Defiled

by Margaret Buffano

  ***

  It is the end of a long day, at the end of an equally long week for Goebel and Benson. They retraced their steps in the Haywood case, starting back to square one.

  Goebel looks at his watch “Six thirty! Hell…I need a drink. What do you say we head over to Max’s for a beer?”

  Benson nods in agreement.

  Maxwell Sullivan had been on the force nearly thirty years before he retired. It took less than one year of retirement to make him realize being away from the job he loved was too much to bear. He was too old to rejoin the force, so he did the next best thing and opened a bar one block down from the station. His regular customers are all his old friends who he worked with for years. It is like he never left; only now, he can drink on the job – legally, that is.

  “Hey, Maxie, how you been?” Goebel asks as he and Benson take their places at the bar.

  “Doing just fine,” Max says. “You boys been okay? What are you having?”

  “Two beers, Maxie, and keep them coming,” Benson says, grabbing a handful of salted peanuts.

  “So, are they going to let you finish the investigation on the Haywood deal or are you going onto something new?” Max asks, placing two beers down in front of them.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Goebel says. “Why wouldn’t we continue the investigation?”

  “Didn’t you guys hear?” smiles Max. “They got the guy. …He walked into the Tannersville Police Station and confessed to everything.”

  “Where the hell did you hear this?”

  “Your boss, he came in about an hour ago. He’s in a booth in the back.” Max picks up the bowl of salted peanuts and moves them away from Benson.

  “Damn…well, let’s go see,” Goebel says.

  They find Captain Vega sitting in a booth in the backroom with two of his buddies. Two pitchers of beer, one already empty, sit in the center of the table, glasses all around.

  “Hey, look what the cat dragged in! If it ain’t the Rover Boys! Pull up a chair and join us,” Vega says in an uncommonly friendly tone.

  “What’s this we hear – someone confessed to the Haywood case?” Goebel asks.

  “Yeah, a guy walks into the Police Station in…what was the name of that hick town?” Vega snaps his fingers as he asks his pals.

  “Tannersville…”

  “Oh, yeah…Tannersville. …A guy walks in today, gives himself up, and confesses to everything.”

  “That’s our case, Vega. How come we had to find this out from a bartender?” Benson demands.

  “Relax…don’t go jumping on my case. I just found out about it a little over an hour ago myself. Besides, Max is okay. …He probably knows more about what’s going on at the station than we do.” Vega bursts into laughter, so do his companions. Goebel and Benson are not laughing.

  “So when do we get our hands on this guy?” Goebel asks.

  “Tomorrow…they bring him to us tomorrow. I want you two to grill him. Get it all down on paper, signed nice and neat. The guy also gave up lots of physical evidence. Have Dodson run tests on everything. You sure you guys don’t want to sit down?”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Benson says. The two detectives back away and return to their places at the bar.

  “Say, Maxie, what happened to my peanuts?”

  ***

  The Police Station at Tannersville was quiet for weeks, not that any real serious crime ever happens in Tannersville. They have their share of family spats, loud parties, drunk and disorderly cases, but nothing of any genuine, newspaper-headline crimes. And even such petty crimes have been few and far between lately. It has been quiet.

  It is nearing the end of the workday at the station. Making their daily reports and preparing for the night crew are all three daytime officers – Sheriff Gibson, and Officers Wilson and Pearce.

  Front door of the station opens and in walks a man carrying a shopping bag in one hand. He is wearing khaki pants, heavy work boots, and a thick flannel lumberjack shirt. But the one striking feature he’s wearing is a black ski mask with yellow make-believe eyebrows and lips.

  The three Police officers look up and catch sight of him all at the same time.

  “Put your hands up and don’t move,” Sheriff Gibson shouts, taking his gun from his holster and pointing it at the man. The other two officers do the same.

  “I’ve come to confess. I did it all,” says the man.

  “That’s good. …Now just listen to me. …I want you to raise your hands slowly and place them on top of your head,” says Sheriff Gibson.

