“Are you sure?” Ron countered. “Let’s just leave her here and take off. She don’t know us. She don’t know our names …”
But Bill broke in, “No can do. I know we could’ve scared her into shuttin’ up, you know, that we’d come back, do something to her family, but with them havin’ her purse, they already know she was grabbed. If we let her go, she won’t keep her mouth shut. The cops’ll lean on her to tell, and she will. The whole thing’s too risky…. Best to kill her. That way there’ll be no blabbin’ on her part, and by the time they find her up here, the trail will be ice cold.”
Stupefied, Kathy screamed, “No! No, you’re wrong! I won’t tell. I won’t say anything. Please, please let me go. I’ll never say anything, I promise!”
“Hey, let’s forget this broad. She’s scared stiff—look at her. She ain’t gonna say a damn thing. Besides, we leave her here, tie her up, it’ll be forever till she sees anyone to talk with.” Ron hoped his words might mediate, might break Bill’s intent. He waited, watching Bill’s face closely.
It scared him when Bill said with perfect finality, “No good, not sure enough.” Bill then clutched a fistful of Kathy’s blouse and held her upright on the rough driveway, her back facing the farmhouse.
“Don’t!” she cried weakly. “Oh God, don’t.” Ron stepped slowly away while looking into the girl’s contorted, tear-streaked face. Still holding tightly her blouse, Bill positioned the gun against her temple. He cocked the hammer.
“Wait!” Kathy shouted, “A car! A car!” Both men looked over their shoulders. In the distance, headlights were coming toward them, bobbing in the rough terrain. “Shit! Let’s go!” Bill yelled, and grabbed the girl’s hand to tug her along. All three ran to the rear of the farmhouse, then through some woods to a clearing on the very top of the hill, which led to a cliff. This fearful dash left them all dry-mouthed, lungs heaving. Bill forced Kathy to sit between him and Ron, all still for the moment getting their breath back.
Bill and Ron discussed the car. Whose was it? Where was it now? Ron went down the hill to reconnoiter. Kathy again found herself alone with Bill. If she could talk to him, make some connection with him, maybe he would be less apt to kill her. Showing remarkable presence for one so young, she uttered his name. He brought his eyes around to stare at her. “Bill,” Kathy continued, gambling it all, “why would you do these things? Why did you have to hurt me?” There was no rancor in her voice. Her world was so far removed from his that perhaps she genuinely wanted an understanding, but he said nothing.
Ron returned. Out of breath from the hike, he reported that he hadn’t seen anyone. No car was in sight; it must have turned off onto one of the side roads. “Okay,” Bill said, “but someone just might be around. A gunshot’s too risky.”
Taking all this in, Kathy wondered mightily what this meant. She wouldn’t be shot? Would they use the knife, … stab her to death? Or, hope against hope, had her few words in Ron’s absence softened Bill’s murderous edge?
They hadn’t. Bill’s next command showed her a fate worse than any she had yet imagined. “Get up over there.” Pointing to the edge of the cliff, he nudged Kathy to get her going. In the dark, she could perceive the edge more than actually seeing it. Terrified, she put one hesitant foot very slowly in front of the other. Then she stopped. “Not quite,” Bill encouraged, “a little further.” Kathy proceeded by half-steps to the edge. Peering over, she saw far below the headlights of a few cars traveling a road running alongside a broad river. From this height, the cars were playpen toys. She was to be shoved off. If her body was ever discovered, it would look like a terrible accident. When Bill spoke again, he was directly behind her, not an arm’s length away. “It’ll be over in a second. You won’t feel a thing, and … oh yeah, sorry it had to turn out like this.”
Not turning around or even moving, she said, “I don’t want to die like this … No one will ever find me down there. Please shoot me up here.” She closed her eyes and waited.
An arm came up from behind, reaching over her right shoulder, forearm angling down across her neck and breast, with the hand clutching under her left armpit. Kathy was dragged back a few body lengths and set on the ground. Standing over her, Bill said nonchalantly, “You’re pretty cool. I think I like you.” Kathy cried. Sobbed. She was alive.
