Unspeakable

by Graham Masterton

  "Idon't,as a matter of fact. You're virtually accusing me of-"

  Holly waited. Mr. Heilshorn spun his hand around in his effort to explain himself.

  "Well, what you're implying here, I wouldn't evensayit in front of Sarah-Jane, let alone think of- Jesus, she wouldn't even know what I was talking about."

  Holly took out her pen. "There's no accusation here, Mr. Heilshorn. But if you're agreeable, I'd like to talk to Sarah-Jane alone for just a few minutes. I'm sure that we can clear this up without any need for acrimony."

  "Acrimony? Jesus. This is my ten-year-old daughter here."

  "I know, Mr. Heilshorn. But if you can give me five minutes alone with her "

  Mr. Heilshorn shoved his hands into his pockets and took a deep, flaring breath. "All right," he said, at last. "All right, fine. You can talk to her alone. But believe me, you're wasting your time. I can tell you right now what she's going to say. She's going to say that she slipped off her bicycle seat and that's all there is to it."

  It was then that he took hold of Sarah-Jane's hand and squeezed it so tight that her knuckles were spotted with white.

  "That's what you're going to tell the lady, aren't you, sugar?"

  Sarah-Jane looked up at him and gave him the briefest of smiles and nodded. But Holly saw something in her eyes, and it wasn't the panic that she had seen in Mrs. Heilshorn's: It was weariness. Sexual abuse, in the end, always makes children weary.

  "So your mom tells me you're out on your bike a whole lot."

  Sarah-Jane nodded.

  "She says every day and sometimes she doesn't even know where you go."

  "I always tell her. I only go to see Kylie in Tabor Vista. And my friend Penny sometimes, but she lives all the way down on Division."

  "I see. Do you have any boyfriends?"

  Sarah-Jane blushed and shook her head.

  "Not even one boy you like?"

  "Well, Kylie's brother Lennie, but he's just her brother."

  "Does Lennie like you?"

  "I guess. He talks to me sometimes but that's all."

  "How old is Lennie?"

  "Sixteen, I think. But he doesn't act like he's sixteen. I mean, he's nice to me."

  "Did he ever kiss you?"

  Sarah-Jane burst out into frantic giggling."No!No, never!"

  "Did he ever touch you at all?"

  "Uh-uh."

  "He didn't touch you in any way that could have caused those bruises on your legs?"

  Sarah-Jane looked serious. "He never touched me, ever."

  "Did anybody else ever touch you in a way that could have caused those bruises on your legs?"

  Sarah-Jane shook her head again. Holly could sense her extreme tension. She began to knock her knees together as if she needed to go to the bathroom, and bite at her left-hand fingernails, and kept clearing her throat in little high-pitched hiccups.

  "Your daddy and mommy say that those bruises on your legs were caused by your bicycle seat. Do you want to tell me how exactly that happens?"

  "I guess I jump off the seat too quick when I stop."

  "But how do you get bruised by the seat if you've already jumped off it?"

  "I don't know. I just do. It happens all the time."

  "Do you mind if I look at your bruises?"

  Sarah-Jane hesitated and then she said, "Okay." She lifted her skirt two or three inches. Holly saw a pattern of bruises about the size and shape of large black grapes. Some of them had faded to yellow, but there were others that were clearly more recent.

  "Okay, that's fine. Thank you. When was the last time you bruised yourself?"

  "Yesterday," Sarah-Jane whispered unhappily.

  "Well, I have to tell you, honey, I saw your bicycle and it has a big soft seat, and I'm finding it very difficult to believe that all of those bruises could have been caused just by your hopping on and off it. Do you know what those bruises look like to me?"

  "No."

  "They look to me like somebody's been grabbing hold of you somebody strong. Do you think that could have happened? Because-let me tell you now-nobody's going to be angry with you if that's what really happened. It wasn't your fault, not your fault at all. But it's very important that we find out where those bruises came from, because we don't want you to get any more. Even if it means the state of Oregon buying you a brand-new bicycle, one that doesn't hurt you like this."

  Sarah-Jane lowered her head and twisted her plastic-bead bracelet around and around. Holly waited without saying anything while the mock-rococo clock on the mantelpiece crept slowly past four, and although she couldn't hear it, she could guess that it marked the moment with a fancy little chime.

  Holly reached out and took hold of Sarah-Jane's hand. "You don't have to suffer this anymore, Sarah-Jane. All you have to do is tell me what really happened and I can make sure that it never happens again. Ever."

  Tears began to slide down Sarah-Jane's cheeks. She said miserably, "It was my bicycle seat," and then she covered her face with her hands, and Holly couldn't even persuade her to look up at her, let alone say any more.

  Tragedy

  "Mr. and Mrs. Heilshorn, I have to tell you that my strong suspicion is that Sarah-Jane has been physically abused. More than likely by an adult, judging by the size and the span of the fingermarks."

  Mr. Heilshorn's left eye glared furiously over her shoulder. "Do you know what you're saying here?" he demanded.

  "Absolutely. The school doctor suspected it, and now that I've had the opportunity to talk to Sarah-Jane for myself, I'm convinced of it."

