A Yonkers Kinda Girl

by Rose O'Callaghan

  The action was keeping him going. He dreaded the void once the twins left for school.

  **************

  Nick della Robbia showed up at the Grassy Sprain precinct with his mind already on a string of burglaries. Leonard was waiting for him.

  “What are you doing here? You pull an all-nighter?” Nick asked.

  Leonard gave a firm nod. “We got an ugly one. Probably homicide. Girl, sixteen, called. She was babysitting. Said someone was breaking in. By the time we got there, he had beaten her unconscious and carted her off in the trunk of his car.

  “Then we get a call at 3 a.m. saying someone jumped through a window. We get to this empty rattrap and find a torture chamber. Honest to God. Blood all over the place, a meat hook from the ceiling with a rope on it. A metal cot with handcuffs and a shattered window where she decided she’d rather die fast or he threw her through it. Anyway, by the time we get there, they were gone. Neighbor saw them leave, again with her in the trunk. She’s from a good family. They’re going nuts, boyfriend too.”

  “Boyfriend?” Nick asked. “Jealousy maybe? He clean?”

  “Got busted last week for pot, but he was working when she was taken. Then he was at her house all night, except he took a walk around four. Don’t have any other leads yet. The kid she was babysitting said he was eleven feet tall. The neighbor said five nine about. His car is green, blue, or black, an American model of undetermined age. The normal eye-witness crap. We’ll go to the chamber of horrors. Then I’ll take you to her family, and I’m going home.”

  Driving to the O’Dwyer’s, Leonard said, “When we get back to the station, we have to listen to the original call. Twice he said ‘I want to show you something flower girl.’ Like he knew her. She’s a hippie.”

  “Did you play it for her mother?”

  “No, her mother’s not taking this well. There are her brothers, but they don’t seem to know her. Her boyfriend, he knew her height, weight, what she was wearing, and even the cross we found in the cot. But they’re not related, and he’s a hop-head.”

  Kelly answered, “Hello.”

  “Kelly let them in,” Tony called. He was trying to fix the barrettes in Francine’s hair. “That’s the best I can do Francie.”

  “Tony! Oh my God, Lilly!” Nick turned to Leonard. “You never said her name.”

  “O’Dwyer, Della Robbia, of course.”

  Tony said, “Uncle Nick, do you have anything?”

  “No, but could you come to station?”

  “Sure.” He turned to the twins. “Francie, Kelly what time do you get out of school?”

  “Three o’clock.”

  “OK, someone will be there, or we’ll call the school and tell you where to go. Where does Lilly keep EO’s phone number?”

  Francine said, “The O’Rielly’s?” She led Tony to the telephone table, and he wrote down the number.

  “Kelly, if no one is here, go to the O’Riellys, OK?”

  Kelly asked, “If Lilly really was in a car accident, why aren’t you at the hospital?”

  “Well, it’s complicated.”

  “Is she dead? You can tell us,” Kelly said.

  “No, Kelly. Go to school.”

  Francine hung back. “If Lillian did die, would we still see you?”

  “Sure, Fran. Now go to school and don’t forget your lunches.”

  Francine went into the kitchen. Kelly said, “I like you. You never call me Francine.”

  The twins left.

  Leonard asked, “Where is Mrs. O’Dwyer?”

  Tony said, “In the kitchen. She fell apart.”

  “The brothers?”

  “Gone to school. What?” Tony asked.

  Nick took over the talking. “Tony do you think you could listen to a tape and see if you recognize a voice?”

  “Yes. One second.” Tony went to the threshold of the kitchen. “Mrs. O’Dwyer, I’m going out for a few minutes. I’ll be back.”

  “You’re going to school. Of course.” Her voice was flat.

  “No, I’ll be back.”

  In the car, Nick asked, “How bad off is her mother?”

  “She’s nuts, anyway. Her husband and four kids were killed in a car accident. Then Brian died a year and a half ago. She’s got good reason, but she’s nuts.”

  Leonard asked accusingly, “They died in a car crash, and you told the little girls Lilly was in a car accident?”

  “I didn’t, their mother did. Uncle Nick, do you think you’ll find her soon? I mean, isn’t it a good sign that she’s alive? He would have dumped her body by now, right?”

