Chief Buel, listening to Vicaro's report, wondered about the same points. "Where do you suppose she's seeing the kid?" he asked the patrolman. "Or do you think she's seeing this kid at all?"
"I don't know. I really can't make out what she's talking about. How could the kid get up around the haunted house if he fell into the stream? There isn't a stream next to the house," Vicaro said.
"I think the kid's in the Passaic, to tell you the god| damned truth. The kid drowned thirty days ago in fast-moving water." Chief Buel shook his head slowly. "I'll he won't be washed up till spring, and by that time, there won't be anything left to bury but a religious medal."
Vicaro thought for a moment. The religious medal was in Dorothy's description, not in the Kurscies's description. The chief was integrating Dorothy's facts, as well.
"I'd like a few days to work with the woman. With another couple of days of hypnosis, I figure I can find out all she's got to say. I'd like to walk her through the park see if she gets any strong feelings."
"I don't know," the chief looked perplexed. "I'm afraid she might be a waste of time."
The phone rang. Chief Buel picked it up.
"Yeah? Mrs. Who?" He cupped his hand over the phone. "It's your lady, Vic."
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Allison? Yes, I mean Dorothy."
"One moment. Let me ask Vicaro here. Maybe he'll know." Once again he cupped the receiver. "She wants to know if she can talk to the kid's mother. She thinks that hearing her voice and meeting her will help her find the kid."
"The kid's mother isn't in the area right now. I'll try and find her, but I don't think she's around."
"Dorothy," the chief piped into the phone, "the patrolman here says he'll find you the kid's mother. He's not exactly sure where she is right now, but he'll get on it right away." He hesitated for a moment. "No, I don't think she's on vacation. What's that? You say there's a crooked pipe in the park? I'll ask Vicaro about it. Thank you, Mrs. Allison."
"That woman needs something, and I don't know what it is, either," the chief muttered, dropping the receiver. "Or maybe I do know," he smiled. "Okay, Vicaro, you can spend some time on this case. If you don't find anything by Friday, though, you'll have to use your own time." He looked out the window. "You're going to have a rough time finding anything in this cold weather. It's supposed to snow again tomorrow. If that kid is in ice, there ain't a cop this side of Manhattan that'll find Mm. Unless he's a seal."
"Okay, Chief, as you say." Vicaro thought for a moment. "What do you think about using a real doctor to hypnotize her? She makes me nervous. I never messed with a psychic before."
"You really think something is there, don't you?" The chief looked Vicaro in the eyes. "You believe in this, don't you?"
"What do you want me to say, Chief?" Vicaro lashed out defensively. "This little woman walks in and describes almost exactly a kid we've been missing for a month, and she's never even heard of the family. I think we should do anything we can to find this kid."
"I don't see the kid's parents knocking down our doors, either. We slopped through every foot of freezing water in the park and you're telling me we've done nothing? You want to drag that goddamned stream again in all this ice and find the same crap? If you do, you're welcome to do it on your own time. Okay?"
"Sorry, Chief," Vicaro said in a quieter tone of voice.
"Find out who the city cops are using for hypnosis.
There're some big people in New York. Just don't tell the other cops that this woman is a psychic. Hear me?"
"Great." Vicaro was relieved "See you later, Chief," Vicaro closed the door behind him.
Chief Buel sat for a quiet moment. Suddenly he remembered Dorothy's mentioning crooked pipe in the park. He picked up his phone and buzzed his assistant.
"When Vicaro comes back, tell him I want him to the underground map of Booth Park from the city engineer's office. I want him to find out if there's anything in the park that's crooked."
At home that evening Dorothy pondered the day's events as she finished washing the dinner dishes and straightening her kitchen. The police seemed nice enough, but she did not trust them completely. How many people come into the police department like I did today? she wondered. Probably not many. I wonder how my chart re for tomorrow. I have a feeling I'm going to find that kid ... I know it's Michael Kurscics. I really just know that "I don't know how in God's name I know that," she to the dishes, "but I do."
Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Patrolman Vicaro was calling.
Vicaro asked Dorothy if she would be available the next afternoon for another spin in the park. "I'd like to try hypnosis one more time. And then, I have a suggestion," said. "I'd like to take you to a real doctor in New York for hypnosis and interrogation. They have doctors in the city who do this kind of thing all the time," he explained. "I got the name of one of the biggest. The New York City cops use him all the time. Why don't you think about it tonight and you can let me know tomorrow when I pick you up How's that?"
Dorothy was pleased by the call. It somehow made her feel important. "Terrific. Come by anytime. I'll be here all day, except when I take my kids to school. Did you find out if that park has crooked pipes?"
"Chief Buel and the city engineer say there ain't none They should know. Both of them were there when the park was laid out, too."
The image of the little boy stuck in the crooked pipe flashed before her, as a television picture struggles to focus. "I know there's a crooked pipe somewhere. That kid is stuck there."
"The chief says if you pick out where you feel this pipe is, he'll dig it out. How's that?"
"You tell the chief I love him." Dorothy's elation was evident. "See you tomorrow, Vic."