He grabbed her hand, pulled her to her feet, and walked from the cliff area. Bill called over to Ron, who had earlier distanced himself from the pair and was loitering around the farmhouse. All three crawled under a barbed wire fence, then tromped through a farmer’s field, all the while drifting toward the base of the mountain. At the very bottom, they crossed railroad tracks and walked along a main road, soon coming to Orris’s garage and gas station, which was owned by the family of a township policeman. Seeing the place was open, Bill said he wanted a drink. Squeezing Kathy’s hand in warning, Bill said, “Be good. I’m going to get a pop,” and fished in his pocket for change. With genuine urgency, Kathy asked if she could go to the bathroom. Bill looked around. Only two old men were inside the station. The bathroom was part of the building, around the side. He pulled his jacket aside, revealing the gun tucked in his waistband. “Okay,” Bill answered, “you got it made now. I’m gonna let you go soon, but if you start yellin’ for help, I’ll shoot you right here. Got it?”
Bill greeted the old men inside the station. Ron stood guard outside while Kathy entered the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her she looked for a way to escape. She was told she would be released but she could not believe anything said to her. What if they were merely taking a break before driving her to another hellish, forlorn spot? On a wall facing away from where Ron was standing outside, there was a window, but it was too high and too small to get through.
When she walked back out, Bill was sitting on a guardrail drinking a creme soda, Ron lounging nearby with his own bottle. All were within view of the two oldsters looking out through the large plate glass window. Laughing, Bill held out his bottle to Kathy. “Want a swig?” Though very thirsty, she shook her head. “Come on then,” Bill said, retaking Kathy’s hand. He held her close to his side as they walked away. The elderly gents inside the station were touched by this seeming display of affection.
“Ahh,” said one to the other, chuckling as he lit his pipe, “strolling with your best gal. Remember that?”
The threesome soon came to an alleyway where Kathy recognized the red Corvette, its previous shine ruined by splattered mud and rain. Kathy could not figure out why Ron had driven the Corvette from the farmhouse to this alley, but she was beyond caring enough to ask. Ordered inside, she once again scrunched between the two men. Since asking permission to use the bathroom at the station, Kathy hadn’t spoken again but now, head down, staring at the console, she asked, “Where are we going?”
Bill answered cheerily, “I’m taking you home.” Coming from her assailant, who’d done nothing but brutalize her and lie all night, how could she believe him? Yet hope bubbled within that she might survive.
Still believing she had been taken to Ohio, Kathy asked, “Are we heading back to Pennsylvania?”
Ron laughed, saying, “You must not get around much. We never left Pennsylvania.”
After more driving, Bill eventually turned onto Saxonburg Boulevard, then into the neighborhood where Kathy lived. Approaching Kathy’s house, Bill pulled the car onto the berm. He had a distinct message for Kathy. “You’re lucky, ya know. I was gonna kill ya but I didn’t. All you got was fucked so don’t go makin’ a big deal about it. If I find out the cops are after me because of you, the first thing I’m going to do is come back here.” He pointed through the windshield. “Red brick, dormers, right? I’ll kill you or,” pausing for effect, “maybe your mother.”
Kathy was shaken that Bill knew her house. “I won’t say anything,” she cried. “I just want to go home. I won’t tell on you.”
“Never?” Bill asked.
Kathy answered, “No, never.”
Ro
n opened his door and got out. Kathy went for the opening but was held back by a hand grabbing her hair, twisting indelicately. “Remember what I said, Kathy.”
She fled the car and ran to the basement door at the rear of her house. She heard the Corvette’s engine fade into the night. She’d been snatched from her own safe neighborhood, threatened, raped, and almost murdered … twice! Debased, bruised, and exhausted, she wept with sickening shame and disbelief.
. . .
It was a week prior to Kathy Defino’s rape that Officer Don Simonetti of West Deer Township received a frantic phone call from a young woman. From her rush of whispers, Simonetti picked up enough to learn that someone had broken into her house, robbed her.
“Miss, where is he now?”
“Two of them. I think they’re gone. They took my car.” Simonetti heard labored breaths.
“All right, we’re coming right away. What’s your address?”
“Fifty-two Bakerstown Road. We’re on a hill but there’s a big mailbox at the bottom of the drive with a squirrel painted on it.” Simonetti appreciated the details. He knew the road to be winding and miles long. “Are you coming now?”
