by Lada Ray
“I am ninety nine percent sure.”
“But how do you know?
“Well…” I hesitated, not sure how Maria would react to my secret. Then, decided to reveal it. “It may sound incredible and I still don't completely believe it myself, but ever since I learned about Rebbecca, I've been having psychic visions of her rape. The first time it actually happened during one of the knitting club meetings, the one in which we were talking about her.”
“I remember,” she said. “It was when you gasped and almost dropped your knitting.”
“Correct,” I said, impressed with her powers of observation. “After that, I went to the library and as I was reading an article about Rebbecca, it happened again. Then again, when I was at Hidden Lake, at the exact spot where the rape took place. And every single time, I saw three rapists. I never saw a fourth, no matter how hard I tried to. You are not surprised, I see.”
“Surprised – no,” laughed Maria lightly. “Why should I be? Honey, New Age is my middle name. You name it, I studied it all: Wicca, shamanism, feng shui, paranormal phenomena. I don't really have any such talents myself, but admire them in others.”
“That's a relief,” I said. “So, there are four possible suspects, yet, it appears, only three of them participated in the rape. Where does that leave us?”
“Of the four,” mused Maria, “the least likely person to be involved would be Marc, I think. And here is why: one - he didn't seem to be taken by Rebbecca, right?”
“Right.”
“Two – he is very ambitious and always wanted to be a politician. He wouldn't jeopardize all that for a skirt.”
“I agree. He rather strikes me as a guy who would step over anyone, including a helpless woman, if he needed to in order to protect himself, but he wouldn't do something as stupid as rape a girl and potentially throw his entire future away.”
“Well, in this respect, I think Nick is also quite unlikely to have been there. He is awfully ambitious as well and he didn't seem smitten by Rebbecca either.”
“That's true,” I agreed. “Except, of the four, I can place him at the scene with high confidence. He was there, Maria.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Think about it. He has a fight with Jason, during which the latter accuses him of being a coward and hiding behind his father's back. We know that his father was chief investigator of Rebbecca's case. There is also someone else's testimony of his involvement, but I can't tell you more, because I'd be breaking confidence. You can just trust me – it's incriminating. However, what I can tell you is this: Nick didn't press charges and let Jason go because his conscience didn't allow him. He had wronged the poor guy previously and he just didn't have it in him to hammer the last nail into his coffin. It probably means that he isn't a completely lost cause, but it also shows that he feels guilty.”
Maria fell silent, trying to wrap her mind around this illusive argument.
“Okay,” she finally said, “I more or less understand where you are coming from, although I must admit my head is starting to spin. But I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you.”
“So, let's sum up. Peter and Jack had motive. And Nick and Marc didn't seem to have any motive or need, for that matter. Despite that, Nick was most likely there. And by process of elimination, Marc wasn't. But I still don't get it, why would Nick be involved?”
“Peer pressure?” I shrugged. “He was celebrating graduation with friends after all. Maria, I went to the spot where it happened, the place called the Lovers' Clearing. The Maloof estate starts less than two hundred yards from there, just down the overgrown path. The boys could have slipped out from under Maloof Senior's watchful eyes. To get some privacy, they might have decided to go to celebrate on the public side of the lake. They were drunk when Rebbecca had the misfortune to run into them, in her haste trying to get away from Jason whom she perceived as danger, not realizing that something much more sinister awaited her ahead.”
“Yeah, I see where you are going with this. I like your reasoning. However, if the boys were celebrating, why wasn't Marc with them? He was, after all, their ring leader.”
“That's a mystery,” I agreed. “Perhaps, he wasn't available that particular evening or left early?”
“Pity,” said Maria. “Of the four, he is the least savory character. Did you know that he's married and has a five year old son? ”
“No, actually, I didn't. He acts like an unmarried man.”
“That's because this marriage is just a front. He married a Mexican American model, who has money. But lately, she's been spending most of her time back in Mexico, together with their son and as far away from Marc as possible. She's Catholic and for her a divorce is almost impossible. Anyone else would've felt awkward, but Marc is fine with that, because being married looks better on a senator's resume and because he has the use of her money, while not having to live with her.”
“Interesting bit of info, Maria. Quite useful before my interview with him. But what a character!” I shook my head. “Tomorrow I'll know more about him. My interview is at eight a.m. I feel, I am getting close to cracking this case.”
“Jade,” Maria said in a worried motherly voice. “Whatever you do, please, be careful!”
Chapter 21
The early morning air was pleasantly cool and I decided on a refreshing stroll before my interview with Marc Catcham. When I first contacted him a couple of days back, he was pleased to get his name in the paper, as any additional publicity would be good for his senate race. However, he told me, he was quite busy most of the week and the only time he had to spare was Friday, at eight in the morning, before his staff got in and the phones started ringing.
I breathed in the fresh air, savoring my invigorating walk to Marc's office, located – you've guessed it – on Main Street. It took me only twenty five minutes to get there and, when I looked at my watch, I discovered that it was only quarter to eight. As usual, I was early. Trying to decide whether to take another stroll or to wait for Marc on the spot, I tried the front door and to my surprise, it turned out to be unlocked. I went inside, into the semi-dark, well-furnished lobby. Most lights were still off, as the receptionist would be arriving only at nine, the official opening time. I looked around. The door into Marc's study was slightly open.
