night spot after performances. During the conversation, Jill mentioned her father didn’t approve of her seeing Kevin because of his ex-convict status. Oh no! I hadn’t realized he’d ever been convicted of anything. Was there no end to things I didn’t know about my friend, Kevin? It turned out he had done prison time for two burglaries—that charming, sweet guy? That evening Kevin was a little cold to me— still upset about my seeing Robert? But why, he had a young, hot girlfriend. What did he care about me? When we said goodnight, I would not have guessed I wouldn’t be seeing either Kevin or Jill again.

I quickly lost interest in Robert. I still saw him at the gym and he still bugged me to go out. But after a few dates, I saw him for what he was—an egotistical bore. I assured him that I wanted to be friends and nothing more. He retorted that his mother and sister were the only female friends he needed. What had I seen in him?

A month or so later, Randy came back from Nevada and Kevin still had my car. I had tried on numerous occasions to get him to return it, but his tone had changed completely. Our relationship changed from friends to enemies in a matter of weeks. He was no longer grateful that I had loaned the car to him. He complained that the car was a “piece of shit” and giving him constant trouble. He wouldn’t return my calls; and when I did happen to reach him, he was rude and antagonistic. When Randy got on the phone and threatened to call the cops, Kevin finally returned the car. He left it at a vacant gas station in need of numerous repairs. I was lucky to get it back, and I had learned a valuable lesson about the male ego.

And that was that until a few years later. In early 1985, I heard a story on the radio about a young girl in Dallas, a topless dancer, who had been murdered by her boyfriend. He had gotten off with a misdemeanor homicide charge. To make matters worse, the boyfriend had called the girl on the way to her house telling her he was coming to kill her. She had placed a 911 call but it had done no good. He shot her moments later. The boyfriend’s name was Kevin Donald Long. Of course, I could believe it by then—I had seen his other side.

The next time I saw Robert at the gym, I questioned him about the story. He confirmed my fears—Kevin had killed Jill. There was an article in the Dallas Times Herald on Saturday, March 30th. Kevin claimed it was an accident—that the gun had gone off in a struggle. Eleven jurors had voted for involuntary manslaughter which would have put Kevin away for at least 20 years. Involuntary manslaughter is a felony; and Kevin, being a twice-convicted felon, would have been given the maximum.

In the front-page newspaper article, the headline read, “Jurors apologize for leniency in slaying trial”. The one dissenting juror was the wife of a Dallas defense attorney. She insisted that Kevin be acquitted of all charges. Was she also taken in by his charms? The eleven jurors, in an effort to prevent a hung jury and because they believed so strongly in Kevin’s guilt, compromised to the lesser charge of criminally negligent homicide, not realizing it was not a felony but a misdemeanor which carried a maximum sentence of one year in jail. Jill’s father was quoted in the article as saying, “If this is justice, then our country is in bad shape. The man is a murderer.” The article mentioned nothing of the 911 call.

In another article published alongside the first, two different law agencies ordered investigations into the personal relationships Kevin had with a certain parole officer, a Dallas County sheriff’s lieutenant, and a Dallas narcotics investigator. It seems he had gone on hunting trips with the parole officer and attended social events with the sheriff’s lieutenant and narcotics investigator. It all made perfect sense. Kevin was the consummate actor. When things went his way, he was congenial and charming, and I knew how charming he could be. Jill’s father saw through the façade and had warned her early in their relationship. The newspaper article also mentioned Kevin was an admitted cocaine and Demerol addict, and an informant for various law enforcement agencies—he had fooled them all.

I got back to my life. After seven years together, Randy and I split. Well, we didn’t actually split, we just became what we should have been all along—best friends. He married Jenny, another nice girl he had met at the gym; and Eddie, who I met in the weight room at the gym, fathered my daughter, Ali. The gold mine didn’t make us rich beyond our wildest imaginations—but it did teach us a lot of valuable lessons.

I continued to see Robert at the gym. Ten years after Kevin’s trial, Robert was convicted of tax evasion. In a plea bargain, he pleaded guilty to defrauding the IRS by intentionally underreporting his income by more than $200,000 but less than $350,000. His sentence was somewhere in the neighborhood of two years and he lost his law license. After our brief relationship, he had married, had a son, and an ugly divorce. He blamed his ruin on his ex-wife. There was talk of a murder-for-hire plot but the conviction wouldn’t hold up. I would like to think I am not as naive now as I was then. I wonder what became of Robert and Kevin. It seems like they vanished off the face of the earth. Probably just as well.