Dorothy Allison - A Psychic Story

by A Psychic Story (lit)

  What followed were several months of delicate textbook parenting. Without losing their equilibrium, Bill and Ellen helped their daughter through a difficult time with the support and understanding they knew she needed. She had made a mistake, but they didn't want her life ruined by it.

  "This is the twentieth century," Ellen said to Dorothy. "It's no use hiding from these realities."

  Susan's relationship with Dempsey had been slightly off-balance from the onset. They had met in grammar school and had played on the street in front of the Jacobsons' house on Anderson Avenue for more than a year without becoming close friends. Dempsey's confident and defensive air prevented anyone from seeing inside, from touching his vulnerabilities.

  One day the previous August, while playing ball on the street, Susan struck a direct emotional hit. Dempsey had been playing catcher, and the slender thirteen-year-old girl accidentally let go of the bat, which flew by Dempsey, striking his eye. He was rushed to the hospital where a doctor stitched up the bleeding eye in the emergency room. No visual damage had been done, but for weeks Dempsey strutted about with a patch over his eye.

  Susan had been hysterical with grief. Her guilt and unhappiness gave way, eventually, to romance. As they entered school that September, they were one of the talked about "new romances." Dempsey, a freshman at Port Richmond High, and Susan, an eighth grader at Prall IS, West Brighton.

  The emotional balance in their relationship never seemed to achieve an evenness. All along, Dempsey seemed to hold something over Susan. Trusting was difficult for Dempsey in a world that separated people by! color. He didn't want to tread where he might be unwelcome, so one day he approached Susan's mother, Ellen.

  "Do you object to me, Mrs. Jacobson?" the adolescent asked directly.

  "Object to you?" Ellen repeated. "You mean am I prejudiced because you're not white and my daughter is? No," she stated flatly. "That doesn't really bother me. What does bother me," the concerned mother continued, "is the idea of a thirteen-year-old being seriously involved in a relationship. I don't mind you hanging around together on the street corners and playing, but I would prefer you didn't get too serious."

  Dempsey became a fixture at the Jacobson house, coming and going as he pleased and sharing in Susan's family life. Ellen and Bill watched them play together that autumn within the familiar group on the street in front of their home. They sent them off to the movies with the other Jacobson children, riding either the bus or their bicycles, depending on the weather. Everyone seemed relaxed about the friendship.

  Then, in November, came the parents' first inkling that something was awry. Susan brought home a report card with absences for which Ellen could not account. Her daughter insisted that she had helped Dempsey and his family move on one day, and that on the second absence, she had waited around with Dempsey for the electrician and phone man to arrive.

  After the abortion in late January Susan's parents insisted that the relationship terminate immediately. They were willing, however, to let Susan handle that situation in her own manner. For all her parents knew, Susan and Dempsey saw one another only occasionally, within their social group.

  "I don't like what I hear," Dorothy said. "This boy gives me a lot of feelings. I think I need to see him. I wondered why I saw someone who wasn't black or white and sometimes both. Now I know. Has he been around lately?" Dorothy asked.

  "All the time," Ellen said. "The evening Susan was missing I saw Dempsey on the corner. I asked him if he'd seen Susan and he said not since that morning. He had seen her in front of our house, taking care of my two youngest."

  "He never talked to her that day?" Dorothy asked.

  "That's right. From the second day on, he's been helping us search. He took two of my other kids around different areas looking for Susan. He's even reported ideas to us about where Susan might be." Despite her words, Ellen's voice revealed the suspicions she harbored toward Dempsey.

  She remembered that after the abortion, in late February, the phone had begun ringing at odd hours, mostly after midnight. The anonymous caller would make threats against the Jacobsons' house. Ellen had recognized the voice as Dempsey's, but when she challenged him on the street, he had dispassionately denied being the caller.

  Even after changing their number to an unlisted one, the calls persisted. This time Dempsey would get a friend to ask for Susan, and then would take the phone once Susan had answered.

  Not long after that, in late February, Bill had been walking down the back steps one cold evening to put out the garbage. Susan had just left for a girl friend's house two blocks away, to go skating. Bill looked up the street and saw Dempsey walking with his cousin, Punky, toward the house where Susan was heading.

  Bill ran back and retrieved his jacket, got into his car, and drove down Palmer Avenue. The two boys were walking no more than thirty feet behind his daughter. Bill drove up to Susan and told her to continue walking to her friend's, that he was going to talk with Dempsey.

  Dempsey started throwing rocks at the car.

  "Listen, Dempsey," Bill called out. "You want to know why we don't want you around anymore? You want to know why we don't want you with Susan? Get in the car and we'll talk about it like adults. I'll tell you what it's all about."

  Dempsey started calling Bill names, but the man kept his composure, wanting to reason with the boy rather than quarrel. After a few minutes Dempsey got into the car and they drove for a bit until Bill parked the car on Jewett Avenue. He turned to the boy, who stared out the front window in silence.