“Hello,” I said quietly, peering inside. “Marc, are you there?”
No answer. I walked into the room. It was empty. But he must be here already, otherwise the door wouldn't have been open! I decided to explore and started walking along the long and winding corridor, full of little secondary corridors and hidden nooks – deep into the very belly of the beast. There was no sign of Marc or anyone else, but as I progressed, I heard muffled voices somewhere ahead. I kept walking, trying to decide which room they were coming from. When, in my estimate, I was close to the very back of the building, I heard them distinctly. One belonged to Marc and another - I was pretty sure - was Nick Nordini's.
The door into one of the back rooms stood ajar as I approached it lightly.
“... the height of foolishness,” Marc Catcham chided, “to let him go after he happened to conveniently fall straight into your hands. I don't know what possessed you.”
“Nothing possessed me.” Nick's voice was angry. “I refuse to do this any more, period!”
“Refuse? I don't think so!” Marc's voice was getting elevated as well.
“He suffered enough. He spent twelve years in jail. I can't send him back. He deserves a break. So yes, you heard me correctly, I refuse! And you can't make me!”
“I think I can,” hissed Marc malevolently. “If this comes out, not only your career is finished, you'll go to jail! Your reputation and your father's legacy, family honor, position in society - all will be gone, like a wisp of smoke! Everything you worked for! Your children will grow up paupers and ashamed of what their father and grandfather have done! Besides, do you know what happens to those who betray their friends?”
N
ick was silent.
Then, Marc's voice underwent a remarkable transformation. Now, it was soft and persuasive. “Think what's best for your family. Is it better for them to live in poverty and dishonor, when the man, who was supposed to be their rock, is behind bars? No!” He answered his own question emphatically. “It is much better that their father is a great example to them, a reliable pillar of our community and the proud chief of police!”
Marc fell silent, but still, no response came. I stood in the shadow of the dark corridor, all ears and trying very hard not to breathe.
Finally – dejectedly - Nick Nordini uttered, “You are right, I have to continue pretending. For my family. I just know, one day you and I will burn in hell and there is nothing on this planet that can save us!”
“Marvelous, absolutely marvelous,” said Marc Catcham in a voice of smug satisfaction, as if he was just promised paradise on earth. “I see that you are still a reasonable man and can be talked sense to.”
It occurred to me that he didn't hear a reference to hell or perhaps, he simply didn't care. All he wanted was to get Nick back into the fold.
“And now,” continued Marc sharply, “leave, and quickly. Any minute, that meddling witch will be here to interview me for the paper. I don't like that probing look in her eye. It's best if she doesn't see you.” Realizing he was talking about me, I shrunk into a corner, mercifully, containing a broom closet, the door of which was a crack open.
I heard the heavy footsteps of Nick Nordini and managed to squeeze myself into the God-sent closet just in time. It was too late to try closing the door fully, so I just left it ajar, as Nick Nordini stormed past, a dark frown on his face. He turned right, into a side corridor. A moment later, I heard a door open and close behind him. Apparently, he left via the back exit.
I waited patiently, until Marc emerged out of the room and whistling merrily, walked past, turning in the opposite direction, toward the front of the building. I heard him open the front door, no doubt checking for me. Then, he went into his study and I was pretty sure, left the door open, evidently, to watch the entrance. I quietly slipped out of the closet.
I heard and saw enough for today and didn't think Marc would very much appreciate it if all of a sudden “that meddling witch” emerged out of the back of his office. I looked left, then right. And made my decision. Stealthily moving in the direction of the back exit Nick had used, I quietly opened the door just wide enough to slip out. Then, as I tried to close it just as quietly, it creaked, then louder, and louder, almost giving me a heart attack. I took a chance and let it close completely. It snapped in place with a thud. Damn springs!
But the good news was that I found myself in the back yard. I started breathing again. At least, I was out of this viper's nest. I couldn't go back to the front since he was bound to see me. So, I went over to the old-fashioned iron fence separating this building from the next. The fence wasn't too high, only up to my chest. Recalling my old athletic days, I put one foot on the lower perpendicular bar and pulled myself up; then put another foot on the upper bar and swung over to the opposite side.
I dusted off my pants and breathed a sigh of relief. I was in someone else's backyard. Making my way through the grass, I emerged onto Main Street and headed back home. I simply couldn't bring myself to interview Marc Catcham after what I've just overheard. Besides, the thought of being alone with that man in an empty office was giving me the creeps. I'll call and explain that I couldn't make it, I decided.
If I was able to drink in my condition, I could use one right now. Or two, or three.
But since I couldn't, I went home and made myself some tea. The green, steamy liquid made me feel better. I sat in the kitchen and tried to reconcile the results of my investigation. So, Marc Catcham was there. He all but admitted that much. And he was blackmailing Nick. I often wondered about the power Marc seemed to exude over his friends. Perhaps, he had the goods on them? And boy, was he persuasive! Of course, a lawyer and a politician. Need I say more...