For the next few weeks Vicaro and Dorothy tried to locate the child's body by traveling through the area and walking endlessly through Booth Park. Through snow and slush Dorothy plodded on in her efforts to resolve the vision.
Vicaro had a copy of the city engineer's map of Booth Park and its environs.
"As far as I can tell, Dorothy, there's nothing in the park that's crooked or bent," he explained to her as she looked over the map, seeing nothing but squiggles and lines.
"There are places like this," his finger pointed to a place where two lines met at perpendiculars, one line meeting the main pipe line. "But," Vicaro continued, "nothing can get stuck at these points. Too big and too much flow."
"Well," Dorothy thought, "I don't understand it either."
"Why don't we go ahead and see if you feel anything as we walk through the park. Chief Buel did say he would dig anywhere you pointed."
It was not until two days later that Dorothy, Vicaro, and another policeman put the chiefs promise into action.
Dorothy walked ahead of the two policemen who were talking about cases she did not want to hear about, for fear her concentration would be interrupted. In her hypnotic state, she sensed the closeness of something. The image of the boy was constant in her vision.
Her feet moved slowly as she made fresh tracks in the snow. She turned to Vicaro with a ringer extended downward.
"Here," she called excitedly. "I feel it. I think there's a crooked pipe down there."
The two policemen looked at the spot Dorothy designated. Nothing unusual was evident aboveground. The terrain did not alter drastically.
Vicaro went to his car radio and called for help. While waiting for the arrival of the digging crew, the three figures sat in the car, where warmth revived them.
An hour later, anyone passing Booth Park might have thought that a film crew was at work. Tremendous high-intensity lights illuminated the area Dorothy had pinpointed, brightly reflected in the snow and frozen soil.
A crew of six men began digging around 3:30 P.M. It was dark and cold already. They picked their way through several feet of mud and rock.
Two hours had passed when Chief Buel stopped by on his way home. He found Dorothy administering coffee and doughnuts to his men. He smi
led at the sight of the small woman rendering care as if to the wounded, bolstering their cold and weary spirits, bouncing around to see what progress was being made.
"Your men are so beautiful," Dorothy ran up to the chief. "They've been working for over two hours now, and I think we're getting closer every minute." Dorothy was feeling anxious about putting so many people to work in such cold weather, all due to her vision.
As the two stood talking, one of the men standing in the trench called out to them. "Over here. I bet this is what you're talking about."
Dorothy ran over to the man. There, in front of his boots, was a large, round, broken pipe. The cold weather had worked its way through the seam, causing it to crack. Movement in the soil below had pushed a section of it up, causing it to jut out several inches like a broken jaw.
Chief Buel looked down. "A five-year-old body could get stuck in a snag like that." He looked at Dorothy. "The city engineer will be surprised to know he has a crooked pipe in Booth Park."
"We're getting closer," Vicaro said. "There's no body here now. You'll find that kid soon, I bet," he said with assurance to Dorothy and the chief.
Dorothy looked tired. "Let's call it a day, okay?" Vicaro suggested. He and the chief escorted Dorothy across the field.
"Those boys must be hungry now," she said to Vicaro. "How about my fixing you and the boys an Italian dinner at my house?"
Later that evening, when Vicaro was leaving Dorothy's feast, he told her that he would take her to New York City on Saturday for a session with a doctor.
"What kind of doctor?" Dorothy wanted to know.
"What do you mean, what kind of doctor?" Vicaro kidded her. "A shrink!" he exclaimed. "You know, a psychiatrist."
"Oh, Holy God above, now a psychiatrist! What will my family say now?" she moaned, half enjoying the drama, and definitely intrigued by the notion of a psychiatrist.
"What time?" Dorothy inquired. "Do shrinks get up early on Saturdays?"
"How'm I supposed to know," Vicaro jested. "I told him we'd be there around eleven. How's that with you?"
"That's just dandy with me. The earlier the better. I got a ton of shopping to do in the afternoon. You know something, Vic?" Dorothy's voice had suddenly softened and was almost contemplative. "Looking for a dead body is not the easiest work in the world. Nor the happiest." She clutched the gold medal on her chest with her fist. "As long as I've got my Saint Anthony with me, I'll never quit. I'm already seeing other things, other faces, and I know I won't be able to let go of them easily. I think I have my work cut out for me. We'll have to wait and see."
"I think you're onto something, Dorothy," the officer said. "I know it's not easy. And I hope we're right about this little boy."
"I know we're right," Dorothy said as she closed the door behind her. Thirty seconds later her head popped out the door again. "Hey, Vicaro," she hollered into the night. "Get me that baby's mother!" And she slammed the door.
The following Saturday morning, January 16, Dorothy was up early, cleaning the kitchen and preparing breakfast for her sleeping family. These were the times when she could think, reflect over events involving her children, and plan strategies she would set forth to her family when they descended for breakfast, too groggy to be resistant to an old pro like Dorothy.
