Defiled

by Margaret Buffano

  Helen does her best to answer the questions and to block out the opinions. She rushes through her dinner and then excuses herself to her room.

  One night as she lies in bed reading, a gentle tap comes at her door. The door opens slightly and her father’s smiling face comes in.

  “I saw your light was still on…hope you don’t mind. …Can I come in, Princess?”

  “Sure, Daddy.”

  He closes the door behind him and sits down on the edge of the bed. He is holding a small, oblong, wooden box.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Pop.”

  “And you and Richard?”

  “Well…it’s been better. He gets back home tomorrow. I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.” He smiles and then he offers the oblong box to her. “Here…don’t let your mother know I gave you this. …She’d have a fit. I bought it for her years ago, but she wouldn’t take it. She doesn’t even know it’s still in the house.”

  Helen opens it. There inside, resting in velvet, is a revolver.

  “It’s a .38…small enough to carry in a purse, but it can stop a train.”

  “Pop…I don’t…I mean…”

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll take you out to the range and show you how to use it. Just remember…hold it in both hands and aim for his chest and don’t stop shooting till all six bullets are gone…and the son of a bitch is dead.”

  With tears in his eyes, he leans over and kisses her forehead.

  “You use it and kill the son of a bitch if you have to.”

  He rises from the bed, overcome with emotion, and starts out the door. “Goodnight, Princess.”

  “Goodnight, Daddy.”

  Alone, Helen takes the gun in her hand – it is heavy. She puts it back into the box and places it on the nightstand. She turns off the light and closes her eyes.

  ***

  Helen spends hours in the kitchen preparing some of Richard’s favorite dishes. It will be their first night together in weeks. She plans a quiet dinner and romantic evening, determined to get their love-life back on track.

  Richard is downstairs in their home office, working at the computer. She doesn’t want to disturb him, but dinner is almost ready. She sneaks quietly into the office and places a glass of wine near him.

  “Dinner will be ready soon.”

  “Mmmm…” is all he says, lost in deep concentration. He doesn’t look at her and continues to tap-tap on his computer’s keyboard.

  “The other night,” says Helen, “when I was at my parents, strangest thing happened. My father gave me a revolver. I just thought you should know…I’ve got a gun now.”

  Richard stops typing and takes a sip of his wine. He then continues what he’s doing without looking at her.

  “I know. Your father told me about it on the phone today. Seriously…Helen…I don’t think running around with a gun in your purse is a good idea…do you? I mean, you’ve never shot a gun in your life, and in the state of mind you’re in…if you don’t shoot someone else, you may shoot yourself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my state of mind! Besides, my father will teach me how to use it.”

  Richard finally turns to look at her.

  “I still think it’s a bad idea,” says Richard. “That’s why I took the gun out of your purse and put it someplace safe.”

  “You what? My father gave it to me! Where did you put it?”

  “I put it someplace safe.”

  “But you’ve no right to take it. He gave it to me!”

  Richard doesn’t answer. He turns to the computer and continues his typing.

  “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes,” Helen says, trying to sound calm, doing her best to keep her composure.

  “Thanks…but I’ve got to get this stuff done.”

  “But, I’ve made all you favorites.” Helen is still sounding calm.

  He turns and stares her down.

  “Are you going to disagree with everything I say and do? I said, Thank you, but not right now!”

  Helen feels a strong urge to slam the door when she leaves the room, but she doesn’t.

  ***

  During her session at the hospital the next day, Helen tells Angela about the gun and how distant Richard has been.

  “He had no right to take the gun from me. And to hide it from me, as if I were a child, is…is…degrading.”

  Angela comes to the defense of Richard, “For the longest time now, he hasn’t felt like the man of the house. He’s just throwing his weight around. It’s his way of taking control of his life, which he feels has been taken from him. Give him some time; he’ll settle back down.”

  Helen thinks about it. Perhaps, Angela is right. But what truly matters to Helen is getting her gun back.

  ***

  Benson comes into the office early the next morning. He places a bag on the edge of Goebel’s desk. Goebel pulls out a container of coffee. His hand feels around inside the bag.

  “What the hell is this? Where’s my Danish?”

  “No Danish…bagels,” Benson says.

  “Bagels…? My wife put you up to this, didn’t she? Eat healthy, my foot! Did you at least bring some jelly?” Goebel rummages again through the paper bag.

  Benson ignores his partner’s tantrum and sits back with coffee and bagel in hand.

  “So what was this big secret investigation you needed to do?” Goebel asks.

  “You’ve been doing this as long as I have,” Benson says. “You have the same suspicions I do. I just wanted to get some stuff confirmed before we go any further.

  “When Dodson told us the assailant was in fact a white guy, the wheels started to turn in my head. I checked with the airlines. On the night of Mrs. Haywood attack, her husband was not in Montreal like he claims. I checked the phone records. All his calls during that forty-eight hour period were local. He was nowhere near the airport.”

