“What?” he said.
She stared at him, assessing his intentions.
“Do you know why I asked that woman for something personal before I would read her?”
“I assumed it was because it had some kind of energy.”
“Everything has some kind of energy,” Ann said. “That wasn’t the point. When I asked her to give me something, what I was really asking for was permission to read her.”
“I don’t get it. Didn’t she pay you for a reading?”
“Her daughter was the one who paid me.”
“So?” Rafferty was confused.
“So I thought her daughter might have some kind of agenda.”
Rafferty looked at the toothbrush.
“Was this a trick?” Ann asked him.
“What?”
“You know it’s not her toothbrush.” Ann made a face. “It’s Cal Boynton’s.”
“I had my suspicions. I needed confirmation.”
“And they think psychics are duplicitous.” Ann excused herself and walked to the sink. She turned on the hot water and washed her hands all the way up to the elbows. Then she dried them and put on petitgrain oil for protection.
She came back and sat down again. “Haven’t you just destroyed your own evidence?”
“It’s a toothbrush, not a murder weapon. I was only looking for verification of their relationship.”
“Not to state the obvious, but I would think her appearance of late would be your verification,” Ann said.
“I needed more,” he said. Not wanting to piss her off any further than he already had, Rafferty continued: “I really do want a reading on Angela. I mean, if you can do one.”
“You have some other personal item for me? Used dental floss or something?”
“No,” Rafferty said. “Nothing else.”
Ann looked at him again. He was sincere.
“I’m not going to do a reading,” she said. “But I’ll help you do one.”
“Right,” he said.
“I’m serious,” she said. “If you want my help, you’re gonna have to work a little.”
“I don’t know,” he said. He had absolutely no talent for this kind of thing.
“A guided meditation,” she said. “I’ll lead you in it.”
“I don’t know,” he said again.
“Take it or leave it,” she said. “I’ve got a busy day today.”
“Okay,” Rafferty said. “What do I have to do?”
“You can start by breathing,” she said.
“Yeah, I seem to do that on a regular basis.”
“Slowly.”
He looked at her.
“Either you believe in this stuff or you don’t.”
Rafferty tried to slow his breathing. He felt ridiculous.
“Anyone can learn to do readings,” she said. “Eva must have told you that.”
Eva had in fact told him that, though she also told him that some people had a natural talent for reading. Like Ann. And Towner.
“Okay, okay. Help me a little here,” Rafferty said. He was starting to hyperventilate.
“Take a deep breath and hold it,” Ann said.
Rafferty’s first deep breath made him cough. He fought the urge to laugh. He took another breath and held it for a long time.
“Okay,” she said. “Now exhale.”
Rafferty repeated the breathing until he felt himself relax. For a minute he felt as if he were slipping off the chair. It occurred to him that he should open his eyes to check, but he didn’t.
“We’re going to do a little meditation now.” Ann’s voice seemed far away.
Rafferty nodded.
“Picture yourself in a house. It can be any house. One you’re familiar with or something you just imagine.”
Rafferty pictured the house he grew up in, a sprawling postwar ranch in need of a paint job.
“Open the door,” Ann said. “Let’s go inside.”
Rafferty did as he was told. He closed his eyes. He breathed deeply.
“We’re going to climb a flight of stairs,” Ann said. “Seven steps.”
Rafferty breathed. There were no stairs in the house he grew up in. There was no second floor. He’d already fucked this thing up.
“Slow, relaxed.”
Rafferty tried to picture another house. Nothing came.
“At the top of the stairs is a corridor with several doors.”
Rafferty was trying, he really was.
“Choose one of the doors. Open it.”
Nothing came to him. There were no stairs in this house. Well, there were stairs, and there was a door, too, but the stairs went to the basement. Not knowing what else to do, he imagined himself going down those stairs. He walked to the door. He was trying to match his breathing to Ann’s, trying to sync up.
