by Lara Reznik
Neither Katie nor I responded. My head was spinning like a dreidel from the Hanukkahs of my childhood. If only I could go back in time and start my journey over. What would my folks say if they knew about this tragedy and the trouble I was in now? And what about the Costellos? I thought about the Italian feast Joey’s beloved mama had served at their home. How she had pinched his cheeks with affection.
Katie sat on the bed next to Denise who now appeared to be asleep. Or was she passed out? “What about her?”
“She’s okay,” Ben said. “Doc examined her. He knows his shit.”
Chris sucked in his breath. “We need to move that dude before the sun comes up.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Ben said. “We’ll put him in the trunk of the Pinto and take him somewhere.”
Chris pouted. “Yeah, like where?”
“We’ll figure it out for crissakes.” He looked down at Katie and me. “You girls wait here with your friend. And try and get her clothes back on.”
The guys rushed downstairs, leaving us alone with Denise. Katie touched her forehead and looked up at me. “Do you think she’s okay?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Denise, wake up,” Katie said.
Nothing.
“The hell with them. We should take her to the hospital,” I said.
“Maybe we can get her in the Saab.”
Then I remembered Chris’s warning. “Do you think they’ll put her—?”
As I spoke, Denise’s eyes popped open and she smiled at us. “What’s happening?”
“Thank God, you’re all right!” I said.
But seconds later, Denise closed her eyes and returned to the coma-like state.
“I guess she’s okay,” Katie said. “We should put her clothes on like Ben said.”
After numerous attempts, we managed to dress a catatonic Denise in her blouse and jeans. We left her in the attic and headed downstairs to the living room. The rosy glow of dawn had begun to spill through the front window and we heard footsteps from below.
Katie grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I held my breath.
Then Ben and Chris came through the door with blood splattered on their shirts. Katie screamed.
“Shhhh,” Chris said. “Do you wanna wake the whole neighborhood?”
Ben put his arm around her. “Now, sweetheart. I know this must have scared you.”
She started to cry and Ben held her. Her tense body relaxed in his arms as she wept.
I felt more numb than jealous although my face burned.
Ben lifted her chin and leaned down to kiss her.
I gagged to keep from throwing up.
When he was done, he locked eyes with her. “We need a big, big favor, honey.”
By the goo-goo-eyed expression on her face, she’d give him the passbook to her trust fund. He already had the keys to her heart. “What do you need?”
“The Pinto won’t start. Can we put the body in the Saab? We’ll get rid of him in no time, I promise.”
Katie scratched her head. “I-I guess so.” What did I get her into?
Chris rolled a joint and handed it to me. “Why don’t you girls smoke this while we finish—”
“The job,” Ben said.
I pointed at the joint. “What’s in this?”
“It’s just weed, honey,” Chris said.
I gulped. “Are you sure?”
He kissed my forehead. “It will calm you girls down.”
Katie and I passed the joint back-and-forth in silence while Chris and Ben went back outside to transfer Joey’s body to the Saab. A drum rolled relentlessly in my head.
The guys returned an hour later. Chris said they’d wrapped Joey’s body in some sleeping bags they’d used for Woodstock. There’d been a problem though. They’d driven around town and finally decided to dump Joey in the Long Island Sound at Seaside Beach. But when they got there, there was a couple making out in an old Chevy and they were afraid they’d see them. So they drove out toward Westport but couldn’t find a place that looked isolated enough. Connecticut was too dense with people. Then the sun came up so they’d driven home.
Katie claimed Ben’s hand. “What are we going to do?”
“We should call the police,” I said. “We could take the drugs to Bodine and—”
“Chill out, Laila,” Ben said. “Let’s all get some rest. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
“It is tomorrow,” Chris said.
“Later then, dude.” He led Katie to his bedroom.
Chris took my hand. “Let’s sleep in Ivy’s room.”
“I need to check on Denise.” I headed toward the attic.
“Good idea,” Chris said, and followed me up the stairs.
