Supper was almost ready. She started to go upstairs and then I noticed ó "
Sobbing. "I noticed the blood on her skirt and legs. It wasn't much, but as soon as I saw it, I knew something was wrong. I went up to the bathroom with Debbie. I made her undress and ó " The sobbing began again ó this time edging toward hysteria.
Clark wondered where Mr. Kessler was. He waited for Mrs. Kessler to continue and while he waited he could imagine the mother and the daughter in the bathroom ó the mother making an examination of her daughter ó an examination the details of which she obviously did not want to put into words. As the sobbing subsided, she looked pleadingly at Sid above the edge of her handkerchief.
Sid said, "Did you call a doctor to confirm your suspicions?"
Mrs. Kessler nodded. "I called our family doctor and pleaded with him to come right away. He told me that Debbie had been attacked."
"Was there any evidence that Debbie had been hurt in any way? I mean ó any evidence that she had been beaten?"
"No. I didn't notice anything like that. Dr. Rigby didn't mention anything other than the ó " Mrs. Kessler rose suddenly and left the room. When she returned a few minutes later she seemed more composed.
Sid said, "Where is your daughter now?"
"Upstairs. She's sleeping. Dr. Rigby gave her some sleeping pills."
"I'll have to talk to her later. Before I talk to her ... can you tell me her version of what happened?"
Mrs. Kessler's eyes were red and swollen as she stared at Sid. "Debbie won't admit that anything happened. I told her she had to tell us what the man looked like. She refuses to admit anything happened."
"You said she was playing tennis in a recreation area near here?"
Mrs. Kessler went to the window. Sid followed. "See?" Mrs. Kessler pleaded.
"You can see the tennis courts from here. We never dreamed anything would happen so close to home. But it must have happened while she was at the tennis courts. Now and then ó after she left ó I looked out the window. I could see them playing tennis ... "
"Come on, Clark. We'll be back in a few minutes, Mrs. Kessler."
* * *
Clark had to hurry to keep pace with Sid as he crossed the field to the recreation area. As soon as they reached the tennis courts, Clark noticed the broken window. Inside the building, near the broken window, there were specks of blood on the asphalt floor. For a while, Clark followed Sid as he roamed the area. Then, gradually, he wandered away, searching the area independently. He saw the cigar butt and knelt beside it. "Sid!"
In a few moments, Sid was kneeling beside him, studying the cigar.
"Do you think it might be a cigar the man was smoking?"
"It might be a cigar anybody was smoking. Maybe one of the girls smoked it."
Clark glanced at Sid's face. The abrupt sarcasm had caught him off guard.
"Teen-age girls don't smoke cigars."
"Today teen-age girls will do any goddamn thing. Including giving a piece to somebody and then lying about it so their mothers think they were raped."
"Teen-age girls don't smoke cigars," Clark repeated.
"It could have been smoked by a man in the neighborhood. A cigar butt isn't a clue."
"And it might have been smoked by the man who raped that girl."
"We don't even know she was raped. That hasn't been proven yet."
Clark ignored Sid's comment. He rose and wandered through the parking area.
He knelt now and then to study the few scraps of paper. One of the scraps was a cigar band. He started to mention it to Sid and then decided not to.
Sid was right. A cigar butt wasn't much of a clue. The cigar could have been smoked by anyone. And it hadn't yet been proven the girl had been raped.
Sid was leaning against the cinder block building, thoughtfully smoking a cigarette. He said, "Something is wrong."
"You're damned right something is wrong. That girl was raped here."
"I'm starting to believe it. There are too many things pointing that way.
And too many wrong things. Too many queer things ... The smashed window. Why should anyone break a window like that? The blood inside the rest room. The fact that it happened in an area like this ... Look at this place." Sid swung a hand in a circle. "This whole area is so goddamned open. This isn't the kind of place a teen-age girl usually welcomes a lover. Right where she can be seen from her own house?" He shook his head. "Everything is wrong both ways. It also isn't the kind of place a rapist usually chooses."
"What are you going to do now?"
He sighed, dropped his cigarette, crushed it beneath his foot. "I'll have to talk to the girl as soon as possible. I guess we'll go the whole route ... a complete investigation. I'll probably have to ask for another detective to help me. So ... you'll have to disappear for a while."
Clark looked into the other man's eyes. It seemed that Sid was almost bored and Clark realized this was Sid's daily work ó at times perhaps as boring as the most routine office job. "You'll give me a call if anything new turns up?"
"I'll be sure to give you all the juicy details."
Clark remembered seeing a bar not far from the Kessler house. He decided he'd go there for a drink and had walked a few yards away when he heard Sid say softly, "Clark? Been wondering why I asked you to come here today?"
Clark turned to face the policeman, retracing some of his steps until they were closer. "I wondered about it. Then I decided you must think there's some connection ... the same man ... "
"Notice a similarity in the two cases?"
"No."
"Your wife didn't remember what the man looked like. Debbie Kessler wouldn't admit anything had happened."
The association came slowly to Clark. He said, "You're saying that this girl's not admitting anything happened might be the same as not remembering that anything happened?"
