Heartstone

1

On the day after Thanksgiving, 1965, Norman Walters did what he had done on every day after Thanks giving since November, 1961. After breakfast, he went into his study and wrote a check to the classified advertisement section of the Portsmouth Herald. Then he enclosed the check and a sheet of his business stationery in an envelope. Typed on the sheet was an advertisement that would run for a month. It read:

$10,000 reward for any information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons responsible for the murders, on November 25, 1960, of Richie Allen Walters and Elaine Melissa Murray. Please contact: Norman Walters, Suite 409, Seacreast Building, Portsmouth. Phone: 237-1329.

A floorboard creaked in the bedroom above. Norman glanced nervously toward the study door and sealed the envelope. Carla would be down in a moment and he did not want her to see the letter. She had taken Richie’s death very badly and there had been a slow recovery. Even now he would come upon her weeping quietly in a corner of the house, saying nothing when asked for the cause. For the most part she was his wife again, but he was careful to keep any reference to their dead son from her.

The sun was shining when he left the house. It had snowed the day before and the morning coat crackled underfoot. Thinking of Richie made him think of Roy Shindler. For a while after Richie’s death he had seen the detective often. At first Norman believed that they shared a common grief, but he soon discovered that it was hate that brought them together. As the passage of time dulled the sharpness of Norman’s desire for revenge, a rift had developed between himself and the detective. He was sure that no matter how hard he worked to disguise it, the detective could sense his growing aversion to the reminders of the loss he had suffered. At times, he caught himself wondering whether his son’s death meant more to Shindler than to himself. Self-deprecating thoughts which were, of course, not true. But they sowed the seeds of guilt.

The posting of the advertisement each year had become a ritual he engaged in to expiate his imagined sins. He felt compelled to do it so that he could look upon Shindler’s sad and accusing countenance. In his heart, he prayed that there would be no new clues. What great truth would be served if the killer was discovered after all these years? It could only lead to the baring of old wounds and new sorrow for himself and his wife. There had been times during the past week when he had considered not sending in the ad. Then he would conjure an image of Shindler and his courage would leave him.

The lid of the mailbox snapped back, sending the sound of metal ringing through the still cold air. Nor man’s shoulders straightened as if a great weight had been removed.

The baby was crying again. It was harder to get up every time. Sometimes she thought about staying in bed until the cries became whimpers and finally stopped. Then she would feel guilt. It was an unnatural thing to want your baby to die. She loved her baby. It was just that she was so tired.

If John was here, she thought. But John had left Esther Pegalosi all alone. John had left because of the baby. No, it wasn’t the baby. The others had left her and there had been no baby. She was to blame. She was the one.

The baby howled. Esther opened her eyes and looked at the clock. It was four in the morning. Still dark outside. She felt empty. What was she? A machine that ran on food. Get up, feed, go to the bathroom, sleep. No purpose. Less than a machine. At least a machine had a purpose. It capped bottles or pressed shapes out of steel.

Esther pushed herself to her feet. She could see herself in the mirror. She had lost most of the weight from her pregnancy and she was getting her figure back. She took off her nightgown and stood naked. Her legs were long and her hips wide. Her stomach was regaining its muscle tone. And then there were her breasts. John had loved her breasts. So had the others. He would kiss them and bite them. They were large and firm, nicely shaped even after the pregnancy. She had a good body. A beautiful body. They had all said so. But somehow it had never been enough.

How long had she known John? A year and a half? Two seemed more like it. She had been working as a waitress at Foley’s Truck Stop near the Interstate. She was pretty, so all the customers used to joke with her and she got her share of propositions, many of which she accepted. But John had been different. He was quieter, more serious. He wasn’t lewd like most of them. No pats on the rear or behind-the-back comments that were supposed to be overheard.

They had gone to the movies a few times and he had been a real gentleman. He had even brought her flowers once. The dating was sporadic, because he was on the road so much, but she started looking forward to seeing him. She didn’t feel about him the way that the women in the confession magazines and romance novels felt, but she felt comfortable with him. He was gentle and treated her with respect and she appreciated that in him. She wanted to be in love, like in the books, but she settled for having someone nearby who, she thought, cared.

The baby’s fists were tight and his color bright red. His mouth was so wide. Screaming. He was always screaming. Why couldn’t he be a quiet baby? He never rested. He never let her rest. She picked him up and rocked him. Her motions were automatic. There was no love in them, only desperation.

Very little had changed for Esther before she married John. After high school, she had moved out and gotten an apartment and a job. There had been plenty of men, but they hadn’t stayed long. They would say that they loved her and, with each new promise of happiness, she would give herself. But the affairs never lasted long.

Then John asked her to marry him. The proposal frightened her. She had prayed so hard for happiness and now that it was really there it terrified her. That night, she cried herself to sleep. He was a good man, she told herself. Then why does he want me? None of the others saw anything in me worth wanting.

She was sick with worry and did not go to work the next day. She was afraid that he would take the proposal back, as if it was a door-to-door sales offer. She could not have stood that. For once things were working out. This might be her only chance. Maybe she would be happy after all.

A judge at the county courthouse married them. They pooled their salaries and rented a small apartment. Then John lost his job. He tried real hard at first, but the job market was tight. After a while, he just gave up. He would sit in front of the TV all day. He started to drink more than usual and the frequency of their sex decreased. He had always been an ardent lover. It thrilled her when he told her how good she was, when he caressed her and kissed her. But after he lost his job he was always tired and on the occasions when they did have sex it was always fast, with little or no foreplay.

The baby sucked greedily at the bottle. Esther’s head lolled to one side and she tried to stay awake. After he finished, she would change him. Then, hopefully, he would sleep for a few hours. He looked so peaceful sucking. It was an illusion. She hated him. She felt guilt as soon as she thought it. No, she did not hate her baby. She loved her baby. It was herself she hated. She blamed the baby for losing John, but he was just a baby. Only John would not have left her if she had not become pregnant.

When she told him that she had missed her period and thought she was pregnant, he had said nothing. It hurt her. She hoped that he would be happy. This would be their baby. Something they could have and love together. But the news had not made him happy. He became taciturn, sullen. There were constant arguments over finances.

She began to hate the baby even before it was born. She could see how it was breaking them apart. Wedging its tiny body between her and the only happiness she had ever known. She sensed that he would leave her. He never said anything about going, but the idea filled every room of their apartment. Then one day he was gone.

The baby’s mouth sagged and fell off the nipple. He relaxed and his eyes closed. She would not change him, she decided. She could not risk waking him and starting the crying again. She placed him in the crib and left. Maybe he would sleep for a long time.

Esther crawled back under the covers and closed her eyes. The hardest thing she had ever done was to return to this apartment with the baby. The walls were her prison and the baby was her keeper. It was a life sentence. Sometimes she thought that she would be better off dead. If she had died in childbirth…She imagined the doctors in white. They would look solemn. The bouncing dot on the life monitoring machine would stretch slowly into a straight line. They would have told John that she and the baby were dead. He would have cried and there would have been roses at the funeral and a minister to say nice things about her.

But she wasn’t dead. And, sometimes, she hoped. She tried not to, but when she was weak or tired, like now, she could not help herself. She wasn’t much. She could see that. But there were other people like her who were somebody. All she really wanted was…was to be somebody. She started to cry.

Cindy Shaeffer heard her husband’s troubled breathing and knew that he was awake. Outside it was still dark and she lay without moving, wondering what she should do. It was like this almost every night. She felt so helpless.

He was stirring. She knew he would be exhausted. He sighed and it sounded like a moan. She turned toward him and saw that he was staring at the ceiling, his forehead beaded with sweat. She put an arm across his chest and hugged him. Mark felt her embrace, but it did not comfort him.

“Do you feel okay? Do you want me to fix some hot chocolate? That will help you sleep.”

Mark shook his head slowly. He felt scared and empty inside.

“I’m all right. I’ll just go downstairs and read for a while. There’s no need for you to lose sleep too.”

“Mark, don’t worry. Everything will work out. It just takes time.”

Mark got out of bed and took his bathrobe off the hook behind the bedroom door. He picked up his book from the dresser and started out of the room.

“Mark,” Cindy pleaded. He looked so dejected.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, half-heartedly. “Don’t worry.”

She heard the door close and she lay back on the bed, fighting back tears. She felt so helpless. Everything was falling apart.

In the living room, Mark turned on the light and opened his book, but he could not concentrate. Eight months ago he had been on top of the world. He had always wanted to be a lawyer and that was the day he had received his notice that he had passed the bar. He was ready to start his career. The problem was that there were no jobs.

During the six months that followed, his self-confidence had been completely eroded. At first he had not thought much about it. That was when he was still expecting the lawyers who said that they would get in touch with him to get in touch. That was when he really believed that he would get a job. After a few months of broken promises and insincere handshakes, he stopped believing.

Cindy had been no help, because she did not understand. They had married young and she had taken a job as a secretary to help put him through law school. Like Mark, she expected to find gold on the day he graduated. Instead, there had only been frustration. She was from a poor family and very insecure about money. The longer he went without a job, the more pressure she began to feel and the more pressure she had begun to exert on Mark. She could not understand why he was unemployed. She began to blame him for not trying. There had been nasty scenes with Mark yelling and feeling guilty afterwards when she cried.

Then, shortly after the new year, tired of trying and failing, Mark had decided to go into business on his own. He had talked with a few sole practitioners and they had assured him that he could do it. It was a frightening thing to do. He was inexperienced and completely without connections. Still, the more he thought about the idea, the more it had excited him.

Unfortunately, it had not excited Cindy. She wanted to quit work. She wanted a baby. If Mark went into his own practice instead of working for one of the big firms that paid big salaries, it would mean more debts and it would mean that she would have to work some more-maybe several years more. There had been more scenes, but he had prevailed and two months ago he had rented a small office in the National Bank Building, an old, eight-story office building located three blocks from the courthouse in downtown Portsmouth. He enjoyed what he was doing, but business was slow in coming and he had begun to wonder if he would make it on his own.

He had not been sleeping well lately, because he was worrying. He needed his rest, but as soon as he lay down to sleep, he would start thinking of his expenses or whether one of his clients would try to stiff him. Then he could not sleep.

The fights with Cindy did not help either. They were going to bed mad more often, something they had rarely done in the first six years of their marriage. They usually made up in the morning, but the nagging and bickering were starting to get to him. He even caught himself wondering if they shouldn’t separate for a while, but had rejected the idea. Still, he had no way of knowing how the relationship, which he had thought so secure, would hold up, if his business did not prosper.

Mark leaned his head against the back of his arm-chair and closed his eyes. In a few more hours he would have to go to work. If he could not sleep, at least he would try to rest.

“Slow down, will ya, Coolidge? This ain’t a goddamn race.”

The truck jarred and hopped as it hit a pothole and the Scotch in Mosby’s bottle splashed over the rim, wetting his lap.

“Fuckin’ A, Coolidge. This booze cost me plenty. I’ll have your ass if you make me spill any more.”

“Better you than the Viet Cong. You’re cuter than the gooks anyway.”

“Those little farts ain’t gonna get your ass with me here to protect you.”

“They may get both our asses if we aren’t back at the camp by sundown.”

Mosby leaned back and took another swig from the bottle. God, he could drink. They had both been doing their share since they hit Saigon last night. Bobby Coolidge could feel the effects of his share and he concentrated extra hard on the twists and turns of the narrow jungle road. The lush green foliage was packed tight along either side. The upper branches of trees stretched across the space between to cut off the scattered rays of light still left from the setting sun. The way was shadows.

He decided that he had been a fool to let Mosby talk him into waiting while he banged the bar girl he had picked up shortly before they were to return to camp. He knew how long it would take to return with the supplies and he knew the dangers of being in the jungle after dark.

The road curved suddenly and Bobby jerked the wheel sharply, just managing to keep the truck upright. Mosby cursed again. He shouldn’t be driving after drinking so much. Shit! He had to drive. Mosby would wreck them in two seconds.

The hum of the motor and the monotony of the trip lulled Mosby to sleep. The almost empty bottle tottered over on a curve, spilling the brown liquid onto the floor of the cab. Coolidge glanced at Mosby’s face. Mosby groaned and smiled in the midst of some obscene dream. It had been a long time since Coolidge had dreamed sweet dreams.

The old fears had resurfaced faintly in boot camp. A glimmer, a warning perhaps, but nothing he could put his finger on. He was still excited by it all then. Only weeks out of high school and primed on John Wayne. Then Vietnam did not work out the way he thought it would and he began wondering what he was doing there. The people he was killing did not look like the enemy was supposed to. There were too many women and children and old men. Sometimes he was not sure that they were enemies at all.

He became confused. One day he stopped firing his rifle in combat, although he told no one of this. What would Mosby say if he knew what was going on inside his head? Or the others? There were some who might understand or sympathize, but it was safer to keep his thoughts to himself. Only there was a price to be paid in the form of dreams that crept in when he was sleeping, bringing flashes and bodies and fire. Blood was everywhere.

The dreams began to control his life. They made him a lineman. He had to repair the damage to telephone lines in an area heavily infiltrated by Viet Cong. He would shimmy up the telephone poles in the dark. Then they would turn on a spotlight and he would have two minutes to work, praying the snipers would not find the range, each second stretching into eternity. It made him sick. He did not sleep during the day thinking about the nights and he did not sleep at night because of the dreams.

If it had not been for the liquor, he would not have made it. The bottle brought dreamless sleep and peace. It made the war softer and easier to survive. He began to see the war as part of some other life led by some other person. There were two Bobby Coolidges. One drinking and drifting and biding his time and the one that that one watched: the one who went through the motions of being a soldier. In no time at all, and without formal training, he was becoming a man of conscience. He was rejecting the violence of his youth. Questioning. There was no glory in it anymore. He had learned that on telephone poles in the dark and in side streets of Vietnamese villages from the faces of dying children.

The road was the same everywhere. The headlights hypnotized him and his eyelids grew heavy. He must have dozed for a minute, because he could not remember seeing the old man dart into the road. He was just there, frozen in the headlight beams, a frightened deer, paralyzed and staring with eyes that begged for life.

Maybe Bobby could have given it to him if he had been sober, but he was too slow and the truck was over him before he could apply the brakes. There was a thud and the truck was tearing slowly through resistance for a moment. All Bobby could do was lay his head on the steering wheel of the truck that now sat sideways across the road.

The sudden stop had thrown Mosby against the dashboard. He saw his friend moaning and he saw the position of the truck. It took him a few seconds to take it in.

“What happened?”

“I think I hit a man.”

“What?” Mosby asked, still confused by sleep.

“With the truck. I think I hit an old man. I swear I didn’t see him. He was just there. I don’t know how it happened.”

Mosby stared into the darkness.

“I don’t see anyone.”

“He’s probably behind us or under the truck.”

“Oh, shit.”

They sat in the cab for a moment.

“We gotta see if he’s dead. He might just be hurt.”

Bobby was afraid, but he followed Mosby, lowering himself out of the cab onto the hard-packed dirt. Mosby took a look around. It was pitch black where the headlights did not shine. He leaned into the cab and fished a flashlight out of the glove compartment. He flicked on the beam and they walked cautiously to the rear of the truck. At first they could not see the body, because it had been knocked into a thicket by the roadside. The beam caught a leg bent at the knee. The face was frozen in a state of disbelief. There were no outward signs of death except for a trickle of blood at the side of the mouth. The old man did not move when Mosby prodded him with his foot.

“Is he dead?” Coolidge asked over Mosby’s shoulder.

“I think so. He ain’t movin’.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Let me think for a minute.”

Mosby shone the light in all directions. The area was deserted.

“Look, this was an accident, right?”

Bobby shook his head. He was still shaky and he felt loose inside, like he might come apart at any moment.

“This guy was old anyway and he’s a gook. If we pull him into the bushes, he won’t be found for days. And if he is found, who’s gonna care? There’s no way they can connect us with this thing if we don’t tell anyone about it.”

“I don’t know. I killed him, Carl.”

“Listen, Bobby. You got to start thinkin’ straight. This ain’t some white man. This is another gook. You don’t know. He coulda been a V.C. Now, if we don’t say nothin’, there ain’t gonna be no fuss.”

Bobby had to sit down. He slid down the side of the truck and took out a cigarette with a shaking hand. Mosby reconnoitered the area looking for the best spot to dump the body. When he returned to the truck, Bobby was calmer.

“You’re right. I’m okay now.”

He stood up and approached the body with caution. Bobby licked his dry lips and bent down. His hands jumped a bit as he touched the still warm legs. Mosby had the corpse under the armpits and Bobby averted his eyes as they lifted and dragged the old man farther into the bushes. There was no blood on the truck and they sat in the darkened cab breathing heavily from the exertion. When they had recovered, Mosby drove the truck toward camp. It was finished. Nothing had happened. They agreed on that.

A few nights later, Bobby woke up screaming. He had been wandering through a village. The dead were everywhere. Their bodies were naked and their stomachs had been ripped open so that the intestines hung outside, looped in insane coils, tangling his heels as he walked among them. In the light of napalm flashes he saw the faces of the dead staring at him with the eyes of the old man.

“We’re not gonna find ’em, tonight,” Officer Stout said.

“You don’t think so?” Shindler asked rhetorically.

“They’re whores. They’ll travel to L.A. or Frisco. They’re like birds-they migrate. Be back next summer,” Stout said, laughing at his own joke.

Shindler was in no mood to joke. He had been riding the streets all night with Stout, who knew the district, looking for two hookers who were witnesses in a murder case. Now it looked as if he might not find them. He was tired and depressed.

The police radio crackled, but Shindler paid no attention until Stout swung the patrol car in a U-turn with a squeal of tires.

“What’s up?” Shindler asked, starting out of his reverie.

“Attempted suicide a few blocks from here,” Stout said, the humor gone from his speech.

Stout pulled the car into the curb in front of a four-story apartment building. A woman in a bathrobe and curlers was standing in the lobby.

“She’s in room 4B. It’s locked. You better hurry.”

But Stout and Shindler were already bounding up the steps. Shindler was puffing when they hit the fourth-floor landing, but Stout, young and in good shape, didn’t show any signs of fatigue as he raced down the hall to 4B. Stout paused in front of the wooden door for a second, then swung his foot into it near the lock. The wood splintered and Shindler saw the end of a piece of chain whip through the air.

The girl was lying nude on the bed. An empty bottle of pills lay on the nightstand. Stout shouted that she was still breathing and Shindler dialed the phone in the front room that served as kitchen and living room. By the time that Shindler finished calling for the ambulance, Stout had her up and was trying to walk her.

“She left her baby at my door.”

Shindler turned around. The woman who had met them was standing in the apartment doorway, staring past him at Stout and the naked girl.

“Pardon?” Shindler said.

The woman talked without taking her eyes off the tableau in the bedroom.

“I heard the baby crying. It was six o’clock and it sounded louder than usual. He was in his stroller in front of my door. She dressed him and strapped him in and left him. When I read the note, I called the police.”

“You did the right thing,” Shindler reassured her. He heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and walked into the bedroom to assist Stout. Two men in white carrying a stretcher rushed into the apartment. The tiny front room was getting crowded. Shindler watched the girl’s face for signs of life. She was a pretty girl. Sensual was a better word. Pretty was for Miss America. This girl had a darker beauty.

The men with the stretcher were asking him questions. Something about the girl disturbed him. He felt that he knew her.

“What’s her name?” Shindler asked the woman in the curlers.

“Esther Pegalosi,” the lady replied as the men with the stretcher began to assist Stout.

Shindler looked at the face again. Esther! But not Pegalosi.

“I want to ride with her to the hospital,” Shindler said.

One of the attendants nodded. They were working fast and Stout, relieved of the burden, was sitting on the bed, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“I’m going with the ambulance,” Shindler shouted as he followed the stretcher through the door. Stout looked up in surprise. He was about to say something, but Shindler was gone. He shrugged and took out his notebook. The lady with the curlers looked down the corridor after the stretcher bearers and the detective.

2

“She left the baby in front of the neighbor’s door,” Stout said.

“No kidding?” said the middle-aged nurse who had heard the story before in a dozen different forms and was only trying to make conversation.

“She’s lucky she isn’t dead,” the policeman said.

The nurse agreed, even though she did not really care. Dr. Tucker was coming down the hall. The policeman was going on. Something about a note the girl had left before taking all those pills. She smiled at Dr. Tucker when he passed by.

Dr. Tucker nodded at the nurse. He was at the tail end of a hard day. One last patient and then home.

“The neighbor says the husband left her when she got pregnant. Then she was depressed after the baby came. They thought she’d gotten over it this summer.”

“Maybe it was the change of seasons. I read someplace…”

Dr. Tucker missed the nurse’s theory. I’ll have to ask her someday, he thought. Change of seasons. As good as any theory about why humans try to destroy themselves. What was this one anyway? Caucasian, female, 22. He shook his head. What could be so bad that young? Well, it didn’t matter now. She would be all right. Maybe they shouldn’t try so hard to save some of them. It was their choice. Maybe this one would have been better off.

The door opened and Dr. Tucker looked over his shoulder. A tall, sad-looking man in a heavy overcoat had entered the room.

“Can I help you?” Dr. Tucker said, annoyed at the intrusion.

“I’m Detective Shindler, Portsmouth Police. I wanted to know how she is.”

Dr. Tucker was about to reply when the girl moaned and opened her eyes. They were still glassy and she was having trouble holding her eyelids open. Shindler moved closer so that he could see her.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked in a voice he hoped sounded cheerful.