Denise was in a deep sleep. I put my hand near her mouth to check out her breath. It felt warm on my palm.
Chris leaned over the bed and touched her forehead. “Poor dumb chick.”
CHRIS AND I LAY TOGETHER in Ivy’s bed. Her room smelled of rose incense. I dreamed we were dancing in my mother’s flower garden in Long Island. Chris, and Ben, and I. Dancing with lilacs, marigolds, and tulips. The stars glittered above us.
I awoke to the sound of a phone ringing. It rang at least twenty times before anyone answered it. I thought I heard Ben say, “What’s up?”
Light streamed in patterns through the lace curtains. “Check what time it is,” Chris said. “Ivy’s got a clock on your side of the bed.” He’d obviously slept here before.
My hand fumbled around a wood nightstand until I felt an old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock. “It’s a quarter to three.”
“In the morning?”
“Hmmm. It’s got to be the afternoon,” I said.
Chris rolled out of bed and yanked on his Levis. “Better see what’s happening.”
Walter Cronkite’s unmistakable voice drifted in from the living room. What was going on? I pulled my U.B. T-shirt over my head and traipsed behind Chris.
“We interrupt our regular programming for this special emergency announcement. This afternoon, the Ohio National Guard opened fire into the Kent State college campus at approximately 1:00 p.m. Our sources say at least three students are dead, and over twenty more wounded.”
Ben said it had been Ivy on the phone calling from her grandmother’s funeral in upstate New York. She had heard the news about Kent State and called to see if we knew about it.
Katie stumbled into the room a few minutes later. We all sat on the couch mesmerized by the series of events on the news for the next two hours.
Ben looked at Chris. “Now what?”
Chris raised an eyebrow. “Maybe this thing can work to our advantage.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Real Truth and Nothing But the Truth
Austin, Texas, 2012
After breakfast, Eduardo and I drive to the U.S. Attorney General’s office located in downtown Austin. It’s unseasonably hot for April. There’s an accident on Bee Cave Road with traffic backed up for miles. Between the heat and my nerves, I’m sick to my stomach. “Ed, I think I’m gonna barf. Pull over ASAP.”
He veers off the highway to the side of the road and we both get out of the car. I throw up every last bit of the raspberry-cornbread pancakes. Ed acts as a human shield from the gawking audience of commuters eyeballing me from their stalled vehicles.
My husband reopens the car door for me. “Are you okay, honey?”
“Just peachy,” I say.
“I can call the U.S. Attorney’s Office and tell them you’re sick.”
“Just find a Walgreens. I need a bottle of mouthwash.”
I check my reflection in the visor mirror. Midnight-black mascara forms raccoon-like halos under my eyes. My hair resembles a ball of seventies frizz. So much for looking professional.
Steve is waiting for us in the lobby of the brick building, checking his watch when we walk through the door. He reaches his arms out to hug me. “I felt horrible asking you those questions at the mediation.”
“You were just doing your job,” I say.
“Well, I’m here for you now. And I’ve contacted a criminal attorney buddy of mine to be on call in case things get weird in there.”
The elevator doors slide open and the three of us step inside. On the ride up, Ed turns to Steve. “How weird can it get?”
Steve presses his lips together. “I’ve spoken to the Special Assistant U.S. Attorney assigned to the case. Evidently they’re corroborating statements from a number of witnesses to see if there’s enough evidence for a Grand Jury to prosecute Laila.”
My eyes widen. “Ivy Foreman’s lying about all of this. She wasn’t even there.”
“You need to be prepared for the worst. She isn’t the only one who’s trying to pin this on you. There were two others I believe,” Steve says.
“Ben Franklin Jones and Chris Reynolds?”
“Yes. Are they the type of people who would perjure themselves?” Steve asks.
I roll my eyes. “Let’s just say their hard drives are corrupted.”
Ed’s face reddens. “I’d love to punch those guys out.”
Steve pats his back. “Stay calm, bud. All Laila needs is for you to go ballistic.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to make things worse.” He takes my hand. “Initially, I was very angry at her for keeping this whole mess a secret.”