  Nick could see his nephew grasping for hope. “Sure,” he said.

  They brought Tony to an empty break room at the station.

  Nick brought in a reel-to-reel tape recorder. “Listen carefully. Here is a written transcript of what you’ll hear.”

  Police Emergency Operator: Police Emergency

  Female Voice: My name is Lilly O’Dwyer. Someone followed me, and now he’s breaking in …

  PEO: The Address

  FV: He’s breaking in, I’m babysitting Douggy. What’s your address? It’s Winnebago Street. He’s inside. He’s inside.

  POE: The address? Where are you?

  FV: Douggy, lock yourself in the bathroom

  Male Voice: Come here pretty girl. I have something to show you, flower child. [screaming … sounds of struggle] Pretty, so pretty, you’re the prettiest. [more screaming] I want to show you something flower girl.

  Child voice: Stop it, you hurt her! [More sounds of struggle]

  Fifteen-second lapse

  PEO: Hello? Hello? … Douggy? Pick up the phone, Douggy

  CV: He tooked her! He tooked her!

  PEO: Douggy? What’s your name?

  CV: Douggy.

  PEO: Douggy what? What is your street?

  CV: Crying

  PEO: Winnebago? Do you live on Winnebago?

  CV: Yes, Winnebago.

  PEO: Douggy, we’ll be there soon. Do you hear the sirens? We’re coming.

  CV: OK. [Line disconnect]

  PEO: He hung up.

  Time elapsed 1 minute 34 seconds

  Tony was too shaken to speak.

  Nick said to Leonard, “He only called her flower child once. He called her flower girl … her name is Lilly.”

  Leonard jumped up. “You’re right. He must know her.”

  Nick said, “He only needed to hear someone call her name. She’s another flower in his garden. All that flower crap at Warburton. We should look for other missing girls like Rose, Daisy, Iris, Heather.”

  To Tony he said, “I think he’s a serial. There’s too much ritual involved to be a one-time thing.”

  He waited for Tony to recover somewhat. “Does his voice sound familiar?”

  “No.”

  “Think, really think, ’cause it’s not likely anyone you’d really know. She’s in that rock and roll band. Anyone tried to pick her up?”

  “I’m always there. If I’m not, she sticks to Jay and Hillary. That’s the guitar player and his wife. Play it again.”

  They sat through the tape again.

  Nick said, “I’ll drive you back to the O’Dwyer’s.”

  “No, to Pops. I’ve got to get away from Mrs. O’Dwyer for a while. I’ll go back later.”

  Leonard left.

  Nick asked as they walked to the car, “Do you really dislike Mrs. O’Dwyer?”

  “It’s mutual dislike. Strong dislike. She doesn’t like Lilly. Treats her like shit. She takes out her frustrations on Lil. None of the other kids. She slaps her across the face. Never in front of me, but once Mike was picking up Colleen, and Mrs. O’Dwyer slapped Lilly for no reason. Colleen told Mike once Mrs. O’Dwyer was beating Lilly so bad Patrick had to physically stop her. That’s why Mrs. O’Dwyer is falling apart. She feels guilty.”

  Nick’s radio crackled, “Delta One.”

  Nick reached over and responded, “Delta One.”

  “You got the
O’Dwyer case. We got a probable.”

  Nick said, “Go on.”

  “Girl’s body in a dumpster.”

  Tony shrank back, “Oh God.”

  Nick responded, “Address?”

  There was no response. Nick again called, “Address?” as he sped to Tuckahoe Road to drop off his nephew.

  “Delta One, hang on … a black and white is responding …”

  Nick repeated “Address?” more strongly.

  “Delta One hang on … She’s not dead. They’re getting an ambulance. It’s on MacLean.”

  Nick flew across Tuckahoe Road.

  Tony objected, “McLean’s down there.”

  “They are going to need Mrs. O’Dwyers signature at the hospital before they touch her,” Nick told Tony, and then addressed the radio. “What Hospital?’

  “We are waiting on word Delta One. The ambulance isn’t there yet. She almost gave some garbage man a heart attack.”

  Nick stopped the car at the curb. He said to Tony, “Go get her. Make sure she brings insurance papers. I’ll wait here for word.”

  Tony went in and found Mrs. O’Dwyer vacuuming the parlor.

