Heartstone

by Phillip Margolin

  As the car pulled into traffic, she snuggled up against him.

  “Do you want something to eat?” he asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” she replied dreamily.

  Richie was stimulated by the softness of her voice. He reached his right hand around her shoulder and drove with his left. He kissed her when they stopped for the light.

  “Do you want to drive up to Lookout Park?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

  She did not say anything. Instead, she snuggled closer. Richie turned off the main downtown drag and headed for Monroe Boulevard. Monroe led out of the city to a large wooded area in the hills that was called Lookout Park by the City Park Commission and Lovers’ Lane by everyone else. The park was large and sprawling, with several secluded areas that were used for picnics in the daytime and making out at night.

  “It’s so beautiful tonight, Richie,” she said.

  He wanted to tell her that he thought she was beautiful, but he could not. As intimate as they had been, he still felt tongue-tied. He had had so little experience with girls and he was afraid of saying the wrong thing or saying the right thing in a way that would sound phony. Gasping out “I love you” in the theater had taken an effort equal to anything he had ever put out on the football field. When she had accepted his profession of love without rebuke, he had felt like shouting through the theater.

  He tightened his arm around her for a second and she melted against him, giving him a peck on the cheek. He shifted slightly and felt the contraceptive pushing against his buttocks from its position in his wallet. He had purchased a package of Trojans from a smirking pharmacist at a shopping center near his house. He had never done that before and it had been a nerve-wracking experience.

  When he thought about the contraceptives, he wondered why he even bothered. Elaine was too nice a girl to go all the way. But what if she did. He wanted to do it with her so much that his body ached each time they made out. So far she had kept him off with affectionate but firm nos. But that was before they were going steady. Would that change now?

  Richie was half afraid of what he would do if it did. He had only been with one other girl. There was a party after they had won the Division Championship last year. One of the girls had gotten drunk and he and three other boys had had sex with her. He had not done so well, coming almost as soon as he touched her. It had not been what he had expected. He was sure that sex would be different with someone he loved.

  Monroe Boulevard was deserted this time of night. Richie and Elaine did not notice the car that pulled alongside at the traffic light until it raced its engine. There were two men in the front seat and a girl in the back. Elaine could not see their faces clearly. When the light changed, the car squealed its tires and raced ahead. Richie smiled at Elaine. He was grateful for the distraction. The car had stopped at the next light even though it was green. Richie pulled alongside and the light turned red.

  Elaine squeezed the muscle of Richie’s right arm and then moved over to give him room. She adored him when he was like this. He sat straight-backed, leaning slightly forward from the waist. His right hand gripped the shift lightly. His face was a picture of intense concentration.

  The light changed. Both cars seemed to leap forward. Tires squealed. They floated side by side. Neither appeared to be moving. Then the Mercury pulled ever so slightly ahead.

  The stretch of Monroe Boulevard ahead of them was flat and had no traffic lights for several blocks. The other car lost more ground and then sped up, pulling even. Richie pushed the accelerator toward the floor. They were gaining. And then the other car was veering into them. There was a grinding of metal and the Mercury lurched sideways.

  Elaine screamed and Richie fought for control.

  “The bastards,” Richie swore when they had evened out.

  “What happened?”

  “That son of a bitch rammed us. I’ll show him who he’s playing with.”

  The other car had gained considerable ground, but it seemed to have slowed, as if daring Richie to catch it. Elaine had never seen Richie so grim.

  “Don’t chase them, Richie. Let them go. Please.”

  “No one does that to me, Elaine.”

  The Mercury was pulling even again and as it drew alongside the other car swerved into their lane. Richie reacted in time, pulling to the side, then cutting back into the other lane. Elaine screamed and there was the sound of metal grinding again. This time the other car went into a skid. It hit a wet patch of pavement and spun sideways. The driver fought for control and the car fishtailed toward the sidewalk. Elaine watched open-mouthed through the rear window as the car bounced off a telephone pole and then screeched to a stop, facing the way it had come. Richie gave the Mercury more gas to widen the distance between the two cars. Elaine could see a figure in tight jeans and a black leather jacket getting shakily out of the car.

  Richie started to laugh and she laughed too. It was a release of tension and it sounded hysterical for a moment.

  “Did you see that guy fishtail?” Richie asked.

  She kissed him for an answer. Her heart swelled with pride at being Richie’s girl.

  They rode through the hills until they found a place to park. There was a dirt side road off one of the paved roads that twisted through the park. The dirt road ended in a meadow surrounded by evergreens. Richie pulled the car to the far end of the field. He switched off the lights, but left the heater on. With the headlights off, the only illumination was the pale glow of starlight.

  Elaine had taken her coat off when the car had heated up and she had put it on the back seat. Richie looked at her and she did not trust herself to speak. Her heart was thumping and Richie looked as nervous as she felt.

  “Elaine, I asked you out for a special reason, tonight,” he said, the way he had practiced it. They were facing each other and he had placed his hand over hers. The sound of his own voice sounded strange and the words he was saying sounded terribly stilted.

