Caroline’s birthday presents ranged from the frivolous to the practical. None was more frivolous than the beautiful gold maple leaf earrings from Florencia and her husband, and none more practical than the big box of 3M Post-It note pads, in various colors, from Harry. Katarina gifted Caroline two quite lovely bathing suits; both one-piece numbers with bright colors and cheery designs. They looked very high-end. Sonny gave her a complete set of the Harry Potter books, in Bloomsbury hardback, which I discovered she’d never read. How and when Sonny had acquired this tidbit of information I wasn’t certain, since she’d never mentioned it to me. Sanchez and Anne had gotten her two very cool baseball-style caps from Archaeological Diggings Magazine; a magazine Caroline tried to find whenever she could. One cap was cream color, the other, navy blue. Both had the magazine’s name beneath a gold Sphinx and Egyptian Pyramids in the background. Two matching T-shirts accompanied each cap.
It was a lot of fun watching Caroline opening gifts. The surprise party, the gifts, the cake, combined to touch her deeply. She was smiling and laughing, yet all the while I sensed she was on the verge of happy tears. When Rosita had been murdered, Caroline had lost everything; a place to stay; someone who understood her situation and looked after her; a place of refuge from a world where she didn’t quite fit in anymore. She had me now, and I loved her. But this surprise party told her that she also had an extended family. They didn’t see her differently than anyone else. She was just Caroline to them, and they loved her. It meant everything to her.
It became quiet as we sat around afterward enjoying the surroundings. Katarina finally suggested I play the tape. Everyone else nodded in agreement, curiosity getting the better of them. I pushed the play button and set the volume up half way.
“Paris, October 9th, 2005. Patient, Holly Carmichael. We’ll try hypnotherapy today to get to the heart of her sexual trauma, and Holly’s fear that she’s being stalked.”
I leaned forward and stopped the cassette.
“I know who this is,” I said softly, surprised. Holly Carmichael wasn’t a name many people would know outside of light jazz lovers; and even within that group, you had to be a buff to remember the name and what had happened. Somewhere between June Christy and Doris Day, was Holly Carmichael. She’d been playing dives until someone from a famous jazz label saw her performing in a club in Paris. She was still playing there while she recorded Cool and Breezy, her debut album. Because no one knew who she was yet, there hadn’t been much fuss surrounding her suicide shortly before its release. Even though the record company decided to go ahead and release the completed album, they spent little if any to promote it. Because there could be no follow-up, and no return on their investment, the jazz label decided to put it out there and cross their fingers they’d at least break even. By all accounts, all these years later, they had.
Holly had been what they call in jazz, and football, a throwback. She sang as if Jo Stafford and Julie London were still around. As if society wasn’t listening to guys rhyming dirty and debasing lyrics to records being scratched by a needle, and calling it music; as if a time when people like Mercer and Cahn had written words with meaning to be sung with meaning hadn’t long ago died.
Cool and Breezy began to get some radio play on light jazz stations and Holly’s feel-good remake of Easy to Love became the impetus for people who appreciated gals like Linda Lawson and June Christy to ask, “Who is that?” The buzz unfortunately faded quickly because we now lived in a society which had about a thirty-second attention span, and a disdain for anything of value. Any real music lover who’d ever heard her, however, or had her album, as I did — I’d managed to replace the one destroyed in the explosion which killed Delana — hadn’t forgotten. But to the rest of the world she was simply a very obscure musical trivia question sure to stump everyone at parties.
Florencia spoke first, bringing me back from my thoughts.
“You actually know her?”
“No.” I related the story of Holly Carmichael to everyone. No one had heard of her other than Sonny and Caroline and Harry, who had heard me playing her album from time to time.
“It sounds like a therapist’s recording of a patient’s treatment, Seth.” I could tell from Flo’s cautionary tone that she had reservations about listening to the tape. A young girl had died for it, however, I put forth, and since we didn’t know who the doctor had been, hearing what was on it seemed the only logical way to know why it had been worth dying for. I suddenly wished we were in Miami, so I could have Jeanette Miller give it a listen. I still might need to once we heard it.