  “Mrs. O’Dwyer?” Then louder, “Mrs. O’Dwyer! They found Lilly. We have to go to the hospital.”

  Bridget picked up the vacuum to put it away.

  “Forget that now. We have to get to the hospital. Do you have insurance papers?”

  Bridget walked past him with the vacuum.

  Tony turned and saw Nick.

  “Mrs. O’Dwyer? I’m Detective della Robbia. Your daughter is being transported to St. Andrews Hospital. Tony, drive her there. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “I’m going to MacLean.”

  Nick left, and Tony hurried Mrs. O’Dwyer.

  She pleaded with him to take her car. He agreed and drove her car swiftly across the winding hills of Yonkers.

  Mrs. O’Dwyer said, “I should have guessed, St. Andrews. That’s where they took Owen and the children. Owen and Bridget died on impact. Edward died in the ambulance. Deidre and Megan stayed at St. Andrews.”

  “They stayed there?”

  “The crash was at one-fifteen in the afternoon. Megan died at nine-thirty that night. Deidre lived until the next morning at eleven-forty-two.”

  The lack of emotion in her voice combined with the exactness of the times was eerie.

  “Lilly’s not going to die though. She will recover,” Tony said quietly.

  “You’re so young. After Brian died at Bronxville Hospital, they took his body to autopsy at St. Andrews. St. Andrews had a research grant. They were working on his type of leukemia. Research was always very important to Owen. That’s why I signed for it, for Owen. I wake up thinking of them cutting up my little boy. I never told anyone that. I thought the other children would be upset if they knew their brother was autopsied. Now, they’ll autopsy Lillian.”

  Tony said, “She’s not dead! She’s not!”

  “You were good with Kelly and Francine. Thank you.”

  He hadn’t thought she had been aware enough to notice. “I like those kids. Lilly loves them. She’s always …” he stopped midsentence. They didn’t speak again until the hospital.

  At the emergency room, they learned they had beaten the ambulance.

  “Are you sure they are coming here? From MacLean Avenue, St. Josephs, Cross County, and Yonkers General are all closer,” the receptionist told them.

  Tony said, “The police said ‘St. Andrews.’ Can you call the other hospitals?”

  “Well, I shouldn’t use the phone for that, but I’ll see what I can do. What’s the name ?”

  Tony supplied, “Lilly O’Dwyer.”

  Mrs. O’Dwyer supplied, “Multiple trauma. My husband was a physician. I speak hospital fluently.”

  A few minutes later, the receptionist called out, “Not Yonkers General.”

  Shortly after that, a doctor came out of the ER and said to the receptionist, “When Mrs. O’Dwyer arrives notify me.”

  “She’s right there,” the receptionist answered.

  “Mrs. O’Dwyer? I’m Dr. Martin. Your daughter is being transported here. There was a problem. We had to send the other emergency physician there before we could move her.”

  “What was the problem?” Tony asked.

  “There was a knife that had to be stabilized.”

  “Knife? Is it still in her?” Mrs. O’Dwyer asked, horrified.

  “Yes. We’re getting an operating room ready. A facial surgeon is coming. We have a neurosurgeon. He’s operating right now, but by the time your daughter is ready, he will be too. We’ll know when she arrives.”

  A nurse came through the swinging door, “Dr. Martin, two ambulances.”

  He said, “Please wait here.”

  The next hours were worse than the whole night had been. The reality was beginning to hit Tony. He went into the men’s room and vomited. Now, Mrs. O’Dwyer sat in silence while Tony paced. He heard the receptionist on the phone.

  “Labor unit? Is Dr. Feldman there? Oh … tell him we have a gynecology consult in the … rape … No, she’ll be here a while … How many in labor? Jesus! This place is crazy. OK, they’re waiting for matching blood, then she’ll go to the OR … OK, call when he’s free. She’ll definitely go to ICU after surgery… OK?”

  Tony walked up to her. “Do they need blood? I’ve given before.”

  “They are waiting for the lab to prepare the right blood type for her. They always need blood, but they get it through a blood bank. Does your school have bloodmobiles?”

  “Oh, probably.” He walked away.

  Mrs. O’Dwyer was repeating, “Raped … oh dear God! Raped.”

