Once, André told Jankowski, after she had her hair styled as Dan in Paris, she said when she first looked in the mirror, the image looked exactly like her father. This had led to a long tale of her feelings toward her father, her early childish intuition that he wished she had been a son to take over the business. Dan told a series of stories about her growing-up years with sexual conflicts in her head.
“I won’t go into all that–you’re probably just as glad, aren’t you, Trooper Jankowski?” Lizotte said, grinning.
Soon Dan was expressing some anxiety about returning to the states and having no one to feel compassion for her changing persona and innermost feelings, he continued.
“I was pretty ready for a change in my life, so I let her talk me into returning with her–hoping to find new friends and a career more rewarding than what I had going.”
By the time they arrived in Connecticut, Dan’s high-dose hormone therapy was definitely taking effect–more than the usual middle-aged woman’s supply of lip hair was visible and she looked very much like a man. She practiced walking and gesturing like a man every chance she had, chuckling that she did the same thing as a youngster when she followed her father and business companions about in the mill.
“Believe it or not, I was a big help,” Lizotte said. “I showed her mannerisms I was taught as a boy that she found useful.”
Jankowski took notes furiously, amazed at the openness of this man. What a time to have left his tape recorder at the office. Lizotte seemed so different than the reserved man-of-few-words interviewed by Trooper Murphy in 1994. Perhaps he wasn’t as self-centered as Jankowski had first thought. Either that or now that André thought his benefactor was dead, he needed to impress Jankowski with what a good friend he had been to her.
“Your attitude sounds like the free-spirited French, who have no hang-ups about sex, but you don’t sound like a Frenchman.”
“No, I’m part French and part American. My father, or rather, the man who fathered me, was with the U.S. Occupation Army in Germany. A group of soldiers would frequently come to Paris to have a good time and this man met my mother. She was an office worker for an export-import firm and enjoyed meeting visitors. I am the result of that liaison. The guy was good to my mother to the extent that he periodically sent money and she was able to send me to a boarding school. I think it was a way to get me out of her hair and love life. At any rate, as I grew older I realized I was gay. I set out to find my own crowd and began supporting myself by driving a taxi while going to school to become a beautician. That’s how I first met Danielle. Now you know about me, how about you?” he gave a wink.
Jankowski wasn’t sure if André was coming on to him, or joking.
“This isn’t about me, Lizotte! It’s about Danielle Stoddard and what happened to her,” he barked, shifting uncomfortably in the lumpy cushions. “How did things work out between you and Danielle here in Connecticut?”
“It was all very strange to me, coming to this country. Even though I speak English as well as a Yankee, I realized things were not going to be easy.” André paused and asked if Jankowski wanted a drink, before heading for the kitchen. He returned with a tall glass of orange juice.
Raising the glass he said, “Have to get my vitamin C, you know. Working as an artist’s model doesn’t give me much time for sunbathing.” Settling into his chair again, he continued to describe his unusual relationship with Danielle.
“Danielle knew I liked boys better than girls, I guess she saw me as safe, not a sexual threat. The first thing she did after we came to the U.S.–after checking on her dogs–was to take steps to change her name to Dan. She really wanted to be a man. In her mind she was a man, but her body had a long way to go. She was showing some muscular development, so whatever hormones she was taking were working. At any rate, she trusted me enough to share her hopes and I guess I made her feel comfortable with her changing body and self-image.”
“How long did you live with her?” Jankowski scribbled in his own version of shorthand as fast as he could to keep up with Lizotte’s commenatry.
“Right around two years. She gave me a room of my own, a great place to stay and money to spend. I really cared about helping her and showed my affection. We would discuss actions a man would do that a woman wouldn’t. I helped her every way I could think of–in mannerisms, her walk, her talk. I was at her beck and call–that is, when she finished working with the dogs. After a while I just couldn’t stand those four-footed critters of hers. She lived for them. At first I thought she would change. I thought her mental attitude would change along with her physical appearance, that she would realize there was more to life than spaniels and the show circuit.
“I was hoping to see a lot of the United States, traveling with her. That’s what we did in France, around Paris, and we took a couple long weekends touring the countryside. But here the only places we went in two long years were to dog shows! They bored me, with their precious names and grooming and training and pampering. I would go to the shows with Dan and try to hide my boredom and loathing, but it got to me.” His voice cracked as he carefully placed his glass on the coffee table and brushed off his jeans as if a dog had just jumped on his lap.
“I was feeling more and more depressed. I would go for long rides–she let me borrow the Dodge–in the surrounding area and one time I ended up in Worcester. I ran into some people I could relate to at a nightclub. That saved me, and I made plans to move in with two other fellows. Chaz was a beautician, like me, and Hank was an illustrator–he helped me get a part-time job modeling for students at the Worcester Art Museum so we had that in common, besides our sexual preferences.”
