Doc: The Rape of the Town of Lovell by Jack Olsen & Ron Franscell

Author:Jack Olsen & Ron Franscell [Olsen, Jack & Franscell, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biographies & Memoirs, True Crime, Health; Fitness & Dieting, Psychology & Counseling, Pathologies, Medical Books, Psychology, Mental Illness
Amazon: B00P9J34QY
Publisher: Crime Rant Classics
Published: 2014-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

55

JUDI CASHEL

She hadn't wanted to say good-bye to her kids and her husband to work an out-of-town case, but the challenge was irresistible. How many chances would a female cop get to investigate a doctor charged with sexually abusing his patients? There was a modish new name for that contemptible crime—"doctor rape"—and she'd read a few reports on the subject. It seemed about on a par with mugging nuns.

Her name was Judith Ann Gilmore Cashel. She stood five-two after a shampoo and five-six after she'd fluffed out her wedge-cut red hair. She combined an innocent face, a command voice that rattled windows, and an understated figure featuring 112 pounds of femininity and three pounds of .38. She liked to dance, didn't smoke, seldom drank, spent weekends biking on her Kawasaki 440, and sometimes shocked her friends by wearing Dolly Parton wigs. She'd been baptized Presbyterian, raised Methodist, and now attended the Assembly of God. At thirty-four, she'd been a housewife, mother, cosmetologist, firefighter, meter maid, street cop, and now a Casper police sergeant. As an undercover agent for WYCAP, the Wyoming crime-attack team, she'd worked a string of dope cases, but almost no sex crimes. Once she'd joined in a raid on a brothel, but only as a witness. The men had all the fun.

When Chief Edward Kenyon told her he was lending her to Lovell for an undercover job, she had only one question:

Where's Lovell?

The local chief of police had promised to meet her at the first restaurant on the left as she entered town. She parked her red Fiero in the rear lot and took a look inside. No one resembled a police officer. A roly-poly man in an ill-fitting gas station uniform took up two seats in a booth and blinked at her tentatively. She took a closer look and realized that he was the chief. She put on a smile and walked over and thought, Oh, my god, how can I work with this?

They talked for an hour. David Wilcock turned out to be bright, articulate, and deeply concerned about the case. She couldn't remember when her mere presence had so disarmed a fellow officer. It usually took a long time to break through masculine doubts and distrust. Wilcock sat there beaming, refilling her coffee cup, already treating her as his peer.

He handed over a thin file of interview reports. She halfway expected to read a bunch of vague complaints about improper comments during Pap smears—sexual innuendoes, maybe even a few lewd suggestions, nothing prosecutable—but she was startled to see that this case involved full penetration and went back years, maybe even decades. She thought, This is the 1980s. How can this be possible?

By the third cup of coffee the two officers had discarded the idea of sending her up the hill for an undercover pelvic. That was a little more gung ho than she'd had in mind, although she'd certainly taken bigger risks. Wilcock told her about an out-of-state woman who'd been driving through Lovell with her husband, stopped at the Story clinic for a back spasm, and ended up being raped.

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