Alas, I had to scratch Maria's and my calculations. And today, the solution to the Stepford puzzle still eluded me. If Marc was there, then which one of them wasn't? That was the million dollar question.
Chapter 22
My eyes flew open. It was dawn, but I knew I couldn't sleep a wink. Well, Maria's wish came true. Marc Catcham was there and that meant that either Jack or Peter wasn't. But at that point I hit a wall and, concluding that a call to an expert would be in order, jumped out of bed. I found my cell and dialed the familiar number.
“Hi, Rache,” I said cheerfully into the phone. “Glad I caught you. We need to talk.”
“J... Jade? Is th...that you?” Rachel's voice was sleepy. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Oh yes, sorry about that.” I squinted at the alarm clock that sat on a small side table near the wall. Five thirty. Wow, I was becoming a real early bird!
“I was afraid I wouldn't catch you later.” Well, that was a white lie. “Besides, I have some really interesting developments to tell you about.”
I dangled the carrot in front of Rachel and waited for her to react.
“F... fine,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Let me get some coffee and we'll talk.”
“Good idea! I'll also go and make some tea.” As we bustled around out respective kitchens, I told her about my recent encounters with the four “suspects.” She listened silently as I described the virtual reality tour with Jack, the scene at Peter's mansion and the overheard conversation between Marc and Nick.
When I finished, she said: “It's amazing how you manage to find adventure even in a sleepy, sheltered paradise like Stepford. Oh, and Jade...”
“Yes?”
“In the future, please remind me to never again call Stepford sleepy, sheltered or paradise, will you?”
“No problem,” I said, laughing.
“Good!” Rachel's voice was now perky. Apparently, the coffee was doing its magic. “All right. If I understand your problem correctly, you just acquired a new suspect, but lost another, although it's unclear at this point which one. Correct?”
“Right! It's between Jack and Peter now. What's your scientific opinion?”
“Well, I haven't met Jack, so all I have to go by is what you told me.”
“Well, if it helps, Maria seems to think Peter is the more likely of the two, and she has known them most of their lives. By the way, she also said that character-wise Marc was the most likely suspect, although in the end we decided he didn't have anything to gain. “What's in it for me?” happens to be his life's primary motivator. But in Rebbecca's case, there seems to be nothing he could've gained, therefore, he was booted out of the suspect list by the process of basic elimination.”
“So presumably, Maria has good instincts, therefore, her opinion may be valuable. Is that what you are saying?”
“Yes, we should take it into account.”
“I see,” said Rachel. “In that case, I don't know what to say. My inclination would be to think that Jack was more likely of the two.”
“Why?”
“Some things you said. The intangible stuff really. But because I haven't met him, I can't be entirely sure. And there is this. See, Peter is womanizer and “his fly is open,” as Sheila so astutely pointed out, but it doesn't necessarily lead to him being a rapist. As far as we know, he just likes pretty women and the ones that are squarely different from his wife. He made a mistake when he was young, choosing money over love and now he is trying to compensate for that mistake.”
“By cheating on his wife?” I asked sarcastically.
“It's disgusting, I agree. But you've got to admit, it's a far cry from brutal rape and attempted murder.”
“That's true,” I conceded.
“Besides,” Rachel continued, “Jack's awfully quiet on the outside, but you said it yourself, he has real fire in him. And that kind of suppressed fire is dangerous. It can turn into rage under certain circumstances. When I was little, my Russian
great grandmother used to say, “There are devils hiding in a quiet pond.”
“Is that an old Russian proverb?”
“Apparently.”
“It's a good one,” I said enthusiastically. “I've got to add that to my list. D'you know what it sounds like in Russian?'
“No, because I don't speak Russian, remember? Not everyone is a polyglot like you, my dear. But I could try to find out from my Grandma. She might know.”
“Thanks, Rache, I appreciate it. Every bit helps with my Russian studies.”
“Not at all. But let's get back on the topic.” Rachel was all business.
“Let's.”
“My opinion, Jack's character traits seem to make him a more likely suspect.”
“That may be true,” I countered, “but let me be the devil's advocate. It didn't happen yesterday, but years ago. They were both teenagers back then. And I know for a fact, Peter had a major one-way crush on Rebbecca at the time. Could that have sent him over the edge?
“It's possible.”
“Just imagine,” I went on. “It's the night after graduation. The three of them are drunk, perhaps more drunk than they've ever been in their lives. And then - surprise! Rebbecca stumbles upon them. In her confusion and having probably been intoxicated too, she seeks their protection. They offer her a drink and she accepts. Her nose is bleeding and they ask what happened. Sobbing, she reveals how Jason tried to take advantage of her, how he slapped her and how she ran away. And that's when Peter, who happens to be madly in love with her, becomes resentfully jealous. Drunk people can see things differently, their logic and common sense are impaired. He decides that this is the time to press his advantage and tries to kiss Rebbecca. But she isn't in the mood. She resists and slaps him. He's furious and grabs her arms. Then, Catcham and Nordini start helping him. They hit her. The more she resists, the more they beat her. Then, having had their way with her, they leave her in the bushes and scamper off, terrified of what they've done.”
