The Seduction - Art Bourgeau

by Art Bourgeau

  The pack moved over to Laura. All three of them wore skin-hugging jeans and tight sweaters. The one who had just spoken was wearing short boots with her jeans tucked into the tops; the other two wore sneakers. Two were smoking, and the one who wasn't was holding a pack of Marlboros.

  Taking a drag on her cigarette, the leader said, "My mom told me she saw you there this morning, you know, when they found her . . ."

  Laura wondered which woman was her mother.

  "You going to write about it for the paper?"

  "It'll be in tomorrow's edition."

  She waited for them to press her for details, but they didn't and then she understood that with the neighborhood jungle telegraph they probably knew more about the case than she did.

  "Do you think they'll catch the guy?"

  "The police think so."

  "We hear it was the boyfriend that done it," said the girl with the Marlboros.

  "The police aren't saying. What's he like?"

  "All we know is what Terri used to say. None of us ever saw him but if you want to find out more about him you should talk to Marie. I don't think she ever saw him, but she was Terri's best friend. She knows more about him than anyone else," the leader said, pointing to a girl hunched over the jukebox.

  Marie turned out to be something of an ugly duckling, with spiky red hair, glasses and a body that had not yet outgrown its baby fat. She was wearing sweatpants, sneakers and a football jersey several sizes large for her. The jersey was green and white, the Eagles' colors, with the number seven on both sides and the name "Jaworski," the great quarterback, on the back. The girls practically forced Laura toward the jukebox to meet Marie.

  "Hey, Marie, this is that reporter we were talking about."

  "I know." She didn't look up, kept her eyes on the jukebox selections.

  Laura, feeling exhausted, just went along. "Hello, Marie."

  Marie didn't speak, and the leader put in, "We were just telling her how you was Terri's best friend and if anybody knew anything about her boyfriend it'd be you—"

  "I was right here. I heard you. I wasn't in Camden, you know."

  "Don't pay attention to her. She's upset. Wouldn't you be if your first day back at school you heard they found your best friend's body?" said the leader.

  "You were out of school?" At this point Laura was just being conversational.

  "Yeah."

  "Were you just out or did you have a touch of the bug that's been going around?"

  "I had the bug."

  "How long were you out?"

  No answer.

  "She had a bad case of it. She was out a couple of weeks," the leader said.

  "That's a long time to be laid up."

  "Yeah, well, I had it, then I got over it, and then I got it again. Jesus."

  "I hope it's better now."

  "It's better."

  Marie was giving no easy openings, so Laura decided to bull ahead. "I was there this morning and I saw Terri's body. I've written a story about it for tomorrow's paper and I'm going to write follow-ups until they catch the guy who did it. But I need to know things about her, things other people don't know. What I'm doing isn't going to bring her back, but maybe it'll help the police catch him, or at least keep some other young girl, like yourself, from getting herself into the same terrible situation. Will you help me?"

  "Would I get my name in the paper?" Still looking down at the jukebox.

  "Do you want your name in the paper?"

  Marie now looked at her. "God, no."

  "Then it won't be. I guarantee it."

  Marie shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

  "Why don't you just tell me about Terri? What it was like to be her friend?"

  What she got was a picture of lifelong friendship, of youthful high jinks, of two girls who were tight as only adolescents could be. When she mentioned "Peter," Marie almost physically cringed, and only reluctantly told how Terri had met Peter, how much she had loved him, and how upset she was the night they were having pizza and she saw the two women get into Peter's car.

  Laura pressed on. "But you didn't see the women get into the car, right?"

  "That's right."

  "What about the car, did you see it?"

  "No, Terri didn't tell me about it till later so I didn't see the car."

  "Still, you must have seen the car at some other time. I mean, as close friends as you were and as many dates as they had, you must have seen it . . ."

  "No, Terri wanted to show him off, but him being an undercover cop, she said he couldn't afford to have people in the neighborhood get to know him."

  "Do you believe he was an undercover cop?"

  "I guess not, not now. But Terri did."

  "Did you know about the depot and what Terri was doing there?"

  "No."

  "You were her best friend. You must have known about it."

  "Hey, I don't lie. I was sick, that's when I got the bug."