Sid nodded. "During the short time we had to question your wife, she couldn't actually remember being attacked. She only knew she'd been attacked because of her physical condition."
Clark moved still closer to the detective. His legs felt wooden and finally he was so close he could see the small black pupils of the man's eyes. "A hypnotist," he murmured.
"It has to be a hypnotist. A rapist-hypnotist. Your wife didn't remember anything. Debbie Kessler didn't remember anything. One of the first things I asked Mrs. Kessler on the phone was ... could her daughter give a description of the man? She said her daughter couldn't remember what the man looked like. You see, on the phone, she wouldn't say her daughter wouldn't admit she'd been raped. So I phoned you. It's more than these two cases, Clark. After I started digging into your wife's case, I started going over every rape case in the five closest states. Every case during the past six months. Looking for a pattern. Guess what? I found a pattern. There were dozens of cases that have no relation at all to the others. In those cases the men were found and arrested or else the circumstances were so entirely different they ó "
"How many fit the pattern?" Clark interrupted.
"Four in Pennsylvania. Two in Maryland. One in New Jersey. Seven other cases where the victim doesn't remember what the man looked like. One case in Pennsylvania is typical. The woman was found in an alley. Her clothes were torn, her panties had been removed, and she'd been beaten. She was rushed to a hospital and an examiner determined she'd been raped. But when she was questioned, she couldn't remember anything. The police who handled the cases weren't excited about it. The cases were in different cities and different policemen investigated each case. The policemen in each city assumed the woman couldn't remember the man because she was suffering from shock ... because of temporary amnesia ... because of a wish to avoid publicity and a police investigation by claiming nothing had happened ... Oh, the simplest explanation ... Want to guess?"
"Tell me."
"A woman is walking down a dark street. Someone slips up behind her ó unseen ó knocks her unconscious. Drags her in
to some bushes or an alley and rapes her. The woman regains consciousness and has been raped but doesn't remember a single detail. In three of the cases I mentioned, it was assumed the women were knocked unconscious before they saw their attacker. That's happened now and then, of course. But now there are too many in the pattern. Nine cases where the women don't remember ... nine counting your wife and Debbie Kessler."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The girl's hair was chestnut brown and had been done in a style that curled the brown masses in toward her neck, the hair at such a length it barely brushed her shoulders when she turned her head. Her eyes were large and dark brown ó they reminded him of a doe's eyes for some reason he couldn't quite understand ó unless it was because they were large and seemingly innocent.
Innocent? It'd be interesting to discover if she was a virgin. There were no rings on her fingers.
Her eyebrows were pale compared to the shade of the hair on her head ó thin arches above the doe eyes. Her lips were pale, as if she used only a very light lipstick or none at all. She wore a checked brown and white skirt, checked brown and white jacket, with a white blouse beneath the jacket. She had carried a white purse and white gloves when he met her. He'd disposed of the purse and gloves after going through the purse and removing the money.
Out of curiosity, he'd glanced at the identification card in her purse. Her name was Katherine Elsinger and she was twenty-four years old.
She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Slender and graceful. She had that fine-featured aristocratic kind of face he'd never seen in a bar and rarely seen anywhere except newspaper photographs on the society pages. Women such as Katherine Elsinger would never be found in a bar although they might be found occasionally in a nightclub. Even in a nightclub, they would always be escorted. Women such as Katherine Elsinger would never go to a nightclub to be picked up. There would always be plenty of men waiting to take them anywhere they wanted to go. And women such as Katherine Elsinger would never look twice at a man such as himself ...
He had tied her wrists together and tied her ankles together, tied a handkerchief across her mouth, propped her up on the V of bunks at the bow of the boat, and snapped her out of the trance. She had made muffled sounds beneath the handkerchief for a while and had struggled to break free of the cord around her wrists and ankles, but eventually she had ceased all struggling, realizing it was hopeless.
He poured the beer into the glass, sipped it. "Want a drink, Katherine?"
There was no response. He had half-expected her to nod her head. She continued to stare at him with those large brown eyes, her forehead occasionally wrinkled as she frowned at him. It was interesting to note there was no hate in her eyes ó only fear and wonder. Fear at expectations of what he might do to her. Wonder at how she had arrived here.
"I couldn't give you a drink even if you did want one," he said. "I didn't think about that. To give you a drink I'd have to take off that gag and I don't want you screaming for help right now. It might be safe but I'd rather wait another hour. Then we'll be damned sure there's no boats wandering around this part of the bay and then we can have our party." He gulped the beer and told himself that when he finished this bottle, he wouldn't drink any more. The beer would deaden his senses if he drank too much. He didn't want to be half-drunk when he fucked her. He wanted to enjoy all of it as much as possible.
"Know where we are?" he asked. "We're anchored off a hunk of marshland in the bay. Nobody within miles. A boat goes by now and then but it goes by way out there. Too far away to hear anything we say or do." He chuckled and sipped the beer.
She began to struggle again, twisting on the bunk, struggling to break free of both the wrist and ankle bindings. Her nyloned knees parted a few inches during the struggle and he studied the opening between her knees although the lighting was so poor he could see none of her thighs. Noticing he was staring, she brought her knees together and ceased struggling.