  “Elaine, do you…do you want to go steady?”

  There! He had said it. Elaine thought that her heart would burst. She could not speak. Instead, she threw her arms around him and began to cry. He kissed her and she opened her mouth. Their tongues met.

  When they parted, Richie slipped the ring off and gave it to her. She held it and turned it in her hand. He stroked her cheek with his hand and drew her to him. This time his kisses were gentle. She felt herself sliding down on the front seat and she could feel his hand move under her sweater and cup her breast. She arched her back and stroked his neck and ear.

  He was unbuttoning her blouse and she did not resist as she always had before. Richie was breathing hard. He managed the buttons without fumbling. She was completely relaxed, accepting him.

  He had the blouse undone now and he was caressing her nipple through the bra. His hand worked around her back and she moved slightly to assist him. He was elated and she was afraid and calm at the same time. No man had ever touched her naked breast before. She was terrified of the effect that his strong hands might have on her, yet she longed for him to cup and stroke her. To love her.

  He was murmuring his love for her. Kissing her earlobes with the tip of his tongue. Her hand wandered down his leg, terrified of what she knew she would find there. He moved his weight and she touched it suddenly through his pants. It was large and hard. Her fingers pressed it gingerly, drawing back like startled fawns.

  The bra was unhooked and she was aware of his fingers exploring the hard tip of her nipple. She was flooded by strange emotions. His penis was so hard and big. If she let him put it inside her, would she feel rending pain? She did not care. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to be driven insane by him, like the women in the books. She felt him loosening her pants.

  “No,” she said instinctively, pressing her hand on his.

  “I love you,” he said and she felt his fingers entwine with hers. His lips were kissing the hand that had tried to restrain him. His hand was on her stomach and b
elow. Questing. Caressing her vagina through her panties. She was moaning now. Wanting it. Willing to do anything for him.

  “What was that?”

  He was sitting bolt upright, staring through the rear window. Her eyes snapped open, startled.

  “There’s someone out there,” he whispered.

  She was frightened. From her position on the car seat she could only see the car roof. She heard Richie opening the car door and felt a blast of cold air.

  “Richie, don’t leave me,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The door closed quietly. Her clothes were in disarray. There were tires crunching dirt and gravel nearby. She could hear it now. There was another car door opening and footsteps coming toward the car.

  She fumbled with her pants. Richie was outside the car. The interior light was on, because the door had not shut completely. She was in a panic. She could not have anyone see her like this. She struggled with her bra, still lying down so that she would not be seen.

  There were voices shouting angrily. One of them was Richie’s. Her bra was fastened and she tried to button her blouse. A button popped and she cursed. Someone was grunting. No. More than one person. She struggled with the buttons. They would not fit. She wanted to see, but she could not sit up looking like this. Anyone would know what…The car shook with the impact and she could see Richie’s back blocking the rear side window. Then it was gone, lunging into the darkness. She sat up. The interior light made it difficult to see into the dark. She reached for the door to close it and Richie screamed. She froze and Richie screamed again. There was the sound of men grunting from exertion and someone swearing. She slammed the door tight. Richie was kneeling and there were two men in black leather jackets standing over him. One man kept raising and lowering his arm and Richie kept screaming.

  She had to get out. She had to get away. She looked for the keys, but they were not in the ignition. Someone was yelling in the dark. Someone was rushing toward the car. She turned to her left and screamed. There was a face pressing against the window. Fists pounding on the door. The glass on the other side shattered and she whirled around. An arm clothed in black leather was groping like some obscene spider for the door handle. She curled in a fetal position against the driver’s door. She gripped the steering wheel and stared wide-eyed.

  “Please. No, please,” she whimpered.

  The passenger door swung open.

  2

  It was 9:30, Saturday, November 26, 1960, and Portsmouth police officer Marvin Sokol was almost halfway through his shift. Marvin was in a funny mood. He was feeling good because he had just won five bucks from his partner, Tom McCarthy, who had had the temerity to bet against Navy.

  Sokol was an old Navy man. He had been in for four years during the Second World War. He always bet on Navy and this afternoon his boys had walloped Army 17-12 behind the running of Joe Bellino, who Sokol thought would make a great pro, although McCarthy thought that he was too small. Anyway, with Navy winning, Sokol’s mood was partly good.

  On the other hand, he had read some sad news in the paper that morning and it was making him feel melancholy. He had forgotten about it while he and McCarthy were watching the game. But now, during the monotony of patrol, he had started to brood about it again.

  Sokol was fifty years old. In great shape, but fifty nonetheless. Usually this did not bother him, but in this morning’s paper he read that “Amos and Andy” was going off the air for good after thirty-two years on radio. Sokol had grown up on the radio. He had a TV like everybody else, but he still listened to radio and his favorite program was “Amos and Andy.” He almost never missed it. When he heard it was cancelled, he thought about death.

  When you are young, fifty seems ancient, but when you are fifty, fifty doesn’t seem that old. You don’t think about death being right around the corner. Unless they cancel a show you have listened to for thirty-two years and you realize that everything ends sometime.

