by Art Bourgeau
When he turned to her she could see the weariness in his eyes.
"How . . . how is it going in there?"
"Laura, this isn't the time to talk about it. We'll issue a statement later, and I promise we won't leave out the Globe when we do."
Decision time. She could either be a reporter, or she could be Felix's . . . woman, girl friend, lover, whatever . . . She didn't hesitate.
"Coleman, wait," she said, hurried after him, and told him everything about her relationship with Felix.
"Whoa, whoa," he said. "Slow down. I hear what you're saying. Join us for coffee."
"Coffee? Why the delay?"
"His bail hearing."
"Explain that exactly," she said, hurrying to keep up.
"It means that the district attorney thinks he has enough evidence to prosecute." As they walked through the corridors of the round building he would not say any more, except to introduce the man with him as Felix's corporate attorney. But once they were having coffee at a table safely out of earshot of any eavesdropper, he began to explain in a low voice the true seriousness of the situation.
"The charges he's been brought up on right now are rape and attempted murder. He's accused of handcuffing a Center City woman last night—Society Hill, in fact—raping her and then trying to choke her to death—"
"I know all that, George Sloan already told me, and I know the implications—that they're also going to try to prosecute him for the rape and murder of two South Philly teenagers and his ex-wife. A one-man crime wave. What I want to know is who is this woman, and why is she accusing Felix of something he hasn't done?"
"The one part I can tell you, but not the other. Her name is Missy Wakefield."
Laura's face froze.
"Do you know her?"
"Yes, I know her." And then she proceeded to tell them the story of Felix's scene with Missy over her sudden overwhelming desire to get pregnant.
Coleman Green listened without interruption until she finished, then said, "Yes, I heard the story. Felix has already given it to us, and normally it would go a long way toward knocking the rape charge out, if it was of and by itself. But not this time. What they've got is a three-point case. They've got the testimony of the officers who answered the call. Listen to what they found . . . Miss Wakefield nude, her hands handcuffed behind her back, a thin steel chain around her neck. She tells them she's been raped by Felix Ducroit. When he's brought in and shown to her in a lineup she immediately picks him out and identifies him. Next, the method used in the attack is identical to the one used in three other attacks, including the murder of Cynthia Ducroit, Felix's ex-wife, only a day earlier. The handcuffs, the chain—all identical, and none of these details were released to the press. You know that. You wrote the story. Only the killer could know these details, and they tie Felix in to the other cases. Even if Wakefield came forward now and said it wasn't rape, that they were just playing around and it got out of hand, Felix would still be tied in to the other deaths by the unique method."
"Oh God . . ."
"It gets worse. At the hospital they found bruises on Miss Wakefield's neck from the chain, consistent with the kind of bruises that would result from someone trying to strangle her. Just as she said. And now the third point. Sperm found in her vagina was immediately tested for the ABH factors that determine a person's blood type. About eighty percent secrete these factors into all their bodily fluids—"
"Yes, yes, I know about that. Lieutenant Sloan told me about it, secretors and non-secretors. What did they find?"
"They found a secretor with blood type O. The same as in the other three cases."
”And Felix?" said Laura, afraid to hear it.
"When they brought him in they gave him a saliva test. Felix is a secretor with blood type O. If he'd been a non-secretor or had a different blood type he'd be a free man right now. But his ABH factors match the killer's. They have positive identification by a victim, identical method and scientific evidence." He shook his head. "I hate to say it, but there's no sense kidding ourselves. Right now it looks like an airtight case."
”No, it's not. Almost everybody has type O blood, and almost everybody is a secretor, for God's sake. That's no conclusive evidence."
"True," said Coleman. "By itself it doesn't mean all that much. But with all the rest of it—"
"And Missy Wakefield . . . I've already told you what she's like, what she did or tried to do with Felix and he turned her down . . ."