“Yes, but wait a minute. What’s your name?”
“Nancy Falconer. You’re coming right now?”
“Miss, I’m jumping in the car now. Just hang on. Are you alone?”
“Yes…. I mean, my little boy’s with me. Oh, God, do you think they’ll come back?”
“Nancy, I’m on my way. Be calm. Check your windows and doors. Lock ’em and sit tight.”
Crying, Nancy Falconer urged, “Please hurry. Please.” Simonetti heard the receiver click on the other end before he hung up.
Notified at home, Chief Steve Radage got to the address within the same minute as Officer Simonetti. In a rural township, it had taken longer than they had hoped to arrive, but they were still surprised to be met in the driveway by the victim’s father-in-law, Arnold “Rusty” Falconer. Hand on holster, Simonetti said, “Who’s here? Are the perps gone?”
“Perps?”
“Perpetrators … robbers. Are they gone?”
“Yes, they’re gone,” answered Rusty. “Nancy called me right after she called you. I’m just up the road so it didn’t take me a minute to get here. My wife’s in the living room with her.” Rusty led the West Deer officers inside.
Nancy’s face was flushed, tear-streaked. She had a red welt along her left cheekbone and her right eye was swollen. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, detached herself from the arms of her mother-in-law. “Hello, I’m Nancy. Thanks for coming,” she said listlessly.
The cops introduced themselves and met Rusty’s wife, Peggy. All managed small smiles. “Nancy, do you have any idea who did this?” asked Chief Radage.
“No. They wore masks.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’ll live, but my eye feels puffy.” Tracing her fingers over her face, Nancy said, “I actually did this myself rushing for the phone. I ran right into the edge of the kitchen doorway and hit the bone around my eye.”
One side of her face was marred. Radage wondered if she’d been punched or slapped. Her eye was already a shiner. Although Nancy seemed unaware of it, the corner of her mouth was cut, the blood leaving a rust-colored smear along her chin. Even in her disarray, Radage saw that Nancy, in her early twenties, was quite pretty. He also noticed for the first time that she was pregnant.
Nancy said she wanted to check on Jeffrey, her young son. She began to rise from the couch, but her father-in-law put a hand on her shoulder. “No, you just sit quiet and relax. I’ll look in on the little guy.”
Leaving his house so hurriedly after the call from Officer Simonetti, Radage wore weekend civies under an old hunting jacket. His hair was medium brown, poker straight and combed straight back. Although he’d been a cop for many years, his eyes retained a kindness that was reassuring to those who’d come to distress. Easing down on an ottoman, Radage asked Nancy if she felt up to talking. Still very shaken, she said, “Yes, I can talk. I want to tell you. I want them caught, the bastards!”
“Let’s just start at the beginning,” said Radage. “What time did this happen?”
“It was 8:30 A.M. Dennis, that’s my husband … we were up at seven with the alarm clock. Jeffrey was awake but quiet. Dennis showered. I tended Jeffrey, got him fed, then made Dennis’s breakfast. It was just a normal morning. Dennis left for work at 8:15 A.M., like always.”
“Nancy, where does your husband work?”
“At Pitt, at the university,” she said, then continued, “Well, Dennis left for work. Jeffrey was on the couch and I sat down too, after turning on the television, one of the morning shows, because I wanted to catch the weather, see if it was going to warm up.”
Radage felt that some of the initial hysteria had drained from Nancy. There was little animation in her voice—still stunned, Radage guessed— but she spoke clearly and offered detail.
Nancy drew her legs beneath her on the couch. “I suppose a few minutes had gone by when I heard a knock at the door. I did wonder who it could be, so early and all. Jeffrey was okay on the couch, so I went to the window and saw only a car, a Chevy convertible. I know you’re going to ask me the color, so I’ll tell you. It was dark red.” Radage gave Nancy an appreciative smile. “But I didn’t get the license plate,” Nancy added. Radage formed an exaggerated frown and everyone laughed, which broke the awful solemnity.
