Then there is LaDarrell Phillips, head of collections. His office is just a few doors down from Helen’s, but she seldom associates with him. He comes across pleasant enough, but he is single and always flirts with whatever woman is in the room at the time. His pencil-stick mustache is as crooked as his smile, which he so freely shows whenever he is in the presence of a female. Whatever the subject of conversation, he finds a way to bring sex into it. He does this lightheartedly, using double entendres, trying to play innocent – and perhaps he is. But Helen is always uncomfortable around him, so she keeps her distance. Could he be the assailant? He fits the profile, as far as she is concerned. But she knows too little about him to make a fair judgment, so she decides to do some investigating on her own.
“LaDarrell…what do you know about him?” Helen asks Carol as they sit eating lunch together in the cafeteria at work.
“LaDarrell?” Carol questions, looking across the room at LaDarrell sitting with some of his friends. “Not much…only that I don’t like him. A woman can’t walk past him without feeling his eyes undressing her. All you need to do is say ‘Hi’ to him, and he takes it as an invitation to jump your bones. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. He’s always bragging about his ‘ladies.’ I try to stay out of his way and just ignore him.”
“Does he do well with the ‘ladies’?” Helen asks.
“I’d say he does! Some women have no sense at all. I’ll tell you how I know … because it’s one of many reasons I can’t stand the guy. One day, we were all in a meeting; I excused myself to get some paperwork I forgot on my desk. LaDarrell asks me if I would get some papers he forgot on his desk while I was at it. He told me to look in the bottom drawer on the right side. I guess I wasn’t thinking, I looked in the bottom drawer on the left side, and you know what I found? Panties…a drawer full of women’s panties…souvenirs from his ‘ladies’…his conquests. The man makes me sick; he’s such a dog!”
“Panties?” whispers Helen; a shot of red-hot fear rushes through her. Her breathing becomes shallow. Is LaDarrell the one? He has the physical characteristics. She must be careful about false accusations. She isn’t sure what she should do.
Alone, back in her office, Helen takes a card from her purse and dials the number.
“Lieutenant Goebel here. How can I help you?”
“Lieutenant, this Helen Haywood. This may be nothing, but I thought it best to tell you. If you remember, my assailant took my panties…perhaps as a souvenir, as you put it. Well…”
“Go ahead, Mrs. Haywood, I’m listening.”
“Well, like I said, it’s probably nothing. Do you know a Mr. Phillips here at my office, LaDarrell Philips?”
“Yes, I remember him,” Goebel replies.
“Well, my assistant was looking for some papers in Mr. Phillips’ desk and came across a drawer filled with woman’s panties. I haven’t said anything to anyone. I didn’t know what to do, so I phoned you.”
“Mrs. Haywood, you did what was right. Now listen carefully. Don’t tell anyone what you just told me – not your assistant, not nobody. And especially, don’t try to confront Mr. Phillips. I remember him from the interviews we did. We could be out there in under an hour. What would be best is if you were to excuse yourself for the day and go home and wait to hear from us. Just go home. Don’t worry; we’ll take care of this. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”
***
Lieutenant Goebel hangs up the phone and turns to his partner.
“That was Mrs. Haywood.”
“What did she want?”
“Do you remember that one black guy whose office is near hers?”
“You’re talking about the big guy with the wife and two kids?”
“No, the other one. …He was the skinny guy with the thin mustache…LaDarrell Phillips.”
“Yeah, I remember him. What about him?”
“Well, it seems Mr. Phillips is not only back on our suspect list, but he’s inched his way to the top of it. Come on, I’ll clue you in on the rest on the way there.”
They arrive at Colony Home and Life within a half hour.
“Knock, knock,” says Goebel. He and Benson stand in the doorway of LaDarrell Phillips’ office.
“Say, I remember you two,” says LaDarrell.
“And we remember you, Mr. Phillips. Do you mind if we come in?”
The two police officers enter, shutting the door behind them.
“I’ve told you guys all I know,” says LaDarrell.
“Just a few more questions, Mr. Phillips…if you don’t mind?”
The two sit down. “I’ll come right to the point. We have it on good authority you own a sizable collection of woman’s panties in the lower left drawer of your desk.”
LaDarrell is speechless for a moment. “So…what of it?”
“Nothing…it’s just that Mrs. Haywood…you remember the Haywood case…we questioned you on it. Well, it seems her assailant took her panties…probably as a souvenir, of sorts.”
“So, what’s it got to do with me?”
“Maybe nothing…maybe everything.”
“Listen,” says LaDarrell, “it’s just nothing…just panties from a few hoes I went out with. I get a kick out of it. There ain’t no law against it, is there?”
“Probably not, but if you’re smart you’ll come with us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No, not really...”
“Then what if I told you guys to buzz off?”
“We’d get a court order to take possession of the contents of your desk. And you still have to go down to the station. Not to mention you’d be on our bad side, which I wouldn’t want to be, if I were you.”
“Listen, you’re making a big mistake! It’s all very innocent, believe me.”