  "Wait a minute," said the leader. "We had an English test that week. You didn't get the bug then, you got it later. I remember you were there for the test—"

  "Look, I'm telling you what happened. If you don't want to believe me then to hell with all of you. I'm going home."

  She pushed her way through the other girls and was out the door before Laura could stop her. Laura threw some money on the counter and hurried out, her cheese steak forgotten.

  She could see Marie running ahead, crossing Front Street and going toward the ice-skating rink built under I-95 near Federal Street.

  "Marie, wait," Laura called as she hurried after her. Marie slowed down, as though she wanted Laura to catch up with her at the rink.

  Laura, winded, was relieved that the deserted rink was at least out of the rain, under the overhead section of I-95.

  Marie waited for her, leaning against the waist-high yellow rail around the rink. Laura approached her cautiously. Marie knew more about Terri's death than she was saying, that seemed obvious. The question was, why was she holding back? Didn't she want to help catch Terri's killer? After all, Terri was her best friend . . .

  Laura realized she had no good idea how to begin with Marie, to get some answers. For all the contact she'd had with teenagers, they might as well have been Martians. As for how she'd felt as one, that was too many years ago in dusty Texas, years with about as much relevance to this girl and her situation as a "Gunsmoke" rerun. But she knew one thing—she had to make the first move. She took a deep breath and said something she realized was inanely chatty; "Thanks for slowing down. I don't know about you, but I've had enough exercise for a year"

  Marie gave it the silent treatment. Laura said, abruptly, "it hurts to lose someone you love. Is this the first time for you?"

  "Yes." A small voice.

  "It's never easy."

  Not surprisingly, Marie didn't respond to that profound statement. Laura was getting edgy. Come mi, Marie, give me a break . . . But Marie wasn't about to make it easy. Okay, then we'll go back door . . .

  "Marie, do you believe in God?"

  "What? God? Sure . . . what's that got to do with——?"

  "Do you believe that this was how God wanted Terri to die?"

  "No, I mean, I don't know," Marie said, turning away from her to hide the tears she felt coming.

  "Well, I do. This was not God's intention. What killed Terri was evil and deserves to be punished for it."

  "I know that."

  Laura figured she just couldn't stop sounding stupid. Of course Marie knew that. She'd rushed this like it was her first interview. She needed more time to win Marie's confidence, but she also felt she'd painted herself into a corner. There was nothing left for it but to cut the stuff and get to it . . .

  "You have to help, you know."

  Silence.

  "Whatever it is you're holding back is making you very unhappy. You'll feel a lot better if you get it out."

  When she'd just about given up hope, Marie said, "I saw the car. It's a sil
ver Datsun 300ZX with a Bruce Springsteen bumper sticker on the rear bumper." The words came in a rush.

  Laura was excited, but had to probe. "Do you know a lot about cars?"

  "No."

  "Most girls don't. In fact, most of us don't know one car from another. How did you know it was a 300ZX?"

  "Because there's a little sign on the back that says that's what it is," Marie said, and turned away.

  "But how could you see a little sign at night on a silver car?"

  Then, waking up . . . "Unless the car was stopped?"

  Grabbing Marie by the arm, she spun her around, and looking in her face saw she was right. "You saw the car when it was parked, didn't you? Where? Where did you see it?"

  In a voice filled with shame, "At the depot."

  It took a moment to sink in. "Oh, my God." She resisted asking why Marie hadn't spoken up sooner. This wasn't the moment. Instead, as Marie burst into tears, Laura drew the girl to her and put her arms around her.

  When the sobs quieted, Laura said, "Tell me what happened."

  Marie took off her glasses, wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

  "You were right. I knew about the depot but I hadn't seen it. All I knew was that Terri had told me about it . . ."

  "Go on."

  "Things weren't going like Terri wanted. She wanted to get married but he seemed to be losing interest or something. Anyway, she got scared it was going to be over unless . . ."

  "Unless she slept with him?"

  "Yes, but it wasn't like that, not exactly. I mean, before Peter, Terri was going out with Joey from the neighborhood, only she wouldn't let him, so he left her for Lisa. Then one night her mother and father got in a fight at the dinner table and afterward they went up to their room and . . . well, Terri knew they were doing it. They did it a lot, I'm talking about a real lot, and it always made Terri feel weird to think about it, them doing it, but not this time. She said this time it all sort of made sense and that's when she decided to do it with Peter . . ."