"Yes, and by itself we could make something of that. But the method is what ties it all together. As I said, only the killer could know that, and remember, one of the victims was Felix's ex-wife, another his ex-gir1 friend—"
"She was not his ex-girl friend."
"Whatever," said Coleman. "But they do have a case that's going to be mighty persuasive to a jury."
His words infuriated Laura. "You sound like you believe he did it?"
"I didn't say that."
"But you do—"
"I'll give him my not inconsiderable talent and the best defense money can buy, but Laura, listen to me. Most, almost all, of the people I defend are guilty. The police don't routinely go around arresting innocent people, contrary to some people's prejudices. I fight on procedural grounds, not guilt or innocence."
"What the hell kind of a lawyer are you—?"
"The best," he said."And I think you know it."
Laura turned and looked out at the almost empty cafeteria.
"He did not have sex with that woman," she said.
"Prove it to me, and maybe we have ourselves a case," Coleman Green said. "I'd like to defend an innocent client for a change."
"Well, here's your chance, Mr. Green. Felix Ducroit is innocent. It's your job to defend him and get evidence to clear him."
"Yes, it is, but this is a rape case, and the victim's rights are special, different from other cases. I can't apply any pressure, in fact I'm not even going to see her until court just so there's no possibility of jeopardizing what very little we have in our favor."
Laura looked at him. "But I can. I can see her."
"I didn't say that or hear it," said Coleman Green as he and the other attorney stood up and gathered their briefcases.
CHAPTER 27
THE TWENTY millgrams of Valium and her second Bloody Mary had only just begun to steady Missy's nerves when the doorbell rang.
Last night's examination at the hospital had been a nightmare. Strange eyes looking, strange hands touching her private parts. Twice she'd seen images of her father, his hawklike face showing the same angry scowl as when she told him about her pregnancy. Under the lights of the examining room she had forced herself to stay quiet, holding the policewoman's hand.
The pregnancy test had been negative, but that meant nothing. One couldn't expect it to be reliable within hours of conception. She was pregnant; she knew it, felt it. The first thing she'd done when she got back home was to shower, to scrub away the dirt of those strange hospital hands that had touched her and then to douche, although she was sure the douche was pointless. Too little, too late. It was already inside her, growing. She heard the doorbell ring again and went to answer it, muttering to herself.
To her surprise, it was Laura Ramsey. Missy narrowed her eyes and smiled a tight little smile.
"Well, if you don't look like something the cat drug in," she said to Laura.
"May I come in?"
"Are you housebroken?" Still blocking her entrance.
"I need to talk to you."
"I can't imagine what for."
"Yes, I think you can."
"If you must . . ." Missy stepped aside to let her enter, preceded her into the living room and sat down on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her. "Why don't you sit here, my dear? If we're going to have girl talk, it's so much more intimate, don't you think?"
Laura did, and Missy thought how much fun the next few minutes were going to be. She picked up her drink. "I'm having a Bloody. Would you like
one?"
"No thanks."
"Suit yourself." Missy took a sip of her drink and set it down on the table, never taking her eyes off of Laura. What Felix could see in this washed-up piece of dogshit was beyond her. Lagniappe had better-looking women going begging at closing time.
As Laura fumbled in her purse Missy said, "How did you get my address? I'm not in the book."
Laura brought out a small tape recorder and laid it on the cushion between them.
"Carl told me."
"How convenient for you. I'll have to speak to him about that."
Something in Missy's voice made Laura look up from winding and rewinding the tape.
Laura's gaze was steady and knowing, as if Missy had just let something important slip, and it made Missy feel uneasy. She was not accustomed to such open defiance from anybody, especially other women. Now she was the first to look away and glance at the small tape recorder. "Are you here as a reporter or as dear Felix's little whore?"
The intended shock value didn't seem to faze Laura, who said quietly, "Take your pick."
Missy reached for her drink, took a gulp. "It really doesn't matter to me which, since you obviously are a bust at both of them."
Laura decided to play it cool. It seemed she was getting to her.