“Okay,” says Benson, “I’ll tell you what, come with us now…with the panties…no sirens…no handcuffs – we just calmly walk off the property. We’ll run some test on those undies. And if there’s no trace of Mrs. Haywood or any other rape victims, we’ll not only let you go, but we’ll drive you to work and explain to everyone it was all a big mistake. …Fair enough?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“In the long run…no.”
LaDarrell Philips follows Lieutenants Goebel and Benson out of the corporate building of Colony Home and Life. True to their word, they don’t handcuff him. Benson carries a cardboard box filled with panties.
LaDarrell sits in the back seat, trying not to look nervous, which makes him look all the more uneasy.
“You guys are makin’ a big mistake,” LaDarrell warns.
“It won’t be the first time,” Benson replies.
Downtown, they park their car in front of the police station. Benson opens the backdoor and takes hold of Phillips’ arm. He is about to guide him toward the entrance when LaDarrell jolts out of his grip. His arms flaring wildly, he doesn’t get far. He’s not trying to get away; that’s not his intent. He purposely runs out into the street and into the route of an oncoming bus. The bus tries to stop in time, but it is too late – LaDarrell Phillips’ dead body lies under the weight of the large tires.
The bus driver comes blasting out toward Goebel and Benson, “It’s not my fault! You saw him! He came running out of nowhere like he wanted to die!”
“Don’t worry about it,” says Benson.
“I’ve been driving this route for twenty-years without a hitch. It wasn’t my fault!”
“I said, we know…it’s not your fault!”
***
Richard is away on business. Helen spends the night in bed with Chelsea resting close to her. She waits for the phone to ring to hear Lieutenant Goebel tell her they caught Phillips and justice prevails. To have no fear, to put it all behind her and get on with her life. But the phone call never comes. Exhausted, Helen sleeps – bedroom light on and phone by her side.
***
Next morning, Helen isn’t sure what to do. Should she call Goebel and Bens
on? She hasn’t heard from them. She decides to dress and go to work as if it were any other day.
At work, Helen begins to organize her day. Carol comes in with her morning coffee.
“This is so weird…don’t you think it’s weird, especially after we talked about him yesterday,” Carol says as she places Helen’s coffee cup in front of her.
“What are you talking about?”
“My God…haven’t you heard? Yesterday…LaDarrell Phillips…he’s dead. He killed himself!”
***
Lieutenants Goebel and Benson sit in their office, gloating over their so-called victory. Surely, Philips is the culprit. He killed himself rather than face the shame of a trial and conviction of the rape of Mrs. Helen Haywood and perhaps others. A phone call from Dodson, their friend and confidant at the police lab, cuts their victory celebration short.
“Benson?” says Dodson. “I’m going to run tests on those panties you gave me, but from experience, I can tell you he’s not your man.”
“What makes you say that?” Benson asks.
“Because, when they inspected the body of said LaDarrell Phillips they found him clad under his clothes in lacy women’s undies.”
“You mean he was a fag?’ Benson asks.
“No, he probably was a crossdresser. …He liked to wear women’s clothes. I’ll run all the tests, but I bet you I’ll find nothing.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“I suppose…at square one.”
***
A quick inspection of LaDarrell Philips’ apartment confirms Dodson’s suspicions. At first, it looks like any typical bachelor pad – stereo, large-screen TV, open bar, dimming lights. But a locked closet in the bedroom reveals an unexpected secret, LaDarrell Philips’ most closely guarded secret.
There are rows of hangers holding costly, flamboyant women’s clothing – wigs, shoes, undergarments – all not-so-typically large– LaDarrell Philips’ size.
“Say, get a load of this!” says Benson, lifting a stack of mail-order catalogs catering to drag queens. “What do you think makes a guy like Phillips want to do stuff like this?”
“Who the hell knows?” says Goebel. “I stopped trying to figure out why anybody does anything years ago.”
Further investigation and interviews with friends and neighbors proves Phillips in fact was a “Lady’s Man.” His little black book was like a phonebook for a small town – a town of only women – in alphabetical order, starting with “A” for Abby, all the way through “Z” for Zoe. He had a reputation, one he prized. When he realized he would lose it because his dark secret was to come into the light, he freaked. He couldn’t live with the stigma, so Phillips bailed out at the first opportunity by diving under a cross-town bus.
***
Helen wears a look of shock after hearing the news of LaDarrell’s death from Carol. She immediately phones Goebel and Benson. They tell her of Phillips’ innocence and his suicide en route to the Police Station. Both detectives remain tight-lipped about any other information, feeling it bears no direct connection to the case. They see no reason for revealing Phillips’ secret.
“Just tell me,” Helen pleads, “Did his death have anything to do with what we talked about?”
“No,” says Goebel. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. His death and your case, they’re unrelated. Trust me, it would have happened sooner or later, anyway.”
Helen tries hard to believe him. All day long she keeps repeating his words in her mind. But if there is no connection, then why won’t they tell her the circumstances? It bothers her. She can’t help believing if she hadn’t tried to play detective, an innocent man would still be alive.
***
It’s dark when Helen finally calls it a day. A security guard walks her out to her car – a new company policy. After hours, security will escort associates to their cars.
Her escort is a young black man in a crisp, starched uniform.