My eyes well up. “You know how sorry I am, Ed.”
“It’s okay, honey.” He touches Steve’s arm. “After I had some time to think about it, I started to see it from Laila’s perspective. She was only seventeen years old when she met these assholes. Mind you, they were all in their twenties. How dare they take advantage of a mere teenager like that.”
The elevator doors open on the sixteenth floor. We head down the hall to the U.S. Attorney General’s Criminal Investigations Division, give our names to a receptionist and sit down in the waiting room. The only other people seated there are Chris and a woman with bleached-blond hair and fake boobs, whom I assume from picture he’d shown me, is his fiancée. Chris has cut his hair short and is wearing a grey suit with pleated pants. I’d never recognize him if we met on the street.
He nods at me then looks down at his loafers.
Steve visits with the receptionist who then buzzes someone on her multi-lined phone. “Ms. Levin’s attorney would like to speak with you.”
Minutes later a lanky young man in a grey pinstriped suit greets us by name. We follow him to a room in the back. He introduces himself as Special Assistant U.S. Attorney Jeremy Sutherland.
Sutherland begins by telling me this is just an investigation and that there are currently no charges against me. He launches right into the case asking me many questions about Joey. How I met him, how I knew him. “How much time did you and Mr. Costello spend together?”
I answer each one honestly. Things get a little tricky when he asks me why I made the trip to New Mexico. Should I tell him the truth? That I went to pick up a suitcase of drugs? “Ben asked me to go there,” I say carefully.
Sutherland scratches his thick head of hair. “What for?”
“He wanted me to pick something up for him.”
Steve interrupts. “If you continue with this line of questioning, I’m going to have my client plead the fifth.”
Sutherland nods. “Do you deny you pushed Joey Costello out of the third story window on 128 Main Street in Bridgeport, Connecticut, on May 3, 1970?”
I gulp, “Yes, I deny it. He was dead when I got back from the airport.”
The phone in the room rings. Sutherland picks up. “Hello… yeah, I’ve got a hundred fifty some-odd cases myself. Makes sense to me.”
He returns the phone to its cradle. “We’re going to do something a bit unorthodox to save some time here. Meet me in conference room number three in about twenty minutes.”
At 11:30, Ed takes my hand in his and we follow Steve into the large room. Seated at one side of the conference table are Ben, Chris and fiancée, and Ivy. While Ben didn’t chop off his ponytail, he is wearing a tan sports jacket, starched white shirt, and tie.
Jeremy Sutherland and his colleague, Jill Sanders, stand at a podium up front. Jeremy explains that the session will be recorded but that we won’t be sworn in. Jill clicks a tape machine on.
Jeremy Sutherland: We’re here today to try and sort out a tragedy that happened over forty years ago. The disappearance and presumed death of one college student, Joey Costello. He appears to have died the night before the tragic Kent State massacre. An FBI agent has presented us with enough evidence to question whether Joey’s death may have been a homicide.
I whisper to Ed. “Where’s Juanita?”
Ed shrugs.
Jeremy Sutherland: That someone, or more than one person in this room, may be responsible for his death. My colleague, Ms. Sanders, and I have taken statements from many of you already. None of them match together perfectly. Some of them sound, for lack of a better word, rehearsed. To save the U.S. government an inordinate amount of time and money, I’m going to see if we can collaborate and get to the truth by having all involved hash it out in one room.
Ivy is asked to speak first. She weaves a story about coming back early from her grandmother’s funeral.
Ivy Foreman: I heard people yelling in the attic so I ran up there. When I arrived, Laila, Denise, and Joey were in the room. They were all screaming at each other. Next thing I know, Laila pushed Joey out the window.
“That’s a lie,” I shout. I feel like slapping her botoxed face but restrain myself.
“Shhh,” Steve whispers. “You’ll have your turn.”
Chris is the next to testify. He never looks at me, but keeps his eyes on his dear fiancée, Blondie.