“So, go ahead, Nancy. You heard the knock and went to the door …”
“Yes. Without another thought I opened up. Right in front of me is a man with a stocking over his face. A guy behind him wore a ski mask. They both had guns. ‘God,’ I thought. I tried to slam the door but they broke right in. I screamed but they told me to shut up. I walked backwards into the living room and sat down beside Jeffrey. I pleaded with them not to hurt us. I knew I was going to be robbed but”—here Nancy’s voice dropped to a whisper—“I prayed they didn’t want anything else.”
Radage asked the young woman if she’d been physically assaulted, in any way. “You know I have to ask you this, Nancy,” he coaxed.
“Yes, I know. They didn’t do anything to me … like you mean. I was scared about it though. At one point, one of them, the huskier one, sat down beside me and said, ‘Why don’t you be nice to me?’ He had a knife in his hand. He took the blade and stroked my face and neck with it and he ran his eyes over me. But nothing happened like that. I guess even those brutes could see how pregnant I am. So, in that way at least, I was left alone.”
“Okay, Nancy, good. Now you mention one was husky. Can you give me a description of the two?”
“Both wore masks so I never once saw their faces but one was husky, like I said, strong-looking, and the other was ordinary in build, more slender than not. Mr. Husky and Mr. Slim, okay? Although it was cold out, Mr. Husky wore only a light beige jacket with a white tee shirt underneath. Mr. Slim had on a black shirt with a collar. His coat was brown corduroy. It had one breast pocket on the left side. They both wore blue jeans and some kind of boots.”
“Excellent, Nancy. You know, I’ve talked to many people who’ve been through a fright and lots of ’em can’t remember a blessed thing. Anything else you can tell me?”
Well, Husky and Slim had deep voices but it’s Mr. Husky’s I’ll never forget. He did most of the talking, giving out orders. His voice had a distinctive tone or, what’s it called, uh, timbre? I can’t describe it any better, only to say I’d recognize it. I can hear it now in my head.
After he put that blade on my face, he told me to put Jeffrey to bed. I did this right away. He followed me to the crib. After I laid Jeffrey down he leaned over the rail then made sounds like men do when they’re talking to babies—you know, “goo-goo.” He took a glove off and touched the tip of Jeffrey’s nose. I just stood there, not knowing what to do. I said something like, “Why don’t you take what you want and go, leave us alone?” I tried to reason with him. I said, to s
pook him, make him hurry and go, I said, “My husband went out for diapers. He’ll be right back.” This guy, who seconds ago was oogling over my baby, suddenly turned around and grabbed my arm. Now he’s real angry, saying, “Oh, your husband will be right back?” He shoved me away and said, sort of quiet, it was eerie, “shut up, you lying bitch.” He pushed me into the living room, and told me to get on the couch. In this whole time, if there’s anything I did that was brave—or actually foolish—it was when he … Mr. Husky, we’re talking about … asked me directly, “Where are the guns?” I said, “We don’t have any guns.” He took off his glove again and slapped me across the face so hard …” Nancy pointed to the ugly red welt on the side of her face. “That’s how I earned this.”
Radage pursed his lips. “Nancy, what was the other guy doing?”
“Oh, Mr. Slim, while I was getting slapped around, was standing not ten feet away drinking a glass of orange juice from my refrigerator. Mr. Slim stood around doing nothing. I can tell you he did not rush to my defense.” She looked at the chief with a failed smile. “Then Mr. Husky, that bastard, told Mr. Slim to go out and get a rope. Now I’m so scared. Are they going to hang me? Instead they dragged me to the bathroom and put me in the tub. They used the rope to tie my wrists and ankles, then put a gag in my mouth. I had trouble breathing. Mr. Husky said to me, ‘Don’t call the police for twenty minutes. If we’re caught, we know where your husband works. We’ll come back when he’s not home and shoot you and the baby.’”
Nancy aimlessly fiddled with the lapel of her robe. “I don’t know how I got loose, but I did.” She began to speak again, fell silent, then said, “Do you know what else happened?” Rage welling and feeling beyond further humiliation, she answered her own question. “I peed myself. I thought they were going to kill me, without a sound, with a rope. They made me pee myself!” Nancy put her face in her hands and wept.
Born to Lose Page 3