Jankowski managed to free himself from the sunken sofa and slowly walked to the open porch door and back. He wondered how much truth there was to Lizotte’s story. He would have a lot more questions for him if the skeleton turned out to be Danielle Stoddard. Was his modeling enough to support him? Did he have a visa for an extended stay? What was his status here? Exactly where was he on September 13, 1993? Did he have an alibi?
Turning to André, he asked, “What did Danielle think of you making a new life for yourself?”
“At first, when I told her I was moving out, she accepted it. She gave me money whenever I went to see her. I tried to show that I still cared about her. But still she was a little uncomfortable with me moving to Worcester. She was afraid I would be abused in the homosexual community. Since I wasn’t an American she said I didn’t realize the extent of prejudices that were invisible in this country, but could be deadly to a victim. And that was even before the extreme incidents of gay bashing that have been happening recently. She thought of herself as my protector, even when I said I was leaving! She kept saying that I had been such a help during her sexual identity crisis–that I had been a good listener, but now I should listen to her because she was so much wiser in the ways of American society.”
Lizotte shook his head, thinking that if he had stayed with Danielle back then, things might be very different now.
“I wanted to stay on her good side and I promised I would always be there for her. And the next time I went to her house I had a bad cold and she couldn’t do enough for me, begged me to stay, saying she wanted to take care of me. Those were her words, ‘I’ll take care of you’.”
“And did you move back?” Jankowski sat down again, scribbling in his notepad.
“No, I stayed for a day or two at that time, but our relationship was strained, and finally I said to myself, the hell with it all, I don’t want you or your money, and left for the last time.” He smoothed his T-shirt over his slim, limber body, arching in his chair.
“When was that?”
André sighed, rubbed his forehead and frowned. “I think sometime during the summer of ’93. July or August, I don’t remember the date.”
“By the way, do you remember ever meeting a man named Ransom Pierce?” asked Jankowski.
“Not meeting him, but I heard the name. Dan talked a
bout him once or twice. It sounded like he considered himself God’s gift to the sport of dogs, but she had little respect for him–said his tactics were despicable or something along that line. You know, the shows were boring to me, and anything underhanded would go right over my head. I kept my eyes and ears open for other matters–opportunities to improve myself, if you know what I mean.”
Jankowski could see a smirk in his eyes.
“O.K., were there any other people that would come to Danielle’s, besides people from her dog world or her accountant?”
“I think a few times her lawyer was there with Mr. Thompson, but I never even met him. One time Thompson, that bigoted man, called me. Wanted to know if I had seen Dan! I guess he thought she might have followed me, but she really wasn’t into the homosexual scene. She just felt more like a man than the female she was born as.”
“Why do you call Thompson a bigot?”
“He was a cad, sneaky and shrewd. I could see that right away.” André jerked his shoulders as if shrugging a blood-sucking leech off his back. “He hated me because of what I was, but at least I didn’t hide it. He was worse than me–he judged others by his set of standards and didn’t give a damn about anyone else.”
“I take it you didn’t get along with him,” Jankowski smiled. “Did you also feel that way about Terry Vaselekos?”
“Terry? She seemed like a nice kid. Not much to look at, but strong. She could lift those dogs just like a man. She had an apartment in the kennel and stayed pretty much to herself. I don’t think she liked me, though. Dan seemed to control her, and at times I thought she resented it but, like I say, we both kept to our own turf.”
“Why do you think Danielle would want to leave? Did you go back to her place after Thompson told you she was missing?”
“I don’t know why she would leave. I’d like to be in her shoes, she had everything! When Thompson phoned me, I found it hard to believe she was gone.” André lifted his hands, palms up, presenting an innocent look.
“Later I went back, sometime in November, to find out if she had returned. When Terry told me she hadn’t, I asked her to come into the house while I retrieved a few things I had left behind. She got really jittery and said she didn’t like going in the house anymore, but I finally persuaded her. I thought it strange for her to have such an attitude, when she had been living on the premises for four or five years.”
André paused, then said, “When things got financially rough here with my new friends, I often thought I was a fool to let all of that go. If I had continued to play along with Dan, things would be different now.”
CHAPTER TEN
The bright orange lounge chair clashed with Terry’s seafoam green work scrubs. She absently twisted a lock of hair around her ear, the strands curled up like a fiddle fern over her diamond earring, a twenty-sixth birthday gift from Danielle. Nervously looking about, she wondered if she had made the right choice in agreeing to meet Trooper Jankowski at the Student Union. She thought it would be uncomfortable to have him come to her apartment, and she certainly didn’t want to talk to him at work. The best place she could think of was the college where there were all types of students coming and going and even some uniformed cops taking courses. Now she wondered why he wanted to talk to her. The only other time she had spoken with the cops was when Danielle was reported missing.
The uniformed cop walking toward her wasn’t what she expected; he was well past fifty, older than the majority of cops who were taking classes. She thought policemen had to meet physical requirements, but this guy had a noticeable paunch and a slight limp to his step. It must be him, though, as he paused only briefly at the entranceway, removed his hat and walked straight toward her.