She was trying to work her lips. Dampening them with her tongue. It took effort to talk and she closed her eyes for a moment to gain strength. When she finally spoke, it came out slurred and barely audible and it sounded like “Is dead?” but Shindler couldn’t be sure.

The doctor leaned forward and tried, “Your baby is fine,” but she just stared at him with a confused look. Then she began to weep.

“He had no face,” she cried. Her tears streamed onto her pillow. Shindler felt a cold finger touch the base of his spine. Dr. Tucker was exhausted, but he summoned his reserves and tried to comfort her.

“They wouldn’t let him go. They just hit him.”

“No one struck your son, Mrs. Pegalosi. Your baby is fine. He is perfectly okay.”

She was confused again. She stopped crying and shook her head from side to side.

“No baby. Dead. They hit…didn’t he? Died. Oh, God.”

She was off again. Dr. Tucker sighed. Shindler moved to the edge of the bed.

“Esther, was it Richie?” he whispered.

The doctor swung around. He had forgotten about the detective.

“You’ll have to leave.”

“Was it Richie?”

“Hey,” Tucker said sharply, “you’re out.”

“So much blood,” Esther sobbed.

“Doctor, I…” Shindler began.

“I said out. This girl is in serious condition.”

Shindler looked down at the girl. Her head lolled to one side and she was asleep. The doctor pushed him through the door.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but…”

“I’m sorry,” Shindler interrupted.

“You should know better than to carry on like that.”

“Doctor, I said I was sorry and I meant it. Now, I have to talk to you. That girl may have important information concerning a homicide. Could we talk for a few minutes?”

Mark Shaeffer opened the door to misdemeanor arraignment court and found a seat in the back of a crowded courtroom presided over by a young judge who was in the process of reading an elderly black man his rights.

“Do you understand that you have a right to have a lawyer appointed if you cannot afford to hire one, Mr. Dykes?”

“What I need a lawyer fo’ if I didn’t do nothin’? I been tellin’ you, I’m innocent.”

“Mr. Dykes, this isn’t a trial court. The only purpose in having you in court today is to tell you what you are accused of, to ask you if you have a lawyer and to find out if you want to plead guilty or not guilty. You are charged with assault and that is a serious crime. You should have a lawyer to represent you in court.”

“But see, that’s what I been tellin’ you. I ain’t done no assault. It was my bottle of wine and when I wouldn’t give that no good skunk some he grabbed me. So I natchally hit him. But it was my wine.”

“Mr. Dykes, I don’t want to hear the facts of your case now. I am going to appoint a lawyer to represent you.”

The judge turned to a policeman who was standing in front of a door that led out of the courtroom and into the courthouse jail.

“Officer Waites, is this man in custody?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Dykes was standing in front of one of two tables that were set before the raised bench where the judge sat. A young man sat behind the second table, which was covered with files. The judge turned to him.

“Mr. Caproni, what is the position of the District Attorney’s office on letting this man out of jail on his promise to return?”

Caproni searched his files and pulled one out.

“Your honor, the recog. officer interviewed Mr. Dykes last night and he recommended that he not be released on his own recognizance, because he could not provide him with a residence address.”

“Mr. Dykes, where are you living?”

“Now I’m at the Mission, but I wants to get to the DuMont Hotel. Only I ain’t got the money now.”

“Your Honor, in light of the seriousness of the charge and Mr. Dykes’s transient status I would request that Mr. Dykes not be granted recog. According to the police report, William Thomas, the victim, required twelve stitches.”

The judge’s brow furrowed and he thought for a moment. Then he sighed.

“I suppose you are right, Mr. Caproni. Mr. Dykes, I will appoint a lawyer for you and continue your case until tomorrow morning.”

“You mean I got to stay in jail?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But I ain’t done nothin’ and that skunk Willie Thomas knows it.”

“We will take this up with your lawyer in the morning.

“Bailiff?”

An elderly man sitting at a table to the judge’s right called a new case as Mr. Dykes was escorted back to jail.

“State versus Rasmussen.”

Mark stood up and approached the table where Mr. Dykes had stood. The door to the jail opened and a grubby-looking man in his middle twenties, dressed in a tee shirt and jeans, was being led out. He had a stubble of light blond hair and he gave off the unwashed, urine smell that all new arrestees who have spent the night in the drunk tank exude.

“Your Honor, I am Mark Shaeffer. I was just appointed to represent Mr. Rasmussen this morning. I wonder if I could talk to him for a few minutes before entering a plea.”

“Certainly. There is an interview room in the jail. We’ll call another case while you talk.”

“State versus Marsha LaDue,” the bailiff said. The jailer led Rasmussen back to jail and Mark followed. A well-dressed young woman and an equally well-dressed older man with a briefcase were approaching the table.

The jailer put them in a small room with a table and two bridge chairs and locked the metal door behind him. Mark opened his attaché case and took out the case file.

“Mr. Rasmussen, my name is Mark Shaeffer and I have been appointed to represent you.”

Rasmussen’s hand was damp when they shook. He grinned sheepishly and ran his hand through his hair.

“I guess they got me good. I thought for sure that I could make it home. That damn cop got me a block from my house.”

“Before you discuss the facts of the case with me, I should tell you the legal definition of “Driving Under the Influence of Intoxicating Liquor.” You may think that you have violated the law, but…”

“Think? Hell,” he laughed, “I was shitfaced. Look, I appreciate your help. I really do. But I did it and I just want to get this over with and get home to my wife. She doesn’t even know where I am.”

“All right,” Mark said reluctantly, “but why don’t you tell me a little about yourself. Drunk driving is a serious charge. Maybe I can work a deal with the D.A. and get you a light sentence or a plea to a reduced charge. Now how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-four.”

“Any kids?”

“One. A boy. Four.”

“Employed?”

“I’m going to college. This is my second semester. I got out of the army about six months ago.”

Court was in recess and Albert Caproni was talking to Judge Mercante’s secretary, a sexy blond who was laughing at something the young D.A. had just said. Mark waited until Caproni had finished. Then he cleared his throat.

“Excuse me. I’m Mark Shaeffer. I wonder if I could talk to you about the Rasmussen case?”

“Sure. I’m Al Caproni. What’s the charge?” He asked as he rifled through his files.

“He has a drunk driving charge. I was curious about what kind of deal we could work out if, uh, well, if he pleads now.”

Caproni found the file and took out the police report and a printout of Rasmussen’s criminal record.

“His rap sheet shows that he’s clean except for a speeding ticket a few years ago. Let’s see. The report says that he failed to signal when he made a right turn. Officer followed. Weaving. Pulled him over.”

Caproni skipped around, mumbling now and then.

“He was polite. No accident. Listen, he sounds okay. What does he do?”

“He’s a college student. Just out of the army.”

“Tell ya what. I’ll let him plead to “Reckless Driving.” Mercante will be easy on him and he’ll probably just get a fine.”

“Your Honor, I have talked with Mr. Caproni. He has agreed to substitute a charge of “Reckless Driving” for the drunk driving charge against Mr. Rasmussen. I have talked with my client and he has agreed to plead to the reduced charge.”

“Is that your wish, Mr. Rasmussen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that agreeable to the District Attorney’s Office, Mr. Caproni?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Rasmussen, are you aware that I could sentence you to six months in jail or fine you $500 or both if you plead guilty to this charge?”

“My lawyer explained that.”

“And you still wish to enter a plea of guilty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Your plea will be accepted. Mr. Caproni, what are the facts of this case?”

Caproni handed the judge the police report. When he had finished reading it, he asked Mark if there was anything he wished to say on behalf of his client.

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Rasmussen is a college student. He just got out of the army and is married and has a child. This is his first scrape with the law except for a speeding ticket in 1962. I think probation would be appropriate here. If the court is considering a fine, I hope you will take into account the fact that I am court-appointed and Mr. Rasmussen and his family are living off what his wife makes as a secretary.”

“Thank you, counsel. Do you have anything to suggest with regard to sentencing, Mr. Caproni?”

“Your Honor, I agree with Mr. Shaeffer. Probation sounds appropriate in this case.”

“Thank you. You know, Mr. Rasmussen, you are going to get off easy this time, because your record is excellent. Your insurance would have gone sky high and you would have lost your license for a month if you had been convicted of “Driving Under the Influence.” Your lawyer did an excellent job getting this charge reduced. Next time you may not be lucky enough to have Mr. Shaeffer representing you.

“Even more important. Next time you might kill somebody. Think about that the next time you have too much to drink and decide to drive.

“I am going to sentence you to thirty days in jail and give you credit for time served. I am going to suspend the imposition of that sentence and put you on probation for one year. If you are arrested for drunk driving again, you will have to serve your time. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There will be no fine.”

Shaeffer thanked the judge and walked Rasmussen back to jail.

“I want to thank you,” Rasmussen said.

“I’m glad I could help.”

“I mean it. I would have just pleaded to the other charge and lost my license. I didn’t realize that I could get a reduced charge.”

Mark smiled.

“That’s why they appoint a lawyer for you.”

“Say, do you have a business card? If I ever get in trouble again, you’re the guy I’ll call.”

Mark laughed and gave him several of his cards. They talked for a few minutes and Mark returned to his office.

Eddie Toller stood outside his office door and looked over the early customers who were starting to fill up the dark red interior of the Satin Slipper Lounge. Eddie was thirty-nine years old and five feet nine-and-a-half inches tall. He was skinny and, at one hundred and forty pounds, he was considerably under what he had once read was the proper weight for someone his size. Eddie stayed thin by not eating. He just did not have an appetite and, besides, he had an allergy to dairy products.

The early crowd was mostly businessmen stopping for a quick one before heading home to the suburbs. The people who came later in the evening were a different type. More working people and singles. Eddie smiled. He had a nice smile that went well with his features, which were often described as “kindly.” The first time Joyce saw his sad eyes and the droopy salt and pepper mustache that he had cultivated in prison she thought immediately of Shep, a terrier that had lived its life with her family. In his later years, the dog lost his spark and loafed around the house all day, relaxed and content. Eddie looked like someone who had passed by youth and its illusions. He was tired and not inclined to race.

Eddie wandered over to the bar and said hello to the bartender, Sammy White. Sammy was an ex-boxer who had worked for Carl for years. He was friendly and he had given Eddie a few worthwhile tips when Eddie started as assistant manager a few weeks before.

Eddie looked at his watch and glanced toward the door. Joyce should be arriving any minute. He couldn’t wait to see her. During the last few years he had been in and out of jail a lot. Never anything real serious. Mostly burglaries and one auto theft. Anyhow, he had spent a lot of time in the joint and the one thing he never got used to was that there weren’t any women.

Eddie was a guy who needed women. Wait, that was not right. Eddie was no ladies man or womanizer. What Eddie needed was one woman. Someone to take care of him and tell him what to do. Not that he admitted this to himself, but it was a fact, borne out by thirty-nine years of history, that Eddie could not take care of himself.

When Eddie was young, his mother had looked after him so much that he never learned how to do it himself. Then the army had looked after him. It was after the army that Eddie started trying to think for himself. That, by coincidence, was when he started getting in trouble.

Joyce walked in and Eddie waved at her. Eddie met Joyce his second day as assistant manager. She was a cocktail waitress in the bar. She wasn’t exactly a beauty, but she wasn’t a dog either. Eddie liked her figure right off. He didn’t go for those busty girls that were always throwing their tits around. He liked them skinny, but with long legs. That was Joyce. He didn’t mind that she was taller than he was. He liked looking up at her blue eyes and touching her long blond hair.

Eddie was sure that he was falling in love with Joyce. He had never had anyone who cared about him the way Joyce did. Oh, he’d had girlfriends, but they were temporary things. With Joyce he found himself thinking about something permanent. And why not? He wasn’t getting any younger and things were starting to go right for him, for once. Here he was only a month and a half out of the joint and he had a steady job. His first since he could not remember when. And a girl, too.

“You’re late,” Eddie kidded, looking at his watch.

“Whatta ya gonna do, Eddie, fire me?” Joyce asked.

“I just might,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

“You ain’t got the heart, you big lunk. I got your number.”

He looked at her real serious and said, “You do and you know it.”

She blushed and he did too. Then she looked troubled and unsure.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Eddie, let’s go to the office and talk.”

“Sure,” he said, uncertain, because of her sudden change of mood. They walked over to the office. The main office belonged to Carl, who owned the Satin Slipper and managed it. Eddie had a small office down the hall. It was the first office he had ever had, except for a desk he had had in the army when he was a supply sergeant. The office was not much. An old wooden desk, a filing cabinet and some hard wooden chairs. But he was proud of it.

“Eddie, I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

Oh, Jesus, was his first thought, she wants to stop seeing me.

“I like you a lot, Eddie. And I know you like me. Don’t you?”

“Well…Yes. I…I like you.”

He stuttered and looked down at the desk. She touched his cheek.

“Eddie, I want you to quit working for Carl.”

Eddie looked up, shocked.

“Quit? Are you nuts?”

“Eddie, I’m worried. Carl is taking advantage of you and you are going to get in a lot of trouble.”

“Carl! Taking advantage! Honey, Carl gave me this job. I owe him. What other guy is gonna take a chance on a guy with my record. Besides, I ain’t done anything I could get in trouble for.”

“You know that’s not true. There’s a lot of dirty money that comes through this bar. There’s numbers and don’t think I don’t know about the drugs.”

Eddie sat up at the mention of drugs.

“Honest, Joyce, I ain’t foolin’ around with drugs. I’m through with that stuff.”

“I didn’t say you were using drugs, Eddie,” Joyce said, laying her hand gently on his forearm. “I’m close enough to you to know that.”

She said the last in a low voice and they both felt suddenly shy and very close.

“It’s just that there is selling going on here all the time and someday Carl is going to get busted and they’ll take you along with him, because you got a record.”

Eddie knew that he was in love with her then. He held her hand hard.

“Look, Joyce, you have to have faith in me. I just know I’m gonna stay clean this time. I’ve been feelin’ it ever since I got paroled. I can handle anything that comes up here and now that I met you-well, that’s the biggest reason why I ain’t goin’ back to the joint.”

Joyce could not think of anything to say. They just looked at each other. Then they were holding each other and kissing. Eddie realized that Joyce was crying.

“Hey,” he said, wiping away the tears.

Joyce sniffed and blew her nose. She looked at her watch.

“I gotta change. My shift starts in ten minutes.”

“That’s okay. Take an extra five.”

“I can’t, Eddie. Carl will get mad and I’ll get in trouble.”

Eddie laughed and puffed out his chest.

“You take that five. Carl is out of town for a few days and I’m the boss.”

The waiting room at the State Penitentiary was tiled in green and lined with cheap, leather-covered couches that were made in the prison as part of its rehabilitation program. Bobby did not know it, but he was sitting on the handiwork of a timid bookkeeper who had solved his marital problems by roasting his wife and her lover alive.

Two guards stood behind a circular counter in the center of the room, answering inquiries. Bobby glanced at the clock on the far wall. The visiting hour would start in two minutes. He wriggled nervously in his seat and looked at an attractive Negro woman who was talking quietly to a small boy, explaining that he would have to stay with grandma while she saw daddy, because little boys were not allowed inside the prison.

One of the guards left the counter and moved to the side of a doorway that led down a ramp to the prison area. A line formed and the guard searched purses and made everyone empty their pockets.

There was a gate with bars at the end of the ramp. The guard signaled to another guard who sat at a desk in a celllike room and the gate rolled aside with a metallic groan. The visitors walked down another hallway and were shown into a large visiting room. There were more prison-made sofas and several chairs. They were set up facing each other across wooden coffee tables. Automatic soft drink, coffee and candy vending machines stood watch from a corner of the room. The color scheme was the same antiseptic green that was used where cream was not throughout the prison.

Bobby found a pair of chairs in a corner and watched the doorway nervously. A prisoner stood at the entrance and looked around. It took Bobby a few seconds before he realized that the prisoner was his brother. He had put on weight and he seemed thicker, especially in the face. He wondered how he looked to his brother.

Billy spotted him and waved. When he strode across the visiting room, it was with a swagger. His handshake was firm and he showed no embarrassment at the prison clothes he was wearing.

“You’re still as ugly as ever,” he said, a grin spreading across his still handsome features.

“I should be. I look like you,” Bobby said, but the levity in his answer was forced and Billy sensed it.

“Momma didn’t tell you, huh?”

“She wasn’t much of a correspondent.”

“Well, it wasn’t her fault. I told her not to. I figured you’d have enough to worry about in Nam and I didn’t want you worrying about something you couldn’t do anything about.”

“What, uh, what happened? I mean, I only got hazy details from Mom.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders.

“Things just didn’t work out. I had a job that paid peanuts and no prospects. Johnny Laturno said, ‘Let’s hit a liquor store’ and I went along. The clerk was an old guy. We didn’t think he’d give us any trouble, but he decided to play hero and I hurt him pretty bad.”

“What did you do?” Bobby asked. The question was almost rhetorical. He had been with Billy during enough rumbles to know what had happened.

“I stabbed him.” He shrugged. “It was his fault. I told him to be cool and nothing would happen. He just didn’t look like much so we forgot about him for a minute. Next thing, he tries to hit Johnny with a bottle. What else could I do?”

“Yeah, well…”

“Look, I don’t want you worrying about me. It ain’t so bad here. I’ll be out in a few years. And I got enough friends in here so I’m not messed with. But look. Tell me about you. Mom said something about college. What’s that all about?”

“I’m starting next week. It’s something I thought about toward the end of my hitch. I never really gave school a chance and I want to better myself. I don’t want to pump gas my whole life. When I was in the army, I started thinking about things. Not anything in particular. Just a lot of things. I realized that there was so much I didn’t know, so I decided to give college a try.”

Billy slapped Bobby on the back and grinned again.

“I’m proud of you. Really. You always had the brains in the family. I know you’ll do great. Hey, maybe you’ll be a lawyer and you can get me outta this dump.”

They laughed and Bobby could feel himself relaxing. It was the same old Billy after all.

“What are you gonna study?”

“I don’t know. I’ll just take general studies until I figure it out.”

“I hear business is good. That’s where the money is.”

“Yeah, well I’ll see.”

They sat back again and Bobby tried to think of something to say. Billy looked around. The other people in the room were huddled together, talking in low tones. Trying to preserve their rationed moments of intimacy.

“Say, do you want a Coke or something?” Billy asked. “I can get it from the machines.”

“No thanks. I ate before I drove down.”

“Yeah. Uh, well, how was the ride?”

“Okay. Boring. It’s just the Interstate.”

They looked at each other again. There did not seem to be anything left to talk about.

“How was the army?”

“Not good. I’m glad it’s over.”

“You see much action?”

“A little. I really don’t like to talk about it. Do you ever hear from any of the guys?” Bobby asked to change the subject.

“A few visited me when I first was sent down, but I haven’t seen any of them in a while. Most of the guys wandered off after high school.”

Bobby glanced at his watch and Billy saw him.

“Say, if I’m keeping you, let me know.”

“No, it isn’t that,” Bobby said guiltily. “I have to be back, that’s all. I promised to help Mom around the house and I wanted to buy some stuff for my apartment.”

“You’re not staying at the house?”

“After the army, I wanted some privacy.”

Billy smiled and motioned around with his hand.

“I can understand that.”

Bobby stood up.

“Look, I’ll be down to see you again next week. I’ll bring Mom.”

Billy stood up too. They shook hands.

“That’d be great. So…Take it easy. And let me know how you do in school, huh?”

“Sure. I’ll let you know. Take care.”

The hour was up, anyway, but he felt guilty when he left. Scared, too. It was a cliché, but it could have been him. He knew it. So did Billy, and Bobby wondered if his brother resented his freedom and his new life.

The walk from the visitor’s area to the parking lot was tree-lined. The autumn winds were working changes on the yellow-brown leaves. It was beautiful enough to depress Bobby.

“Esther, I brought someone to talk to you.”

Esther looked over Dr. Tucker’s shoulder at the tall man who was standing by the door to her hospital room. Something about him frightened her. Why should she be afraid of him? She was too tired to think about it, so she lowered her head on the pillow.

“Esther, do you remember me?” the tall man asked.

She must have shut her eyes, because the tall man was towering over her bed instead of standing by the door. She could not remember him moving.

“She is still a bit sedated,” Dr. Tucker said. His voice was a faint echo.

“My name is Roy Shindler. I talked to you a few years ago when I was investigating the deaths of Richie Walters and Elaine Murray. Do you remember that?”

She was remembering now. Very slowly. He was older and his hair had thinned, but it was that detective. The one who…And suddenly she was afraid.

“I remember you,” she said in a small voice.

Dr. Tucker saw the fear on his patient’s face and looked quizzically at Shindler. Shindler ignored him.

“There isn’t any reason to worry, Esther. I know that I upset you the last time we talked, but it was unintentional. I really mean that.”

“What do you want?” Esther asked warily. She was holding tight to the sheet that was drawn up around her neck and memories, mirrored in her wide eyes, were pressing her deep into the bed, like an animal seeking protection in the shelter of its cave.

There it was again, thought Shindler. He did not think of her as human. He remembered his impressions of her on the two prior occasions they had met. It was always the feeling of the hunter when he traps his quarry. To him, she would always be an animal.

“When Dr. Tucker saw you yesterday, you had a little talk with him. Do you remember what you talked about?”

She looked at Dr. Tucker, then back to Shindler. She seemed confused.

