Defenseless
Page 22
He lumbered up from my chair when I walked in, slowly abdicating his superior position in my office. He walked to my door and closed it, which for him was a giant step toward independence. Wanting to keep me in suspense, he slowly slid a cigarette out of a pack of Marlboro Reds as I watched him. He forgot I was an ex-AG and I knew an old cop trick or two. They methodically light cigarettes, go into the bathroom with a newspaper, or make an urgent telephone call to their barber to make people wait a little bit longer for the bad news.
“What is it, O’Rourke? And you have to put that out. It’s making me nauseous.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry. No smoking in this building, right?”
“Not supposed to smoke in here, but—it’s just that I get sick when I smell it first thing in the morning.”
He dropped the cigarette in his full coffee cup. “You have any coffee made?”
I buzzed Rita to bring O’Rourke coffee, and then once again asked him what he wanted.
He leaned close, whispering. “Last night, a girl was brought to the emergency room at Miriam Hospital. Claims rape and wants to press charges. But sometimes these girls just have broken hearts. You know what I mean?”
“No, I really don’t. Does she have red curly hair?”
“Um . . . nope, straight—dark—brunette. Quite a looker—”
I collapsed into my chair and closed my eyes for a silent moment of Hail Marys.
“O’Rourke, have you wholly discounted the possibility that she was raped?”
“Nah, she’s a college girl. This was just a date gone bad.”
I may have been in a bigger office with air-conditioning, but I sat up in my chair and took a good long look at the male detective sitting in front of me. Like old times at the AG’s office, I was ready for what I knew was coming—talking about forcible rape to a male cop with a matching ego. Other than that, nothing had changed; rape was still a fiction created by women who’d changed their minds midway. And didn’t everyone know that once a guy got an erection it was medically dangerous to stop the flow? Vasocongestion of the testicles or something.
“Oh balls, O’Rourke! Innocent until proven guilty notwithstanding, you treat this as a rape until proven otherwise.”
“Well, she won’t talk to anyone from the station. So maybe you go see her. Tell her to let some time go by and see how she feels. Time makes people come to their senses.”
“Are you saying she’s lost her senses, therefore she is unaware of her complicity in the sexual encounter, or is she merely without sensibility to the consequences of her accusations?”
O’Rourke looked at me blankly, trying to get his hands around my question (and possibly strangle it).
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Emily Barton.”
“Shit!”
Rita came in with coffee and O’Rourke stood. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.” Rita curtsied and left. O’Rourke shimmied into his seat to keep the coffee from spilling.
“Listen,” he said. “Mike told me to come to you this morning. I listen to Mike. We go way back from when he was on the beat.”
Opportunity rings, I thought. Here was a chance to get the skinny from O’Rourke on Mike—his early retirement (and his arrested sexual development)—but I suspected trying to get information from one cop on another was like trying to separate conjoined twins. And then there was the problem of O’Rourke telling Mike I was trying to pump him for information. There’s nothing worse than a nosy broad, and no quicker way to cut off the flow of good gossip by appearing anxious to get it.
So I kept my nosy mouth shut and let O’Rourke prattle on.
“Yeah, Mikey and I weren’t real close, but you know we’re still brothers and all, and I do him a few favors now and then. So you just tell me what you want done here. Mikey says you’re cool with it.”
“How about following the law, O’Rourke? If Miss Barton gives us a name, how about you arrest the punk like a good cop should. Sound good? Keep up the exemplary work and I’ll be in touch.”
At my brazen sarcasm, O’Rourke gave me one of his sour looks. And I guess as a favor to Mikey, he didn’t tell me to go pound sand, as he would have in the old days.
After O’Rourke left I allowed a few thoughts to bounce around in my head. When did Mike tell O’Rourke to come see me? And why did he still have so much clout with the Providence police? It was safer for me to confront Mike with my questions rather than ask O’Rourke and take the chance of jump-starting his brain.
I called Mike at every available number I had for him. Rita’s attempts at locating him failed as well. Maybe he was still making nice with the wavy-haired student whom I assumed was still alive and kicking—hopefully—McCoy out of her bed.
I donned my Lone Ranger mask and went to visit Emily by myself.
EMILY WAS LYING in her hospital bed curled up on her side in a fetal position when I walked in. The lights in her private room were off. I left them that way as I stood by her bed. Other than blinking her eyes slowly open, she had no reaction to my entry.
“Hi, Emily.”
She winced as she turned carefully onto her back as if every move hurt. Safely flat on her back she said, “Don’t bother asking me. I don’t know who did it this time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I was drugged first. My mother spoke to a lawyer. I can sue the school, but how will that affect my life? Is anyone going to believe me? Rape victims who can get up and walk away are never really victims, are they?”
“Where were you when it happened?”
“I’d just had dinner in the cafeteria. I got woozy on the walk home. I passed out in the park, I think.” Then she grimaced as if even the memory of it hurt.
“Patterson Park?”
She nodded.
“What were you doing in the park?”
“It’s on my way home.”