  Bill explained to the teenager that the reason Dempsey was unwelcome was because his daughter had been pregnant and had gone through an abortion. Dempsey's face showed no reaction; he said nothing more than "you're kidding."

  Bill went on to say that he and Ellen didn't want either of the kids' lives destroyed by their ignorance, and that they felt it best to break off the relationship so that Susan and Dempsey could start fresh with other people.

  "As far as I know, there are only four of us now who know about this," Bill said. "I suggest we go to your house now and tell your mother."

  "I don't want to tell her now," Dempsey said. "I'll tell her later in my own way."

  Bill relented and dropped the youth off in front of his mother's apartment.

  Bill's sense of fairness was no deterrent to Dempsey's bitterness and anger. Now that the father had told him about Susan's abortion, the boy began spreading news of the incident, using the fact as a way to degrade Susan. The two continued to see one another, Susan often bearing the brunt of Dempsey's humiliating threats. Her stubbornness and pride, however, kept her from saying anything to her family.

  In desperation the concerned parents tried again in April to reason with the two youngsters, having Dempsey to their home for dinner and discussing the subject openly, just as the textbooks prescribed. The evening seemed to go well, leaving Bill and Ellen hopeful that the situation was finally resolved.

  On Saturday, May 15, the Jacobsons' house was full of goings-on; Ellen's parents had arrived from the Catskills. Bill and his father-in-law were remodeling the downstairs bathroom. Bill had taken out a loan to begin a major remodeling job on the four-decade-old house in which he had grown up. Born in 1939 of Swedish and German parents, Bill had raised his own children in the two-story house which had seen Jacobsons grow and die through the decades.

  That bright Saturday morning, Ellen announced that dinner would be served at 5:30 and that she didn't want anyone to be late. With seven children and guests, experience told her it would be impossible to chase after anyone. Most of the time her children were usually on hand, anyway, playing in front of their house.

  It wasn't till dinnertime that Susan was missed. Usually she would have been helping to set the table around 5:00. When that time came and she hadn't arrived, the family called out her name around the block a couple of times and, getting no response, sat down to eat.

  Around 6:30 Ellen walked out front and called Susan again. She noticed
Dempsey standing on the corner, so she headed in his direction.

  "Hi, Dempsey," Ellen said. "Have you seen Susan around?"

  "Haven't seen her since this morning, Mrs. Jacobson," he said politely, then got on his bicycle and rode away.

  Soon after, the family split up and started looking for Susan. Telephones, bicycles, and cars were used for two hours as they tried to track her down.

  One eleven-year-old reported having seen her in the early afternoon walking past the child's house. Susan had waved at the girl and said she was heading for Ralph's Ice Cream Parlor to see if she had a chance at getting a summer job. Someone else reported seeing her walking in the vicinity of Dempsey's apartment, but Dempsey had reported he hadn't been home. No one else remembered seeing her that afternoon.

  Dorothy shook her head. She did not like the story Ellen told. The more she handled Susan's possessions, the more she felt Susan had been deeply troubled and frightened, and no one had known it. The pictures coming to Dorothy were not for discussion with the girl's parents. Ellen and Bill had been through enough, Dorothy felt.

  In the days that followed their daughter's disappearance, Bill and Ellen watched the newspapers closely for reports of unidentified bodies found anywhere in the United States. As soon as they found something, such as a report of a discovered corpse or even part of a body, Ellen would send a dental chart and flier to the police department in the area. If only part of a body had been found, she would send a copy of an X-ray taken of Susan's spine months before she had disappeared, when it was discovered her spine had a slight curvature. But so far none of these efforts had uncovered news of Susan.

  The last Saturday that June Dorothy invited Bill and Ellen to Nutley. She wanted Detective Lubertazzi to meet them and discuss possible ways they might go about the investigation.

  The group spent a pleasant afternoon eating and drinking beer, talking about cases Dorothy had worked on with Lupo. Dorothy wanted to make the day relaxing for the Jacobsons, as both parents were showing signs of emotional stress.

  It wasn't until dinnertime that Dorothy began asking questions about Dempsey. She wondered about his recent behavior toward them.

  Bill informed her that Dempsey had been around constantly, having gone out on several searches with him, often for a whole afternoon. On different occasions Dempsey had taken Susan's sister Patricia searching in places he said he was suspicious of. The father admitted to having moments of suspicion, himself, when he looked at Dempsey because of the incidents of the past year. But he still believed Dempsey was not capable of doing anything really harmful to Susan.

  Ellen agreed, although she admitted he had shown little or no remorse at Susan's disappearance.

  "He just doesn't show much emotion at all," Ellen said as if defending him. She added that the boy had never once inquired into the Jacobson's own state of mind since their daughter's disappearance.

  "I wonder," Dorothy said, "if he'd be willing to come here for a little talk. I'd like to talk with him," she told Bill.