“I don’t remember talking to Dr. Tucker yesterday.”

Shindler looked at Dr. Tucker.

“It’s possible,” Dr. Tucker said. “She’s had a very traumatic experience. The effects of the medication may have contributed.”

“Esther, yesterday, you told Dr. Tucker you saw someone hit someone until they killed him. Do you remember that?”

She opened her mouth and her eyes widened again.

“I saw…Oh, no. I never…”

“You did say that, Esther. I was there.”

She looked pleadingly at Dr. Tucker.

“Please. I couldn’t have said that. I never saw anyone killed. I told you that. You know I didn’t have anything to do with Richie’s death.”

“No one says you did, Esther. But, if you did see this terrible thing happen, it might have frightened you so much that you don’t remember.”

“No. I never saw it. Please, Dr. Tucker.”

She was crying and pleading. Dr. Tucker hurried to her bedside.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave now. She’s too upset. Wait for me in the hall, please.”

Shindler closed the door behind him and took a cigarette out of his pocket. The door opened and he turned around.

“Sorry I had to push you out, but she was starting to become hysterical.”

Shindler brushed the comment aside with his free hand.

“It was my fault. I should have realized that she was getting upset.”

They started walking down the corridor toward the doctor’s office.

“This business about not remembering. Do you believe her?”

The doctor looked at Shindler with surprise.

“Oh, yes. Quite possible. Mrs. Pegalosi could be suffering from amnesia. Certain types of people will repress a very threatening experience that they wish not to be identified with or not to have as a part of their life. The conscious mind is not even aware that the material is repressed in some cases. If she witnessed…Well, you know what it would have been like for anyone, let alone a girl as insecure as this one, to see that murder.”

They walked in silence for a few moments. Shindler puffed erratically on his cigarette.

“Damn it, she knows, Doctor. She knows. And I have got to find a way to make her talk.”

“I’m afraid that might be difficult.”

“Why? She remembered yesterday.”

“Yes, under very unusual circumstances. She was exhausted, medicated and she had just tried to commit suicide. In her weakened state, her ability to repress would be weakened. Her subconscious would be less on guard. It’s much like being drunk. Most drunks become garrulous and talk about things they might not under ordinary circumstances.”

“Is there any way to bring her back again? Some medical method?”

Dr. Tucker was silent for a moment.

“Memory is an interesting area that is receiving a great deal of attention. We really don’t know how it works.

“There are two types of memory: long-term and short-term. Short-term is probably an electrical event within the brain and it may not be long-lasting. It’s the sort of thing that happens when you drive to the beach and pass many things along the way. You see trees and farmhouses and so forth, and you can remember them for a short time, but it’s unlikely that your brain will record these permanently since they don’t have any emotional connotation.

“Long-term memory is probably a basic chemical or anatomical change which may persist as long as the brain cells function, that is for as long as you live. It seems to be more greatly impressed in the mind if it is associated with some emotional stimulus. Long-term memory is stored like books in a library, so, if Esther saw the murder, the memory is probably there. The question is how to get rid of the subconscious guardians that are suppressing the memory.

“I would like to give you the name of a friend of mine who might be able to help you. He is a psychiatrist and an expert in the use of hypnosis. That is a technique that is often used in the treatment of amnesia. Why don’t you get in touch with him and see what he can do for you?”

3

“Franz Anton Mesmer was a Viennese physician who believed that the planets influenced the human body. In 1776, he wrote a paper stating that this action occurred through the instrumentality of a universal fluid in which all bodies were immersed. The fluid, which was invisible, had properties like a magnet and could be withdrawn by the human will from one point and concentrated on another. Mesmer theorized that an inharmonious distribution of these fluids throughout the body produced disease. Health could be attained by establishing harmony of the magnetic fluids. Mesmer believed that a force, which he called ‘animal magnetism,’ emanated from his hands directly into the patient, thereby enabling him to adjust the internal imbalances in the fluids and to eradicate disease in the patient.”

Shindler eased himself quietly into a seat in the last row of the University auditorium and settled back to listen as Dr. Arthur Hollander lectured on “The History of Hypnotism.” Dr. Hollander was a portly white-haired gentleman who reminded Shindler of Santa Claus. His lecture never stayed on the podium. It moved back and forth across the stage punctuated by short jabs of the professor’s pudgy fingers or framed in the grandiose sweep of his ever-moving arms.

“Unfortunately for Mesmer, he effected a startling and rapid cure in a young girl suffering from an imposing array of physical symptoms through the use of magnets the very first time he put his theory into practice. Thus buoyed by success, Mesmer embarked on a career aimed at convincing the medical community of the soundness of his theory.”

Dr. Hollander took a sip of water from a glass that rested on his podium. Shindler scanned the assembly of attentive students and concluded that the professor had them appropriately mesmerized.

“The Vienna medical fraternity viewed Mesmer as a charlatan and he was forced to flee to Paris, where, in 1781, he founded a clinic. Mesmerism became a popular fad among the wealthy. Eventually, Mesmer was discredited by a commission appointed by the French Government and he retired to Switzerland, an embittered man.

“While Mesmer was being sidetracked by his theories, one of his disciples, Marquis de Puysegur, observed that the ‘magnetized’ subject could hear only what the ‘magnetizer’ said and was oblivious to everything else, that he accepted suggestions without question and that he could recall nothing of the events of the trance into which he was put when restored to normal consciousness. De Puysegur called this condition ‘artificial somnambulism’ and explained that a subject in this condition could accomplish incredible feats like reading sealed messages, suffering needles to be jabbed into his skin and permitting, without flinching, the application of a red hot poker to his body.”

The bell rang, ending the period, and several students hurried to the front of the lecture hall to talk with Dr. Hollander. Shindler walked to the front in a leisurely manner and waited until the last of this enthusiastic group had left. Dr. Hollander was gathering up his notes when he noticed Shindler.

“I enjoyed your lecture, Doctor.”

“Thank you. I try to be entertaining and I am always gratified when I succeed. I don’t believe I have seen you before. Are you a student?”

Shindler fumbled for his badge and managed to flip it open.

“I’m with the Portsmouth Police, Dr. Hollander. My name is Roy Shindler.”

Hollander looked intrigued.

“I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,” he said with a puckish smile.

Shindler laughed.

“No, you’re clean as far as I know. Dr. George Tucker gave me your name.”

“George. Certainly. Well, I am mystified. How can I help you?”

“Is there someplace we can talk? This is a bit complicated and it may take a while. It concerns a murder case and we may need your specialized knowledge of hypnosis to help us solve it.”

Hollander looked surprised, flattered and flustered all at once.

“I’ll do what I can, of course. I’ve never worked with the police before and I don’t know what I can do for you, but if you think…Say, I know a quiet pub near here. If that is okay. You fellows can drink on duty, can’t you?”

Shindler smiled.

“You’re a man after my own heart, Doctor.”

“Do you teach at the University full-time, Doctor?” Shindler asked.

“No, no. Just one freshman Psychology course to keep me young. My practice keeps me pretty busy, but I enjoy being around youngsters. And you can call me Art. Doctor is way too formal and makes me feel old enough to counter any good I might have gotten out of tonight’s class.”

Shindler laughed and leaned against the back of the wooden booth. They were seated in the rear of “The Victorian Age,” an imitation English pub that catered to a predominantly college clientele.

“Art, what exactly is hypnosis?”

“Nothing magical,” Hollander said. He smiled faintly as if he had heard and answered the question a thousand times before. “Simply a form of suggestion. We sit here and I suggest another beer. You weigh the suggestion. The beer is good but you are on duty and you have to think clearly. However, if I suggest that everything I am going to suggest is reasonable, then you will stop evaluating and you will depend on me.”

Hollander took a pen out of his pocket and pulled a white napkin in front of him. He placed a dot at the top of the napkin.

“Think of this point as being a state of complete alertness. You are alert now. You can see and hear all the things that are going on in this pub, as well as listen to our conversation and think your own thoughts. But there are other states of awareness that are not total.”

Hollander drew a line from the dot straight down the napkin to the bottom and ended it with another dot.

“You know the expression ‘dead to the world’? A person is so sound asleep that his mind is practically completely at rest. This would be a point represented by the dot at the bottom.

“Okay. Along this line we’re going to get various stages of alertness and somewhere on this line is a state where a person becomes susceptible to suggestion. This might be a point where the person is at thirty minutes after he has gone to bed. His eyes are closed, he’s lost contact with the general sounds around him, but he’s still aware of very important sounds, like a baby crying or, in a doctor’s case, that darn telephone ringing. A person in that state can be alerted rather easily, because in that state he is paying all of his attention to a single thing.”

“If you asked a person in this state a question, would they respond normally?” Shindler asked. “I mean, the way you’re answering my questions?”

“Oh, yes. It depends on the depth of the hypnosis. The lower the state of awareness, the more their attention is focused and the more accurate the response.”

“Doctor…Art. Let’s suppose that a person has seen something so frightening and so upsetting to them that they have repressed the memory of that event. They have amnesia. If you ask them about the event, they deny that they were ever there. If you put that kind of person under hypnosis, could you make them talk about the event, tell what really happened?”

Hollander raised his eyebrows and regarded Shindler with new interest.

“‘Repressed,’ ‘amnesia.’ You and George had a nice talk. He must have told you the answer to your questions already or else you wouldn’t have come to see me.”

Shindler smiled.

“George said he thought you could. What do you say?”

“Possible. Hypnosis is frequently used in amnesia. One of the biggest uses of psychiatry is to recall repressed material of the kind you have just mentioned.”

“What would you do in a case like this?”

“Well, you have not given me much information, but I assume you will when you are ready. In the general situation, I would develop a hypnotic state to relax the individual. When the patient is relaxed, the repressive mechanisms in the mind that watches over the forbidden memories are off guard. The relaxation permits the memories to be brought from the subconscious to the conscious.

“Now, this is not an easy process. Especially when we are dealing with amnesia that is due to a very frightening, very threatening experience. The individual might be afraid that they will go crazy, that they will be punished severely or something like that if it is ever discovered that they have been involved in the event that they are repressing. When they come close to the repressed memory, they fight hard. They do their best to avoid contact with it. They will have bodily reactions we call conversion reactions. They will have headaches, upset stomachs, diarrhea. All sorts of physical reactions as well as just refusing to discuss the matter. It is not easy.”

“Do you want another beer?”

“Certainly. It is always a pleasure to live off the public dole.”

Shindler signaled the waitress and ordered two more beers.

“Can you get through?”

“Not in every case.”

“Would you like to take a shot at a very unusual case?”

Hollander smiled and his eyes twinkled.

“Roy, you know you have me hooked. Tell me what the facts are.”

“Art, this is a case I have been working on for some time. Have you ever heard of the Murray-Walters murders?”

Bobby Coolidge flexed his fingers. He had developed a cramp in his writing hand and, in the few seconds in which his attention had wandered from Professor Schneider’s lecture, he had missed most of what the professor had said about the Budget and Accounting Act of 1950. Not that he cared about the Act personally, but he had made a promise to himself that he would really try this first semester to see if he could make the grade.

When he first decided to go to college, it had been a major decision. No one else in his family had ever done it. College people had always been thought of as an alien species as different from Coolidges as Martians from Earthmen. Now he was one of the Martians and it wasn’t easy.

Bobby was renting a one-bedroom apartment in a crummy area of town. He had saved enough to make it through the first academic year without working. But that meant no frills. His entertainment came from a second-hand portable TV. His meals consisted of several varieties of spaghetti sauce poured over one variety of spaghetti.

And the work was hard. High school had never been this tough. What made it worse was that the other students seemed to understand so much more than he. There had been times when he wanted to quit. Once, he stayed away from school for a week. He was afraid of failure. Afraid that he was out of his depth. Then he had paid another visit to Billy and he had returned to the classroom. On the drive back, he decided that he did have a choice about how his life would end and it was not going to wind up like Billy’s had.

The professor announced the end of the period and Bobby still was missing the notes on the purpose of the Budget Act. The girl in the seat next to him was still writing. She was very attractive. Blond, blue-eyed. A cheerleader type, he had decided, during the first few weeks of class. Obviously well off from the cut and variety of her clothes.

Today, she was dressed in a plaid kilt and a red turtleneck sweater. When she leaned over to write, her long blond hair cascaded over her sloping shoulders so that she had to brush it off her writing tablet.

“Excuse me,” he said. She looked up and smiled. “I missed the last few minutes of the lecture. I wonder if I could copy your notes.”

“Sure,” she said. “Just let me finish them for you.”

“I appreciate it. My hand cramped. I just can’t write as fast as Schneider talks.”

The girl laughed. She had a pleasant laugh that made him think about church bells on clear winter Sundays.

“It isn’t just you. I can never keep up with him.”

Bobby laughed.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one. Where do you think he learned to talk like that? Maybe his father made phonograph records.”

She smiled again and handed him her notes. Not bad, he thought. A laugh and a smile. I’m getting to be a regular comedian.

“What’s this word here?” he asked, pointing to a scrawl stuffed between two other illegible words.

“‘Budget.’”

“Right. My name is Bobby Coolidge. I’ve been sitting across from you all these weeks and I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself.”

“Consider yourself introduced. My name is Sarah Rhodes. Now we’re even.”

The room was emptying, but Sarah did not seem impatient to leave. Bobby wondered if she would have lunch with him if he asked her. He had not had a real date since he had returned from the army. There had been a few pickups in bars, right after he was discharged, but nothing since his return to Portsmouth. It was partly a lack of money and partly a lack of desire. He was having a difficult time adjusting to civilian life. His values were in a state of flux. His education seemed important, but he had not arrived at a concrete reason why. Emotional attachments seemed frivolous and unsettling. He had decided that women would be a distraction he could not afford, so he had avoided them. Still, lunch would not hurt-if she would go with him.

“Thanks for the loan,” he said, handing her the spiral notebook. He walked with her toward the classroom door. The professor was talking to a skinny boy with tortoiseshell glasses. Everyone else had left.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

He had said it too fast. Blurted it out. Not cool, he thought, uneasily.

“Why?” she asked, hesitantly.

“I thought, if you were, I’d spring you to lunch. I mean, it’s a fair trade. Food for thought.”

She caught the pun and laughed. He was proud of himself for thinking it up. It was almost intellectual.

“Sure. But we’ll go Dutch. My notes aren’t worth that much.”

The school cafeteria was jammed and they settled for a small table in a corner. Bobby emptied his tray and carried his and hers to an aluminum rack that stood against a wall covered with posters and advertisements about campus affairs. When he returned, Sarah finished taking his sandwich out of its cellophane wrapper and handed it to him.

“Thanks. This place is mobbed. It reminds me of mess hall at boot camp.”

Sarah looked interested.

“You were in the army?”

“Just got out,” he answered between bites.

“Were you…?”

“In Nam?” he finished for her. “Yes.”

“You didn’t like it there, did you?” she asked, after looking at the expression on his face.

“It wasn’t a pleasant experience. I went. I came back. There’s not much in between that I like to talk about.”

“Sorry,” she said and he realized that he had been too sharp in his reply.

“You shouldn’t be. I’m the one who should apologize. You had no way of knowing.”

“I only asked because it’s in the news so much and you’re the first person I ever met who has been there.”

“Where have you been? I mean, where are you from?” he asked, changing the subject, artfully, he hoped.

“Toronto.”

“You’re not American?”

“No,” she laughed. “And don’t look so shocked. We Canadians don’t have horns.”

He blushed.

“I didn’t mean…”

“That’s okay. Now we’re even.”

They smiled at each other and Bobby put down his sandwich and offered his hand. She took it and they shook. He held it a second longer than was necessary, but she did not seem to mind. When he had brought up their trays, there had been a notice that the Student Union was showing Gone with the Wind the next evening. One dollar per student. Bobby mentally checked his savings. He could swing two dollars and a couple of bucks for beer.

“Do you like old movies?” he asked.

“Yes. What made you ask?” she said. Her eyes flirted with him, playfully teasing him.

“I noticed…They’re showing Gone with the Wind tomorrow. I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s good. If you wanted to go…?”

“I have seen it.”

“Oh.”

“But I’d love to go again.”

He brightened up and she smiled again. They had both been smiling a lot, he thought. He glanced at the cafeteria clock and gathered his books.

“I have to run. I have math in five minutes and I can’t afford to miss a class. Tell me where you live and I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

She gave him an address in the hills. He knew the area. It was expensive. He felt nervous again.

“See you tomorrow,” he said as he stood to go.

“Tomorrow.”

The detective was here again. Only this time she wasn’t as frightened. Yesterday he had sent flowers. She wondered why the doctors would not release her. She did not know that it was Shindler’s doing.

“How are you this morning, Esther? I thought I would bring these.”

More flowers. A bouquet of roses. Only John and that boy who had taken her to the prom had ever given her flowers. They looked very pretty.

“Thank you. You can put them in the vase on the dresser.”

He looked strange carrying the bouquet. He was tall and gangly and his suit didn’t fit well. The bouquet was lost in his large hand.

“I sent the flowers as a delayed apology for the way I treated you that time at the station house. I felt awfully bad about that.”

She did not know whether to believe him. There was something about Shindler that she did not like. Still, the flowers were pretty and he was acting like a gentleman. Maybe she had been wrong about him.

“That’s okay. I…I’d almost forgot about it.”

“Can I sit down?”

She looked at him for a moment, until it struck her that he was asking her for permission. She wasn’t used to that.

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine now. Except the doctor won’t tell me where my boy is.”

“Your son is fine, Esther. I checked this morning. Welfare put him with foster parents.”

He saw the look of alarm on her face.

“Don’t worry. It’s only temporary. I’m looking into it for you, Esther. No one is going to take your baby. You believe me, don’t you?”

She eyed him warily. There was a trap here somewhere. She was afraid again.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“The doctor said I shouldn’t.”

Shindler winked and held one out to her.

“I’ll cover for you.”

She was going to take it, but she hesitated and drew her hand back.

“No thank you. I’d rather not.”

“Do you mind if I…?”

“It’s okay.”

Shindler lit up.

“You seem to be coming around fine,” Shindler said.

“I guess.”

“I’m glad we didn’t lose you. You’re an important person, Esther.”

There it was again. Warning signals. There was something about his manner, his questions, that frightened her. She wasn’t important to anyone. She never had been.

“Esther, I am here to ask you a favor. Do you think that you would do me a favor?”

“What favor?”

“I know you don’t like to discuss it, but I want to talk to you about Richie Walters and Elaine Murray.”

She could feel her heart accelerate suddenly. She knew there was something! Why wouldn’t he let her be?

“I told you, Mr. Shindler, I really don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“How would you like to clear up everything, once and for all?”

“I would. Honest, Mr. Shindler. You ain’t trying to be mean. I know that. But it upsets me a lot when you talk about that.”

“Okay. I know you get upset. But think of it this way, Esther. Say you were there.” She started to protest and he raised his hand. “I’m not saying that you were. This is something I’m supposing. You know that Richie and Elaine’s murders were the biggest murders we’ve had in Portsmouth, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” she answered grudgingly.

“Okay. Now anyone who helped us solve those murders would be a pretty important person. She would be famous and everyone would be grateful to her, because of the help she had been to the community. So you can see why I think you are so important.”

“But, Mr…”

“Now hear me out, okay?”

Esther gave up and sank back on her pillow.

“Sometimes a person will see something that is so horrible that their own mind won’t let them remember it. Have you ever heard of amnesia?”

“Yeah. But I thought you only got that if someone hit you on the head.”

Shindler smiled.

“That is one way. But the mind is an unusual machine, Esther. It protects its owner. And it can make a person forget unpleasant things. I think that you saw Richie murdered. I don’t think you took any part in the killing. I’m a good judge of character. You get to be that way when you have been a policeman for as long as I have. I think you are too nice a girl to have been knowingly involved in a murder. But let’s just say that you and the Coolidge brothers did get drunk after that party. Do you remember telling me that you thought that you went cruising downtown?”

She nodded.

“Well, let’s suppose that after you went cruising, the Coolidges got into a drag race with Richie and Richie forced them off the road. And let’s suppose that they got mad at Richie and followed him up to Lookout Park and there was a fight and you saw them kill Richie. Now you are a nice girl. You would never do anything like that. That would have been so horrible to a nice person like you that your mind might blank out that part of the evening.”

“But, Mr. Shindler, it wasn’t like that at all.”

“How do you know, Esther? You told me that you were so drunk that you could not remember what happened that evening.”

“Well, I was. But I would remember something like…It just didn’t happen that way.”

She was starting to get upset and Shindler waited for her to calm down.

“Esther, remember I said that we could clear this up once and for all?”

“Yes. I would like that, Mr. Shindler.”

“There is a doctor I know. Dr. Hollander. He is a psychiatrist and he is an expert in hypnotizing people.”

Esther ran her tongue over her lips. Her anguish was evident. Her slender fingers worked the edge of the sheet anxiously.

“Dr. Hollander could hypnotize you. When you are hypnotized, your mind can’t keep your bad memories hidden as easily. Dr. Hollander will be able to tell if I am wrong.”

“I…I don’t know if I want to do that. Why should I see a psychiatrist? I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were crazy, Esther. It just so happens that the best expert I know in hypnosis is also a psychiatrist. No one thinks you’re crazy.

“And once you get this business cleared up, you will feel better. If I’m wrong, then that will be the end of it. And if I’m right-why you will become a very famous and important person. Everyone in Portsmouth will be grateful to you for clearing up this horrible crime.