  Goebel puts down his bagel and coffee. “So he wanted to kill his wife…that I get…but why the rape?”

  “Who knows? Maybe the guy’s kinky…beating on his wife gives him the hots. Maybe he wanted to give her one last turn? Maybe he did it to throw us off course? How do I know?”

  “And, the reason he didn’t finish her off is…?”

  “Because…something spooked him. …That’s why he wore the disguise and the dark makeup in the first place – in case he got spotted. Something spooked him, and he couldn’t finish the job.

  “Now he thinks he’s got her on the run. And if he doesn’t kill her, she’ll probably go mad. Either way, he gets his wife out of the picture.

  “It would have been easy for him to kill the cat and leave the memo – and to make the phone call from the hospital lobby to her room. He’s our prime suspect.”

  “Yeah, it all fits,” Goebel agrees.

  “So you want to pick this guy up?” Benson asks.

  “No…let’s wait. If we arrest him now, we’ll just get a song and dance routine from him. Without some real evidence, a conviction is a long shot.

  “First off, I want to know why he wants her dead. There is such a thing as divorce in this state…there’s more here than meets the eye.

  “I say, let’s not mention to anyone concerned we know the assailant’s a white guy, even to Mrs. Haywood. …Let him think we’re not on to him. Let’s keep a close eye on Mr. Richard Haywood. We dog him day and night till we get some evidence or he screws up…whichever comes first.”

  Goebel tosses his bagel into the wastebasket.

  ***

  Helen is spending the night at her parents’. She looks at the clock on the nightstand – it is nine o’clock. There is a gentle rapping on her bedroom door, followed by her mother’s voice.

  “Helen, there’s a Carol Hastings on the phone.”

  “Be right there, Mom.”

  Helen is staying with her parents for three days while Richard is out of
town on business. Her assistant, Carol, is working late, and some of the numbers just aren’t adding up. There is no way out of it. Helen needs to go to the office, or there will be hell to pay in the morning.

  “It’s late, dear. Why don’t you let your father drive you?” her mother suggests.

  “It wouldn’t be any trouble, Princess,” says her father.

  “No, it’s okay. I may be awhile. …Depends on how bad the damage is. Don’t worry; I’ll be all right.”

  Her father smiles and gives her a knowing look. She has not told him Richard took the gun from her.

  ***

  “That’s it, Carol. You’ve been at it all day. You need to get home to your husband,” Helen announces, storming into the office.

  “But there’s still some numbers that don’t line up!” Carol moans.

  “That’s why I’m here; I’ll take it from here.”

  “But…”

  “No buts!”

  Carol looks at her with sad puppy-dog eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure. Besides, I work best alone. I’ll have it wrapped up in half an hour.”

  Carol reluctantly leaves. “Call me if you need me,” she calls over her shoulder as she makes her way down the hallway.

  “I won’t!” Helen hollers back. “Be sure security walks you out!”

  Helen removes her jacket and sits down in front of the computer. She looks at the sheets with rows of numbers on them and then the rows of numbers on the computer screen. They don’t match. It’s going to be a long night.

  ***

  It’s just passed midnight when she finally finishes and shuts down the computer.

  Her security escort to her car again is Calvin.

  “So, how are your studies going?” she asks.

  “Not bad. Working the late shift gives me time to study.”

  She tries not to show it, but she is still nervous. She has not stopped sizing up every black man she meets as a possible suspect. Of yet, Goebel and Benson have not let her in on their findings.

  In true gentlemanly fashion, Calvin holds the car door open for her. He waits till the engine turns over and she is on her way before waving goodbye. Helen smiles and waves back as she pulls out of the parking lot.

  The streets are empty. Halfway home, Helen stops at a red light; a pair of bright headlights comes from behind. She lets out a sigh of relief when she realizes it’s a police car. It pulls alongside. There are two officers sitting in the front. The officer on the passenger side motions for her to pull over to the side of the road. She can’t imagine what they want – she hasn’t been speeding.

  She does as they direct. The officer gets out and walks alongside and signals for her to roll down her window.

  “Good evening, Officer. Is there something the matter?”

  “Please turn the car off,” he says firmly. She does. “Did you know your right rear light is out?”

  “I had no idea. I’ll get it fixed first thing in the morning.”

  She is half-hoping he lets her go with just a warning. She places her hand on the steering wheel and prepares to turn the car key and shift into drive.

  “May I see your license and proof of insurance, please?”

  This is going to take longer than she thinks. She nervously digs for a minute inside her purse till she comes up with her driver’s license. She hands it over; he eyes it for a moment, then hands it back.

  “Your insurance card, please?”

  Helen leans over to the glove compartment and reaches in. She feels something strange – something smooth and silky. She grabs it and brings it out into the light. To her surprise, it is a pair of woman’s panties – a pink pair with a small white rose sown to the front waistband. The same pair she wore the night of her attack – the same pair her assailant took from her. The front of them stained and crusted. In disgust, she tosses them down onto the car floor. She cannot imagine how he was able to put them in her car. She begins to feel excessively vulnerable. She begins to tremble; tears are rolling down her cheeks.