“We don’t know what’s on here,” I commented quietly, “so if anyone objects to hearing it, I’ll understand. I can always listen to it alone, back on the boat.” I looked around the table. One by one they nodded, even Florencia. I started the tape where we’d left off. There were two voices now. Obviously she’d recorded the intro for reference, and then began recording in earnest once she had Holly under for their session.
“I want you to go back to your relationship with Boon, and tell me how it began. How old were you when you met him?”
“Fourteen. No, wait, I’d just turned fifteen.” Holly’s voice was soft. “But I was really innocent for fifteen, because my mom had taken off when I was six or so. I was more like a kid than other girls my age.”
“Tell me how you met Boon, Holly.”
“He was Daddy’s drinking buddy. Daddy drank a lot, and he could get mean, but Boon could handle him.”
“What do you mean, handle him, Holly?”
“You know, keep him from knocking me around. Boon was his pal, but I think Dad was kind of afraid of him, too. I was always bruised up growing up until Boon came along.”
“You must have been very grateful.”
“Boon was so good to me. He’d get me out of there and take me out to eat and stuff when my dad was on one of his benders, which got more and more frequent as I got older.”
“It would only be natural for you to feel something more than gratitude toward Boon at that age, Holly, especially if your mind hadn’t caught up with your body.”
A long pause. Holly’s voice was tinged with guilt. When she spoke next, she sounded more like a fifteen year old than the grown-up she had been in 2005. Hell, she sounded like she was eleven.
“I sort of had a crush on him. He was so big and strong and good looking. The other girls at school saw me with Boon a couple of times. I told them…he was my boyfriend.”
“Did you think he was your boyfriend? It would be understandable. You were only fifteen, and you didn’t have a mother to talk to about such things.”
Another pause.
“I told them he was.”
“Did they believe you?”
“Not at first. They made fun of me, like always. But then a few of them saw how Boon was with me. We’d hold hands. His were so big and strong. Sometimes he’d put his arm around my waist. They didn’t make fun of me as much anymore.”
“Was that all?”
You could hear a deep breath being sucked in and expelled.
“A couple of girls saw him put his hand on my rear a few times. Then they all started to believe me.”
“What was your reaction the first time Boon did that?”
“I was flattered. It…excited me. I’d never felt…strange like I did when he caressed my butt. It made me feel like I really was his girl. Like I was pretty. It made me…warm inside. I could tell the other girls were jealous. He was so big and handsome. I’d just turned sixteen the first time he did it.”
“When did it go further than that, Holly?”
Another deep breath, this time accompanied by a small sound of discomfort, as though she were getting close to something raw and painful.
“Dad was passed out drunk and Boon picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, like I’d seen them do in movies. He put me down by the bed and told me he loved me. Then he kissed me, full on the lips. Tongue and everything. I let him. I knew I shoul
dn’t, but I loved him a little too, I guess. And no one had ever told me they loved me before.”
“Was that the first time he molested you?”
“I guess you can call it that. I was sixteen. Other girls had already done it. But I was like a little kid, really. He said he’d stop kissing me if I didn’t want to kiss him. But I did. I…I told him he could. Then he took off his pants and he was just…there, all naked and excited. He was ugly and…beautiful at the same time. It…thrilled me that I was what excited him, made him so huge. Part of me wanted to run, but at the same time I’d never wanted anything so bad as I wanted him to love me. He could have had anyone, but he wanted me. He said I was the prettiest girl in the world and he loved me.”
“Did he ask for your permission, like with the kiss? It would be understandable if in your confusion, you said Yes.”