“And it will certainly help when I go to welfare to get your son back, if I can tell them how helpful you are being in clearing up this very serious case.”

“You think this would help with the welfare, if I saw the doctor?”

“I’m positive.”

“And you think it’s important?”

“This is very important, Esther. There are a lot of people who will be very grateful to you.”

“Uh, this wouldn’t be in the papers, would it?”

Shindler sensed a note of interest.

“If the doctor finds out that you did see the murders, you would be our star witness.”

Shindler waited while she mulled it over. She took a while before she spoke. When she did speak, her voice betrayed great nervousness and apprehension. But there was something else hidden below the surface. A sense of excitement.

“I want to think, Mr. Shindler. I can’t say now. But maybe I will-if it’s so important.”

4

“Dr. Hollander, this is Esther Pegalosi.”

The doctor was standing in front of an antique rolltop desk when Esther and Roy Shindler entered his office.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Pegalosi,” the doctor said, flashing her his best Kris Kringle smile. “Roy has told me quite a bit about you.”

Esther looked up nervously at Shindler. The doctor noticed and added, with a laugh, “Oh, it’s all been good. He is quite thrilled that you have consented to help him on this case and I think that you will find all of this quite exciting.

“Now, may I ask you a personal question?” Hollander asked in a serious tone.

“What is it?” Esther asked warily.

Hollander broke into a grin.

“May I call you Esther? I hate calling people by their last names. It’s so stuffy.”

Esther smiled with relief. She had expected some inquiry into her sex life or early childhood or whatever it was that psychiatrists asked you about. She was surprised at how down-to-earth Dr. Hollander was. He wasn’t at all what she had expected.

“Sure. Esther is fine.” She lowered her eyes. “No one calls me Mrs. Pegalosi anyway.”

“Good. Then Esther it is. Would you like to sit down?” Hollander asked, leading Esther to a comfortable, soft-colored sofa that sat against one oak-paneled wall under the shadow of a multicolored abstract painting.

Esther accepted the doctor’s offer as if it had been an order. He watched her move mechanically to the sofa and sit, hands folded, like a wind-up toy. Shindler sat out of sight in a straight-back chair set in a corner of the room.

“That’s a nice dress you have on. Is it new?”

Esther brightened at the mention of her outfit. It was a green skirt with a matching green jacket and a white blouse. Shindler had taken her shopping when she agreed to visit Dr. Hollander and she had picked it out herself. It was the first new outfit she had purchased in years.

“Tell me, Esther, I bet you’re nervous. Am I right?”

Esther blushed and looked at the floor.

“I’m a little nervous, I guess.”

“Good!” Dr. Hollander said with a hearty laugh that startled her. “Everyone who visits me is nervous the first time. So that shows that you’re normal. Now why don’t you tell me why you’re nervous.”

Esther worried her lower lip and shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Hollander smiled a warm, fatherly smile. She was beginning to like this nice man.

“Are you worried about being hypnotized?”

She did not answer immediately. Hollander waited patiently.

“A little, I guess,” she finally answered.

“Okay. That’s good. I’m glad you’re open and honest with me, because I will always be open and honest with you. Now, I want you to promise me something. Will you do that?”

“What?”

“Will you promise me that anytime you have a question, no matter how silly you think it might be, you will ask me that question? I mean it. I want you to know everything that is going on. We will have no secrets from one another. Is that all right with you?”

“I guess.”

“Good. Now tell me, have you ever been hypnotized before?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen anyone hypnotized on TV or in the movies or in person?”

“Once on TV and in a movie.”

“Okay. Now I want to tell you that what you see in the movies or TV is not the way hypnosis is at all. It is a form of relaxation during which it is possible to follow suggestions more easily. There is nothing mysterious about it. It is a scientific phenomenon and perfectly natural.

“On TV you see evil hypnotists make slaves of people, rob them of their will and make them do all sorts of horrible things. Do you think I am evil, Esther?”

Esther giggled.

“No.”

“Good. Well, I can assure you I am not. And all those silly stories you see in the movies are fantastic rubbish. Hypnosis is not possible unless a person willingly participates in it. You can’t make a hypnotized person do anything he doesn’t want to, because he can refuse to do anything that is distasteful to him. Hypnosis is a way of helping people, not hurting them. It is like medicine.”

“What…what if I can’t be hypnotized?”

“Don’t worry about that. Everyone can be hypnotized if they relax and don’t resist. Just make your mind passive and unresisting and don’t try too hard and I’ll do the rest.”

Hollander suddenly became serious.

“Esther, you know that we’re here primarily to find out what you know about a certain event. Well, that is one thing, but hypnosis has more value than just finding out about something you may have forgotten. Hypnosis is a way of helping you to master yourself and your problems.

“You were recently in the hospital, because of personal problems, weren’t you?”

Esther lowered her head and nodded.

“Well, Esther, I will be serious here for a moment. We all want to find out what you know about Richie Walters’s murder, but I am also interested in you as a person.

“Roy tells me that you have raised a fine young son, all by yourself. That says something about your character. I can see that you have the potential to be a strong, confident woman. Hypnosis can help you to realize that potential. Through hypnosis, I can help you to be the person I know you can be. So, you see, you will help us and we will help you. Is that fair?”

“Yes,” Esther answered in a low voice. She was overwhelmed. No one had ever taken this much interest in her before.

“Well, now. We are getting way too serious. Let’s move to that comfortable chair near my desk and we’ll begin.”

Hollander led Esther to a large armchair. When she was seated, he placed a pillow under her head and drew a seat up in front of her.

“Are you comfortable? Good. Now I want you to relax and keep both feet resting on the floor. I am going to tell you exactly what is going to happen to you as we go along, so that there will be no surprises,” he said in a soothing, steady tone. “You will notice, as we proceed, that you will relax. You will probably begin to feel drowsy. It won’t be necessary for you to try too hard. All you have to do is make your mind passive and relax. Then you will become aware that certain things are happening to you as you relax. I want you to concentrate on these things. I will bring them to your attention.

“While we are doing this, you must remember that hypnosis is a normal experience. Each night, before dozing off, you go through a state that resembles hypnosis. I don’t want you to go to sleep, because I want you to be aware of what I say and aware of what your thoughts are. But, if you do find yourself falling asleep, don’t worry. I want you to be comfortable and I will awaken you. I want this to be a relaxing and pleasant experience. I won’t ask you any questions that will embarrass you. Make your mind passive and do not analyze your thoughts and sensations. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now lean back. Are you completely comfortable and relaxed?”

“Yes.”

Hollander reached over and switched on a tape recorder that sat on a table near Esther’s head. Shindler shifted quietly in his seat.

TAPE # 1

DR. ARTHUR HOLLANDER: Okay, Esther. Why don’t you place both of your hands palm down on your thighs. No, don’t close your eyes. Keep watching your hands. If you concentrate on your hands, you will notice that you can observe them very closely.

When you sit and relax, you begin to notice things that you have never noticed before. They have always happened when you relax, but you have never been aware of them. I am going to point them out to you.

Esther, I want you to concentrate on all the sensations and feelings in your hands, no matter what they may be. Perhaps you may feel the heaviness of your hand as it lies on your thigh, or you may feel pressure. Perhaps you will feel the texture of your new skirt as it presses against the palm of your hand or the warmth of your hand on your thigh. Perhaps you may feel a tingling. No matter what the sensations are, I want you to observe them.

(PAUSE)

DR. HOLLANDER: Good, Esther. Keep watching your hand. See how quiet it is. How it remains in one position. There is motion there, but it is not yet noticeable. I want you to keep watching your hand. Your attention may wander from the hand, but it will always return to the hand, and you will keep wondering when the motion that is there will show itself.

It will be interesting to see which of your fingers will move first. It may be the ring finger or the thumb. One of the fingers is going to jerk or move. You don’t know when or on which hand. Keep watching and you will begin to notice a slight movement, possibly in the right hand. There, the thumb is jerking. It’s moving, just like that.

As the movement begins, you will notice an interesting thing. Very slowly, the spaces between the fingers will widen. The fingers will move apart and you will notice that the spaces between the fingers will get wider and wider. They will move slowly apart. The fingers will seem to be spreading wider and wider and wider. See how they spread. Slowly moving wider and wider apart.

Good, Esther. You are doing fine. The fingers are so wide apart. And soon you will notice that the fingers will want to arch up from the thigh, as if they want to lift higher and higher. Notice how your index finger is lifting. As it does, the other fingers will want to follow upward-slowly rising, up, up.

See how the other fingers are rising now. As they lift, you will become aware of a feeling of lightness, so much so that the fingers will arch up and the whole hand will slowly lift and rise as if it feels like a feather, as if a balloon is lifting it up in the air, lifting, lifting-up, up, up-pulling it higher and higher and higher. The hand is so light, so very light. As you watch your hand rise, you will notice that the arm comes up, up, up in the air, a little higher and higher and higher.

Keep watching the hand and arm as it rises straight up and you will soon become aware of how drowsy and tired your eyes become. As your arm continues to rise, you will get tired and relaxed and sleepy, very sleepy. Your eyes will get heavy and your lids may want to close. And as your arm rises higher and higher, you will want to feel more relaxed and sleepy, and you will want to enjoy the peaceful, relaxed feeling of letting your eyes close and of being asleep.

Your arm is stretched out directly in front of you now. You cannot take your eyes off your hand, yet your lids are getting heavy, very heavy, and your breathing is getting slow and regular. Breathe deeply, in and out.

As you keep watching your hand and arm and keep feeling more and more drowsy and relaxed, you will notice that the direction of the hand will change. The arm will bend and the hand will move closer and closer to your face-up, up, up-and as it rises you will slowly but steadily go into a deep, deep sleep in which you will relax deeply and to your satisfaction. The arm will continue to rise up, up-lifting, lifting up, until it touches your face and you will get sleepier and sleepier, but you must not go to sleep until your hand touches your face. When the hand touches your face, you will be asleep, deeply asleep.

Your hand is now changing direction. It is moving up toward your face very slowly. Your eyelids are getting heavy. You are getting sleepier and sleepier and sleepier. Your eyelids are blinking faster and faster, because you are trying to fight sleep. Do not fight sleep. Welcome sleep. Let your eyes get heavy, very heavy and let the hand move up toward your face. You get very tired and drowsy. Your eyes are closing. When your hand touches your face, you will be asleep, deeply asleep. You are drowsy. Your eyes are like lead. Your hand moves to your face. It is almost touching. It is touching and your eyes close-now.

Good, Esther. Go to sleep, just sleep. And as you sleep you feel tired and relaxed. I want you to concentrate on relaxation, a state of tensionless relaxation. Think of nothing else, but sleep, deep sleep.

(PAUSE)

DR. HOLLANDER: Now, Esther, remember I told you that I was interested in you? That I saw great potential in you?

ESTHER PEGALOSI: Yes.

Q: Well, I said that because I have confidence in you and I feel that you can be the strong, confident person you want to be. That you can be anything you want to be. I am going to begin now to teach you how to be that strong, confident person. Would that be something you want to be?

A: Yes.

Q: Fine. You can put your hand down now. Just relax. You can open your eyes if you want to. Look around and reassure yourself of your surroundings and then let your eyes close again. That’s it. That’s fine.

Esther, I am going to touch your wrist now. I want you to pay attention to the feelings in your wrist. Feel completely the touch of my fingers on your wrist and when you feel that you have that feeling firmly in mind so that you can remember it easily, you can indicate that by saying “yes” without disturbing the trance at all.

(PAUSE)

PEGALOSI: Yes.

HOLLANDER: Good. Fine. Now, Esther, if it is all right with you, any time in the future that I take your wrist in this way and the situation is appropriate, you can remember the way you feel now. You can go into a deep hypnotic trance, a trance deep enough to achieve whatever goal is in your mind, whether the goal is remembering a pleasant incident in the past or a goal of ignoring discomfort or the goal of feeling like the strong, confident person that you know you can be. And if your subconscious mind is willing to respond in this way, it will cause the first finger of the right hand to move up into the air, and we can wonder will that finger move, will the unconscious cause it to move. You can think about that finger and it is-it’s moving up into the air and it continues to move up into the air, all by itself. Yes. Good. Good! That’s it, Esther, just relax. Now at anytime in the future that I take your wrist in this way, you can respond fully, you can respond confidently, knowing that when you awaken from such an experience, you will be more capable of being the kind of person you really want to be; the kind of person you have always known you could be. With increasing anticipation, Esther, you will awaken each morning looking forward to behaving, being and looking more like the kind of person you have always known you could be.

Now, I am going to ask you to awaken in a moment bound by each of these three suggestions: the suggestion of responding rapidly to your signal, the sensation of my fingers on your wrist; the suggestion of responding with a deep enough trance to achieve the goal that you have in mind; and the suggestion that you respond confident of being a better person in every way, a little better each day. Not dramatically, but just a little better each day. More like the kind of person you really want to be. Anytime in the future that I take your wrist and the situation is appropriate, you can respond easily, profoundly and rapidly.

In a moment, I am going to count from one to three and I will ask you to awaken feeling good, feeling refreshed and feeling tremendously satisfied. As I count from one to three, your unconscious mind can pay attention to that counting and those instructions, so that any time in the future, no matter who introduces the hypnotic experience, whether you bring the experience back by yourself or whether you permit someone else to induce the trance, you will be able to terminate the trance easily and rapidly by simply following the suggestions that I give you now:

One, you think of awakening. Two, you take a very deep breath and feel the energy coming back all through your body. Three, you are awake, wide awake.

(PAUSE)

HOLLANDER: How about that? How do you feel?

PEGALOSI: Fine. It was…I don’t know-funny. I got dizzy watching my finger come up by itself.

(LAUGHTER)

Q: The surprising thing is that it does come up by itself. And you did it. So you see that when you go under, you can achieve anything, virtually anything.

A: I guess.

Q: Even things that you don’t even realize you have the power to achieve. Do you see that?

A: Yes…I guess.

Q: Okay. Do you remember the instructions that I gave you on how to put yourself into a trance?

A: To think about my hand, do you mean?

Q: Not exactly. You missed it a bit. You recall the feeling of my fingers on your wrist?

A: Yes. I remember now.

Q: Would you like to try going under just with that?

A: I…I’ll try.

Q: Good.

A: Can I say…talk about it?

Q: Sure.

A: Well, I’m trying to feel the hand on my wrist, but…

Q: You just think about it, the way it felt, and I’ll help you remember. Just thinking about it is all that is necessary. Imagine that hand and, if you want to, close your eyes so that you can see it more clearly. Does that help you to see it?

A: Yes.

Q: Good. You see the fingers are moving, jerking, and the hand is moving upward. And as it comes toward your face you go deeper and deeper into the trance.

A: And the fingers separate like this?

Q: Yes. You just go right ahead. You’re doing beautifully. You’re doing just what I want you to do. When the hand begins to move toward your face, say “now.”

(PAUSE)

A: Now.

Q: Good. Now I want you to begin recalling a very, very satisfying experience. A very pleasant experience. An experience where you felt strong and good and when all of those who knew you would have been proud and pleased. Can you recall such an episode?

A: Yes.

Q: All right. Would you like to tell me about it?

A: I felt pretty when I got married.

Q: Yes. That is usually a pleasant, satisfying experience.

A: I was so happy.

Q: Good. Tell me how you feel as you recall that experience.

A: Weepy.

Q: Weepy?

A: I cried all through the ceremony. A judge married us. He thought it was sweet that I cried. He said so. How nice it was to see tears of joy. He lent me his handkerchief to dry my eyes.

Q: Is that what you were doing when you wiped your hands over your face just now?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Good. You can enjoy reliving that joyful experience vividly and accurately and perhaps even enjoy things you have forgotten. Yes. There is a smile on your face. What are you remembering?

A: John, my husband. He brought me flowers for the wedding. I only had flowers once before from a boy before that. They were awful pretty.

Q: You are doing just fine, Esther. You are able to control your trance so well. I am proud of you. Do you think you are ready to go a little further?

A: I think so.

Q: Good. Now let’s make use of your own ability again. The more you practice, the better you get. Start thinking about that sensation in your wrist. How it felt when I touched you. And when you have reached the stage where your hand is moving toward your face, and you feel it moving, say “now.”

A: Now.

Q: Good. Now, Esther, there are many pleasant things in one’s life. There are weddings and Christmases. What is the nicest birthday gift that you ever received?

A: My…One of my fathers took me to dinner and the show.

Q: Who was that, Esther?

A: My real father. Mr. Freemont. I was eleven or twelve and we dressed up. He wore a suit and tie and Momma looked so nice. I had a new dress. It was yellow and Daddy said it was for me, because I was special.

Q: Can you see that dress now?

A: Yes.

Q: Can you imagine that you are wearing that dress?

A: Yes.

Q: You have it on right now, don’t you? You can touch it. You feel so good and proud in your new dress. That’s right, stroke it. Feel the material in your hand. You’re smiling. Are you pleased with the dress?

A: Yes. It feels so nice. Thank you, Daddy.

Q: Okay, Esther. Relax. Good. That was fun, wasn’t it? Good. Relax. Now, perhaps, we can remember some other things. Do you remember a party in November, 1960? Can you remember that party?

A: A party?

Q: Yes. In November, 1960.

A: There were a lot of parties I went to.

Q: Do you remember two boys named Coolidge?

(PAUSE)

Q: Esther, do you remember two brothers named Bobby and Billy Coolidge?

A: Yes.

Q: Could you tell me if you were ever at a party with Billy and Bobby.

A: Well, I hung around with their crowd, you know. I probably was at a lot of parties where they were.

Q: Do you remember a girl named Alice Fay?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: What do you remember about Alice?

A: She was pretty. She was the Junior Prom Queen.

Q: You went to a party at Alice’s house in November of 1960, didn’t you?

A: In November?

Q: Yes.

(PAUSE)

Q: Esther, can you remember the party at Alice Fay’s house?

A: I…A little.

Q: Good. Now, would you relax and lean back and close your eyes and just review that evening and that party as much as you can remember. When you do this, I want you to feel confident that you may remember, misremember or forget anything and everything that happens here today as your unconscious needs require and when you awaken you will feel refreshed and you will feel relieved in proportion to any anxiety you may feel during the experience. Review that evening now, and when you have completed reviewing as much as you recall, I want you to say “now.”

(PAUSE)

A: Now.

Q: Good. Now, Esther, I want you to close your eyes and imagine that you are seeing each event that happened on the evening of Alice’s party. Are you doing that?

A: Yes.

Q: Esther, I would enjoy reviewing that evening with you. Would you like to tell me what you are seeing?

A: The house.

Q: Whose house?

A: Alice’s house.

Q: Do you like the house?

A: It’s grand.

Q: What do you like best about the house?

A: They have thick carpets in one room. I walked over there. It was like walking in clouds.

Q: It felt good?

A: The furniture was so pretty.

Q: What is happening in the house? Can you see it?

A: There is music and dancing. Everyone is having fun.

Q: Good. You’re doing fine. Now, when you review the events taking place I want you to feel as clearly as you can the way you felt when the events were happening. How do you feel, Esther?

A: I felt nervous.

Q: Nervous?

A: We shouldn’t be here.

Q: Why shouldn’t you be here?

(PAUSE)

Q: Why shouldn’t you be at Alice’s house?

A: There was something bad…I…Oh, I can’t say. I’m just nervous.

Q: Did Billy and Bobby make you nervous?

A: Umm.

Q: I couldn’t hear you, Esther. You have to talk up.

A: I guess.

Q: What did they do to make you nervous?

A: Pardon?

Q: What did Billy and Bobby do to make you nervous?

A: I…I don’t know. Is it hot in here?

Q: I don’t think so, Esther.

Esther, did Billy and Bobby make you nervous when they fought? Is that why you are nervous.

A: I don’t feel well.

Q: What’s wrong?

A: Nothing.

Q: Okay, then. Just relax. Feel how good it is to be so in control. To feel confident that you can be the woman that you really want to be. Do you feel that confidence?

A: Yes.

Q: Are you relaxed and in control?

A: Yes.

Q: All right, Esther, I want you to think about the party. To review that night, as I know you have the power to do. Can you see the thick carpet and the beautiful furniture?

A: Yes.

Q: Take off your shoes and walk around in the thick carpeting. It feels good, doesn’t it?

A: I didn’t do that.

Q: But you wanted to, didn’t you?

A: Yes.

Q: Can you see the people dancing?

A: Yes.

Q: You see Bobby and Billy, don’t you?

A: By the punch bowl.

Q: Is that where the fight was?

A: The fight?

Q: Do you remember the fight? Billy and Bobby were fighting. Is that what made you nervous?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: You don’t remember the fight?

A: Billy was always fighting.

Q: Did Billy fight in the park?

A: Pardon?

Q: Did Billy fight in the park?

A: The…I didn’t go to the park.

Q: You didn’t lose your glasses in the park?

A: No. Uh-uh.

Q: When did you lose your glasses?

A: A little before.

Q: Before when, Esther?

A: The…you know, the time when Richie was…died.

Q: How did you get along all that time without your glasses?

A: I just needed them to read. I didn’t need them real bad.

Q: Tell us about the fight.

A: The fight?

Q: You said there was a fight.

A: I did?

Q: Where was the fight?

A: My head hurts.

Q: Your head hurts?

A: It’s throbbing and I can’t think.

Q: When, Esther? Back in 1960 or now?