  "Sure. Why not? I'll call and see if anyone has seen him around. You do mean tonight, don't you?"

  "Of course. I have another steak defrosted. Tell him I'll feed him," Dorothy said. "Kids like to eat. Some eat raw meat like lions, though," she said with an ominous smile at Lupo.

  Bill called his home and Patricia reported that she had just seen Dempsey on the corner. When the boy got to the phone, Bill explained the situation and asked if Dempsey could come out to Nutley for a talk with Dorothy.

  Dempsey agreed, and Bill persuaded a cousin to drive the teen-ager to a midpoint in New Jersey, where Bill met them, around 8:00 P.M.

  By the time Dempsey arrived with Bill, Dorothy had cleared away the dishes from their dinner, and only one place was set in the corner for the late arrival. Dorothy had one steak on the grill for him, while the others sat around the table drinking coffee.

  Dorothy had grave misgivings about Dempsey, and meeting him added fuel to her already heated feelings. She knew the Jacobsons were reluctant to point an accusing finger at the boy. She hoped to open them up to the fact that anyone, and everyone, should be suspected.

  She looked into the boy's eyes and could sense his inner being. Here was a sixteen-year-old at the table with a cop, a psychic, and the parents of his former and missing girl friend. He was miles away from his own turf, yet he was in full control. Dempsey's self-supports were strong, she felt.

  While feeding him, Dorothy showed Dempsey articles about cases she had worked on with the police and the FBI. She showed him photographs of some of the missing children she had found.

  "Do you believe in psychics?" Dorothy asked him.

  "Guess so," he shrugged.

  By now Dorothy did not trust Dempsey at all. Her instincts told her that he was capable of much more than Susan's parents would let themselves imagine.

  "Dempsey, when did you see Susan that Saturday?" Dorothy asked as soon as the boy had finished eating.

  "That morning. She was taking care of the two little kids," he told her.

  "So that was the only time you saw her that day. Correct?"

  "That's what I said."

  "How many times did you go home that day?" Dorothy asked him.

  "I didn't go back till after I saw the Jacobsons and she asked if I'd seen Susan," he said, indicating Ellen.

  "So you never went home till that evening?"

  "Right."

  "How come I see you in two different shirts that day? I see you in a red and black striped shut. Like a sweater shirt."

  "You mean my hockey shirt? Yeah, I was wearing that shirt that day."

  "You weren't wearing that shirt in the afternoon," Dorothy stated.

  Dempsey thought for a moment, never averting his eyes.

  "I guess I did go home early that afternoon. That shirt was too hot. I forgot about that," he said without batting an eye.

  "About what tune? Just after lunch?" Dorothy guessed.

  "Yeah, I guess around that tune," Dempsey agreed, this time hesitantly.

  Bill and Ellen were surprised by the news. For four weeks Dempsey had said he had not been home that afternoon. Now it turned out he had been home about the time Susan had been seen heading in the general direction of his house - about 1:30 that afternoon.

  "Big deal. So I forgot a little thing," he said, sensing the tension in the air.

  "It is a big deal," Dorothy said to him.

  "I can't believe you lied like that," Ellen said quietly, her voice quivering.

  "Dempsey, what was your relationship with Susan like?" Dorothy resumed her questioning.

  Dempsey shrugged.

  "I don't know what that means," Dorothy pursued.

  "Not too terrific," he finally said.

  "What do you mean, not too terrific? I thought you two were in love," Dorothy said.

  "What love?" he said. "We just screwed a lot."

  "You son of a bitch!" Bill slammed his fist on the table. "One minute you love her, the next you make her a piece of meat. You're a sick bastard, Dempsey."

  As if not hearing the father's words, Dempsey went on.

  "We screwed because she thought she was a lezzie," he said flatly. "She thought I was good looking and could help ..." Before he could finish, Ellen rose and left the room, followed shortly by Bill, who glared into Dempsey's face. Words stuck in the father's throat as he struggled with anger and hurt. Lupo looked at Dorothy, knowing full well where she was heading. He got up and turned to the door.

  "I'll make sure they're okay," he said, leaving the room.

  As soon as the two were alone, Dorothy leaned over the table, pinning the boy into the corner. She kept her full weight on the table, leaning forward, grabbing his shirt collar.

  "What is this crap you're telling me, Dempsey? I don't go for any of it. You have no decency as a human being, saying those things in front of people who've been much too kind to you." Dorothy twisted his shirt in anger.

  Dempsey's eyes were wide, his
breathing fast and nervous.

  "I would never have been nice to you, like they've been. Never. Especially if you'd done the things you did to that girl and she was my daughter. I'd have your throat in a minute," she challenged him.

  "I don't know what you're talking about, lady," Dempsey began. "I only slapped her face."

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You took that girl to Mariner's Harbor and did her in. You did, didn't you?"