  The man follows their orders. In an instant, all three officers rush him, forcing him down to the floor and into handcuffs. They turn him over and pull the ski mask off his head – it is Victor Russell.

  “Victor, what the hell are you doing, scaring us like this? Are you drunk?” the Sheriff asks.

  “I’ve come to confess.”

  “And what do you have to confess…jaywalking?”

  “I’ve come to confess to the rape and beating of two women…and murder. …I committed murder…one woman and some guy in a gay bar.”

  “You taking to hanging out in gay bars, now, Victor?” Sheriff Gibson laughs sarcastically. “How about we toss you in the drunk tank overnight and let you sleep it off?”

  “Don’t be so hasty,” says Officer Wilson. “Get a load of this!”

  He empties the contents of the shopping bag onto the floor. There is a knife, pins, nails, a gun, a woman’s dress soaked with blood, and a human ear.

  “I told you…I want to confess.” Victor has a solemn look on his face.

  “You’re sober, aren’t you, Victor?” the Sheriff decides.

  “Yes, sir, I am…though I wish I weren’t, but I figure it best under the circumstances.”

  “Okay, boys,” says Sheriff Gibson as he stands up. “Put him in the back cell. Let’s get down to business; we’ve got a serious crime on our hands.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Is Everybody Happy?

  Walter Lieberman drives into the parking lot. His excessively large luxury sedan takes up nearly two spaces, which is fine with Walter. That way, nobody parks near him – no door dings. He pulls up the front of his car mere inches from the wall of the building so no one can walk in front of his car.

  Walter is in his late sixties with thinning white hair combed over his bald spot. His camel-hair coat covers his large gut. He bends low and looks in the mirror on the side of his car. Finding a hair out of place, he licks the small finger on his right hand, the one with the pinky ring, and pushes the strand flat to his head.

  He walks to the front entrance of the restaurant and looks at the overhead sign – “Great Wall of China Buffet.”

  “God, how I hate Chinese Food…” Walter murmurs.

  There is a sign in the window – “All you can eat $9.95.” Walter just shakes his head in dismay.

  Inside, he walks past the maître d’ before the man can say a word. He finds Goebel and Benson sitting at their usual booth in the back.

  “Why the hell do we always have to meet here? I hate Chinese food! Don’t you know they make this crap with cat meat?”

  “Meow!” purrs Goebel. Both officers laugh and continue eating. Walter has one of the waiters bring him a menu.

  “I’ll have that,” he says, pointing his order out for the waiter.

  “But, sir, that is children’s platter,” says the waiter, his Asian accent making every syllable count.

  “I don’t give a damn. That’s what I want…a hot dog, macaroni and cheese, and French fries…good American food!”

  The waiter walks off, shaking his head.

  “So, do you two want to do this or do you want to stuff you faces with that dog food?”

  “We’re listening,” Benson says, between bites.

  “Well, first, I want it understood this meeting is off the record, and if anyone ever asks, this meeting never happened,” Walter announces.

  Goebel puts down a spare
rib he is working on. “For Pete’s sake, Walt, we’ve been doing this for how many years…twenty? We know the ground rules. Just tell us what you know.”

  “Well, I met with my client this morning. As you know, he refused to talk until given counsel from his appointed lawyer…yours truly. I believe he’s ready to talk, but before I disclose anything he says in confidence, I’d like to know how much the police know.”

  “Not much more than you do,” Benson says, putting his fork down. “Victor Russell walked into the Tannersville Police Station four days ago carrying a shopping bag filled with several incriminating items from the crime which the man confessed to. Mrs. Haywood, the woman he claims he raped, identified one of the items. …She recognized the ski mask as the one worn by her assailant. The bloody dress they identified as the one worn by Carol Hastings the night of her abduction. We checked the numbers on the gun found in the shopping bag. …It’s registered to Tom Russell, the father of Mrs. Haywood…”

  “That part puzzles me,” Walter interrupts. “The gun was loaded with blanks…why were there blanks in the gun?”