A: My ears hurt, too.

Q: Esther, I want you to relax…

A: I can’t think.

Q: You just can’t think?

A: Uh-uh.

Q: Okay. I want to thank you, Esther, for the help and effort that you have made and I know that you will have a full reward for those efforts. You are learning to be the strong, assured, self-confident person that you want to be and your learning today is in proportion to your cooperation. The more you work with me, the sooner you will become the kind of person you want to be.

In a few moments, I am going to ask you to awaken feeling confident that whenever you wish to develop the hypnotic trance in the privacy of your own home, in the privacy of your bed, or out in the activity of the world, that you can do so easily, rapidly and confidently as I have taught you. Should you wish to enlarge your concentration you can do so by counting from one to three, as I have taught you. By counting to yourself, becoming fully awake, fully alert and more confident, feeling like the kind of person you really want to be. Now, when I say “now,” begin to count, one, two, three. Now.

Shindler waited until the door closed. He had moved as little as possible during the preceding hour, trying to avoid distracting Hollander’s subject, blending into the cool colors of the decor. Now he stretched, not saying anything until the doctor had completed his notes.

“This was fascinating for me,” Hollander said, looking up from a stenographer’s pad he kept on his desk. “Did you notice the headache and earache toward the end?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t want to talk about it, so the body creates pain that makes it impossible for her to think.”

“Then you think she knows something.”

“I am not positive. It was too soon to tell. But my instinct tells me that there is something there. When can you bring her in again?”

“Tomorrow.”

“No. Let’s make it next week. I want her to take some time to think.”

“Would it help if I drove her to the Fay home and the park?”

“It might.”

Shindler held out his hand.

“Thanks, Art. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the time you’re putting into this.”

Hollander laughed.

“I’m the one who should do the thanking. This is the most exciting experience I’ve had in all my years of practice. You can’t believe how pleasant and exhilarating a change this is from listening to the complaints of undersexed housewives.”

Shindler shook the doctor’s hand and closed the office door behind him. Esther Pegalosi was sitting in the waiting room. She looked up nervously as he approached.

5

The night lights of Portsmouth twinkled like grounded stars, then faded in brilliance as the red halo of the sunrise peeked above the horizon. Bobby Coolidge watched all this with dull, tired eyes from the couch in the darkened living room in Sarah Rhodes’s apartment. The red tip of a cigarette glowed at the end of loose fingers. His body slouched in the sofa and his legs rested on a glass-topped coffee table.

The process of turning night into day had taken some time, but Bobby’s conscious mind had missed most of it as it tried, with painstaking slowness, to piece together the remnants of a dream.

“Is anything wrong?” Sarah asked from the bedroom door.

“I couldn’t sleep. It’s nothing.”

Sarah watched his silhouette in the half light. They had been living together for the last month and she was still getting used to Bobby and his moods.

Bobby heard her bare feet pad across the hardwood floor and felt the cushions give way beside him.

“Is something bothering you, Bobby?” she asked softly. “This is the third night in a row that you haven’t slept.”

He turned to look at her. The weather was mild and she was sleeping in bikini panties and one of his tee shirts. The way she was leaning made the cotton fabric outline her nipples.

“It’s just the pressure of exams, that’s all,” he said, telling a half truth. He hoped she would accept his explanation and stop there, because he knew that he could not explain to her that the dreams had started again, creeping insidiously into his unconscious mind at night, when he had no defenses.

He thought that he had left them in Vietnam, but the pressure of finals had begun to build. Everything, his new life, his relationship with this girl, seemed to center on his staying in school. If he did not pass…If he failed…It was something he thought about all the time.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” she asked. He appreciated the sincerity of her concern. He had never had anyone care about him before. He felt her fingers run lightly through his hair and he leaned back and closed his eyes.

“It’s the tests. I think about them all the time. It’s just getting me down.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Bobby. I know you. You’ll do fine.”

She stroked his hair and he shifted his head to her shoulder. He was tired. It was the same cycle again. Not enough sleep at night and too tired to work during the day. And behind it all were the dreams.

He felt Sarah’s lips brush his cheek and he opened his eyes. She was staring at him. He brushed her hair aside and stroked her cheek. They held each other.

The sun was up now, bathing the sleepy valley in morning light. He watched the mist floating across the rooftops like steam in a bowl. She felt so soft and yielding.

“I know how to help you sleep,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.

He smiled. She did, too. She got slowly to her feet and stripped away her clothing. He followed her slim, naked figure into the bedroom.

But the lovemaking did not help. Even while he was inside her, even when he came, he could not experience the full pleasure of the act. One part of him was watching, unbelieving. What was Bobby Coolidge doing in bed with this make-believe girl? What was he doing in college? He didn’t belong here. He could not believe that it was real and that it would not end.

Sarah could see that her efforts to relax him had failed. She could feel the tension in his body and she could see the sadness when he was through. Bobby was a strange boy. Not at all like the boys she had dated in high school. That was part of his attraction. His age, the maturity of his friends. Most of them were veterans or at least older than the boys most of the other freshman girls were dating. It made her feel older and more sophisticated to think that a boy who had been to war-a boy who had killed-found her attractive.

She rubbed her hand across his chest and kissed his cheek. How complicated he was. That was another facet of the attraction. The boys she had dated before were simple. Carbon copies. The idle rich. Sports cars. The same past, present and future. But Bobby could not be read. Not entirely. He had dark corners, secrets. Like the war, which he would not discuss, or his past, to which he alluded in only the vaguest of terms. He seemed so vulnerable at times like tonight. A combination of strength and weakness that she found fascinating.

“Bobby, there is something wrong and I want you to tell me.”

Bobby said nothing, staring into the silence and breathing deeply, like a laborer carrying a heavy load.

“Bobby?” she repeated.

“I get scared that I’ll fail and all this…You mean so much to me. I think about what I’ll do if I don’t make it and about my brother.”

“Poor baby,” she said, stroking his cheek and shifting her weight across his right side. Her smooth skin felt good beneath his hand. “Underneath that tough exterior you’re a rabbit. But I know you, rabbit, and I know that you are strong and smart and good. And I know that you will make a success of whatever you do.”

He smiled sadly and held her tight.

“You’re steel, Sarah. You are the best part of the good things that have been happening to me. But you don’t really know me. You know this Bobby Coolidge, but you don’t know who I was before the war.”

“People don’t change that much, Bobby. Deep down you are always the same person.”

“No, Sarah. I did things before that I could never do now. Bad things.”

“Oh, Bobby, you like to dramatize so. I know you couldn’t do ‘bad things.’ Not really bad.”

“But I did. There’s blood on my hands, Sarah, and I can’t shut it out of my dreams. Whenever the pressure builds up in me, like now, the dreams start again and I see what I’ve done.”

“What, Bobby?” she asked, concerned now at the sudden change in him.

“I’m sorry I said…that I talked like this. Please, do me a favor. There are things about me…my past…that I don’t want you to know about. I can’t risk losing you and I know I would, if I told you. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I did and, now, I am asking you to forget that I did.”

“But, Bobby…”

“Please. I…You are the most important, most decent thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t want to lose you. Respect my wishes, this once.”

The look she gave him was peculiar and puzzled.

“Okay, Bobby. I won’t ask. I just wanted to help.”

“You do help. Just by being here. You are my fairy princess and I love you.”

He kissed her softly at first, then harder and his love swelled in him, out of control. This time there were no distractions.

TAPE # 2

DR. ARTHUR HOLLANDER: Well, Esther, do you feel comfortable about going ahead at this time?

ESTHER PEGALOSI: I do.

Q: All right. Good. Let’s just see how we do then. Do you want to just relax? That’s it. When you feel the hand moving toward your face, I want you to say “now.”

(PAUSE)

A: Now.

Q: All right. Let’s just keep that pleasant, comfortable feeling while we go back in time. We aren’t going to go back too far this time. Just to last week, a week ago today. You were in this office, you were lying on this chair very much as you are now. We had a very, very satisfying hour and after we finished you went out and met Roy, Mr. Shindler. And you went and got into his car.

Now, will you, as best you can, repeat that experience now. Don’t tell me about it. Review it in your mind’s eye. Exactly what happened until you arrived back at your apartment. Let me know when you’ve finished by saying “now.”

(PAUSE)

A: Now.

Q: Did that disturb you at all?

A: No.

Q: Would you be willing to repeat that experience for me?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Okay. Tell me, if you wish to, as clearly as you can, as though it was happening right now, what happened. You leave through that door. You hear the screen door bounce back and bounce again.

A: We go out to the parking lot and Mr. Shindler tells me how good you said I did. How he is proud of me. I get in the front seat and we drive out of the parking lot.

Q: What street do you take, Esther?

A: Atlanta Boulevard. Then straight to Monroe. We talked about you. I said I thought that you were a nice man.

Q: Why thank you very much!

A: I said you sounded kind and you kind of understood things.

Then we went up Monroe ’til we got to the park and Mr. Shindler turned off there into the park. When we were driving, he asked me if anything looked familiar. First we looked at a place on a hill near one of the switchbacks where the road goes up. I said it looked familiar, because he took me there once before. To where he had found my glasses. But, otherwise, I said it didn’t.

We drove further on up and we went…we took a ride on a little kind of dirt road. And I had been watching the road to see if I could remember running down any of them and we went up this little dirt road then. But first, before we got to that road, we passed a place on the side of the road with a fireplace, kind of up on the top of the hill there. It was all grassy and I thought that picnic benches and things used to be there. And Roy said they had been and they moved them.

Then we went up past where some park benches used to be. We went up the dirt road to the right and it was kind of muddy and sloppy and we went up there and Roy was telling me that this was the road that the murder happened on. A little ahead. And I said that it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember for sure. But I did tell him that I know that there was this big, flat, real smooth place at the end of this road where it had been flattened out and all the weeds and everything were gone and he showed me the place and asked me if I could remember a ’55 red Mercury with red and yellow flames along the side parked near the trees at the far corner. But I didn’t remember.

Then we parked for a while and Roy asked me if I could remember being with Bobby and Billy that night and I could, but just early in the evening. And he asked if Bobby and Billy dragged on Monroe and I said sometimes.

After that we walked around the meadow and Mr. Shindler took me to the edge of the hill and showed me how, if a girl ran straight down it, she would be near where they found my glasses. But I didn’t remember any of it, so we got back in the car.

Q: Where are you going now?

A: We went back down and we didn’t go back toward town but to the left at the park entrance and we passed this house that was down a ways from the entrance. I noticed it when we passed it and Roy turned around and parked in front.

We got out and walked up the driveway a bit and Roy took me into the backyard and asked me, “Do you remember anything about dogs barking?” And I…

Q: Yes.

A: Well, I had never been here. I know it. But I got really scared. Like when you feel weak and faint. I thought then that I felt like something was going to come out.

Q: Can you feel that now? Would you be willing to re-create that feeling now?

A: I’d rather not.

Q: You said you had never been there before?

A: I can’t say for certain. But when I was there it was as if I had been. And when he said about the dogs barking I had this funny thought that he meant a kind of dog.

Q: What kind?

A: A German Shepherd.

Q: Why a German Shepherd?

A: I don’t know. Except we had one once. My stepfather killed it.

Q: He killed it?

A: It was after my mother divorced my real father. I was thirteen and she married this man. He was real strict and he had been in the psycho ward a couple of times after he got out of the Service. And he was an alcoholic.

He would drink, then he would beat us day and night. He stabbed my mother. I saw him. Then my mother took us away.

Q: You were going to tell me about the dog. The German Shepherd.

A: I was?

Q: Yes.

A: He killed it. It was my pet. We lived near these woods and I would walk with him. He was my only friend. Then he killed him to punish me when I disobeyed once. He shot my dog in the eye and made me watch.

(PAUSE)

Q: Do you want my handkerchief?

A: Thank you.

Q: Are you all right? Can you continue?

A: I’m okay.

Q: Why don’t you relax? Why don’t you lean back on the cool grass and let the breeze blow across your face? That’s it. Take a nice deep breath. When you can feel the breeze and see the cool, puff clouds tell me by saying “now.”

(Deep breathing then shallow breathing.)

Q: You’re okay.

A: Now.

Q: Okay. You’re relaxed and you are drifting back to last week and you are with Roy looking at that backyard and you have a strange feeling. Tell me about the feeling. You can re-create that feeling, because you are a strong and confident woman who is slowly becoming a person like you want yourself to be. A woman who controls her destiny. Do you feel relaxed and confident?

A: Yes.

Q: Then tell me what you feel. You see that dog as though it was happening right now, don’t you? Feel that feeling that you got when you saw that big, brown German Shepherd dog. Feel it. Then if there is something that you want to say, say it. But feel that feeling.

A: I know I’ve been there before.

Q: You know that you’ve been there before?

A: And I know that I was scared when I was there before.

Q: I want you to give me your best hunch what scared you. What scared you? First thought! First thought!

A: That we were going to get caught.

Q: Going to get caught? What would you be caught about?

A: Just being there.

Q: Be caught for being there? Why would that be bad? Why would anyone want to catch you for being there?

A: I don’t know.

Q: You don’t know?

A: I could guess, but I really don’t know.

Q: All right. Would you be willing to guess for me?

A: Uh-huh. I thought about it and after we left the house to drive me home, Roy told me that the murder happened just straight up the hill from the house and that the lady there had German Shepherds and they were acting up that night and she saw a girl running away. So maybe I thought it was me.

Q: But you were scared before Roy told you.

A: Yes.

Q: So how could you be scared if you didn’t know about the dogs yet?

A: I don’t know.

Q: You said “we were going to get caught.” Why we?

A: That’s funny.

Q: What?

A: Well, when I was there-in the driveway-I had the feeling like I was there twice. And once it was in a car.

Q: Oh, you mean you were up that driveway by that house in a car. Were you worrying about being caught because it was after the murder?

A: I don’t know when it was. All I can remember is just driving into the driveway and I think I was in the back seat of a car and it seemed like there was someone with me in the back.

Q: Did they pick you up on the road after you ran down the hill?

A: I can’t remember!

Q: Relax, Esther. That’s fine. Let it come! Let it come! Just let it come! I’m right here.

A: I can’t. (Screaming, crying.)

Q: Let it come. I’m right here. Let it all come out of your system. Let all of that feeling leave now. Let it all come out naturally and properly.

A: I can’t think. (Still crying.)

Q: All right. It’s all right. You’re doing a nice job. Don’t worry about thinking for a few moments.

(Still crying for a few moments.)

Q: Are you all right now?

A: I can’t remember. I can’t. I can’t remember.

Q: If you can’t recall…

A: I just can’t.

Q: I really appreciate your trying. You know that, don’t you, Esther?

A: If I could only get it out.

Q: Get what out?

A: Huh?

Q: What do you want to get out?

A: I…I just meant. To see if it really happened or if it didn’t. Sometimes I get confused, because we would go to the park all the time when I was in high school and I can’t remember if I’m remembering something I really did or if it’s from the murder.

Q: You’ve been to the meadow before?

A: I have been there over and over and over.

Q: I wanted to clear that up. You went there to pitch woo or something…and…

A: We went up there all the time to party and drink. It was a real good place to play spooks on Halloween because it was real spooky up there anyway. I used to go up there almost every Halloween, scare each other, run through the woods. Stuff like that. Only it didn’t seem familiar from that when I was in the driveway. It was so funny…that feeling…I know I’m afraid to remember.

Q: Well, I don’t blame you. I think I would be afraid to remember too.

A: It’s like I feel when I’m dreaming and I wake up. I can see the dream a little, but I can’t remember it.

Q: You are dreaming about this?

A: A little.

Q: Tell me about your dreams.

A: Sometimes I see Richie’s face. It’s covered in blood like in the picture Mr. Shindler showed me. Then I’m running. Whatever has happened has happened already and I run down the hill. And there is someone running with me and I think it is a girl. It didn’t seem like I was being chased. Just running. And then we are in a car. In the back seat.

Q: Can you see the girl’s face?

A: No. I woke up.

Q: Have you dreamed this more than once?

A: Twice since we went to the park last week.

Q: Do these dreams upset you?

A: Yes.

Q: How do you feel when you wake up from one of these dreams?

A: My heart is beating very fast and I can’t breathe. The first time I thought it was real for a moment.

Q: And you have never had these dreams before?

A: Well, I did once or twice.

Q: I thought you said it was since the park. When Roy drove you there.

A: Yes, but I have dreamed about the face. My Mom can tell you. When I was living home.

Q: Okay. Well, Esther, we have had a tiring session today. You have tried very hard and I am proud of you. Now, I am going to tell you something that will help you the next time that you wake up and you are afraid because of one of these dreams or whenever you are under pressure or begin to doubt that you are the strong, mature woman that we know you are. A woman capable of raising a child by herself. Of making it on her own. We can see that you are becoming the strong, confident person that you know you can be.

Now, the next time you are afraid, either here or at home or anywhere, I want you to relax and remember the feeling of my hand on your wrist. You don’t have to see the wrist or close your eyes or anything like that. Just remember how it feels and soon your hand will move toward your face and you will feel comfortable and relaxed and all of your tension will be gone.

Now, I want you to promise me that you will practice this at home. You can do it anytime you want. In your bedroom, while you watch TV. Will you promise me that you will practice?

A: Yes.

Q: Good. Now, in a few moments you are going to awaken from your trance, feeling refreshed, feeling strong and confident…

“Eddie!” Gary Barrick yelled, when he spotted Eddie Toller at the other end of the bar. The smoke was heavy in the Satin Slipper and the dim light distorted the features of the young, curly-haired man who was rising from his stool.

“Goddamn!” Eddie said, when he saw who had called his name. “How the hell you been?”

The two men smiled and shook hands vigorously.

“You’re lookin’ prosperous for a guy who’s only been out of the joint a couple of months.”

“Hey,” Eddie said, looking around to see if anyone had heard Gary’s remark. “Keep it down. Most people here don’t know I’ve been in prison.”

“Sorry, Eddie. What are you doin’?”

“I work here. I’m assistant manager,” he said with a trace of pride.

“No shit! That’s great. I’m glad things are workin’ for you.”

“Yeah, well it’s okay.” He shrugged. “How about you?”

Gary grinned.

“Same old thing. I ain’t got a job now, but I’m lookin’.”

Eddie motioned Gary to an empty booth and signaled for a waitress. A good-looking blonde with long legs swayed over to the table.

“What can I get you, Eddie?” she asked.

“Nothing for me, but it’s on the house for my friend. What are you drinking, Gary?”

Gary ordered and the blonde wiggled away.

“That’s all right,” Gary said, impressed. “You gettin’ any of that?”

“Sheila? No. I got my own girl. She works in the lounge, but she’s off tonight. When did you get into town?”

“Last month.”

“You got a place to stay?”

“Yeah. I’m with a chick I met. We’ll have to double, huh.”

Sheila returned with Gary’s drink and Gary and Eddie reminisced about the year they had spent as cellmates.

“So you’re straight now?” Gary asked.

“Yeah. I don’t mess around. Joyce and me are going to get married as soon as I save enough bread.”

“Married. This is serious.”

Eddie blushed.

“Yeah. I guess. I ain’t getting any younger, as they say.”

“Too bad,” Gary said wistfully.

“Why?”

Gary looked around the room and hunched forward.

“I got a honey of a job worked out and I could use another guy along.”

Eddie thought about it for a second, then shook his head.

“No, I don’t want to get mixed up in nothin’, Gary. This job don’t pay great, but it’s enough and it’s steady. Besides, I couldn’t stand to go back to the joint no more. I’m just getting too old for that stuff.”

Gary shrugged.

“To each his own. Say, I’ll give you my address and phone number.”

“No. I just don’t think I’m interested.”

“Not for that. To get together. I’d like to meet your chick. Old pals should keep in touch.”

Esther folded the baby’s wash and set the neat piles next to her own. She looked around the living room. All the ironing was done, the dishes were washed and the baby was asleep. She sagged into the secondhand armchair that sat across from the TV and let out a deep sigh. She was exhausted. All the same, the housework didn’t get her down as much as it had before she started going to Dr. Hollander.

He had made her see how important her work was. He had made her realize that not everyone could do the things that she was capable of doing, like raising a child by herself. She had thought that anyone could do it, but he had made her see that that was not so. It took a special kind of person to do what she was doing.

She looked at the clock. It was a quarter to nine. She could watch the last fifteen minutes of a TV show or she could practice her trance. She chose the latter. She had come to look forward to practicing her trance. It helped her to relax when she was tense. It helped her to get rid of her day-to-day anxieties and to become the woman she knew she could be: the strong, confident woman that she really wanted to be. The trance gave her a feeling of contentment that alcohol and pills never did. Her days were easier and her nights filled with deep sleep.

Almost as important, the trance helped her to think about the things that Dr. Hollander wanted her to recall. The shadowy, elusive thoughts that hid around the corners of her subconscious. With each session she was becoming more and more convinced that she was hiding something from herself about that night. She was sure of it. When the doctor or Roy talked about things that they thought she had done, they made so much sense. If it had happened, it must have happened the way they said.

Esther let her eyes close and imagined the doctor’s fingers on her wrist. There was a tingling in her limbs and she could begin to feel her body relaxing and her hand floating toward her face.

She looked forward to seeing Dr. Hollander each week. He was so kind, so, well, fatherly was the right word. He wasn’t like her other fathers had been, but like she wished they would have been. Always supporting her. Always helping her.