“Walk through the door…. Stay for a while…. Look around. Take in everything and try to remember it. Don’t judge, just observe and try to remember.”
Ann was silent for a long time. When she spoke again, Rafferty wondered if he’d dozed off for a minute. He felt calm and relaxed. And completely blank.
“Okay, now slowly, slowly, descend the stairs. Hold the railing as you go. When you get to the bottom of the stairs, step outside into the light. Feel the warmth of the sun.”
Rafferty tried to picture himself doing the opposite. Coming up the stairs, moving outside into the light.
“When you’re ready, open your eyes.”
He opened them.
He felt embarrassed, and completely inept. He’d totally failed.
“Describe what you saw,” Ann said.
Rafferty didn’t speak.
“Go ahead,” she said. “You can’t make a mistake.”
“Well, first of all, I didn’t go up, I went down.”
“All right, maybe you can make a mistake.”
“It was a ranch house,” he said, trying to explain. He expected her to end the exercise right there. Or tell him to stop wasting her time. Instead she took a breath and continued.
“What did you see when you went down the stairs?”
“I didn’t see anything,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
“What did this nothing at all look like?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Humor me,” she said.
“It was black. No, not black, but blank. Yeah. Dark and blank,” Rafferty said.
“What did you hear?”
“What do you mean, what did I hear?”
“Were there any sounds? Or smells?”
“No…. No sounds. No smells.”
He could feel her eyes on him.
“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything. I kept trying to go back up the stairs. I failed Psychic 101,” Rafferty said.
“Maybe,” Ann said. “Maybe not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I went into the room with you,” Ann said. “At least I thought I did.”
“And what did you see?”
“Nothing. It was too dark.”
“I told you,” Rafferty said.
“I heard something, though…a word.”
“What word?”
“‘Underground.’”
“Underground as in hiding? Or underground as in dead?”
Ann didn’t answer. She had no idea.
POLICE REPORT
August 21, 1980
At approximately 9:55 P.M., a teenaged girl entered the station. The officer on duty was Darby Cohen. Also present was Officer Margaret Kowalski. The girl, who was approximately 17, identified herself as “Towner Whitney.” She was very distraught, her appearance was disheveled, and her clothing (which appeared to be a nightshirt) was wet. She wore no shoes, and there was a deep wound on her right foot between the first and second toes. Officer Kowalski recognized her as a resident of Yellow Dog Island. When asked to state her name again, the girl revised her previous statement, saying that, “for the record,”
her first name was really “Sophya.”
The girl was very agitated. There were scratches on her legs, and there was a cut on her head, although neither of the wounds appeared to be fresh. When later questioned about them, she stated that the wounds had been received “about a week ago,” when she was trying to save her “sister, Lyndley Boynton, from drowning.”
When asked the nature of her visit, the girl reported that she had come to turn herself in. She said that she had “just killed Cal Boynton.” When questioned further, as to the location and method of Mr. Boynton’s demise, she reported that Mr. Boynton was “torn apart by the dogs on Yellow Dog Island.”
The police boat was dispatched to Yellow Dog Island at approximately 10:16 P.M. At the recommendation of Officer Kowalski, the Salem paramedics were summoned to examine the girl. Sophya was bandaged and reported healthy at approximately 11:00 P.M. She refused both stitches and a tetanus shot, both of which were recommended. She was issued a change of clothes (Tyvek suit), a blanket, and some decaffeinated hot tea. Although no determining tests were given, it is the opinion of the paramedics that she was not under the influence of alcohol or any illegal substances. There was no sign of concussion, and she did not appear to be physically hurt beyond the above-mentioned wounds.
The police boat arrived at Yellow Dog Island at approximately 11:32 P.M. The responding officer was Paul Crowley, the harbormaster. Officer Crowley reported that when he arrived on the island, the ramp was down. He reported that the Boynton house was boarded up and that a lamp was on at the Whitney house, but that no one appeared to be home. All entries to the house were secured, with the exception of one open window.