  “The gun was a gift to Mrs. Haywood by her father, but her husband took it from her and was in possession of it for nearly two weeks. He and his wife have been separated for some time now, and we suspect he substituted blanks for the bullets in hopes of leaving his wife defenseless to her assailant. But like I said, we suspect him of doing this. We have no proof…so we haven’t called him on it, but we’re keeping him under tight surveillance.”

  “What about lab tests?” Walter asks.

  “We’re still conducting tests. There are no fingerprints on any of the items. The blood on the dress is still undergoing tests, but we’re reasonably sure it’s Carol Hastings’ blood. We’re running tests on the ear, but again, we’re thinking it is Carol Hastings’. And by the way, there are semen stains on Carol Hastings’ undergarments…they’re still being tested. But if I were a betting man, I’d bet the stains were made by your client. We’d like a blood sample to compare DNA to the stillborn caused by the rape of Mrs. Haywood. We’re still waiting on a court order. When we get it, we’re hoping all evidence points to Victor Russell.”

  “That’s what we know,” Goebel says, putting his fork down at the center of his now empty plate and pushing it toward the center of the table. “Now tell us what you know.”

  Just then, the waiter brings Walter’s order. Walter waits until he is out of hearing range.

  “Like I said, I met with Victor this morning; he’s eager to talk. But I’ll tell you one thing…after talking to him, the man’s not right in the head. Get this, when I asked him why he cut off Carol Hastings’ ear, he said she wouldn’t listen, so he cut her ear off. When I asked him what he did with her body, he said he forgot. And here’s the best part. He hears voices; he talks with his deceased father. …The man is nuts, I tell you.”

  “So, what are you telling us? You’re going for an insanity plea?” Benson asks.

  Walter takes a bite of his hot dog, spits it back out, and pushes his plate away.

  “They probably use real dogs to make their franks,” he says, wiping his mouth on his napkin.

  “Forget the food,” Goebel says. “Tell us what you know”

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Walter says. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you get a conviction, but I want him examined by a physiatrist of my choosing. I want him committed. I’ll be doing the world a favor if he gets put away. I tell you, he’s a danger to himself and others. I just want the chance to prove it.”

  “Fair enough,” Goebel says, “as long as we get a conviction.”

  “Don’t worry…you will,” Walter says.

  “Fair enough,” Benson says. “Let justice ring,” he says handing the bill to Walter and walking away.

  “He wants me there in the room when you interrogate him,” Walter calls out.

  Goebel stops and looks back. “I don’t care if Santa Clause is in the room! I want his butt, and I want you to give it to us.”

  ***

  While at work, Helen receives an unexpected call – it is Richard.

  “We need to talk,” he says.

  “Go ahead; I’m listening.”

  “Not this way, not on the phone. Meet me at the house.”

  With all her suspicions, Helen feels it unwise to be alone with him.

  “No, I don’t feel comfortable meeting you at the house…alone…not anymore. Why don’t you come here to my office?”

  “Gee, I suppose I should feel insulted.”

  “Don’t play the martyr, Richard. Sackcloth and ashes doesn’t become you. I’ll block off three to four on my schedule. If you’re serious, you’ll be here.”

  She hangs up.

  She assumes the office is a good choice. He will have to go through security to enter and exit the building. There will be no way he can cause any trouble.

  One minute before three, Richard knocks on her door. He looks worn and haggard, as if he slept in his clothes. Only his eyes tell a different story. It’s clear he hasn’t been getting any sleep.

  “Close the door behind you,” she says coldly.

  Richard sits down facing her.

  “Well, you’re the one who wanted to talk. So…talk.”

  There is no expression on Helen’s face, or emotion in her voice.

  Richard fumbles in his chair for a moment and looks down at the floor. Then, he sits up straight, lifts his head, and looks directly at Helen. He speaks as if he has found new conviction.