  "Who came up with the idea of the depot?"

  "Terri . . . we know that a man won't respect you if he does it to you in the car, and Terri didn't have a place, so she picked the depot."

  "But you didn't see it."

  Marie hesitated again. "Not then, not when she was fixing it up. I wanted to but she wouldn't let me. She said it was their place and she didn't want me to see it yet."

  "And this made you feel a little left out maybe?"

  "No. Well, yes, maybe a little, but I wasn't jealous or anything. I just wanted to see it . . ."

  "How'd you feel about Terri doing it with Peter . . . what did you say his last name was?"

  "I don't know what his last name was. Even Terri didn't know. Peter, that was it. Anyway I didn't like the idea and I told her so. The sisters taught us it's a sin to let a man do stuff before you get married."

  "What did Terri say about that?"

  "She said it wasn't a sin if you were going to marry that person, and that's what she and Peter were going to do."

  "So she believed they were going to get married. Then what happened?"

  Marie turned and again leaned against the yellow rail surrounding the ice rink. Laura was acutely aware of how wet and cold she was. Her boots were soaked through, water had dripped in around her collar. But it was worse for Marie, who had no raincoat and who was carrying around a load of guilt and grief large enough to chill her insides.

  "Then I did a bad thing—I went to the depot."

  "That Saturday night, the night Terri was killed?" Laura was afraid to believe what she was hearing.

  "Yes . . . look, I wasn't trying to spy on them or anything. I just wanted to see what the place looked like . . . what he looked like. After all, I was her best friend—"

  "Marie, you did not do anything wrong. There's nothing wrong with being curious about the person your best friend is going with . . . Were you outside or inside the depot?"

  "Outside. I thought about going inside but I decided it would be wrong."

  "Okay, can you tell me about it?"

  "I got there early, before they did. That's when I thought about going inside because Terri had told me about the place and I knew how she got in."

  "But you didn't."

  "No, I found a hiding place where they couldn't see me, but I could see them when they pulled up."

  Laura held her breath.

  "They came, and he pulled the car up in that little dead end. Terri got out, opened the window and went inside and opened the door."

  "What about him, Marie?"

  "He stayed in the car till Terri opened the door, then went inside."

  "What did he look like?"

  "He wasn't real tall but he was taller than Terri. They made a sort of good couple. He had dark hair and a beard, and he was wearing dark glasses. Oh, and he had on a leather jacket and a white scarf. Terri said he always wore them."

  "Anything else . . . I mean about the way he looked?"

  "Just that he really was good-looking, like she said."

  From the description Laura thought he could have been wearing a ski mask, with a beard attached. There was no way even an eyewitness like Marie could identify him for certain with a description like that. Even if it wasn't a mask, the beard could have been a phony, or if it was real he could have shaved it off right after . . .

  "What happened then?"

  "They closed the door."

  "So that's all you saw . . . But what about when they came out?"

  "I didn't see them then. It was starting to rain and I thought they'd be in there for a long time, maybe all night, and I didn't feel like getting soaked, so I left."

  "What did you think when Terri didn't show up for school on Monday?"

  "I was sick then, I didn't go to school on Monday."

  "But you already knew she was missing, didn't you? Her parents must have been going crazy."

  Laura could see her tightening up and realized she had hit a nerve . . . the reason Marie was feeling so guilty.

  "Why didn't you tell anyone about this until now?" Laura said.

  "Because when Terri told me about the place and what she was going to do, she made me promise not to tell anyone, especially her parents, because if everything worked out like she hoped she was sure she and Peter would run away and get married."

  "Didn't you worry?"

  "Yes . . ." and she began to cry again. "I was afraid for her, she was my best friend, I didn't want her to do this—"

  "Did you talk to the police?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you tell them, or your parents?"

  Crying harder now, Marie said, "I was afraid everyone would hate me for what I did. Sneaking around like that, spying . . ."

  Laura reached out and put her arms again around the girl.