“Are you sure you weren’t at Sherman’s place and maybe someone slipped something in your drink?”
She shook her head in a smooth, measured movement. “I didn’t drink last night. Check the hospital records for my blood alcohol level. I told you I was in the school cafeteria.”
“Alone?”
“There were others around. We were all watching the news. It was a story about the murders here.”
I nodded, at a loss for what else to say.
“The hospital tests. They found some weird drug in my system. It’s my word against theirs that I took it voluntarily, isn’t it? I’ve been to Cory’s parties. If you lie down with dogs, you pick up fleas. Isn’t that the old saying?”
“Did you talk to anyone in the cafeteria?”
She shook her head. “Look, when you don’t have a date or a clique of friends, you end up alone in the cafeteria for dinner watching CNN. And ever since that story in the school paper, I’m a pariah around here.”
“The rape kit was positive for semen?”
“He used a condom.”
“Think of all the people you were around last night and don’t discount anyone as being complicit. A real bad thing was done to you. Don’t be afraid to point fingers if you can.”
“What difference does it make who did it? I know I can’t bring charges. It’s my reputation that’ll be trashed, not his.”
“What if you just got lucky, Emily? Maybe whoever did this to you meant to kill you and got interrupted or something.”
“Why me?”
“Why not you?”
I gave her my cell and office number again and walked out of her room.
I was waiting for the elevator when I saw Mike walking down the long white corridor toward Emily’s room. He didn’t see me, so I stepped out into the corridor. “Where are you going?”
“Hey.” He looked past me to see if I was alone, then came on strong with his killer charm. “Babe, I miss you already,” he whispered into my ear, then gave it a nibble.
I pulled away. “Stop it! Mike, why are Providence cops taking orders from you?”
“They don’t. I ask for a favor now and then. Something wrong with people doing each other favors?”
“Yeah, if you’re trying to strong-arm victims into re-canting allegations.”
He stepped back to the side of the corridor and pulled me with him by the elbow. “I’m just investigating here, honey. That’s what I do.”
“ ‘Honey’? And what about Carlyle? Does he know about this? Or does he want it cleaned up before it even gets to his office?”
“Jesus! Calm down.” Mike ran his fingers through his hair. “You always gotta make a drama out of everything. If there’s a problem that leaks to the cops, I ask a couple of my buddies there for a hand, see if I can nip it in the bud. Is that so hard to understand? Tell me you and your AG girlfriends don’t do the same thing sometimes. Go ahead. Tell me you gals never did something wrong that the cops covered up for you?”
“Oh my, Officer McCoy, are you referring to something specific?”
“You don’t need my references. You’re a pretty smart girl from what I hear.”
“What’s gotten into you, hard-ass?”
He backed away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
I walked right back up in his face. “Don’t you go in that hospital room and try to scare her. She can’t even sit up yet. Was it Sherman and his cohorts?”
“That girl in there was at one of Sherman’s parties. Into the den with wolves. She went at her own risk.”
“I went to one of their parties too. That doesn’t mean someone can put a drug in my drink and rape me. Or does it?”
“When did that start?”
“I told you I was going to befriend them to see what I could uncover—”
“You didn’t mention you were gonna become drinking buddies!” Two nurses passed us in the hall and slowed their walk as Mike hammered away at me. “When? When were you there?”
“Are you jealous, Mike? Or just scared?”
“You bet I’m scared. I don’t want to find out at this point that you’re stupid, because stupid women can’t be trusted.”
“You want to talk trust? Let’s talk about the redhead. The girl from last night. The one in Sherman’s bed when you slammed the door in my face.”
His eyes were dark and cold. I couldn’t read them.
“Look, forget it, Mike. One fuck doesn’t make us committed or anything, right? But I want to know what you intend to do about these kids and their drug parties, because as a recently inducted chick into your apparent flock, I don’t think you’re the best one to be guarding the henhouse.”
Mike unfroze and tried to take me by my shoulders, but I backed away. “Babe—Mari, I’m on top of this. Do not go near those parties. Leave it to me. You just handle the other things—”
“What other things? You keep protecting their asses. Who’s going to complain about them if they have the head of security on their side?”
He stared at me with that same stunned look as if he’d run out of ammunition in the middle of gunfire.
I backed away from him. “You’re Carlyle’s stooge, aren’t you? The fixer. And whatever Sherman and Lipton are up to, you’re deep in it. How could I have been so wrong?”
He was shaking his head slowly when I left him there, and fifteen minutes later I was back in my office, where a dozen pink and white tulips were sitting on my desk in a vase. I hastily opened the card, ready to toss it in the trash, when I saw the word “Babe” written on the first line.
I can’t get enough of you. Meet me after work at Kartabar, 5:30. Mike.
Then I did throw the note in the trash as Rita flounced through my open threshold. “Pretty, yes? They are just in time for spring. Tulips.” While pretending to rearrange them, she asked me who sent them.
“Anonymous,” I said. “Get them out of here.”
“No, they are from Mike! He had me order them early this morning. They arrived just after you left.”