"Look, I understand that you don't like me and I don't blame you. In your place I'd feel the same way but—"
Missy thought she saw her opening and went for it.
"What do you mean in my place you'd feel the same way?"
"I mean that you're an intelligent—"
"Don't patronize me, damn you. You're an intelligent woman," she mimicked. "Where the hell do you get off coming in here, to my house, and starting up with this shit? I don't have to take this—"
It worked. Before Missy could get to her feet Laura said,
"You're right. I'm sorry." Her tone was softer and, to Missy's ear, more contrite. She sank back into the cushions and cocked her head slightly. Better, she thought. Shows a little humility. Reaching for her cigarettes, Missy said, "All right, let's try it again from the beginning. What are you doing here?"
"I'm here, as I think you know, because of Felix."
"So you've heard what he did to me. News travels fast."
"I've just come from the police headquarters—"
"Then you are here as a reporter. You're here to interview me——"
"No, I'm not here as a reporter."
"Then why the tape recorder, dear? Are you going to play D.A.?"
"Just habit, I guess," Laura said, feeling she'd been one-upped, and pushed aside.
Missy took a drag of her cigarette. She wanted to press the point, to make Laura say if she wasn't there as a reporter, then she was there as Felix's whore. But she tabled the ploy, at least for the moment. "Go on," she said.
Laura looked her directly in the eye. With, she hoped, an air of the supplicant. Put her off guard . . . "The reason I'm here is to appeal to you—"
Missy laughed. "Appeal to me? Dear, you don't appeal to me at all. Not when you show up on my doorstep looking like a fashion ad for Lad 'n Dad. I mean dykie is one thing, but this," she said with a gesture that carried with it all the disdain of a queen tossing out handfuls of goat turds to the rabble, "this is something else."
Laura had seen Missy in action before, but she was topping any previous ugliness. Stay calm, she ordered herself. Don't take her bait. Don't blow it.
"We both know Felix is innocent." Laura said evenly, still looking directly at her.
"Innocent? Darling, I don't know who you're talking about. It's not the Felix Ducroit I know. Look at these," she said, pulling down the neck of the black turtleneck.
Laura saw the bruises. They were ugly and dark. Someone had hurt Missy, that much was obvious. But she was not exactly acting like a victim. More like a winner. Admittedly she was no expert on rape victims, she'd only known two, but after the experience both had been emotionally devastated. Missy decidedly was not acting that way. Damn curious. Whatever, Laura decided, she had to provoke her out of this unreality, to bother her if she was ever going to make her cooperate . . .
"Just for the moment, at least, let's put Felix aside and say he didn't do it—"
"But we know he did," Missy said, reaching for her drink.
"Just pretend. And let's explore something completely off the wall. Let's think about . . . what if you had sex with someone—a person you know—things started out okay but they got out of hand. We've all had that happen before——"
"Maybe you have—"
"Oh, I'm sure you have, too. Let's say that's how you got the bruises. What does this mean?" She leaned forward slightly as she said it.
Missy pulled back slightly at the narrowing distance between them, then cursed herself for giving ground so easily. She set her drink back on the table, using the movement to cover her combat faux pas. "Look, can we get to the punchline?"
"Sure. It goes like this. Whoever did this to you, the police are sure, is the same person who killed the two South Philly teenagers I've been writing about, as well as Felix's ex-wife."
"I don't know about South Philly teenagers, for God's sake. I never read the papers."
"Missy, you're the only person who can identify the man, and he knows it. He doesn't know about Felix. He has no choice; he has to come back and kill you before it's too late. Your only hope is to tell the police everything. It won't get you into trouble; it'll save your life."
"That's what I did. I have nothing to worry about."