  “Are you all right, miss?” asks the officer.

  She doesn’t answer as she borders on the edge of hysteria.

  The next few hours are a blur to Helen. She finds herself at the police station with Goebel and Benson questioning her. She tells them again and again that there is no way he could have put anything in her car. When she is at work, she keeps her car locked, and it is always under surveillance of company security. On nights she stays with her parents, she parks her car on the street – again, always locked. Only when she is home and the car is safe in the garage does she leave it unlocked.

  “Then you’re saying only you and your husband had access to the car in the past few days?” Benson inquires.

  “Exactly! That’s why I can’t understand how this happened.”

  Benson looks at Goebel. They smile knowingly at each other.

  ***

  Angela listens intensely while Helen relates all that occurred in the past week they have not seen each other.

  “But you…” Angela asks. “Tell me, how are you holding up?”

  “Honestly, rather well; better than you can imagine. The night I found the panties through me off center for a while, but I know I’ve recovered from that. I feel…strong and determined. I told you I refuse to be a victim! He may continue to try to turn that around, but I’ll never let him.” There is a look of resolve in Helen’s eyes.

  “And Richard – how are you and he getting along?”

  “We’re not…we’re not even ships passing in the night. We live on completely different shores. But then again, Richard loves me – I know he does. I thought about what you said the last time. He needs to heal as much as I do. In time he’ll come around…I just know it.”

  “That’s just the point,” Angela says. “No one heals until the hurting is over. This fiend’s determined about going after you. You must take protective measures. I know you’re staying with parents when Richard is away, but is it enough? The police would like you to move to a safe place, somewhere where he can’t find you and the police can protect you better.”

  “You mean, hide under a rock? I’m not going to let him have control. I told you that. If the police can’t do their job, then I will.”

  “Now, Helen, you don’t mean to do anything foolish?”

  “Don’t worry; I won’t. But, I’m not going to live in a hotel with armed guards at my door…I refuse!”

  “Well, if it all becomes too much for you at your folks or you need some time away, call me. I’ve got a big old place in the Madison District; it’s too big for even two people. Heck, I’m hardly home anyway. …You could have the place to yourself. If it gets crazy, you’d be welcome.”

  “Okay,” Helen smiles, “but only if it gets too crazy.”

  “You promise?” Angela says.

  Helen nods. “I promise.”

  ***

  “Knock, knock,” says Goebel. He and Benson stand in the doorway of Dodson’s office. Dodson looks up from his desk, looking puzzled.

  “The panties…?” Benson reminds him. The two officers enter the office.

  “Oh yeah…the panties…the Haywood case,” Dodson says in true absentminded-professor style. “It’s too soon. I’m only half done with all my tests.”

  “The stains in the front of the panties,” Benson asks, “is it what we think it is?”

  “Sure is,” says Dodson, “About 10ccs of male spermatozoa…no more than four days old. I did run some tests on it and came up with some interesting information.”

  “Like what?” Goebel asks.

  Dodson continues, “Well…I don’t know if your guy is trying to be funny or he still believes he has you bamboozled into thinking Mrs. Haywood’s attacker was a black man. The DNA from Mrs. Haywood’s baby proved without a doubt it was a white guy, but the stain on the panties could only come from a black man.”

  Goebel and Benson remain silent, not knowing what to say – their mo
uths fall open.

  “That’s about how it affected me,” Dodson goes on. “It didn’t make any sense. So…on a hunch…I ran a few more tests and I came up with the guy’s name and address.”

  “Quit screwing with us,” Goebel says.

  “I’m serious! I told you it was only a hunch, but it paid off. I can take you to the guy who stained those panties, right now. Follow me.”

  Dodson walks out of the office. Goebel and Benson look at each other, shrug their shoulders in confusion, and tag along behind Dodson.

  As they walk down to the far end of the hallway, it doesn’t take Goebel and Benson long before they realize where he is taking them – the morgue.

  Dodson pulls one of the long drawers out. A white sheet covers the cold dead body before them, save for the corpse’s right foot, which has a tag dangling from the big toe. It is the foot of a black man.

  Dodson turns down the sheet disclosing the body of a black man – young, maybe thirty, extraordinarily muscular, and looking to a certain extent rather healthy, if not for a deep bullet hole in his right temple.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to the late Mr. Donald Johnson. His body was found three days ago in his car hidden in a back alley.”

  Goebel and Benson take their time examining the body.

  “And you say this is the same guy whose juice is on the panties. …How do you know for sure?” Benson questions.

  “Well, allow me to digress,” says Dodson. “I did some detective work on my own. It seems Mr. Johnson, here, was of the homosexual persuasion, last seen Saturday night at the Velvet Hammer, a gay bar in the Industrial District. Most likely, he met someone to his liking, and they left the club together. …Other patrons and workers at the club say they never saw him leave or whom he was with.