She even liked Roy now. She guessed that she had been wrong about him that first time, because he seemed so nice now. Always buying her things. Nothing expensive, except for her beautiful new clothes, but little things like flowers or gifts for the baby. He was so considerate. Like John had been. Roy was about the same age as John. Older men always seemed more considerate, although she had been with a few who were not. Roy reminded her of John. Of course, Roy was much smarter. She felt so dumb when she was around him and the doctor, although they never let on that they thought she was dumb. But she was. She always knew it. The only reason the boys had ever paid any attention to her in school was because she was pretty and she would do it with them. John had showed her respect. So had Dr. Hollander and Roy.

She had dreamt about Roy last night. When she woke up, she had felt uncomfortable, because the dream had been erotic. They had both been naked in a large bed. They weren’t in a room, she didn’t think. It had been hazy. Maybe there were clouds instead of walls. And he was on top and doing it to her.

She realized that she was growing tense and she concentrated on her wrist and the trance. She thought about what Roy and the doctor wanted from her. She wanted to help them very much. Some of their questions puzzled her, though. She wondered why Roy had asked her about Monroe and dragging. Did he think they had dragged Richie that night? She was certain they had not. There had been once that she was with someone who had dragged Richie, only she wasn’t sure if it had been Roger or if Billy and Bobby had been there. It was all so long ago.

But, what if it was that night…? Only it couldn’t have been. But, what if? Then, she might be wrong about other things. She didn’t feel relaxed anymore and she opened her eyes. Somehow, the trance was not working tonight. It was nine o’clock. She got up and turned on the television.

6

TAPE # 5

DR. ARTHUR HOLLANDER: All right. And soon the hand will begin to move toward the face. The hand is now touching the face and the eyes will close when it is comfortable to do so. There we are. Fine. Good. Completely relaxed.

Now, Esther, I wonder if you would be willing to forget whatever might be unpleasant in today’s episode, and you can indicate so by a “yes.”

ESTHER PEGALOSI: Yes.

Q: Good. And then if we need that information at some time in the future, when you are ready, you can remember it either alone or with my help. But any information that might be unpleasant and you might not be ready to consciously remember, you can forget just as you forget a dream a few minutes after awakening. And you can do the same with any unpleasant phase of today’s work.

Now, Esther, I want you to imagine that the window in front of you is actually a screen, a movie screen. And can you in your mind’s eye clearly see a movie screen there in front of you?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Good. Now if you look at the bottom of that movie screen, you will notice a little counter, something like the mileage counter on an automobile.

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Can you see it? And can you see that the mileage counter says 1967?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: All right. I want you to just imagine that counter running backwards, ’67, ’66, ’65, at whatever convenient speed you want. And when that counter has moved back to the year 1960, I would like you to let me know by saying the number.

A: 1960.

Q: Good. Now, as you watch that screen, you will see things that have happened in 1960, as though you were in the audience watching a movie screen. It could be that you will see yourself as one of the stars or actors and when you begin to see action on the screen, I want you to say “now.”

A: Now.

Q: Good. And would you like to tell me what you see.

A: We are at Bob’s.

Q: Bob who?

A: It’s a restaurant. Bob’s Hamburger Heaven. It’s where we used to hang out.

Q: Who do you mean when you say “we,” Esther?

A: My friends.

Q: Do you mean the Cobras?

A: Some members.

Q: Billy and Bobby Coolidge?

A: I knew them.

Q: What did you do with the Cobras?

A: I don’t know.

Q: Did you ever do anything bad with them?

A: Bad?

Q: Against the law.

A: We robbed the miniature golf once.

Q: Tell me about that. When was that?

A: In ’59. In July. There were three boys and me. They robbed the place, then we found we were going to get caught, so they drove the car down the hill. It belonged to one of the boys’ brothers. And we were speeding as fast as we could down this curvy road and there were police cars following us and one went in a ditch. We made it all the way down the hill, then we went the wrong way on a one-way street and about five cars finally stopped us.

Q: Police cars?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Were you scared?

A: Oh, yeah. I couldn’t look half the time.

Q: What happened to you?

A: Well, I was young, you know, so they just let me go with Mom. But they kept me at detention for a while.

Q: Why did you do that-rob that place?

A: I was pretty drunk and I could never remember it all. Even in court. I had to testify, but I could never remember if we knew what was gonna happen. We were all plowed. All I know was Bones went to the place where you pay and held a knife at the woman’s neck and threatened to rip it. He didn’t hurt her though. I think it was all spur of the moment. We were like that then. Live for the moment. The Cobras were always saying something like that.

Q: Did it frighten you to get arrested?

A: I wasn’t scared of being arrested. I’d been arrested before. I was scared of detention. I didn’t like that.

Q: What’s “detention”?

A: Where they keep you if you’re a juvenile. I didn’t like being locked up.

Q: When were you arrested before?

A: When I stabbed that boy.

Q: You stabbed someone?

A: Andy Trask.

Q: Andy Trask?

A: It was a pocketknife that I carried in my pocket. I didn’t really hurt him bad. I just scared him. They let me go when Momma came.

Q: Why did you stab him?

A: It was at a school hop and he wanted to get smart with me and I wouldn’t let him.

Q: What do you mean, “get smart”?

A: You know, feel me up and such. I…He scared me.

Q: Didn’t you like it when he wanted to touch you?

A: I liked that he wanted to…That he wanted me, but not how he did it.

Q: How did he do it?

A: He was rough, like my…like George. He tried to push me down in the back seat of his car.

Q: Who is George?

A: My…my stepfather…He would be drunk, you know, and he would beat Momma, then make her, you know, do it and we would have to watch. He would make us.

He was just out of his mind. That was why Momma left him. She could take it, but she was scared for us.

Q: And this boy was like your stepfather?

A: He was drinking, then he pushed me and ordered me. I like boys to be gentle. To say I’m pretty. I’m not…

Q: Okay, Esther, you can relax. I can see that this is upsetting to you, so let’s go on. Do you think you can do that?

(NOD)

Q: Okay. Let’s push ahead now. Let’s think about late 1960 and just let things come to mind. Can you still see the movie screen? Good. Now keep watching it and pretty soon the scene will wipe out and a new scene will come on, a little later in the year. In November. You can see a party on the screen. Do you see it?

A: All I can see is a Christmas party.

Q: Well, Esther, we have discussed this party before. This is the one at Alice Fay’s house. I want you to see Alice’s house on the screen. The thick carpets that you walked on. Do you remember? It felt like walking on clouds.

A: Yes.

Q: You can take your shoes off and walk around in it. How does it feel?

A: Like floating. Like I’m in the sky.

Q: Good. You’re smiling. Are there other people there?

A: Oh, sure. It’s a party.

Q: What are they doing, Esther?

A: Dancing. Having fun.

Q: Who are you with, Esther?

A: Roger. And Billy and Bobby Coolidge are there too.

Q: Who is Roger?

A: Roger Hessey. He’s my boyfriend…was my boyfriend, then.

Q: Going steady?

A: Just…we dated.

Q: Did Roger stay through the whole party?

A: No. He left when the trouble started.

Q: What trouble?

A: Billy started some trouble.

Q: What did he do?

A: He was fighting. Roger didn’t want to fight, so he left.

Q: Why didn’t you go with Roger?

A: I don’t know.

ROY SHINDLER: Billy used a knife when he fought, didn’t he?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: Look at the screen, Esther. Can you see the room in Alice’s house where the party is?

A: Yes.

Q: Do you see yourself and Billy and Bobby with all the other people?

A: I can see that.

Q: You see Tommy Cooper, too, don’t you? See him on the screen?

A: I…

Q: Just relax and look hard. You’ll see Tommy and Alice by the punch bowl and Bobby and Billy there, too. Tell me when you can see that.

A: I can see them.

Q: Tell me about the fight. On the screen, Tommy and Billy are fighting, aren’t they?

A: I can’t see the fight. Honest. It was very fast.

Q: But you can see Billy with the knife, can’t you? Look on the screen. See the table with the punch bowl. Billy is standing in front of it, isn’t he?

A: Yes.

Q: How is he dressed?

A: His colors. His black leather jacket with Cobras on the back. And blue jeans. Tight ones.

Q: You see that clearly?

A: Billy always dressed like that.

Q: Okay. And you see the knife. The switchblade knife in his hand?

A: I don’t…I can’t see that.

Q: Billy had a knife like that, didn’t he Esther? Didn’t he show it around all the time?

A: I…It’s been a long time.

DR. HOLLANDER: Relax, Esther. There is no need to get upset. Remember, you are looking at a movie screen. Things that happen on a movie screen cannot hurt you, can they?

A: No.

Q: Good. And I am here to help you, aren’t I?

A: Yes.

Q: I have helped you to become the strong, confident woman you have always wanted to be, haven’t I? Like I promised you. Isn’t that so?

A: Yes.

Q: And you feel confident and strong now, don’t you?

A: I…

Q: How do you feel now, Esther?

A: Scared.

Q: Okay. Then I want you to alert yourself.

A: Okay.

Q: One, two, three, all right.

A: I was thinking about unhappy things.

Q: I know. You said you were scared. What scared you?

A: I don’t know. I’m not sleeping too good. I had a dream last night…

Q: The same dream you told me about a few weeks ago?

A: Uh-huh. And I feel bad when I’m awake. You’ve been so nice to me. Like, I know you want me to remember, and I try, but I wish I didn’t have to go back.

Q: You don’t have to go back, Esther. We can’t force you to come here.

A: I know.

Q: When you are home, do you practice what I told you when you get upset or scared?

A: You mean, remembering your fingers on my wrist?

Q: Yes.

A: I try. Sometimes it’s hard to concentrate. The baby is so demanding and I have housework.

Q: That’s when you should do it. When you feel the pressure. That is when it will help you the most.

A: I know and I do try sometimes. It’s just that I get upset. I know it’s all inside me. In there. I want to get it out.

Q: Well, you’ll do that. Now relax and get comfortable. Feel those fingers caressing your wrist. Your hand growing light as a feather. I want you to feel, in your whole body, the feeling that every day you are finding yourself a little more like the person you really want to be…

ROY SHINDLER: You remember Billy taking the wine. You remember that, don’t you, Esther?

A: Yes.

Q: Then you drank the wine in the car. Can you see that, Esther?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: How long were you drinking the wine?

A: Gee, I don’t know. You know how you get when you drink too much. I got tired and time got all stretched out.

Q: Then you go cruising downtown, don’t you?

A: I think so.

Q: And you are on Monroe now. Can you see Monroe?

A: I can see Monroe, but I’m not…I don’t remember if…

Q: But you had to go on Monroe to get home, didn’t you?

A: No. Usually I would go to Marshall Road from downtown.

Q: But you could go that way?

A: Yes.

(WHISPERING)

Q: Okay, Esther, I want you to picture Monroe Boulevard in your mind and I want you to tell us what you see on Monroe Boulevard. Now this is in November, 1960.

A: Well, I can’t remember being there that night.

Q: What night?

A: When the…The murder, you know.

DR. HOLLANDER: That’s okay, Esther. You can pretend that you are there. See Monroe Boulevard on the movie screen. Can you see it?

A: Yes.

Q: Okay. Now what do you see?

A: Not much. Just some stores, you know.

(WHISPERING)

Q: Yes. What kind of car are you in?

A: What do you want me to say?

Q: Just the truth. What do you see on the screen?

A: Well, I’m really…I don’t see myself in a car.

ROY SHINDLER: What kind of a car did Bobby and Billy Coolidge have?

A: Gee, I can’t…A Dodge or a Ford. Something like that.

Q: What color was it?

A: Uh, dark blue or black. Some dark color.

Q: You know what car Richie drove, don’t you?

A: I don’t remember the make.

Q: But you know it.

A: It was the hottest car in school. I was with Billy and Bobby once when they dragged it.

Q: With them? Was anyone else along?

A: I don’t think so.

Q: Did you usually go out alone with the Coolidges?

A: There might have been someone else. Probably Roger. I don’t remember, because it was so long ago.

Q: What happened during the drag race?

A: Just a drag race.

Q: There was no accident?

A: Not…I don’t think so.

Q: What were you going to say?

A: Pardon?

Q: You started by saying “not.” Were you going to say “not then”? Was there another time when you were with the Coolidges and they dragged Richie and there was an accident?

A: I don’t think so.

Q: Don’t think so or there wasn’t?

A: I don’t know. I’m all confused. I would remember an accident, wouldn’t I?

Q: You told me that you couldn’t remember what happened that night, because you were drunk.

A: Yes.

Q: So there could have been a drag race with Richie on Monroe.

A: I’m awful tired. I don’t think I’ll be any good anymore today.

“You’re very quiet this evening,” Shindler said.

Esther turned away from the window and looked at Shindler. He was smiling. It made her feel worse. She knew that she was letting them down by not remembering and here he was, being so kind to her, as if it didn’t matter.

“I’m just tired,” she said.

“I can understand that. These sessions must not be very pleasant for you. Both Dr. Hollander and I appreciate how hard you’re trying.”

Shindler eased the car into the exit lane of the freeway and Esther stared down at her hands. She was tired and she was low. The thought of spending the night in her apartment, alone, left her empty inside. She wished she didn’t get so depressed after the sessions. She looked forward to them so much that each time they ended she felt as if she had lost something.

The apartment house loomed ahead and Esther let her eyelids close for a moment. Roy parked in front of the door. She didn’t want him to leave her. She remembered that he had mentioned that he was hungry earlier. She wondered…

“Do you…? Would you want to come in? I could fix some spaghetti.”

Shindler was surprised by the invitation, but pleased that she had given it. During the last few sessions he had noticed that she was less tense in his presence.

She expected him to turn her down. It was foolish anyway. She was a poor cook. What would they talk about? She began to regret that she had asked him. Then he accepted and she was terrified that the evening would be a disaster.

Shindler paid the baby-sitter and Esther went into the kitchen to cook the meal. The baby was asleep for the night. Shindler asked her if there was a store nearby where he could buy some wine. Esther didn’t know. She didn’t buy wine like that for drinking with a meal. She felt foolish. Shindler said he would go out and find a store. When he was gone, she changed into the outfit he had purchased for her. She did not realize how inappropriate it looked for the occasion.

“You look very nice,” Shindler said when he returned. She blushed, the reaction he had been hoping for. She was so easy to manipulate. Most people were, if you had the time to study them.

Esther set the table and Shindler poured the wine. She felt that everything she was doing was wrong. Besides John, she had never really cooked for a man. Never had the type of relationship with a man that would call for that type of occasion. It had been mostly country and western bar dates, then back to someone’s bedroom in some motel or maybe not even the preliminary hours at the bar. And she had never been with anyone like Shindler. He was so intelligent and he talked at times about things that she didn’t understand.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked her after they had finished eating. The wine had relaxed her and made her a little giddy.

“I’m feeling good,” she replied. He helped her carry the dishes into the narrow kitchen and their hips touched. The feel of him that close excited her and he noticed the reaction.

“You look very pretty tonight,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said and looked away from him, frightened by the thoughts that were suddenly flooding her. She remembered her dream and felt guilty about the desire she felt. She started to wash a dish, to distract herself, but he took it out of her hands and turned off the water. She looked up at him. He was so tall. He was ugly, yet she did not see that. She saw what he wanted her to see. What she wanted to see. A father to take care of her. Someone to tell her what to do.

He stroked her hair. This was so easy.

“You wore this dress specially for me?”

She answered him in a whisper so low he could barely hear her. He stroked her chin and lifted it gently so that she had to look at his eyes.

He took her hand and led her, like a child, into the bedroom. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain that he could hear. She felt like liquid inside. He removed her clothes and she knew if he touched her, she would melt away.

Shindler made her lie on the bed and ran his hand across her body. Her breasts were full and her nipples taut. He was becoming aroused, but even his desire was under control. Her eyes were closed tight and he watched her clinically.

Esther moaned and arched under his touch. He was above her and in her and around her. The pleasure was unbearable. It had never been like this for her before. With other men, even John, there had been the smell of sweat and a knowledge of where she was every moment that they were inside her. With Roy, she was lost.

Shindler felt her quiver and relax. He came and stayed inside her. She was crying. He kissed her and held her. Her tears mingled with the sweat on his shoulder. He soothed her and petted her, as if she was a dog. It would be much easier now.

7

“Look, Ted, the Communists have got to be stopped. I would rather do it in Vietnam than Disneyland.”

“Jesus, I don’t believe this,” Ted Wolberg said. “Who writes your scripts, the John Birch Society?”

Ted and Bobby Coolidge were passing the time at George Rasmussen’s apartment. As usual, Ted and George were arguing about the war. Bobby was paying little attention to what was being said, because he had heard it all before. It seemed that all anyone ever talked about anymore was Vietnam.

“What do you think, Bobby?” Ted asked.

Bobby looked at Ted. He did not like to get drawn into academic discussions, because he did not feel secure enough yet to venture into the intellectual arena. He never spoke in class. With his friends, he was a listener. The trouble was, with Vietnam the topic, he was considered the resident expert. He was always being put on the spot and he was expected to be knowledgeable in every area connected with the war. In fact, he knew less about Vietnam and its history and politics than George, who had spent his army time in Washington, D. C., or Ted, whose hobby was Far Eastern studies and who was a political science major.

“I think you’re both right, in a way,” he answered cautiously. “I don’t think we should be over there…”)

“See,” Ted interrupted. “That’s just what the two P.O.W.s who were just released said.”

“…but I don’t agree when you say that the country is like Nazi Germany. I mean, there aren’t any secret police coming to take you away for your clearly subversive statements, are there?”

“You are being fooled by the repressive tolerance practiced by the military-industrial complex that runs this country. Marcuse says…”

“Who?” George asked.

Ted was about to answer when the doorbell rang. George answered it and returned to the living room with Sarah. She had a letter in her hand. When he saw it, Bobby’s heart started to pound and his lips felt suddenly dry. The envelope looked like the type the school used to send out grades. It was intersession and Bobby had been expecting his final first semester marks all week.

He expected the worst and he realized that he did not want his friends finding out, if his grades were poor.

“Uh, George, can I talk to Sarah in your bedroom?”

“Sure, just clean up before you leave.”

“You’re a pig, George,” Sarah said, following Bobby down the corridor to George’s bedroom.

“Well?” Bobby asked nervously, when the door was closed. She looked at him without expression for a moment and his heart sank. Then she burst into laughter and flung her arms around his neck.

“You made Dean’s List, you dummy. I’m so proud.”

He tried to untangle himself from her. What she had said had not sunk in.

“What?” he asked, when he had peeled her off and was holding her at arm’s length.

“Dean’s List,” she shouted. “Three As, a B-plus, and a C-plus in math.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“If you could see how you look, you idiot.”

“Dean’s List. Oh, wow! Hey, that’s not possible.”

He walked back and forth, looking at the grade sheet. It was there in black and white.

“Look, you get real pretty tonight. I am going to take you out on the town.”

“You don’t have to do that, Bobby,” she said, knowing how tight his cash was.

“To hell with that. You don’t know what this means to me, Sarah. All my life I always thought that I was stupid. That I would never amount to anything. You don’t know how scared I’ve been in school. I almost quit a dozen times.”

She did not say anything, but she knew. She had heard him moaning in the night, seen him sweating over his books, cheered him up when he was too disheartened to go on.

“You know, this is the turning point in my life, Sarah. I won’t go back, ever again.”

TAPE # 8

DR. ARTHUR HOLLANDER: I’m glad to see you looking so well, Esther.

ESTHER PEGALOSI: I’ve been feeling so good these last few weeks.

Q: Why do you think that is?

A: I…You know, I think it’s the…these meetings and doing the trance at home. I’ve been really trying and practicing and everything seems so much better.

Q: In what ways?

A: Well, my baby, you know, I used to, well, not hate him, but I felt he tied me down. Sometimes I thought that he was a punishment.

Q: A punishment for what?

A: I don’t know. For losing John, my husband, maybe. I know that doesn’t make sense, but I felt that if I hadn’t had the baby, John would have stayed with me.

Q: You felt that your husband left because of the baby?

A: Well, I know that’s wrong now. I mean he would have split eventually anyway. But, I thought…I blamed it on the baby, if you see what I mean.

Q: But you don’t now?

A: No, I…Well, how could I? I mean, he’s just a baby. But before I started seeing you and thinking about myself, and what kind of person I am, I never realized about John and the baby.

Q: So you feel differently about your son now?

A: Yes. I…I love him. I mean, I don’t think I did before. But now, I sit and watch him. I hug and kiss him more. And he’s gotten so much quieter. Less demanding.

Q: Do you think that’s because he can sense your change of attitude?

A: Well, I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. He might.

Q: And you say there are other changes?

A: Well, you know we always talk about becoming the kind of person I want to be. Well, I feel like that is happening.

Q: How can you tell?

A: I’m more quieter now, less scared. When I feel nervous, I relax and think of my wrist and I quiet down, then I think about what is scaring me and I can usually figure it out-how to do it.

Q: Well, I am pleased to hear this and I am pleased that I…that you feel that I have been of some help to you.

A: Well, I am very grateful and I wanted to tell you.

Q: Thank you.

A: And, Doctor, I have been thinking all this week and I have decided that I am going to really try this time to remember, because I know there is something there and I am going to try not to fight it.

Q: Good! I am glad to hear you talk like this. To see you change from a frightened girl into a strong, confident young woman. And I am going to help you along, because today we are going to try something new to help you, if you agree.