  Sokol looked over at McCarthy. A youngster. Twenty-two. Or was it twenty-three? He could never remember. “Amos and Andy” would not have meant a thing to him.

  McCarthy was driving. Sokol did not care if he drove or not and McCarthy liked to drive, so McCarthy usually did. Sokol liked the Lookout Park section of his patrol. The park was peaceful and beautiful. There was hardly ever any trouble.

  McCarthy swung the patrol car onto one of the unpaved dirt side roads that branched off the main paved road. There was a meadow up ahead. They could park for a bit and have a smoke. The car bounced a little and the jiggling motion of the headlights created an illusion that the trees were dancing.

  The dirt road ended and McCarthy pulled the car to the side on the grass.

  “Is that a car?” Sokol asked.

  McCarthy had not noticed anything and he asked what Sokol meant.

  “When you swung around, I thought I saw a car at the far end of the meadow.”

  McCarthy swung the car back in the direction in which Sokol had pointed. There was a ’55 Mercury parked near the trees at the far corner of the wide meadow. It looked customized to McCarthy. Red body with red and yellow flames along the side. They drove across the field.

  “Probably some kids making out,” Sokol said half wistfully.

  McCarthy laughed.

  “You want to give them the full treatment?”

  Sokol thought about “Amos and Andy” and said “No.”

  When they were almost to the car, they could see that there was no one sitting up in the front or rear seats. Sokol hoped that they were not going to find anyone making love.

  McCarthy stopped the car at the rear of the driver’s side. He walked toward the driver’s door. Sokol skirted the rear and noticed that the window on the passenger’s side had been smashed in.

  McCarthy raised his flashlight so that he could see the inside of the car. The beam illuminated the front seat and Officer Marvin Sokol forgot all about his personal problems.

  The coroner’s assistants were trying to remove the body from the front seat of the car and place it on a rubber sheet. They were having trouble maneuvering the head and torso around the steering column, because rigor mortis had set in. One of the men twisted the arm around the steering wheel and Shindler flinched and turned away. When he lit his cigarette, his hand was shaking.

  Shindler had been a policeman for six years and a homicide detective for three of those. He was supposed to be conditioned to scenes of violence, but this was something else.

  Harvey Marcus, Shindler’s partner, was standing over the rubber sheet, looking down at the blood-splattered still life. Shindler wondered how he kept his poise. When Shindler had viewed the body in the car, he had bitten his lip to gain control. The face had been pulp. The body had been a mass of blood-covered wounds.

  “You know, I saw him play on Thanksgiving Day. I go back to the High School every year,” Marcus said.

  “Was he any good?” Shindler asked for no reason at all. Marcus shrugged.

  “He was okay. He would have made a college team.”

  Shindler put out his cigarette. He was going to drop it when he remembered and stuffed it in his raincoat pocket. Clues. He smiled grimly.

  “I think there was more than one, Roy,” Marcus said.

  “What?”

  “I said, I think that he was killed by more than one person.”

  “He would have to have been. Jesus, Harvey, did you see his face?”

  Marcus did not answer that question. There had been no face in the conventional sense. A young boy like that, Shindler thought. Someone would pay.

  “I figure one stabbed him, or kept him at bay, then the other one hit him from behind. Probably with the same thing they used to cave in the car window.”

  “A tire iron?”

  “It could have been.”

  They walked around the rear of the car. All around them policemen scurried with cameras and tape measures. Plastic bags and note pads.

  “The ground
about twenty feet from here shows scuff marks and there is some blood on a rock that wasn’t washed away by the rain last night.”

  Shindler thought about what it would be like to carry the body, still warm, twenty feet to the car and then to stuff it into the front seat. He shuddered involuntarily. He could never have done it.

  “Why do you think they moved him?”

  “Concealment. Give them more time before it was discovered.”

  A young patrolman holding a plastic bag was casting nervous glances at the corpse. The bag was resting on the hood of the Mercury.

  “That been dusted?” Marcus asked sharply.

  The policeman looked up, startled, snapping his eyes away from the corpse.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Some of the objects we found in the car.”

  Marcus opened the top of the bag and peered into it. His eyes stopped on the purse.

  “Where did you find that?”

  “It was on the floor under the front seat. We found a woman’s coat in the back seat.”

  Marcus started to say something when he was interrupted by a uniformed officer.

  “We have a woman who may have seen something. We’re keeping her over by the cars. Her name is Thelma Pullen and she lives on the border of the park near the Monroe Boulevard entrance.”

  Marcus and Shindler followed the officer toward a group of police cars that huddled together on the edge of the meadow. A young officer was writing intently in a notebook when they approached. He was talking to a bony, middle-aged woman whose eyes darted nervously toward the ambulance and the body every few seconds.

  “I’m Harvey Marcus and this is Roy Shindler, ma’am. I understand you have some information for us.”

  “Yes…I mean I don’t know if it’s anything. I just heard about the…the murder on the radio this morning and I thought it might be of importance.”