“What’s your name?” Helen asks. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. Are you new?”
“The name’s Calvin,” he says. “Been here five years. We’ve probably never met because I’m on a rotating schedule. I’m still going to school, and the company has been trying to work with me on the hours.”
“What are you studying?”
“Accounting…I hope someday to trade in this uniform for a three-piece suit. Maybe I’ll work here. …Who knows?”
Helen listens to his voice, carefully. She watches him walk. She guesses his height at six feet. His body is muscular. She looks at his face and the shape of his head, trying to imagine it covered with a black ski mask.
Then she catches herself – she can’t go on with her life being paranoid. She puts all such thoughts out of her mind, thanks the young man, and gets into her car. He waits and watches her pull away.
It isn’t late, but there are few cars on the streets. She drives the speed limit cautiously toward her home.
She isn’t sure when she first realizes the van is following her. She thinks little of it when it pulls up behind her as she leaves the company parking lot. But now, ten minutes into her drive home, it is still close behind.
She tests her suspicions, making deliberate quick turns down unlikely streets – the van keeps a close tail. It is a familiar vehicle; she has seen it before. Her mind races. She tries to remember who she knows who owns such a van. In an instant, it comes to her. John Pierce, supervisor over payments at work, he owns a van just like this one. As she makes a sharp turn at the corner, the van stays close behind. A flash of light shines through the dark tinted windshield of the van, and she gets a split-second look at the driver – it is John Pierce!
“What does he want? Why is he following me?” Helen cries out loud. She would never suspect John Pierce, but he could be the one. Depraved lusts can harbor in the heart of even a seemingly good man such as John.
She begins to feel threatened and frightened. Her driving becomes erratic; she is all over the road. Up ahead, she sees the lights of a shopping mall – she might have a chance there. She shifts lanes to be ready to turn into the parking lot.
A block from the mall, a traffic light turns red. She guns the engine, hoping to lose the van, but it keeps up with her and runs the light also.
In the mall parking lot, Helen drives to the front of a large, well-lit store. The van stops directly behind her. She looks in the rearview mirror and sees John getting out of the van.
In her confusion, she isn’t sure what her next move should be. She can bolt from the car and run into the store, but she is sure he can outrun her. She decides to hold up in the car and call the police on her mobile phone. She grabs her purse and begins to rummage through it, searching for her phone.
A knuckle taps on her window, taking her by surprise. She wants to scream, but can’t.
John’s face is inches from the window. “Helen, it’s me, John. We need to talk.”
Her hands are shaking uncontrollably. She turns her purse upside down, letting all contents fall onto the seat next to her. Her phone hits the seat cushion; it bounces and falls to the car floor. She is just about to reach down to get it when she hears the click of the car door – she hasn’t locked it. She feels cool night air rushing into the car. In a panic, she takes hold of the steering wheel and begins to press down on the horn, honking it again and again. Then – she feels a hand grab her arm to stop her.
“Helen, are you all right?” Surprisingly, it is a woman’s voice. She looks at the hand holding her arm; it is a woman’s hand. She turns to see the face of Tina, John’s wife, smiling at her sympathetically. “Helen, it’s me, Tina Pierce. Are you all right?”
Helen is so relieved to see Tina, she jumps out of the car and into her arms.
“Oh, Tina…” Helen begins to sob, hysterically.
“Oh, you poor dear, God only knows what you’ve been through,” says Tina.
John goes back to the van and returns with their two children, Lateasha and Trent.<
br />
“Sorry about all the secrecy,” says John. “We didn’t mean to scare you. My family and I just want to talk to you.”
Helen begins to calm down and looks at him.
“We couldn’t think of any other way to tell you what we want to say without causing trouble,” says John. “You know the company’s policy on religion in the workplace…they don’t look sympathetically on it. I just wanted to tell you…that is…I mean, we…our whole family wants you to know Jesus loves you and we have been praying for you every day. In fact, our whole church has been praying for you. Here’s a get-well card signed by the entire congregation.”
Helen takes the card. Tears begin welling up in her eyes, but now for a much different reason.
“I feel so ashamed,” says Helen.
“Our daughter Lateasha made something for you,” Tina says. “Give Mrs. Haywood her gift, sweetheart.” She guides her daughter toward Helen. Shyly, the little girl hands over a small piece of construction paper.
“Now tell Mrs. Haywood what the picture is of.”
“It’s a picture of you, Mrs. Haywood,” says Lateasha.
“Oh, how sweet of you to do that for me,” Helen says, admiring the stick figure of a woman in the middle of the page. “But what are all these white things floating around me?”
A questioning look comes over the child, surprised Helen doesn’t know instinctively what they were. A smile comes over the little girl as she softly speaks, “Angels.”
***
Helen parks the car in the garage. There is an empty space where Richard’s car should be. He is not home yet. The lamp in the living room is on, suggesting Richard was home earlier, but left.
“Chelsea?” she calls out for the cat as she enters the kitchen.
She still can’t shake off the feeling of shame. John and his family were so sweet, yet when she first saw him in her rearview mirror, all she thought was the worst. Is this the way it is to be from now on – fear and suspicion?
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