A: What’s that?

Q: I am going to inject you with sodium amytal. Remember how we talked about the guards your subconscious mind erects whenever we get close to the crucial times?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Well, sodium amytal will put you into a half-sleeping state and reduce your conscious awareness. You will feel sort of drunk and this will make it more difficult for those guards to protect you from your own memories, just like you do things more slowly when you are drunk. Do you understand?

A: I think so.

Q: Do I have your permission to try the drug?

A: Yes, if you think it will help.

Q: Okay. Then we will induce hypnosis as we always have and I will fortify that with the amytal and then we will picture the movie screen again.

A: You know, at home, I try the screen. I picture it and I see so many crazy things. You know that’s really bothering me. I don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill by imagining something that didn’t happen.

Q: Well, we won’t let that happen. The reason we use the screen is so you don’t have to be involved. It takes you out of it. You’re watching it, like you are watching a movie, and while you are involved a little bit, it isn’t…you feel sorry for the heroine that the hero doesn’t kiss her or anything, but it isn’t quite the same. You can report what is happening, but you don’t get a personal reaction like you would if you were thinking about something that happened in the past to you. You don’t feel as threatened.

A: I can see that. I was just afraid of making things up, since it is like a movie.

Q: Well, you aren’t, are you?

A: Oh, no!

Q: Okay, then. Now, let’s get started. I think I will let you lie down on the couch this time, so make yourself comfortable.

A: Could I have a pillow for my head?

Q: Certainly. Get yourself in the most comfortable position you can. Now after you are in the trance and I give you the amytal, I will ask you to count backward. And when we get to a certain point I will know it has taken effect.

A: Will I be asleep?

Q: You will feel a little drunk and sleepy, but I don’t expect that you will feel anymore asleep than you were before. You might not remember as much afterward.

Now take a real deep breath and relax. Do that two or three times. Just let yourself relax and when you are ready, why, you can hold your hand up in front of your eyes.

(PAUSE)

Okay. In a second you will feel a little punchy. We will be injecting the medication and you will feel even more drowsy than you feel at the present time. As I inject the medication, I want you to start counting backward from 100. Now. 100.

A: 100.

Q: 99. That’s it…That’s just fine. And as you continue drifting deeper, go ahead counting.

A: 80, 79, 78, 77, 76, 75, 74, 73, 72, 71.

Q: That’s good, and you can relax now and you can begin to remember important things. The events of that November evening in 1960 are becoming very clear. And as you begin to recall these events, feeling comfortable and very sure of yourself and relaxed, you find it easy to mention them, knowing that you can forget, you can remember or you can misremember as your personality needs require.

That’s it. Let’s talk about that evening as best you recall each episode. Pleasant feeling, isn’t it? Just review that evening in your mind.

A: Have I finished counting my numbers?

Q: Yes. You can tell me what is in your mind.

A: I don’t really have anything in my mind.

Q: Can you recall that evening? Anything about it, like being at Bob’s Hamburgers?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: And you decided to go to Alice Fay’s party.

A: I didn’t, uh-uh.

Q: Huh?

A: I didn’t.

Q: You didn’t? Well, what did you do?

A: I had a shake. Billy decided to crash.

Q: I see. And then what?

A: I don’t know.

Q: Didn’t you go to the party?

A: Yes.

Q: This was at Alice Fay’s, right?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: There was a fight at the party, wasn’t there?

A: Yes.

Q: Who fought?

A: Billy and Bobby and Tommy Cooper and some boys I didn’t know.

Q: And Billy pulled a knife?

A: Yes.

Q: You remember that?

A: Yes.

Q: You can see that clearly on the screen?

A: I can see it.

Q: How is Billy when he leaves the party?

A: Angry.

Q: At Tommy Cooper?

A: At rich kids.

Q: Why rich kids?

A: He yelled at me.

Q: Who? Billy?

A: Uh-huh. It scared me.

Q: What did he say?

A: It was how he hated rich kids and they didn’t have to work like him.

Q: He said that after you left the party?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Good. You are really starting to remember. I am very proud of you. Now, where did you go from the party?

A: Uh, to the store.

Q: Where?

A: It’s open at night. Billy swiped some wine.

Q: How much?

A: A couple of bottles. And there was some in the car already.

Q: What kind of wine?

A: Cheap stuff. It made me sick later. It was so sweet.

Q: Where did you drink the wine?

A: On some side street, I think. Maybe it was near a park or a schoolyard.

Q: A park or a schoolyard?

A: Well, there weren’t houses around, you know. That’s why we went there, so no one would see us.

Q: Where do you go after you drink the wine?

A: It’s fuzzy. Home?

Q: Do you…? Look at the screen, Esther. Do you see a drag race where someone forced your car to spin around?

A: Gee, there were a lot of drag races.

Q: In this one, you were riding with Billy and Bobby and somebody came along and caused your car to spin around. You are on Monroe Boulevard.

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Do you recall that?

A: Billy got mad.

Q: Why did Billy get mad?

A: Huh?

Q: Why is Billy mad?

A: I don’t know.

Q: What does Billy do now that he is mad?

A: He followed the car.

Q: This is Richie’s car?

A: I didn’t say that.

Q: Do you remember?

A: No.

Q: But you know what Richie’s car looks like? You can see it on the screen?

A: Yes.

Q: Could the car that forced you off of the road have been Richie’s?

A: I’m not sure.

Q: Is it possible?

A: It’s possible.

Q: Okay, so Billy followed the car. Where does he go?

A: I guess I went home.

Q: You think you went home?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: In Billy’s car?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: All right. You think a little deeper. You will remember. You are there. You were there. You can remember. You are in Billy’s car. You are on Monroe. You start driving. Do you go into the park?

A: Maybe.

Q: Okay. And you are driving up a hill. Do you go past a place with a fireplace and picnic benches?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Did the other car go past there?

A: I don’t know.

Q: But you were following them?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Who else is with you in the car?

A: Bobby.

Q: Anyone else?

A: Maybe Roger.

Q: Roger Hessey?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Didn’t you tell us he left shortly after you arrived at Alice Fay’s?

A: I guess so.

Q: So he couldn’t have been in the car. Look on the screen. Let your mind review that evening. Picture inside Billy’s car. Do you see it?

A: Yes.

Q: Okay. Is Roger there-in the park?

A: No.

Q: Okay. Now, you and Billy and Bobby are in Billy’s car and you are following the other car and you go past the place in the park with the fireplace and the picnic benches. Now what happens? Tell me what happens, Esther. You are past the place with the fireplace. Tell me what happens. Billy is mad. You are following that car. It is at night. What happens?

A: I saw it.

Q: You saw it?

A: I saw the car.

Q: Okay. What happens after you see it?

A: Didn’t I tell you something?

Q: Yes, you have. You have been telling me.

A: I am waking up.

Q: Yes, I know you are.

A: I thought I was sleeping.

Q: You were sleeping a bit. Now you told me you were following the car and you went past this place in Lookout Park with a fireplace and benches and you saw the car.

A: Did I say that?

Q: Yes, you did, Esther. This car ran you off the road and Billy got mad. He was mad before, after the fight.

A: Did I say that?

Q: Yes, Esther. I can play the tape back if you wish.

A: I think I need some more of that stuff.

Q: You think you need more sodium amytal?

A: Yeah. Didn’t I tell you something when I had it?

Q: Yes. You told me a lot of interesting things. But we didn’t get far enough.

A: Okay. Well, give me some more.

Q: That’s it. It is pleasant. Now you can just go ahead. We can protect you here. Nothing can happen to you, if you tell what happened. The truth.

A: Tell me what I said.

Q: You said that this car forced you off the road and Billy chased it into the park. Then you saw the car after a place with a fireplace and benches in the park.

A: Gee, I said that? Doctor, I know I am drowsy, but could you give me some more?

Q: I just did.

A: Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t remember what I was talking about.

Q: You were with Billy and Bobby in the car.

A: I’m supposed to say Billy?

Q: You are supposed to say Billy.

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Well, you are supposed to say what actually happens.

A: Right.

Q: Were Billy and Bobby there?

A: Uh-huh. I’m telling you the truth.

Q: Billy and Bobby were with you?

A: (Coughing)

Q: Why don’t you go ahead and clear your throat.

A: Could I have some water?

Q: Here. Does my holding the microphone bother you?

A: No.

Q: You weren’t telling us a story, were you, when you told us that Bobby and Billy were with you?

A: Uh-uh. Is that a lie detector?

Q: What?

A: A lie detector?

Q: No, it’s not a lie detector.

A: When you asked who was in the car and I said Billy and Bobby, were you checking me with a lie detector?

Q: No. This is a microphone with a tape recorder.

A: Roger wasn’t with us. I only said he was because I wasn’t sure at first.

Q: Okay. Esther, who was driving? When you were in the park, was it Billy or Bobby?

A: Uh.

Q: Can you see who is driving?

A: I am trying to think of what you’ve told me.

Q: I am interested in what you can remember, Esther. Remember, now, you want to remember this so you can get it off your mind.

A: Uh-huh. I am really trying. I just don’t want to sound like a liar.

Q: Are you saying that you think you told me something before and you aren’t sure it is the truth?

A: No, it’s just that you said I told you something, but I can’t remember it and I don’t want you to think I am lying.

Q: Let me worry about that and you worry about what you can remember. Is that all right?

A: I am trying to remember.

Q: Okay, can you remember telling us that you went to a grocery store after the party?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Okay. Now tell me where you went from the grocery store again.

A: We drank the wine.

Q: Right. Now, where did you go from there?

A: I can’t remember.

Q: You were able to tell me before. Can’t you remember what you said before?

A: I remember we went home.

Q: Do you recall telling me about Monroe Boulevard and Lookout Park?

A: Uh-uh. I probably lied.

Q: You probably lied to me?

A: Could I have lied about what I said?

Q: I doubt it.

A: We went to the grocery and drank the wine, but I can’t remember anything except we went home.

Q: Are you pretty much awake now?

A: I think so.

Q: Can you say “Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran”?

A: Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.

Q: I guess you are awake. You shouldn’t be able to say that. I think we’ll stop for the day.

Eddie Toller checked the address, then began climbing a flight of rickety wooden stairs that ran along the outside of a weatherbeaten wood-frame two-family dwelling. When he reached the porch on the second floor, he knocked on the screen door. The conversation inside stopped at the sound of his rapping. He heard footsteps and the door opened a crack, releasing the pungent odor of marijuana into the night air.

“Is Gary in?” Eddie asked the young girl who stared through the crack. The girl looked him over. His age had aroused her suspicions.

“I’m Eddie Toller. He’s expecting me.”

The girl said, “Oh, yeah,” and admitted him. The hallway was lit by candles, but Eddie could see that it was the girl’s clothes that were young and he revised his age estimate up ten years. She introduced herself as Laura Kinnick, Gary’s girlfriend, and led him through a veil of beads into a living room decorated in Early American Guru. Gary, who was seated on a large pillow covered with an Indian fabric, rose from his lotus position and introduced Eddie to the other couples in the room. Both of the men had long hair and Eddie disliked them immediately. They looked dirty and he bet they would smell, if he could smell them over the scent of the dope.

“How you doin’, man?” Gary asked later, when they were off together in the kitchen. Eddie had passed on the joint, raising eyebrows among Gary’s friends, and had asked for a beer. He had followed Gary into the kitchen while he broke open a six-pack.

“Not so good, Gary. That’s why I wanted to see you tonight.”

“What happened?”

“Ah, it’s those sons of bitches at Parole. They busted Carl, the guy who owns the Satin Slipper. He was selling dope outta the place. I was arrested too, but I had nothing to do with it, so they dropped the charges, only someone told my P.O. and he said I had to quit. He said he didn’t want me working at a place like that. I told him I was legit and that I wouldn’t be able to get another job this good with my record, but he wouldn’t listen. So now I ain’t got a job.”

“Those fuckers,” Gary said sympathetically, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done. Only I gotta figure a way to make some bread. Joyce is still working, but I ain’t gonna live off her.”

“I’d lend you some dough, if I could, Eddie, but I’m short myself.”

“Hey, I ain’t lookin’ for no handout, Gary. I want to know more about the job you got planned.”

“You want in?”

“If it’s good. I want to hear about it first. I’m too old to go back to the joint. With my record, my next fall is gonna be long, hard time. So don’t jack me around.”

“I won’t, Eddie. This is a sure thing and there’s plenty of dough in it. I got it all worked out and I’m rushin’ into nothin’.”

“Okay. Lay it out for me.”

“Laura works in the Cameron Street Medical Building. I drive her to work in the morning and I pick her up, so I been inside it a lot. I’ve been checkin’ the offices and stores in the building. Laura has a master key that fits the outside door of her office and the pharmacy on the ground floor. That’s what we’re gonna hit.”

“What’s there?”

“Drugs, Eddie.”

“I know that, but I don’t use drugs no more and I don’t have the connections to push.”

“I got the connection and we don’t have to push, either. This guy will pay top dollar on delivery.”

“Who is this guy?”

“Someone I met in the joint. He’s big, Eddie. He knows all the right people.”

“How do you know this guy ain’t feeding you a line?”

“Because I dealt with him before.”

Eddie jerked his head toward the living room.

“What about her?”

“Laura? She don’t know nothin’. I took her keys one weekend and had duplicates made. She don’t even suspect I got them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, what’s to know? It’s a cinch. We got the keys to the castle. They’ll never know what happened.”

“I want to think it over and I want to see the layout myself.”

“Sure, Eddie. I ain’t rushin’ you. What say we go over the place on Tuesday?”

“Okay. Tuesday. But I have to be sure. You see my position, at my age. I can’t afford to foul up again.”

“I’m very proud of you,” Roy whispered in Esther’s ear. She purred and kissed him. She was so content. She only wished that she could help him by remembering everything he wanted her to remember.

It was four-thirty. They would have to get dressed soon and go see Dr. Hollander. She wished she could tell the doctor the secret she shared with Roy, but Roy said that she mustn’t tell anyone.

She wished Roy would stay with her more, too. He told her that it was only safe before and after the sessions. He said how it would be misconstrued if anyone found out about them later, when there was a trial. She knew he was right, but the few hours they had together weren’t enough when you spent every waking minute thinking about someone.

Roy walked into the bathroom to shower. The sitter would arrive soon and she had to tidy up. She felt very good today. Very positive. She was sure that she would remember today. She had to. For Roy. He had told her that the barriers were almost down. She could sense that too. She had been experiencing strange dreams recently.

But what if she was only imagining? She felt suddenly depressed. She had liked Bobby a lot once. She didn’t want to hurt him. If it wasn’t true, but she said it was…She didn’t want to think about it. It was true. Roy had said it was. She shut the bad thoughts out of her mind.

TAPE # 10

ESTHER PEGALOSI: I remember a car race.

ROY SHINDLER: Okay. Was there anything special about the car you had the race with?

A: They made us spin around.

DR. HOLLANDER: Very good! You see, your memory is coming back bit by bit. Can you describe the other car?

A: No. Just that it was bright.

Q: Bright?

A: There was fire on it.

Q: It was on fire?

A: I…I know what the car is supposed to look like, but I don’t want to be biased.

Q: I don’t want you to be biased. I want you to tell me what you remember. Do you remember telling us that today you would tell us the truth?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Good. Now why do you say there was fire on the car? Was there a decal there? Do you mean the flames were painted on?

A: I know what’s supposed to be there and I know how it looks and it’s awfully hard not to put it there in my head.

Q: I don’t want you to do that.

A: I really can’t remember. It seemed like fire. I don’t like going that fast. I probably didn’t look, ’cause I would be scared.

Q: Okay, after the drag race, then what?

A: They got mad.

Q: Who got mad?

A: Billy. He wanted to catch them. He knew the girl.

Q: Billy knew the girl?

A: Oh…

Q: Would you speak up? I can’t hear you.

A: It did happen on the same night.

Q: What happened?

A: I don’t feel so good.

Q: You were doing fine. Who was the girl, Esther?

(Sobbing)

Q: Relax now. Take my handkerchief. You’re doing fine. Are you okay? Have some water. Okay. Take a deep breath. Now, tell me. Tell Roy. Who was the girl?

A: Can I whisper?

Q: No, Esther. Today is truth day. Today you must be the strong, confident woman that Roy and I know you’ve become. Do you want to tell us?

A: (Sobbing) Could I…?

Q: No, Esther. Just answer my question if you want to help me. Who was the girl?

A: Elaine Murray. Billy saw her and he said it.

Q: Okay. It’s all right. Then, Billy got mad?

A: Yes.

Q: What did he do?

A: They were cussing and they couldn’t see the car for a while.

Q: Did they chase after it?

A: Uh-huh. But they couldn’t find it.

Q: Where did they go?

A: Into Lookout Park.

Q: You went into the park?

A: It seems like it. It couldn’t be my imagination.

Q: No. You’re doing fine. Your memory is working better than it ever has. What happened next?

A: We…I saw the car.

Q: The car you were dragging with?

A: Are you sure that I’m not just remembering this because I want to get it over with and I’m not really remembering it?

Q: I think you are remembering it because you have come to the point where you can. I know you want to get it over with.

A: Is it all right if I smoke?

Q: No. In a few minutes I will let you smoke. Now, you saw the car, and then what?

A: I’ll tell you if I can remember. But I’m kind of blank.

Q: You’re doing fine. Let’s see how good your memory is.

A: It’s so hard because I know what they did. I know what I’m supposed to say and I want to make sure that I remember and I’m not just saying it…Something that I know.

Q: What you are supposed to say may not be true. I want you to remember what you remember.

A: Okay. We are driving in the park. You see, there are curves out there. Real sharp and woods all around. And Billy was mad, so we were going real fast and dust was just flying. I don’t know where we went. We drove for a long time. Then we went back and forth over the same area and we passed a place with a fireplace and some benches and then there was a small road off of that and when we went by the road I saw something.

Q: What did you see?

A: I don’t remember…I don’t like to remember, really.

Q: I know you don’t like to remember.

A: I really can’t…

Q: Did anything happen in the park?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: What was it…? You are shaking your head. What happened?

A: I didn’t see it.

Q: What didn’t you see?

A: I ran.

Q: What did you run from?

A: I…

Q: It’s okay. Here’s a tissue. We will protect you. You’re safe here.

A: I…

Q: Take a deep breath. Everything is fine.

A: (Crying)

Q: What made you run?

A: The murder.

Q: I couldn’t hear you.

A: The murderer.

Q: You saw the murder?

A: They were yelling.

Q: Who?

A: Everyone. They were going to beat him up.

Q: Beat who?

A: The boy from the other car.

Q: Why didn’t he drive away?

A: Because he had been insulted.

Q: He had been insulted?

A: His girlfriend had.

Q: What did they say?

A: Billy said nasty things.

Q: What did Billy say? Did he say prostitute? Do you recall?

A: And the boy said to shut up.

Q: The boy told Billy to shut up?

A: I can’t tell you whether it’s really what’s in my head.

Q: You keep on because your memory is telling you fine. We are very proud of you. You are a fine, strong woman.

A: So they started fighting.

Q: How did it start? The fight?

A: Billy said something and he said that is no way to talk about a lady. To insult her. And he was going to make him take it back and Billy socked him.

Q: Billy socked him?

A: And they were hitting him and they went and got the girl.

Q: Where was the girl?

A: In the car.

Q: What did you do?

A: I don’t feel well. Can we stop now?

Q: No, Esther. We will stop in a little bit.

A: I don’t remember.

Q: You do remember. We are so proud of you, Esther.

A: He had no face.

Q: Who?

A: Richie.

Q: Richie had no…? Take it easy. Do you want a handkerchief?

(Sobbing)

A: I ran. (Crying)

Q: Did you run when you saw Richie’s face? You are shaking your head yes. Where was the girl?

A: They were dragging her into the grass. That’s all I know. I ran away.

Q: Did you fall while you were running?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: While you were running, did you drop anything or lose anything?

A: My purse. My glasses fell out.

Q: After you fell and got up, where did you run?

A: Down to the road.

Q: Did you…were you confronted by dogs?

A: I got in the yard and they chased…chased me. I didn’t see them at first, then they jumped at me.

Q: How did you get away?

A: They were tied. On a leash.

Q: Okay, so you got away from the dogs. Then where did you go?

A: Onto the road. I started to walk home.

Q: How did you get home?

A: I am too wide awake with this stuff now. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say.

Q: I don’t want what you are supposed to say. I want what you remember.

A: ’Cause I know what I’m supposed to say and, well, I am telling you the truth. I am not making it up.

Q: I know, Esther. Shut your eyes for a minute. Just relax. In a minute I will give you some more medicine.

DR. HOLLANDER: How did you get home?

A: Bobby and Billy and…They stopped the car.

Q: They got you in a car?

A: I was walking on the street and they stopped. They came up behind me and said to get in.

Q: Who was driving?

A: Bobby, I think.

Q: Where was Billy?

A: In the back, holding a girl.

Q: Elaine?

A: Yes.

Q: Was she all right?

A: She wasn’t dead. She was all right.

Q: How did you know?

A: She was sitting up and looking at me, but he was holding her.

Q: How did he hold her?

A: By her arms and around her shoulders. She looked asleep almost.

Q: Dazed?

A: Yes.

Q: Where did they go with her?

A: I don’t know. They took me home. They dumped me off in the middle of the street and drove away.

Q: They didn’t say anything to you?

A: No. Maybe that’s why I didn’t remember it the next day when I saw it in the papers.