Chris Reynolds: I spent the night with Laila’s friend Denise. I believe Laila had an affair with Joey in New Mexico to get even with her.
“Why are you lying too?” I shout. “You didn’t sleep with Denise until after I was back from New Mexico. And I just learned about it from Ben last week.”
Chris gawks at Ben.
Jeremy Sutherland nods at Steve. “Tell your client to remain silent until it’s her turn to speak.”
The conference door opens and shuts, but I don’t bother to look back.
Jeremy Sutherland: Mr. Reynolds, so you believe as Ivy Foreman stated, Laila Levin was jealous when she found Joey Costello and Denise Manelo together.
Chris Reynolds: Yeah, that makes sense to me.
Jeremy Sutherland: Mr. Reynolds, did you witness Laila Levin push Joey Costello from the window?
Chris Reynolds: Ah, yes, I was there. I-I heard a ruckus upstairs. When I got to the attic, Laila and Joey were struggling. The next thing I know he’s out the window and she’s in a state of hysteria.
Ben’s story goes pretty much the same way with one caveat. He claims he was sitting in his room playing the guitar when it went down. He didn’t actually see me do it.
Jeremy Sutherland announces that it is now my chance to tell the events as I remember them.
Jeremy Sutherland: Ms. Levin, did you see Joey while you were in New Mexico in 1970?
Laila Levin: Yes, we spent time together in Taos.
Jeremy Sutherland: Time together like boyfriend/girlfriend?
I nearly fall off my chair.
Laila Levin: No, of course not. He was my roommate Denise’s boyfriend.
Jeremy Sutherland: It didn’t stop her from sleeping with your boyfriend, Chris Reynolds, now did it?
Laila Levin: I didn’t know about her sleeping with him back then.
Jeremy Sutherland: For the sake of time, I’m going to paint a scenario of how I believe things happened, Ms. Levin. What I’ve surmised from the others’ testimony. You had an affair with Joey in New Mexico. You were in love with him.
Laila Levin: Absolutely not.
Jeremy Sutherland: You both came back to Connecticut. Joey told you he still had feelings for Denise. Denise who had betrayed you by sleeping with Chris.
Laila Levin: You’re twisting this around.
Jeremy Sutherland: You thought Joey loved you, but you found him in bed with Denise at the Main Street house when you returned from the airport. You were mad. He was stoned. You struggled with him and he ended up out the window. No?
Laila Levin: No, no, no!
Jill clicks the recorder off.
“May I speak?” says a voice from the back of the room.
Everyone turns around. An African-American man with bluish-white hair in a tailored suit walks to the front of the room. A patch covers his right eye.
“Dr. Stewart, I presume?” says Jeremy Sutherland.
“Yes. Most people call me Doc.”
“I spoke to Doctor Stewart earlier this morning,” Jeremy says. “It appears he has some testimony germane to this case.”
Ben glares at him. “What the—?” He clears his throat. “What are you doing here, man?”
“Chris told me about the mediation. I thought it was important for me to testify so I flew down here to tell it like it was,” Doc says.
Ben stands up and heads toward the door. When he passes Chris, he places a hand on his shoulder. “Brilliant, dude.”
“Mr. Jones,” says, Sutherland. “I suggest you return to your seat. I may have more questions.” He turns to Doc and Jill clicks the recorder on.
Jeremy Sutherland: Er, sir, please state your name, address, and profession.
Douglas Stewart: My name is Doctor Douglas Stewart. I live at 213 South Vista Park Drive, Tucson, Arizona. I’m a pediatrician at Northwest Medical Center out there.
I’m happy for Doc that he was able to become a real doctor.
Jeremy Sutherland: Tell us how you remember the events at 128 Main Street on May 3, 1970, Dr. Stewart.
Douglas Stewart: It was late. I’d just gotten off my shift at the E.R. where I worked as an orderly and drove over to Main Street to hang out with the family.
Jeremy Sutherland: What family are you referring to, Dr. Stewart?