"Not a very good day for a visit to the city," she thought out loud. Through the kitchen window the world was gray and cloudy; frozen remnants of snow were piled high against the house. Neighbors' Christmas lights still flickered in the trees.
Vicaro was supposed to pick her up at 10:00, and she still had a full list of errands and chores she wanted done. If Justine had time, she would delegate some chores to her. Dorothy did not believe in asking the men of her household to perform household duties.
"I'm going into New York today with the police," Dorothy said to Justine and Paul. "I don't know what time I'll be home, but I have a feeling it won't be till late this afternoon."
"Think you'll find the little boy today, Ma?" Justine asked.
"No," Dorothy said. "But I have a feeling some important stuff is going to happen. I'm not nervous with the hypnosis now, like I was before. I think I'll be able to see more with a real good doctor and hypnotist.
"Anyway," she handed one end of a curtain to Justine, and they began to fold them automatically, "Uranus is high in my Tenth House today, which is a good sign for mental powers. But I have to be careful about my natal Venus, which will definitely affect the whole mess."
"Are you sure this doctor knows what he's doing?" her husband asked. Bob knew his wife would do what she thought best, regardless of any advice or warnings anyone might offer.
"How'm I supposed to know?" Dorothy shrugged. "I never did this sort of thing before. God knows, no one in my family ever went to a psychiatrist. I still don't know exactly what they do."
Dorothy thought for a moment. "All New Yorkers are weird," she proclaimed. "But this doctor, or whatever he is, isn't charging me a penny, and I think that's terrific.
"He's going to help me figure out what I'm seeing, too," Dorothy went on. "That isn't easy. This morning, while I was cleaning the den, I kept having crazy flashes. First," she raised a finger dramatically, "I see pots and pans on a big wall in a huge kitchen, so I figure I got to get breakfast made. Then," she raised a second finger, "I see lots of people moving through the kitchen, like it's a restaurant." She raised both arms to the ceiling. "God save me if all those people ever set foot in my kitchen!"
Dorothy sat down and poured more coffee for her husband. "I see all these people going crazy, like someone is getting hurt," she continued. "Someone doubles over and hundreds of people pounce on him. Just as I'm getting close to focusing on faces, Michael Kurscics's face appears."
She sat back and took a deep breath. "I swear, there's no way all this doesn't add up to mean something. I just got to have help figuring it out."
Dorothy looked at the clock. "Oh my God, Vicaro will be here in an hour. I've got to get moving." She fingered her hair. "I'm running over to let Rosemary do something with this mop. I can't look this way for the doctor. Especially since he's not charging me."
Vicaro and Dorothy had spent at least a few hours daily looking for clues to the whereabouts of Michael Kurscics. She still had not met the boy's mother, who was reported to be living in another town at the time of her son's drowning. Vicaro promised he would find the mother for Dorothy the following week.
"I won't be able to find the kid till I meet her," Dorothy nudged. "I don't care what kind of woman she is, a mother is hurt when she loses a child."
When the doorbell rang, Dorothy registered a feeling of panic. What's going to happen today? she asked herself in the mirror, positioning her scarf and tying it securely under her chin. What a strange world this is.
When Dorothy opened the door, Patrolman Vicaro smiled. "Ready?"
She jumped forward and gave him a smack on the cheek and a quick hug. He returned the affectionate gesture, calming her nerves a bit.
"Hey," he stood back, "you look terrific. Is that a new coat?"
"Honey," she winked at the officer, "if not now, when?"
Vicaro smiled as the two drove off in the police car for Manhattan. Circling on the highway for entry into the Lincoln Tunnel, Dorothy looked out over Manhattan's sky-line, gray against the winter skies. For much of her life she had seen the majestic city from the poor man's vantage point of Jersey City. She saw the city as a symbol of formidable strength.
"I love to come to New York City, but I'd never want to live there," she said to Vicaro. "It's a crazy place, isn't it?"
"Yeah, a lot of crime and dirt," Vicaro responded. Dorothy smiled at the policeman's response, realizing that his profession gave him a particular attitude toward New York.
As Dorothy looked out over the West Side, and at the ships docked alongside the piers, she felt anxious. wasn't sure why, but she had an inkling that something she saw along the waterfront had some special significance.
They stopped in front of one of Central Park West's Art Deco triumphs, a building with an imposing brick and silver chrome facade.
"Isn't this something?" Dorothy admired the lights in the chrome of the entryway. Her fingers ran up the shiny surface. "And not a bit of dust, either," she nodded approvingly to the doorman.
When the correct apartment had been found, Vicaro pushed the buzzer. Seconds later a dark, curly haired man, well manicured and in his late thirties, opened the door.
"Hello, there, I'm Dr. Ribner." He extended his hand to Dorothy and Vicaro and led them into the vestibule.
"Please come right in. I'm so pleased to finally me you, Mrs. Allison," he said. "Why don't we sit down for moment, talk some business, and then I'd like to step outside with patrolman Vicaro so he can give me a quick rundown on the case." He looked at Dorothy. "I don't want you to be influenced by any details," he explained.
Dorothy Allison - A Psychic Story Page 5