It was obvious where the therapist was guiding her. This was classic manipulation by a predator. Boon had groomed her, set her up for what he was going to do. But there was something more here. You could almost feel it. None of us were comfortable but there was no way we could stop listening now. I felt ashamed but we had to hear it all.
“Yes. I told him…he could make love to me. He undressed me. But then he got down on his knees. I thought he was going to propose or something. But he…tongue kissed me…down there. For a long time. He got me so hot. And then he lifted me up in his arms, and we were on the bed. He filled me up. I thought I was going to die, it hurt so bad. But the more he kissed me, and kept sliding it in and out, the more excited I got. It started feeling so good…I could endure the pain for the…other feeling.”
She was crying now. Her voice had become rife with guilt, as if searching for understanding; seeking forgiveness that could only come from within. She had been preyed upon and manipulated before she’d had the tools to deal with it.
“I felt like I was going to explode into a million pieces. Like a star bursting or something. I started crying. I began begging him to stop…because I knew it was wrong. But I was…so close. He stopped moving and told me he’d never touch me again if I told him right then to leave. But I…couldn’t.”
Another long pause. And small, anguished whimpers.
“What did you tell him, Holly? You were young and confused. It’s completely understandable.”
“I told him I loved him. He said he wasn’t sure that I loved him, and maybe he’d made a mistake because he loved me so much. He said he should go. So I…I begged him to keep loving me. Begged him to keep giving it to me. I told him it felt wonderful. He got this look in his eyes, sort of all happy, and then he started ramming it in me even harder than before, till all that mattered was what he was doing to me. I exploded. But I didn’t die. I wish I had. I felt so ashamed. I was sure all my screaming would wake up Daddy, but he was dead-drunk.”
“What happened next, Holly?”
“I felt wonderful. Older, somehow. It was the girls who made fun of me all the time who seemed like kids now. And I felt ashamed because I felt so wonderful. Boon told me to close my eyes and then he put his finger under my nose and told me to sniff.”
“Cocaine?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know what it was then. I got hooked on it, because it made me feel like I could do anything. I wanted to be Supergirl for Boon, so he’d keep loving me like that.”
The little mini recorder reversed, and began playing the flip side of the tape. The voices were different now, more conversational. The therapist must have brought Holly out of it and then begun taping the session again.
“When did you break free from him the first time, Holly?”
“About six months after that first time. Dad caught us together in the shower. I was on my knees making love to Boon. Boon thought he was passed out on the sofa like a hundred times before when we’d done it. But he must have come-to, or not been as drunk as Boon thought. Dad was mad, but mad at me, not Boon! He was screaming what a little slut I was when Boon hit him and knocked him out. I was scared and crying. Boon made me go to the bedroom. I heard him wake Dad up, and they argued. And then they left. Boon came back alone three hours later. He said Dad wouldn’t bother us anymore. He told me to pack a bag and we were leaving. I guess I knew he’d done something, maybe killed Dad. I’d been weaning myself off the coke by then. I still asked Boon for it so he wouldn’t get suspicious, but I’d flush it down the toilet.”
“That must have taken a lot of courage.”
“Yeah, I guess it did. I was proud of myself. I’d grown up a lot in that six months. I wasn’t a sixteen-year-old thinking like a twelve-year-old any longer. Boon took away my innocence. He had manipulated me, like you’ve helped me see. He got me hooked on sex, thinking it was love, and then he got me hooked on coke just to make me completely dependent on him. One night he came back to the apartment he’d rented for us. He was wearing this nice suit, really expensive, and a gun. He told me he had a job to do and then we’d be set for life. I knew right then he was into something really bad, and he’d bring me down with him. Or worse, he’d take me along for the ride. When he left to go do the job, so did I.”
“Where did you go?”
“Geez, it was just a blur of small Florida towns for a while. Where didn’t I go? Boon never left me any money. I guess he suspected I might do a runner on him. I finally hooked my way into a bus ticket to Los Angeles. I didn’t have any skills. Sex was all I knew how to do. I’m not proud of it, but I never did it again.”