  “I suppose the only thing to do now is to come right out and say it. I’ve fallen in love with Francis. I’m sorry, but I want a divorce.”

  “A divorce? I thought you wanted me dead…”

  “I don’t know where you get such nonsense.”

  “Oh…lots of different places…your girlfriend for one!”

  “I heard about that; Francis told me all about it. She said the two of you were drunk and…”

  “She was drunk! I wasn’t drinking.”

  Richard pauses; a look of irritation comes over him. The moment passes; he shakes it off and continues.

  “Whatever…Francis said some things that were easy to misinterpret…and you did.”

  “Misinterpreted…?” Helen laughs.

  Resisting the urge to argue, Richard pushes down his anger and continues, “I realize you’re upset; I don’t blame you. I didn’t plan to fall in love with Francis; it just happened. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to spare you the pain of a divorce at this time.”

  “Richard, you’re not only a martyr, but you’re a saint, as well.” Her words hang heavy with sarcasm.

  She sits forward and directs her gaze at Richard’s eyes. Her face once more goes cold as a marble slab.

  “I’ll tell you how I see it: you fall in love, so you say, with this…woman. You’d like to ask me for a divorce, but you don’t want to part with half of everything we own together. The car, the house, the investments – you want it all…but how?

  “Then one night, I’m raped and nearly killed. I don’t think you had anything to do with that or what happened to Carol, but I’m sure now you did your best to leave me defenseless…hoping that madman would do the dirty work for you.”

  “Helen, what are you talking about? I gave you the gun back! If I wanted you harmed, would I have given you the gun back?”

  “You gave it back to me, all right…after you exchanged the bullets for blanks!”

  “You’re out of your mind,” he insists. “All this has made you paranoid.”

  “Paranoid…am I? Out of my mind…am I?” Helen stammers nervously, “I presume what happened to Angela was just a hallucination!”

  “Some old dyke gets beat up in her garage, and because I had a few words with her, right away I get the blame!”

  Helen stops and freezes for a moment. Her eyes become wide and hateful.

  “I never told you what happened! There’s no way you could know that! It was…it
was you!” she says, horrified.

  Richard says nothing; a look of sheer animal anger comes over his face. His lips grow thin as he grinds his teeth together. His chin goes up, and he looks down his nose with contempt at her.

  “I used to think I loved you, Richard,” she says, “but then again, I used to think I knew you. Well, I realize now I never truthfully knew you, so it’s clear I no longer love you. Get out of here and get out of my life. You’ll get your divorce and everything of value…you can have it all. …I don’t want it. You can have the car, the house, and the money. I don’t want you to have any reason to hurt me or anyone I love. Get out of here!”

  Richard says not a word; he just holds a cold, icy stare at her. He has the look of a wild beast as he gets up and walks to the door. Helen chose wisely; if they had not met at her office – if they had been alone – he would have attacked her. She knows it just by looking into his eyes.

  “Fine...” he says, standing in the doorway. “I’ll take your terms, and I’ll leave you alone. But that’s not going to stop him. Whoever he is, I hope he never stops until he kills you!”

  Richard slams the door. Helen doesn’t even flinch.

  ***

  Angela sits up in bed, smiling when Helen enters her hospital room.

  “Well, look at you,” Helen says, smiling back. “You look so much better.”

  “I feel lots better, too. They say I can go home tomorrow. I can hardly wait to get back to work; this lying around is driving me crazy. You know it’s true what they say about hospital food. I don’t think I’ve had one meal that…” Angela stops midsentence. She can tell just by looking at Helen that something is not right. “Helen, what’s wrong?”

  Helen sits down near Angela.

  “Angela, I’ve never forgotten all the help you’ve given me as my doctor, but I’ve also come to think of you as a good friend, and I hope you feel the same.”

  Angela nods.

  “Because…” continues Helen, “I’ve done something I believe only a friend would do…at least, I thought it was the right thing to do at the time. But now I’m not sure. And if you’re offended by what I’ve done, then it’s going to take a good friend to forgive me.”