  "Never mind. It's all right. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't, believe me," and she held her like that until she was quiet. "But you will have to talk to the police, Marie, and this time you'll have to tell them everything."

  "I know . . ."

  As they walked back into the rain together Laura was thinking that her day wasn't over yet. First she had to call Sloan and tell him about Marie, and then call the news desk. After all, there was nothing in her bargain with Sloan to keep her from using the account of an unnamed witness in her story.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE CORNER of Broad and Locust was a madhouse as cabs discharged passengers under the flickering gaslights of the Academy of Music. Ordinarily waiting in line for anything drove Missy wild—but not tonight. Alone with Felix in the backseat of Wakefield and Pollack's limousine she felt almost serene, an unaccustomed condition for her.

  It was also in stark contrast to how she'd felt when she'd left her mother's Monday night. She had driven back into town, crying in rage, bashing the steering wheel, and on the rain-slick East River Drive she had spun out, nearly hitting the stone arch of a bridge abutment, winding up in a riverside parking lot near a c
losed concession stand. Only her well-conditioned reflexes had saved her from serious injury or death.

  Once back in Center City she had stopped at a pay phone and called a connection for cocaine, and after she'd picked it up, had headed for Christian's, a bar on Sansom Street in the same block with the White Dog Cafe and La Terrasse. After throwing back several Cuervo Golds, she'd picked up four Penn students—three cleancuts in their junior year, and a nineteen-year-old female whose black turtleneck, long straight hair and copy of Atlas Shrugged had given her an almost timeless coffeehouse-beatnik look. Carl wasn't the only one who occasionally needed younger flesh to prop up a bruised or demented ego. Everyone was getting theirs, including her sainted mother, for God's

  sake . . .

  From the bar she'd taken them to her house where, the stress, drugs and alcohol all melding, she had proceeded to undress in front of the four and perform oral sex on each. At first the girl had been reluctant, but with the pressure of more drugs and good old peer pressure she had gone along. And so it had gone through the night and into part of the next day, with the once-reluctant girl becoming a most responsive subject for Missy's ministrations. But when they had finally gone, she'd realized the party was over in more ways than one . . . she had had each of them doing as she wanted, but in the end it hadn't changed anything. She'd still been alone, feeling broke, and no one in the world gave a good goddamn.

  As she'd reluctantly changed to go to work, she'd flicked on her answering machine and heard a message from Felix. In the upset of the past night and day she'd forgotten their date for Monday night, and his taped voice had sounded both irritated and concerned. He'd called before she'd gotten back to her house with the college kids. As she'd listened to the short message, she'd decided she was wrong; she wasn't alone; someone out there apparently did care.

  She'd immediately called him and made a date for the opera that evening . . .

  Now together with him for the first time since leaving her mother, she was quiet inside, though part of it was thanks to ten milligrams of Valium, a vodka on the rocks and a new outfit from Nan Duskin purchased only hours before picking Felix up at his apartment.

  She was feeling so good and cozy, in fact, that it was a moment or two before she even got the drift of Felix's words as they waited for the traffic in front of them to clear. He was, she gathered, talking about some article in the Globe by that awful Laura Ramsey about "an eyewitness to the rape-murder of some South Philly teenager." Missy, still very much in her own cocoon, preferred to think about her new outfit and its expected affect on Felix . . . a Calvin Klein off-the-shoulder top in ivory and a full, belted, black silk skirt with a crinoline and a hemline that ended just above the knee. It had immediately caught her eye, highlighting as it did her lean and leggy figure. The thousand dollar price tag had not caused a moment's hesitation. She had charged it to her mother's account. Served her right for all those things she had said Monday night. Thinking about it, she'd decided not to believe that stuff about her father wanting to put her up for adoption . . . It was just her mother's way of somehow trying to justify cuckolding him with Edgar. When their limo pulled up in front of the Academy of Music, Albert, the chauffeur, hurried around to open the door for them and they joined the throngs going up the steps and past the posters announcing the opening night performance of Puccini's Madame Butterfly by the Opera Company of Philadelphia. Glancing around the crowd, Missy took inventory of the number of Evan-Picone and Liz Claiborne outfits. So much money, so little imagination, she thought.