Officer Kowalski stayed with Sophya. When questioned further about the events, Sophya reported that Cal Boynton had landed at Back Beach in a Boston Whaler and had proceeded to “head up the cliffs toward his house.” She reported that Mr. Boynton was “looking for his daughter.” She admitted to being confused by this, because there was no one at his house, which had been boarded up for the past two years. She said that Mr. Boynton’s daughter “died about a week ago, in a drowning accident.” She also said that to the best of her knowledge Mr. Boynton had already been informed about his daughter’s death. She speculated that he might have been “in denial” and perhaps that was why he had come here “all the way from California” to look for her.
The witness then informed the officer that she had been in fear for her life, when she saw Calvin Boynton, and when asked to elaborate, she went on to say that the alleged victim’s wife, Emma Boynton, had been recently hospitalized in San Diego after receiving a severe beating from her husband. This story was later verified. Sophya then told the officer that her “great-aunt, Eva Whitney,” had flown to California the day before and that her “mother, May Whitney,” was on the island waiting for news of Emma’s condition. She then broke down in tears.
She said that she had been “very frightened” by the appearance of Cal Boynton on Yellow Dog Island, and that he was “very agitated.” According to her, he said, “I’m here for my girl.” When asked to elaborate, she could not, but only described his intentions as “ominous.”
The girl reported that the dogs then “just started to appear.” She told the officer that they “came out to see what was going on.” According to her first report, there were “hundreds of them, all over the cliffs and the beach and everything,” but when asked how many of the dogs actually attacked Mr. Boynton, she answered, “Ten or twelve, I think.”
Sophya went on to say that the dogs had “never liked Cal” and that he “used to beat them” and had “actually killed one of them a few summers ago with a baseball bat,” although she said that has never been proven. “Tonight it all happened very quickly,” she said. “The dogs just attacked him.” When asked for more information, she said that she had “wanted the dogs to go after Cal.”
The girl reported that when the attack was over, Cal Boynton lay motionless on the ground, “dead.” When asked if she was certain that he was dead, she said she was, although she said she did not examine the body because she “did not want to get near him in any way.” When asked why she did not go to May Whitney for help, she said that she had not gone to May because it “hadn’t occurred to me.” When further questioned, she revised her story, saying it was because she knew that May Whitney “would not have helped.”
Officer Crowley awakened May Whitney, who was “very concerned” about the girl. May Whitney told Officer Crowley that it was “improbable, if not impossible,” that Cal Boynton had been on the island that night. She told police that Cal Boynton was lost at sea somewhere off the west coast of Baja, California. After severely beating his wife, Emma, Mr. Boynton had reportedly “stolen a boat from the San Diego Yacht Club” (from which he had recently been fired), and his boat had “gone down off the coast of Rosarito Beach in Baja.” She said that both the San Diego police and the Mexican authorities were searching for the boat and that “when and if they found him,” he would not be returning to New England but would be arrested and arraigned in San Diego for the theft of the boat and for the severe beating of his wife, Emma Boynton, who had been hospitalized in San Diego and was in “critical condition.” Upon further investigation, May Whitney’s story was confirmed. San Diego police reported that Cal had been found two hours earlier off the coast of Baja. He was delirious and severely dehydrated but expected to recover.
Sophya insisted that both the San Diego police and May Whitney were “liars” and once again insisted that Cal Boynton had been “ripped apart by dogs.” She became more agitated as she reiterated the story, and neither police nor May Whitney were able to calm her down.
Addendum, August 22, 1980. At 11:45 A.M., Sophya was admitted to Salem Hospital for observation. At the family’s request, she was transferred later that day to McLean Psychiatric Hospital and admitted to that facility at 4:32 P.M.
When reading the lace, the Reader must look for one of two things: something that enhances the pattern or something that breaks it.