“That figures. He couldn’t pick crabgrass by himself.”
“Ah, so they are sent because of a quarrel.” She was laughing gaily. “Come, I will buy you some tea at the Bistro. You can tell me what the love letter says.”
The phone rang and we both lunged for it, but I got to it first. “Hello?”
I recognized Byron Eckert’s husky voice immediately.
“Rita,” I said. “Would you mind getting me that tea? Next one’s on me.”
“But of course, my dear.” She waved her hand good-naturedly and closed the door after herself.
Into the receiver, I said, “What do you want?”
“Meet me.”
“Come to my office.”
“No. This is not about you or me. A little Mexican place on Hope Street past Hope High School. Tortilla Flats.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Falling from the Catbird Seat
I ARRIVED AT TORTILLA FLATS a little after twelve. Byron was waiting at a small table in the bar area. A can of plain Schweppes club soda was sitting on the table as she fidgeted with what looked to be a Mirado Black Warrior pencil (my favorite). When she saw me she dropped the pencil to the table. “Melone,” she said with a nod. “Glad you could make it.”
“What’s this about?”
“You want something to drink?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Have you been employed at Holton since the day you graduated, Byron, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I do mind, and it’s none of your business. But now that you ask, yes, and I’m an alum and I graduated with honors.”
“Yes, I remember Ken mentioning it as if it were a meaningful part of your job description or something.”
“It is. It means that I’ll be at Holton long after you’re gone.”
Great, I thought to myself, enjoy it. Because in the end you’ll rot and die like the rest of us. I chuckled lightly at my black humor, and Byron shifted uncomfortably in her seat. I felt abandoned and alone. Even impenetrable Byron appeared chipped to me—a cracked vase to be handled with care. Her eyes were weary; she looked almost sick of her own bitter personality, like it was eating at her from the inside out. Maybe I should try geniality, solicitousness . . . Hey, maybe I could even get Byron to become my friend?
Or, more likely, maybe I could get her to blow her helium-filled cool and shoot around the room like a deflating balloon.
“Byron, I’m not in the mood for a blood sport today. What do you want?”
She snorted through her nose like a pig. “What’s the word on the street re the latest brouhaha?”
“ ‘Brouhaha’? Would that be your characterization of a brutal rape and murder?”
“Emily Barton isn’t dead. And I hope you aren’t sharing inside information outside Holton. Let Ken handle it. He’s super at damage control.”
Had I detected a note of sarcasm in her tone?
“Ken can’t control the AG’s office.”
“But you can, can’t you? Isn’t that why you were hired, after all?”
“You tell me why, Byron. I bet you know why Ken hired me, since you and he seem to be as close as two bullets in a chamber.”
“I’ll answer that when you tell me why your godfather, Vince Piganno, fired you.”
“Sure, Byron. When you tell me why your godfather, Ken Carlyle, keeps you on here when you’re such a freaking liability. You’ve got the personality of an amoebic cyst. Anything else I can help you with before I go?”
“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, because the ride’s going to get real bumpy.”
Maybe Byron expected me to break down and bare my soul to her, accompanied by a few tears. But Butch-Byron Eckert would be dressing in croc stilettos and silk taffeta before I exposed my fears to her.
“Why did your parents name you after a crippled male poet?” I asked her.
“George Gordon Byron was my mother’s favorite Romantic writer, and I guess for a girl, Byron sounded better than George or Gordon. But I like the name. It fits my personality.”
“Who the hell is Arianna Huffington, anyway?” Byron said. “Some kind of poseur. Has an accent, doesn’t she? Greek? Italian? She’s certainly no Huffington by blood.”
“She’s Greek by birth. And it’s her husband who was gay, not her. So I guess she still qualifies as a female with a feminine name. Unlike you, Byron.”
I figured that had a chance of making her blow a leak. But she hadn’t even been listening to me. She looked at me as if I’d said something in Sanskrit.
“Listen, Melone, I’m not stooping to your level today—”
“Byron, you’d have to get on a ladder to stoop to my level—”
“Okay, stop!” She eased back into her chair. “I’m telling you, this is important.”
She looked pale, whiter than usual.
“These parties over at Riverside Park. They call them ‘Bollywood’ parties . . .” She leaned closer. “Now, Melone, I need to know that this is just between you and me. I don’t like you, and I know the feeling’s mutual. But this is different. It’s important.”
“Maybe. Truce. For the sake of the students. What’s on your mind?”
“They’re using drugs that knock the girls out senseless so they don’t know what’s happening to them, and when they wake up, they’ve been raped. Sherman’s got connections very few others have around here. Hollywood’s celebrity elite is becoming more powerful than the presidency in this country. His old man’s sowing the seeds for governor of California. Emily’s the latest victim and maybe I don’t want to see her dead like the others.”
“Emily was in the cafeteria. She claims she never went near Sherman’s last night.”
“She’s lying.”
“Why would she lie?”
With raised eyebrows she shook her head at me, probably already having come to the same conclusion I had: Emily was too embarrassed to admit she was there.