  "On what fucking grounds, may I ask?"

  "Mr. Heilshorn, there's no need to be abusive. I'm just doing my job, which is protecting vulnerable children like your daughter from physical and emotional harm."

  "You're trying to accuse me of precisely what?"

  "I'm not accusing you of anything, Mr. Heilshorn. It's not my job to accuse you of anything. My job is simply to assess Sarah-Jane's situation here and if necessary to recommend further investigation into her physical and emotional well-being. Which I'm telling you now is what I intend to do."

  "She never gets sick," Mrs. Heilshorn put in. "I give her an excellent diet, the same as me. Plenty of fruit, plenty of vegetables."

  "Mrs. Heilshorn, we're not discussing what Sarah-Jane has for lunch. We're talking about the possibility that somebody has sexually abused her."

  "From a few fucking bruises? What do they prove? Sarah-Jane and me, we often have a rough-and-tumble. You know, horsing around in the yard, stuff like that. Sometimes I give her piggybacks-so what? I'm her father, for Christ's sake."

  Mrs. Heilshorn said nothing but gnawed at her bright scarlet lips and looked anxious.

  Holly put her notes away. "I'm going to recommend that you bring Sarah-Jane into the children's clinic for examination by a police doctor. If she really did sustain those bruises from falling off her bicycle seat and horsing around in the yard, we'll soon be able to tell for sure. I can make an appointment now."

  "She's a virgin," Mr. Heilshorn interrupted. "I can absolutely guarantee that, one hundred and ten percent."

  "Well, as I say, we'll soon be able to confirm it."

  "Jesus, I don't believe this. I don't believe that you can walk into my home and suggest that I- Jesus. I mean, what kind of people are you? You got dirty minds or what?"

  Holly stood up. "I'm sorry, Mr. Heilshorn. I'm doing my job, that's all. Why don't you bring Sarah-Jane along to the clinic tomorrow morning and we can put this matter to rest."

  "I'm going to call my lawyer, I warn you. I'm going to sue you for slander and invasion of my personal privacy."

  "Somebody's personal privacy may have been invaded here, Mr. Heilshorn, but I certainly don't think it's yours. Now, do you mind if I have another quick word with Sarah-Jane before I leave? I want to tell her what's going to happen tomorrow."

  Mrs. Heilshorn said, "I'll get her," and left the living room. Mr. Heilshorn said nothing but glowered at Holly and interm
ittently sniffed. Holly used her cell phone to text the clinic and arrange for Sarah-Jane's examination.

  "Eleven forty-five okay for you?" she asked Mr. Heilshorn. He gave her a dismissive wave of his hand.

  It was then that Mrs. Heilshorn came back in, looking flustered. "She's locked herself in her room and she won't answer when I knock."

  "I'm not fucking surprised. You think she's stupid? She knows what's going on here. Trying to say that I molested my own daughter Jesus."

  "Her appointment's at eleven forty-five," Holly told Mrs. Heilshorn. "Can you make sure that she's there on time? Here's the address, and here's my cell phone number in case you need me."

  Mr. Heilshorn snatched her visiting card and peered at it. "Holly Summers. Well, I can't say that it's been much of a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers. Goodbye."

  "I still need to have a word with Sarah-Jane before I go."

  "And what if I say you can't?"

  "Then I'll have to call the police and I'm sure you don't want a squad car in the street outside your home."

  "I'll try knocking again," said Mrs. Heilshorn.

  "Jesus."

  Holly followed Mrs. Heilshorn up the blue-shag-carpeted stairs to the second-story landing. She tip-toed across to a door with a flowery ceramic plaque sayingSarah-Jane's Palaceand gave a brisk little rap. "Sarah-Jane? Sarah-Jane? It's Mommy again. Can you open the door, please?"

  There was no answer. She tried rapping again. "Sarah-Jane, I don't want to have to get cross with you!"

  Holly said, "Let me try." She leaned close to the door and said, "Sarah-Jane. This is Holly. I need to tell you something important before I go back to the office. It'll help you to understand what's going to happen tomorrow."

  She paused and then she said, "I know this is difficult for you, but you're very grown-up and I know that you can get through it. Do you think you could come out and talk?"

  Still no answer. Mrs. Heilshorn looked at Holly and shrugged. "She can be very sulky when she wants to be. You know what they're like at this age."

  "I think we ought to open the door," said Holly.

  "But she's locked it."

  "I still think we ought to open it. Can you ask your husband to come up here and help us?"

  "Anthony, will you come upstairs, please? Ms. Summers thinks we ought to open the door."

  "Jesus."

  But after Holly and Mrs. Heilshorn had knocked again and again, still with no reply, he came stamping up the stairs and beat on the door himself. "Sarah-Jane! Will you stop acting so goddamn childish! Open the goddamn door!"

  Silence. Mr. Heilshorn turned to Holly and pointed a finger at her. "If I break this door down, I want the city to pay for it, you got me?"

  "Please, Mr. Heilshorn. Just open the door."

  He gripped the frame in both hands and gave the door one hefty kick with his stockinged foot, and then another. The door splintered around the lock, and a shove with his shoulder was enough to open it.