Laura lost her cool. "Damn you, Missy, what you did is frame an innocent man. What you did is act like the spoiled brat you are, always have been——"
"You listen to me—"
"No, you listen to me," said Laura, shouting her down now, letting it all out. "Felix told me everything. He told me about how you got him over here, about the champagne, the caviar, the oysters. He told me about the pregnancy test, and how you just decided to have his baby—even though you'd never even been to bed with him. He told me about the whole sick thing. After he left I'm betting that you picked up someone, called up someone, or someone called you. That someone is the one the police are interested in, and if you know what's good for you, my dear, you'll tell them the truth."
Missy had to force herself not to laugh. After all, the "someone" was herself. But she played it out. "Are you threatening me?"
"No, I'm telling you that your life is in danger."
"Let me tell you something. Let me tell you about the whole sick thing. I'm only going to say it once, so listen up. I need to go back a bit . . . you were there at Lagniappe, sticking your nose in where you weren't wanted the night I met Felix. You saw him; he couldn't keep his hands off me . . ."
She paused to stub out her barely smoked cigarette and lit another. Now she was genuinely angry, losing her superior position.
"After you left with Carl I wanted to come to the party. He was the one who insisted we come over here. Once we were here he did everything he could to get me to go to bed with him but I wouldn't. After that night he wined me, he dined me, we went to the opera, everything he could do to get me into bed. I wasn't interested. That's no doubt what did it, pushed him to do what he did. Men, my dear, are like that. They like difficult women, women they can't have. Not like you, not like an old shoe."
Laura said nothing.
"It was the excitement," Missy went on. "lt drove him nuts. Anyway, I invited him over to tell him I wasn't going to see him again. That's when it happened. I fought like hell, but it did no good. He handcuffed me and did what he wanted. And then he tried to kill me." Feeling in control now, she said, "That's the reason I called the police. If he hadn't tried to kill me, hadn't left me for dead, handcuffed and naked, I could have lived with it. Men get carried away like that. But this was way over the edge. He's dangerous. If what you say about the teenagers and, did you say his ex-wife?" adding astonishment to her voice, ”are true, then I didn't realize how really dangerous he is, and
I thank God he's behind bars where he can't hurt anyone except the other boys in the shower." Very nice, Missy, she said to herself, critiquing her act.
Laura leaned forward to touch Missy's hand. It was all Missy could do to keep from burning her with her cigarette but she sat still.
"Look, Missy, I understand your hurt, but it's not fair to ruin a man's life over a bad love affair."
Missy only looked at her, then said, "If you know how he talked about you. I knew he was going to bed with you. I made him always be open with me. He said your body was old before its time, that you'd let yourself go, your tits were ugly and sagging. I felt so sorry for you, that you didn't know how he felt. It was me he was in love with, me he wanted to marry. It's all so ironic . . ."
Laura couldn't resist. "I've never heard my body described with such knowing detail." She even allowed herself a slight smile.
Missy noted the smile, and it bothered her. What did Laura have to smile about? There was no way she could know what Felix had said about her.
Laura was talking again. "Irony is not a word I'd have used to describe this situation. What are you saying?"
"That pregnancy test you mentioned earlier, it was to check my cycle. The ironic part is that I was fertile when he raped me. So there's a good chance I am pregnant with his baby."
Laura, nervous, clapped her hands. "How wonderful for you. In fact the whole story is wonderful. It belongs in a novel, but in real life it doesn't work——"
"What are you talking about?" Missy said, now definitely fearful that she had said too much but without a clue as to what.
"The caviar, the oysters, the champagne. No one buys Dom Perignon to tell a man to kiss off. You might convince the police of it but we know better, don't we, dear?"
"No, dear, the reason for the Dom Perignon was a matter of style. Something I have. Something you could do with a lot more of."
"Style? Is it style that makes you frame an innocent man just because he has the good taste not to go to bed with you?"
Missy had had enough. "This interview," she said grandly, "is terminated. You print any of it that you like, but be prepared to hear from my lawyers." Getting to her feet so that she loomed over the still-seated Laura, she said, "Now I want you out of my house, and out of my sight. You upset my stomach."