  Tony was beside himself in anguish. Lilly was his, so pure, so new. Their love was crystalline. He felt violated. He leaned against the coffee machine, wishing he could give blood, give something to infuse life back into her. He watched the clock. Shuddering suddenly, he thought of the times Mrs. O’Dwyer had quoted on the death certificates.

  Dr. Martin came out and addressed Mrs. O’Dwyer, “I have a surgical consent form here. You’ll have to sign it.” The receptionist came over to witness her signature.

  “What will you do? How is she injured?”

  “I’m not a surgeon. I won’t do anything. We have a face man. He’ll stabilize her face. An orthopedic surgeon will stabilize her arm and shoulder. A neurosurgeon is standing by if needed. You should sign, and then I’ll explain her injuries.”

  She took the pen then said, “I haven’t seen her. How do I know it’s her? I have to see her.”

  Dr. Martin hedged. “Her face is badly swollen and discolored. She is in grave condition.”

  He saw she wasn’t signing and said, “All right.”

  Tony watched them go, frustrated. He felt Mrs. O’Dwyer was wasting precious seconds. She came out ashen-faced, moving feebly. The doctor followed.

  “I don’t think it’s her,” Mrs. O’Dwyer said to Tony.

  “What don’t you know?” he asked.

  He turned to the doctor. “A ring? Does she have a ring?”

  “Yes, we cut it off because the swelling …”

  “It has an inscription.”

  “Wait, I’ll get it.”

  The doctor returned within a minute, holding up his closed hand. “Describe it.”

  “It’s a small amethyst in a plain fourteen carat gold band. The inscription is

  “Lilly, I love you. Tony”

  The doctor handed the ring to Bridget. She took the form and signed it.

  Tony’s anger turned to empathy. He put his hand on her shoulder.

  “She is going to live. She won’t die,” he whispered to her.

  Dr. Martin said, “We’ll go to an exam room where we can talk privately.”

  Tony helped Bridget up and said to the doctor, “She’s lost five other children.”

  “How?”

  “Car accident took four and her husband.
One had leukemia.”

  Dr. Martin directed his remarks to Tony. “You’re Tony?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll start at the head. She has three separate hairline fractures of the skull. That’s not as bad as it sounds because there is no bone displacement. If her brain swells, it could be another story. Her nose is broken, one cheekbone is fractured as is the jaw on the same side. Her clavicle, or collarbone, is broken near the shoulder girdle. That’s big trouble. Her left arm is broken badly. It has separate fractures of the humerus or the big bone of the upper arm, and the ulna and radius, both bones of the lower arm. Her spatula is broken, that’s the shoulder blade, and the sternum or breastbone is also broken. At the end of the sternum is a small piece called the zyphoid process,” he said indicating the location on himself. “That has probably snapped off. Her lung is completely collapsed. She has seven broken ribs, five on her left side two on her right. That’s about the extent of what’s obvious now.”

  Tony asked. “The rape?”

  The two men stared at each other for a few seconds.

  Dr. Martin said, “The gynecologist hasn’t seen her yet. We got samples. She was raped and sodomized. We’ll know more when they finish with her in the OR. Intensive care is on the fifth floor in the north wing. There is a waiting room there. Good Luck.”

  Bridget and Tony left through the ER waiting area. Nick della Robbia was waiting.

  “Mrs. O’Dwyer, how’s Lilly?”

  “Nineteen broken bones … nineteen,” she answered.

  They walked toward the elevators. Tony was getting philosophical about waiting.

  He said to Nick, “You know, she never kept me waiting. She was always on time or early. Some of Frank’s dippy girlfriends would keep him waiting just because they thought it was cute.”

  They walked around the fifth floor for ten minutes trying to find the ICU. When they finally located it, the waiting room was L-shaped. There were clusters of people.

  A black couple was sitting close together, their arms intertwined. They looked like they had practice waiting. There was a window looking out on to the Hudson River. A man in his forties and another in his seventies were glaring at each other. A woman in her fifties was crocheting and looking up every couple of minutes. Bridget sat next to the middle-aged woman, and they spoke.

  The woman’s husband was in the OR, she said. “He has an aneurysm on his aorta. He came in last week. The doctor says it’s like a bubble on a bicycle tire. This morning before they medicated him, he called to say he’s glad he married me.”