  Inside, Sarah-Jane's Palace was as neat and as perfect as Mrs. Heilshorn's Palace downstairs. A brass-knobbed bed with a pink satin quilt. A white dressing table with ruched lace skirts around it, and a silver-backed comb-and-brush set. Heaps of teddy bears and floppy-eared bunnies and frogs. Posters of pop stars.

  "So where is she?" Mr. Heilshorn wanted to know.

  "She has to be here. She locked the door from the inside. Unless she climbed out the window."

  Mr. Heilshorn went to the window. "She couldn't have. The window's locked from the inside too." Grunting, he bent over and peered under the bed. "No, not there . So where the hell is she?"

  Holly opened the closet door. Inside, on a high brass rail, hung color-coordinated coats and dresses and slacks, all perfectly pressed, and these had been pushed along to one side so that Sarah-Jane could knot a white rope belt around her neck and hang herself. She had used a little red-roofed Fisher-Price dollhouse to stand on, kicking it over onto its side. Her eyes bulged out in a furious stare, and her lips were turquoise. She resembled a grotesque puppet fromSesame Street,rather than the pretty little girl whom Holly had talked with downstairs.

  Mrs. Heilshorn let out a terrible shriek, more like a war whoop, and dropped onto the bed with her red-clawed hand held over her mouth. Mr. Heilshorn immediately rushed into the closet and seized Sarah-Jane around the hips to take her weight."Untie her!"he screamed."Untie her!"

  Later, Mrs. Heilshorn came downstairs, her mascara blotched, her yellow scarf looped untidily on one side. She came up to Holly and handed her a piece of paper that looked as if it had been torn from a school exercise book.

  "I suppose the police better see this."

  Holly took it. A short message was scrawled, hurriedly, in purple crayon. It said,It wasn't daddys fault it was my fault love sarahjane.

  11:17 P.M.

  Detective Sergeant Gene Brushmore:So what was it that wasn't your fault?

  Anthony Heilshorn:I don't know what she meant. Maybe she was worried about the bruises, the accusation that was being made.

  Brushmore:You mean the suspicion that she was being sexually abused.

  Roger T. Floren, Attorney:My client utterly refutes this suggestion and we will be showing that it was made recklessly and willfully by the Hawthorne School doctor and by Ms. Holly Summers from the Portland Children's Welfare Department, and in effect they were indirectly responsible for Sarah-Jane taking her own life.

  Brushmore:The medical examiner in his preliminary medical examination the ME says that there is absolutely no question that Sarah-Jane had been sexually you know, sexually interfered with. Molested.

  Floren:Even if this is true, my client denies that he was responsible.

  Heilshorn:I loved her. You think I would have ? I wouldn't. I couldn't.

  3:54 A.M.

  Brushmore:[Coughs.] Detective Janet Spectorsky has been talking to your wife, Mr. Heilshorn, and your wife has made a statement of her own free will that you regularly took Sarah-Jane into the roll-out bed in your-what you called your "Lion's Den." And this was done for sexual purposes.

  Floren:Come on, Sergeant. You can't expect my client to respond to an allegation like that.

  Heilshorn:Wait a minute here. You don't see it for what it was, do you? You just don't see it. There was no- Valerie and me hadn't had any kind of a marriage since Sarah-Jane was born. It was like she totally lost interest in the physical side of things. She never allowed me to touch her; she never even allowed me tolookat her, for Christ's sake. She's my wife, but I haven't seen her undressed in over ten years. Glimpses, but what's glimpses?

  Brushmore:So the arrangement seems to have been that you had sex with Sarah-Jane instead? And your wife allowed it? Encouraged it, even, so that she wouldn't have to have sex with you herself?

  Floren:My client isn't saying that at all. Come on, Anthony, you don't have to answer any more questions. It's nearly four in the morning, we're all This is putting my client under duress.

  Heilshorn:I loved her. I was very careful. I tried my best not to hurt her.

  Floren:Anthony, you don't have to say any of this.

  Heilshorn:[Beginning to weep.] You don't see it, do you? I loved her.

  Brushmore:She was your daughter, Mr. Heilshorn. She was only ten and a half years old, and you were regularly having full, penetrative sex with her.

  Heilshorn:She was still a virgin. I never did that to her. I swear to God that she was still a virgin.

  Brushmore:What are you trying to say to me here? Your wife says that she frequently found blood and other stains on your sheets. Here it is: "I had to strip the bed and wash the sheets at least twice every week . I like everything perfect."

  Floren:That's enough, Sergeant. This interview concludes now.

  Heilshorn:What does it matter? She's dead.

  Floren:It matters, Anthony, because you have a constitutional right not to incriminate yourself.

  Heilshorn:She's dead! Okay? I had sex with her, yes. Played with her. Made love to her. W
e called it "playing lions and tigers," I don't really know why. I went into her, yes, but I was her father, and I took that responsibility seriously, and that's why I never took her virginity.

  Brushmore:You're saying that-?

  Heilshorn:Yes, her bottom. Her little tush, we called it.

  Brushmore:You anally penetrated your own daughter at least twice a week and you're trying to tell me that this was the behavior of a caring and responsible father?