“You don’t have to be ashamed of anything you did, Holly. Or any decisions you made at that age.”
“Thank you. I love you, you know?”
“I love you too, Holly. Is that where he found you, Los Angeles?”
“No, he caught up with me in Seattle eighteen months later. God knows how he found me, but he did. He was rolling in money, nice clothes, the whole shmear. The strange part was, he didn’t act mad. He said he understood, but insisted we were forever. I guess a part of me wanted to believe him, even after all that. I know it’s stupid, but I let him take me back to Miami.”
“He got you hooked again?”
An audible sigh. “Heroin this time. Harder to break. And harder to hide if I was getting clean behind his back.”
“But you did.”
“Yeah, but it took me five years. I’d try, and then fall back. Try again, and slip up. But I finally made it stick. One night after sex, I clobbered him with his own gun while he slept. I even tied him up with electrical wire from a lamp and gagged him so he couldn’t holler for help. I unplugged the phone and ran for my life. I had a lot of money this time, because I’d taken it off him. I got a passport and went to Greece. It’s so beautiful there. But look who I’m telling. Anyway, I finally made it here, to Paris. The wad I’d taken off Boon was getting pretty thin by then so I lived lean for a while, waiting tables and stuff while I tried to catch a break singing at the clubs, doing sessions. I’d always wanted to sing. It was the only thing I’d ever been good at, really. I felt free when I was singing, you know?”
“Because you were in complete control.”
“Exactly! I could channel all that pain, or a happy mood, and give it to people. Make the lyrics really live! I could give the words a real voice, a life of their own.”
“Your album is finished?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of exciting. I don’t really need it to be a big success. Just to have a few people have it in their homes, playing it and enjoying it, thinking, wow, that’s wonderful. Then I’ll feel like I did something with my life.” Holly’s voice suddenly changed. It became a mix of despair and fear. “It may be all I ever do, that album. I can feel him, Susan. I can always feel him when he’s near. It scares me. I don’t think I’ll have the strength this time.”
“We won’t let that happen. I’ll only be a phone call away. You can reverse the charges.”
“I’m afraid for you, too, Susan. He won’t hurt me, but he’ll kill anyone who gets between us. I’m glad this is our last time. I just c
ouldn’t bear it if he hurt you. I think I’d kill myself if he did.”
The tape clicked and I jerked, startled because I’d been so engrossed. I wasn’t the only one. Sonny exclaimed, “Shit!”
“I wonder if she did really kill herself, Seth?” whispered Caroline, squeezing my arm.
“Maybe she had some help,” Sanchez commented.
Anne said softly, “Or death was a better alternative than going back with him.”
“Or Boon murdered this Susan, like she was afraid he would, and it really did push Holly over the edge,” mused Katarina.
“How in the world does this connect to Laura Garner, I wonder,” asked Florencia quietly.
Anne murmured, “You know, I think I remember reading something…” She took her I-phone out of a small clutch purse. For once, I didn’t wince when a girl got on her cell phone. She seemed to have a definite purpose. After about sixty seconds, she whispered, “Bingo” and handed the phone to Sanchez. His raised eyebrows as he read and scrolled made everyone curious, watching and waiting. He looked up. “Apparently Laura Garner has a sister. She rarely talks about her because she’s been missing for years, since 2009 in fact. Foul play is considered likely, but no remains have ever been found. Her office was burned in a fire around the time of her disappearance. Guess what kind of office it was?”
“Don’t tell me, therapist?” said Sonny.
“As my lovely lady said, Bingo. Anyone care to make a guess at her first name?”
Almost in unison, all in the same soft tone, everyone said, “Susan.”
“I guess you have your connection now, man,” commented Sonny. “But how’d that tape get here to Ecuador, and why did that young girl you and Caroline found this morning die for it?”
The Long Gray Goodbye: A Seth Halliday Novel Page 5