He laughed. "Afraid I might see your pussy?" He placed the beer on the narrow table against the bulkhead. He stood before her and smiled down at her. "Listen, honey, don't worry about me seeing your pussy. Because there's no way you can stop me from seeing it." He lowered a hand and caught the hem of her skirt with the tip of his forefinger, pulling it slowly upward. She made gurgling sounds beneath the handkerchief and her eyes rolled wildly. He raised the checked brown and white skirt until he could see the V of red panties. "Red!" he exclaimed mockingly. "I'll bet you feel daring when you wear that!" He returned to his seat and sipped the beer again. When he saw she was watching him, he deliberately stared at her uncovered legs and V of her loins until her eyes closed as if she could not bear to watch him stare at her.
He lit a cigar. "I'll bet you're wondering what's going on. Want me to tell you? Maybe you'll appreciate it more if you understand. You see, girls are my hobby." He shrugged his shoulders. "Some guys save stamps, some guys play golf. A lotta hobbies. My hobby is girls. I like to look at 'em, I like to feel 'em, I like to fuck 'em. Can you think of a better hobby for a guy to have? I'll tell you ... it's a lot more fun than saving stamps or playing golf." He puffed on the cigar. "You know all about hypnosis, don't you? Sure you do. You're a smart girl. Well, believe it or not, I knew a guy who invented a machine that hypnotizes. Isn't that the greatest thing you ever heard? His machine did what the guy on the stage does with the watch swinging at the end of a chain ... only the machine does it faster and better. That's how you got here. Remember you were walking down the street and I got out of my car and showed you the TV? I hypnotized you and told you to meet me at that intersection of Naaman's Road and Marsh Road. You were there, right at ten o'clock, like I told you only you didn't know what you were doing because you were hypnotized. So I put you on this ó "
He stopped abruptly as he heard the boat nearby. Alarm bells rang in his mind when he realized it could be one of the coast guard boats he'd heard about ó one of the coast guard boats that periodically inspected boats to make sure they had the proper life preservers and fire extinguishers. What the hell could he do if a bunch of those coast guard guys started climbing all over his boat? The TV wouldn't work on a bunch of guys like that ó not unless he somehow got them all looking at the TV at the same time. It would be tricky as hell and almost impossible to get them all looking at the TV at the same time if there were more than two of them at once. And, if they found the girl in the cabin, all tied up like that. .
He hurried out of the cabin, up onto the deck. He went to the railing and stared into the night until he saw the running lights of the other boat. It was a big one. It could be a coast guard ship ... Too late to turn off the cabin lights? His heart thudded. Hell yes. Way too late now. He should have a gun. He should have bought a gun a long time ago. Carting that TV all over hell, taking those women, the only smart thing to do was have a gun on you all the time. Just in case you hit a spot where you couldn't use the TV.
Then you could use the gun ...
The other boat came closer. The engine churned lower and lower. He heard voices on the boat and recognized some of them as women's voices. The boat turned ó as if seeing his boat ó as if wanting a secluded and deserted place to anchor ó the boat turned and sped away. He watched until the running lights disappeared on the dark horizon, then he returned to the cabin. He noted with disgust his own trembling. Things were beginning to shake him, shake him bad. The girl had gotten to her feet, hobbled a short distance from where she'd been sitting. Stupid as hell, because how could she get anywhere all tied up like that? He placed the palm of a hand against the soft mound of her cunt and shoved until she fell backward on the bunk, in a sitting position again but this time more awkwardly, with her hips too far forward on the bunk.
He finished the beer and found he was still trembling. He opened another bottle of beer and gulped it. Maybe it'd steady his nerves. He said, "How do you like my boat? First time I ever had a boat. Shopped around and found what I wanted and bought it. One thousand buck
s. What do you think about that? Quite a hobby huh? But, I heard, some guys pay a thousand bucks for a stamp. Now ... you're going to be a helluva lot more fun than a teeny-weeny flat stamp." He shrugged his shoulders in the conversation with himself, then said, "And I'll sell this boat when I'm through with it. I might not get the grand back but I'll bet I get nine hundred. So, no matter how you figure it, this party with you will only cost me about a hundred. For a hundred, you can hardly buy a girl for all night who doesn't look like a pig. Whores cost more and more all the time." He chuckled. "Speaking of whores ... you know, it was a whore who gave me the idea for this boat."
The girl was moaning. It might be because of the awkward position she was now in. He went to her and lifted her to a normal sitting position on the bunk. He said, "Hot? Let's take off your jacket." With her wrists tied, it was impossible to slip the jacket off her. He took the knife from his pocket and cut the jacket apart, throwing the pieces to one side. He cut her blouse and threw the pieces on the floor. She was wearing a black bra. He cut the straps and pulled it from her breasts. The bra was padded and her breasts were disappointingly small. He put the knife on the floor and knelt before her, cupping her breasts with his hands in such a way his fingers touched her flesh but there was space between her breasts and his palms. "Not very big," he said with mock sadness and shook his head. "You hardly got two handfuls there. But ... if everything else is that small ... " He laughed and returned to his bottle of beer, finishing it.
Rape Machine Page 11