—THE LACE READER’S GUIDE
Chapter 16
RAFFERTY GRABBED THE PAGES OFF the copier as they came out. A black stripe ran down the final page of the report, obscuring the signatures of the three officers.
Rafferty had read everything he could find on Angela, which wasn’t very much.
And now he’d begun to go back through the old records, pulling everything on the Whitney family and most particularly on Eva and her problems with her ex-son-in-law, Cal Boynton.
Rafferty had checked every hospital and every morgue all up and down the coast. He had called Angela’s parents, who insisted they hadn’t heard from her. Then he’d checked five local shelters. He had even called HAWC, the local group that helped abused women and children. No one had seen anyone matching Angela’s description.
Angela Rickey had disappeared. Again.
Rafferty went to his office and shut the door. He poured himself more coffee and sat down to read all the reports one more time, looking for something, anything, he might have missed. His mind was fuzzy. He hadn’t been to bed at all last night. And it looked like he wouldn’t be getting there anytime soon.
He read Towner’s report again. And anything else he could find on the family. There were two restraining orders against Cal, one forbidding him to go to Yellow Dog Island and the more recent one that kept him away from Eva. There were two older reports of beatings, one filed by Eva and the other by May and Eva the night Cal broke Emma Boynton’s jaw. There was the other beating, too, of course, the one that had blinded Emma, the one that happened in San Diego the night Cal disappeared at sea.
Eva had told him the rest of the story. About how some Mexican fishermen found Cal off the coast of Rosarito Beach. Spotting his orange life preserver bobbing out near the horizon and the line of gulls following closely, they had gone over to investigate. Cal was almost dead when they fished him from the water, Eva told Rafferty.
When Cal was well enough to lea
ve the hospital, he was taken to a San Diego jail. For stealing the boat. And for the beating that blinded Emma Boynton.
According to Eva’s story, Cal had been let go from the San Diego team, ending any hope he’d had of winning the America’s Cup. He’d gone to a waterfront bar and drunk away the afternoon. Then, as was his habit, he’d gone home and taken the whole thing out on Emma.
The severity of his normal beatings wasn’t enough to satisfy Cal, who had just seen his life’s dream dashed. He hit her harder. He smashed her face into a mirror. She wouldn’t stop staring at him, he later told the judge. He cried as he told the courtroom the story. When he saw the extent of her injuries, Cal fled. Hiding out until nightfall, he sneaked back into the club and stole the boat they had built for him. His boat. Somewhere south of the city, Cal had run the boat aground.
While Emma fought for survival with her mother, Eva, by her side, Cal fought for his own life. Unable to untie the life raft, Cal grabbed a vest. He was not found until forty-eight hours later.
When he recovered, Cal seemed a changed man. He claimed to have seen God. Out in the ocean, without hope of survival, Cal had seen the face of Jesus. He was redeemed.
When he was finally rescued, Cal decided to devote his life to spreading the Word.
He told his story to anyone who would listen. He had seen his own death. Cal told them his body had been torn apart. He had felt the fires of hell.
Through the power of the Lord, Cal had stopped drinking without a struggle. Anyone who saw him had to admit that he was a changed man.
Cal’s work with recovering alcoholics led to a reduced sentence in his conviction for the beating of Emma Boynton. She had been relocated to New England due to the severity of her injuries, she was neither available nor reliable as a witness, and Cal’s sentence was reduced to time served plus six months’ community service and two years’ probation.
While in San Diego, Cal founded and incorporated his own church. Known as the Calvinists, his members included the severely disenfranchised and previous domestic abusers. Some of his converts were local street people, including schizophrenics and the alcoholic homeless who responded to the religious message preached by Cal and trusted him as one of their own. To this day the City of San Diego cites Cal Boynton as an example of successful rehabilitation, where “previous offenders utilize their own histories to make a difference in the lives of others.” In his campaign for reelection, the mayor commended the group’s success as one of his accomplishments while in office.
The Lace Reader Page 15