“Hi, I’m Trooper Mark Jankowski. That was a good idea, having me find you by looking for your Animal Kingdom tote bag.”
He reached out to shake Terry’s hand, pulled up a chair at right angles to her, sat down, and glanced about the large room. Students slept in lounge chairs, gathered at the soda machine or slouched at scarred tables. Many were frowning like someone with a toothache as they studied their books. Music and voices slithered about the room.
Jankowski launched directly into his purpose, “Tell me about your relationship with Danielle Stoddard.”
“Did you find her?” Terry asked quickly.
“No, we haven’t, but what we did find is a skeleton.” He watched Terry’s face closely as he spoke.
Her olive skin hid her pallor, but she dropped her pen and began wringing her hands as if kneading dough. “You found a skeleton? Where?”
“On the Stoddard property. Forensics is attempting to determine who it is. You wouldn’t know, would you?”
Terry gulped and stared at him, trying desperately to mask her reaction. She brought her hands to her mouth, looked down and mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about this; that was long ago!” For a few seconds she held her breath, then let out a long sigh. “Is it Danielle? I’ve always wondered what happened.”
“What did you think had happen?” Jankowski said softly. As he drew his pad and pen from his shirt pocket, he inched his chair forward, so they huddled together, blocking out their surroundings.
“Well, I was really scared–I never said anything before, but I wondered if someone had kidnapped her to keep her out of competitions. Danielle had established quite a reputation as a strong competitor and there were a few people who weren’t happy about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, once or twice I heard about one guy especially. He was telling people he wasn’t too happy with the change in Danielle’s physical appearance, that if she wanted to be like a man, maybe she should be treated like one and take her punishment like a man. And he was one who would give it. Stuff like that.”
“His sporting dogs went head-to-head against Danielle’s, and time after time, we beat him with every entry. Even though Danielle had been competing almost as long as he had, he seemed to view her as a newcomer who should serve an apprenticeship or something before she took any ribbons. And after we moved to North Woodstock, she kept increasing her participation in the shows–and winning over him right and left.”
“Do you think Chuck Thompson was aware of this man’s ill will toward Danielle?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he knew about this guy–umm, starts with a P–P, P something–Prick, no Pierce! Thompson never said anything about him when I was around. He usually limited his conversations with Danielle on everything important to times when they were alone, at least apart from me. I didn’t ever think he was comfortable with my relationship with Danielle, or maybe he didn’t think I was old enough to discuss important matters.”
“Did she ever discuss this man with you? What did she say?” The trooper wanted to keep Terry talking–this was all news to him but she must be talking about the same man Mrs. Stearns had told Bashia about, Ransom Pierce.
While they had been talking Terry had seemed to calm down some, but when this came up, she glanced around the room to see if any other students were within earshot and she nervously pushed her hair behind her ear. Jankowski felt like he was drawing blood through a syringe, trying to hold it steady to avoid losing the vein, knowing that if he lost it, he might not be able to get her back on track.
“Danielle said he was just a small person–that she would be a bigger man than he was, then she laughed! She had heard that Mr. Pierce was putting a word in here and there to judges and good friends of judges, challenging her dogs’ qualifications, and her sanity. Of course, the judges’ reputations for absolute impartiality are all important in the sport. If there is ever a question about the judges not sticking to the rules and requirements, the matter is reported to the AKC, and is quickly investigated. It just doesn’t happen! The sport and the judges are clean, as are most of the competitors. This Mr. Pierce was just a bad apple, Danielle said, and we would ignore him.
“But I had also heard that not everyone agreed with her theory she expresse
d so often—that it was the canines that deserved the credit for victories at the shows, not the people showing them. Danielle felt it was her job–and mine, if I was to become a good trainer, handler and eventually, a veterinarian—to bring out the best in the dogs by treating then with respect and love. ‘Expect the best and they’ll give their best,’ she often said.
“Many of the people got puffed up when their dogs won, as if they were competing, not the dogs. She hated that. But there were a few rumors rumbling around that she should be put in her place. When I asked her about Mr. Pierce, she just laughed it off, saying he was only doing himself harm. But I got the impression he was jealous of her and would do anything to keep her dogs from winning.”
“Would he harm her or the dogs?”
“That’s a good question, I don’t know for sure. I do know that Mr. Pierce came to the house once. I happened to see his big Cadillac Eldorado in the driveway one day when I was coming back from a walk. I knew it was his because he had one of those vanity license plates–‘Big Dog’. What a riot to put a dumb thing like that on a big yellow Caddy!
“Anyway, I decided to stop in on some pretense but, once I got to the front door, I lost my nerve when I heard loud voices. You have to understand, this man had been giving Danielle a hard time off and on for several years and I was afraid of him. He was just a little older than Danielle, but he was well over six feet tall, well built, and he wore a black mustache and goatee that looked sinister to me. I was scared.”
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