Q: What do you mean?

A: I saw about Richie being killed, but I never saw the boy close, so I decided it couldn’t have been and I forgot about it. I was pretty drunk, too.

Q: Why are you crying?

A: I am tired.

Q: Do you think that what we talked about was all you can remember?

A: I don’t know.

Q: But you remember seeing the boy murdered?

A: No, I didn’t see that.

Q: Didn’t you say that you saw the fight?

A: No, no, I didn’t know there was a murder, until later. I didn’t know what happened. I thought they beat him up like they usually did.

Q: Didn’t you say you saw Richie’s face?

A: I saw it later.

Q: Did they ever talk to you, Bobby and Billy, after that? Threaten you?

A: Well, you know, you hung together. You didn’t tell. And then, I didn’t want to go to a home. You know, there was that robbery thing at the miniature golf and if I got in trouble again the judge said he would have to send me to a home.

Q: After that night did you ever see Elaine Murray again?

A: No. I hardly saw Billy or Bobby, either.

Q: Not even in school?

A: They had a car accident in…right after New Years and they was in the hospital. Then I stopped hanging around with the Cobras and stayed home more. They almost didn’t graduate, I remember. But I guess the school just wanted to get rid of them.

ROY SHINDLER: When did you run away?

A: From the hill?

Q: Yes.

A: I think when they were kicking the boy and then they ran after the girl. It’s confused in my mind, because it was so fast.

DR. HOLLANDER: You are remembering very well today.

A: But I didn’t remember before. Honest I didn’t.

Q: I am sure you didn’t.

A: Why? (Crying)

Q: Why couldn’t you remember?

A: Did I do something wrong? I didn’t know she was going to get in trouble.

Q: I am sure you didn’t.

A: I knew there was a fight, but I didn’t think it was possible there would be a murder and…and the other thing.

Q: What would you have done if you had known that they were going to rape and murder her?

A: I would have stopped them.

Q: How?

A: Any way. They wouldn’t have done nothing…(Crying).

Q: Go ahead and cry.

A: I don’t think…I don’t think they intended to. I don’t think they did it.

Q: You can’t picture them doing it? Not Bobby?

A: He was a tough little shit, but…

Q: Not Billy?

(PAUSE)

A: Maybe. I don’t know. Billy loved to fight. Maybe he went too far without realizing it. I remember him beating people more than once.

Q: What was the last thing you remember seeing on the hill?

A: I think they were holding the boy by the car. Like they were frisking him.

Q: Like they were frisking him?

A: I think they were going to rob him. Maybe they figured this boy would be wealthy if he dated this girl.

Q: Did they talk about the girl being wealthy?

A: I don’t think so. I’m just guessing now.

Q: Okay. Well, we don’t want you to guess. Just say what you know. Now, who got out of the car first on the hill?

A: Billy and the boy was out, too.

Q: When they were fighting, where was the girl?

A: I don’t know. In the car I guess.

Q: Did she scream?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: Did Billy or Bobby have anything in their hand when they got out of the car?

A: I don’t remember.

Q: Did you see either of them hit the boy over the head?

A: No.

Q: Did they get Richie down on the ground?

A: I didn’t see that.

ROY SHINDLER: Esther, when you got back into the car, when they picked you up, the girl was in the back seat with Billy?

A: Yes.

Q: And he was holding her around the arms and shoulders?

A: Uh-huh.

Q: Did he have anything around her neck?

A: No.

Q: No rope or something like that.

A: It was real dark in the car and I didn’t see too good. I only looked at her for a minute and I was drunk and not feeling so good from the running and being scared by the dogs.

Q: Where did you drive to then?

A: They drove me home.

Q: Did she try to get out of the car or struggle?

A: No.

Q: She didn’t try to get out?

A: Wait a minute. How many times have I lied to you about this? I don’t want to…

Q: You aren’t lying now. Did they have a hand over her mouth?

A: They could have.

DR. HOLLANDER: Do you remember how the girl was reacting to this?

A: She was quiet, dazed.

Q: Did she cry?

A: I didn’t look at her that long, you know. She could have been crying, but that may not be true.

Q: Tell us what you remember and don’t worry about what’s true. What you remember will be true.

8

“Mr. Boggs, are you a homosexual?”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

Harry Jamison was on his feet shouting before the last words of the question had carried across the courtroom to the frightened little man in the witness box. Judge Jacob Samuels tried to hide his displeasure with Philip Heider, but the jury could not help but notice the scathing look he flashed at the prosecutor as soon as the question was asked.

Heider, although he did not show it, was delighted with Jamison’s reaction. He had planned on it. Now, no matter how the judge ruled on the propriety of his question, the seeds of doubt were sown.

“I will see you gentlemen in chambers,” Samuels said as he gathered his black robes around him and disappeared through the door behind his dais.

Harry Jamison waddled after him, his enormous belly shifting with each step. He was a tragicomic figure made more for vaudeville than the courtroom and he heightened this impression by tenting his body in clashing checks and stripes.

Philip Heider, in contrast, was streamlined. He looked every bit the bright young man. Those who knew him well, knew that he was cold, ruthless and pragmatic. Those who saw him in court were usually fooled by the red hair and freckles that gave him a Tom Sawyerish look.

Judge Samuels was seated behind his desk when Heider and Jamison entered his wood-paneled office. He had been expecting Heider’s question for the past half hour: ever since Jamison had asked his own incredibly stupid questions on direct examination of the defendant, Lowell Boggs. Even so, he found the whole line of questioning distasteful and he knew that he had to decide if it was sufficiently prejudicial to compel his declaring the four-day murder case a mistrial or sufficiently relevant to permit inquiry.

Samuels looked at the two attorneys with disgust. Jamison was an incompetent joke. He had not done one thing right since the case started. It was a sorry system that even permitted someone like Jamison to practice.

And Heider…That was a different matter. He was every inch Stewart Heider’s son. Vicious, unprincipled. He could go on, but did not. Stewart Heider had made his money the hard way. He tried to buy respectability by sending his son to the best schools. But there was always heredity. The same criminal streak that was rumored to be behind the money Heider had made in lumber manifested itself in the way Philip Heider prosecuted his cases.

The problem was that, like the father, the son never quite crossed the border of unethical behavior. And, like the father, Samuels had to admit grudgingly, the son was good-very good. Samuels had seen a great many lawyers during his seventeen years on the bench and, despite the fact that Heider was relatively inexperienced, having practiced law with the district attorney’s office for only two years, he was one of the best the judge had ever seen.

“I want a mistrial. I warned the Court that Mr. Heider would try to go into this. I see no way that Mr. Boggs can get a fair trial, now that Mr. Heider has engaged in this disgusting piece of theatrics.”

“Mr. Heider?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, this goes directly to motive. It is the State’s position that Boggs is a homosexual and that he killed Bobby Washington during a lover’s quarrel. The ferocity with which Mr. Washington was stabbed indicates great passion on the part of the killer.”

“But there is no evidence that Mr. Boggs is a homosexual. It’s all speculation,” Jamison whined. “He has to produce evidence if he is going to drag in this dirt and he didn’t during the State’s case.”

“Yes, Mr. Heider, I made a ruling on that before we started this trial. I ruled that we were not going into this area without proof.”

“I know that, Your Honor, and I did stay away from it, but Mr. Jamison opened the door during his examination of Mr. Boggs when he tried to raise as a defense that Washington was a homosexual who had accosted Mr. Boggs and that Boggs stabbed him in self-defense after wresting the knife from Washington.

“Mr. Jamison went into the sex angle first and I think I have a right to cross-exam on his defense.”

As Heider spoke, he watched the expression on Jamison’s face as the older attorney realized what he had done. A quick grin flashed across his face as he savored his moment. Judge Samuels caught the look of triumph and stifled a feeling of anger. Heider was a prick. He had no concept of professional responsibility.

Jamison was babbling now. Grasping at straws, as he tried to explain what he had and had not intended by his question. Samuels let him have his say, because he knew how he would have to rule and he wanted to make sure that Jamison had every chance to make his record.

“I am afraid Mr. Heider is right, Harry. I was astonished when you asked those questions, especially after our discussion in chambers. But you did and I am going to have to allow Mr. Heider to continue along this line for a while.”

“I see,” Jamison said weakly. He was crushed and he seemed to sag as he lifted himself from his chair and headed back to the courtroom.

Samuels stopped Heider before he could leave the chambers.

“This is a cheap shot, Mr. Heider, and I am watching you at each step. If you don’t tie this in, or if you push this too far, I will give Mr. Jamison his mistrial.”

“I understand, Your Honor,” Heider replied politely. He had won and there was no profit in gloating. He cast a quick glance at Jamison as he returned to his seat. That fat slob was so stupid he couldn’t tie his shoelaces without a blueprint, he thought. A good attorney could have made a real fight out of this case. Still, Heider was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. The win would not hurt his reputation and he would not mind seeing that simpering little fag behind bars anyway. He hated weakness and Boggs was weak. He had sensed it during the trial and on each occasion he had met the defendant. Boggs was a worm, begging the jury for a second chance. And he might have gotten it, Heider mused, if it had not been for the incompetence of his counsel. The jury might have acquitted a sixty-seven-year-old white bookkeeper with no prior record for the murder of a black junkie. But they would never acquit a queer for the murder of his lover. Heider leaned back in his chair and looked across the courtroom at Boggs. Then he glanced at his note pad and asked his next question.

Five hours later Heider strode through the gate next to Fanny Maser’s desk and headed for the interior of the district attorney’s office with two reporters in tow. Heider was grinning.

“Guilty?” asked a young D.A. who was standing in the corridor as Heider’s flying wedge swept by.

“What else?” Heider said and the reporters laughed. They liked Heider. He was colorful and always willing to talk to the press.

“Mr. Heider,” Fanny yelled after him, “Mr. Holman wants to see you. He said it was important.”

Heider wondered what the D.A. wanted to see him about. Besides being his boss, Herb Holman was an old family friend who owed his present position, in large part, to Stewart Heider’s financial and political support.

Heider excused himself and the reporters settled at a small table to jot down notes for their story. Holman’s private office was isolated at the far end of the District Attorney’s Office. Heider had to pass by several of his colleagues on his way, but few offered congratulations or even bothered to ask about the Boggs verdict. Heider was not well liked by the other deputies. Their attitude stemmed in part from the obvious favoritism shown him by Holman and partly from Heider’s superior attitude.

Herb Holman was a little man with a ruddy complexion. He smiled when Phil entered and he extended his hand.

“Very well done. Judge Samuels’s clerk called me.”

Heider shrugged and grinned.

“With Jamison on the other side, it was like having an assistant.”

Holman laughed and they both sat down.

“Phil, are you still serious about trying for state representative next year?”

“Dad and I have talked it over a few times,” Heider answered, puzzled by the question. “He thinks Faulk can be had and I agree.”

“Okay. Well, something has come up that may help you get the nomination. How well do you remember the Murray-Walters murder case?”

“‘Murray-Walters,’? Isn’t that the rape-murder in Lookout Park that happened about five or six years ago?”

“Right.”

“I remember a little about it. I was in college at the time and I remember it even made the eastern papers.”

“I received a call from a Portsmouth detective named Roy Shindler this afternoon. Do you know Shindler?”

“Sure. He’s worked on a couple of my cases. Very sharp.”

“Yes, I agree. Shindler thinks he has enough to get an indictment in Murray-Walters. I want you to talk to him. If you agree, take it to Grand Jury and all the way after that.”

Heider could hear his heart beat. “Murray-Walters” was a household name in Portsmouth. Parents still used it as a bugaboo to keep their teenage children out of Lookout Park at night. Trying the case would mean front-page headlines for months. Assuming that he could get an indictment within a month, and that the trial started within three months, the publicity could carry him right up to the time for filing.

Holman smiled.

“I thought this would interest you. Hell, if I thought I was going to have any opposition next fall, I would have taken the case myself. Shindler will be expecting your call. Treat this one with kid gloves. And, Phil, no leaks.”

“I read you.”

“Good boy.”

Heider was thinking and listening while Shindler talked and drove. The whole thing was fantastic. The problems involved…How do you make a jury believe in a witness who did not believe that she was a witness until six years after the crime? The papers would call it trial by voodoo. Still, Shindler was no wild-eyed kid. He was steady, intelligent, not a man to make rash decisions. Everything depended on the girl. That was why he had insisted that Shindler take him to see her. If he did not believe her, the jury would not believe her.

“Dr. Hollander is certain that she’s telling the truth?”

“Oh, absolutely. We’ve been over her story dozens of times.”

“And she has an independent recollection now?”

“Yes.”

“Independent of the tapes? She doesn’t have to listen to the tapes?”

“No. She can tell it from memory now. She remembers it all. Dr. Hollander says that the blocks were removed when she made the breakthrough under the drug.”

“Because, if she can’t remember it without the tapes, it will look like a put-up job.”

“No, this is the real thing. We have other witnesses that corroborate her story. The guy who saw the drag race and the woman who owns the dogs. There are the people at the party who saw Billy Coolidge with the knife.”

Heider studied the passing scenery. Shindler reminded himself not to talk too much. It was hard. He was so high. He had worked so long and so hard on this case that had seemed so hopeless and now to see the end in sight…he felt an awful calm in his body and a terrible elation of the spirit, as if only part of him was tied to the earth, the other part soaring, unstoppable.

Esther’s apartment was just ahead. He had called her after Heider’s call to tell her that they were coming over. He had not spoken to her in two weeks and she sounded like a puppy, overjoyed to hear from him, anxious to know why he had not called. When he told her that he was bringing the district attorney with him, she had become frightened, but he had soothed her by promising to visit her that evening.

“We’re here,” Shindler said, edging the car into the curb.

“Did you bring the flashlight?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. Here,” Gary said, handing it to Toller. “Don’t be so nervous, will ya? It’s startin’ to get to me.”

“I ain’t nervous. I just wanted to make sure we had everything.”

“Well, I had it.”

Eddie zipped up his jacket and turned his collar up to obscure his face. There weren’t supposed to be any security guards in the place, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Gary had parked in the rear of the Cameron Street Medical Building. Eddie looked at his watch for the third time in the last two minutes and licked his lips nervously. It was three in the morning and there was no moon. They had cruised the street for a few nights running to check the area for police patrols. The Medical Building was located in a quiet residential area and there was no one about at this hour of the morning.

Gary slipped on his gloves and grabbed the pillow cases they had brought along for the drugs. The rear parking lot was deserted and the car was parked next to the rear door. The back of the building was dark, but Eddie had misgivings, because the pharmacy, which fronted the street, was lit. He had remarked on this to Gary, but Barrick had explained that the room where the drugs were kept was in the rear of the pharmacy and was difficult to see from the street.

Gary took the duplicate keys from his pocket and tested one in the rear door. The door opened easily and Gary smiled as he preceded Eddie into the dark interior of the empty building.

“This is gonna be cake, Eddie,” he whispered.

Eddie looked around cautiously. It was bad luck to talk about how easy a job was going to be. Something about this one had made him nervous from the start.

The corridor ended and Gary turned to the right. Eddie could see the street through the glass front door. Gary made a small jog to the left and stopped in front of a heavy, solid wooden door. While Gary tried the keys in the lock, Eddie flashed his light nervously up and down the corridor. He heard Gary curse and he turned to see what was the matter.

“The goddamn key don’t fit.”

“What?”

“It don’t work.”

“Let me try.” He handed Gary the flashlight and tried both keys in the lock. Neither worked.

“What is this?” Eddie asked, a tinge of panic in his voice.

“I don’t know. It was supposed to open the door to the pharmacy.”

“What do you mean, supposed to? Didn’t you try it out?”

“Jesus, Eddie, someone mightta seen me.”

“Oh, shit. You mean you…Why did you think it would open the goddamn door?”

“I heard Laura say once that this one opened the street door and this one opened all the offices.”

“Oh, no. She probably meant her offices, you dumb…”

Gary held up his hand for silence.

“Don’t get excited, Eddie. This ain’t no big thing. I got this place all cased. I know where they keep a pry bar. It’ll just mean some extra work, is all. Just wait here.”

Eddie started to say something, but Gary was gone, down the hall and up a flight of stairs by the sound of the echoes. Eddie knew he should get out now. The vibes were bad. He thought he heard a noise in the darkness and turned out the flashlight and tried to squeeze into a corner near the door.

“Turn on the goddamn flash, Eddie, it’s me,” Gary whispered. He had returned with his arms loaded with tools. He dumped them in front of the door and selected a pry bar. Eddie sat on the floor with his back to the wall and told himself “I told you so” over and over while Gary worked on the door. There was grunting and puffing for a few minutes, then Gary signaled him and the door swung open. Gary crouched down and Eddie followed him in.

He straightened up for a second, then realized the reason for Gary’s crouch. The inside of the pharmacy was as bright as day and the front of the pharmacy was all glass. If they straightened up, anyone outside could see them easily.

Gary moved behind some couches to a door in the side of a small room. The lower half of the room was opaque, but the top half was glass. The walls of the room were lined with shelves stocked with drugs. There was a refrigerator in the back.

“Let’s start movin’,” Gary said as he straightened up and began shoving drugs into one of the pillow cases.

“Wait a minute,” Eddie said. “What is this stuff? This stuff ain’t worth anything.”

“Sure it is,” Gary said, moving to the next shelf.

While Gary rummaged through the shelves, Eddie picked up a few boxes and bottles and looked at them. They were pain killers, tranquilizers, cough syrups. No narcotics.

“This guy is gonna pay you for this shit?” Eddie asked unbelievingly.

“Yeah. Sure. Look, Eddie, stop talkin’ and get movin’.”

“Jesus, Gary. This is worthless.”

Gary threw down the pillow case he was holding in a rage.

“Shut up, shut up,” he yelled. “You done nothin’ but complain since we left tonight. I asked you along because of all that talk in the joint on how you are this big-time burglar. You ain’t shit, Eddie. Now get these fuckin’ pillow cases full or…”

Gary froze and his eyes bugged out. Eddie whirled around and heard Gary make for the rear door. He headed after him. There were two cops staring at them through the front window.

Eddie could only think of the car. He dashed around a corner and realized that he had lost Gary. Well, fuck him. He wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for that dumb…

He skidded to a halt at a dead end. Damn. He couldn’t remember where the back corridor was. He raced around another corner and spotted the rear door. He could hear footsteps behind him. The cops were in the building. He dashed for the door and there was a policeman suddenly framed in it, gun pointed at him in a classic pistol range pose. The footsteps behind were gaining. “Freeze, you fucker,” the policeman said through the glass. Eddie sank to the floor and clasped his hands behind his head.

Norman Walters watched his office door remove Shindler from view and wished that the man could be made to vanish that easily.

“Hold my calls,” he said into his intercom. He felt very old and very tired. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep for a long time, but he knew that, instead, he would have to call on emotional reserves, which had grown smaller and smaller since his son’s death and go home to tell Carla.

Carla. To tell her. He felt drained by the thought of it. In the six months following Richie’s death he had watched her grow old. The spark that seemed to keep her eternally youthful had been extinguished by Shindler’s visit. She had recovered, of course. Time heals, etc. But never fully recovered. She was quieter now. More tired.

He had changed too. A lot of the self-confidence had gone out of his grip. The things he used to care about so much, his law practice, his cars, his golf game, didn’t interest him as much. There was a dimension missing from both their lives.

Still, they had coped and the intervening years had helped to dull the memory of the healthy, loving boy who had been his son. Until now. Until Shindler had made him feel the pain again, just as strongly as he had felt it that first time. And soon-when he could muster the courage-he would have to go home and make Carla feel that same pain.

Detective Avritt slammed the car door on the driver’s side and Shindler glanced over at the marked patrol car that had followed them from the courthouse. Heider had called him as soon as the Grand Jury had returned the indictments and he had rushed to the courthouse to get a judge to sign the warrants. On the way he had remembered the shame and frustration he had felt when he was relieved of the case. No one in the department knew about his weekly visits to Dr. Hollander. His investigation had been carried out on his own time. When he had the evidence he needed, he had taken it to the captain. He still savored the apology the captain had made when he returned the case to him.

After securing the warrants, he had driven to Norman Walters’s office. He had expected more of a reaction from Richie’s father, yet he could understand the emotions the man must have experienced when he received the news that his son was finally to be avenged. Walters had been cool to him in recent years, but Shindler felt that this was a reaction to his failure to solve the case. All that would change now.

Shindler absent-mindedly touched the arrest warrant in his left inside jacket pocket and looked up at the third-floor apartment where Sarah Rhodes lived. His watch showed eleven-thirty. It was a warm, sunny day. The beginning of spring. In a half hour, police detectives carrying a similar warrant would arrive at the State Penitentiary.

The uniformed policemen were out of their car now and Shindler, followed by Avritt, entered the apartment building. The calm was still inside him. It was the feeling of victory, of satisfaction. He had known all along, from the first moment he had seen Billy Coolidge. He thought of the long years when the case had floated in limbo. How often he had despaired of ever proving what he knew in his heart to be the truth.

Shindler paused in front of the apartment door and waited for the others. When they caught up, he rang the bell. A girl answered the door.

“Miss Rhodes?”

“Yes.”

He showed her his badge. The girl looked confused. A man’s voice called out from the other room and Shindler’s pulse began to race.

“Is Bobby Coolidge here?” Shindler asked.

“Yes. Is anything wrong?”

Shindler smiled. He was the fisherman, the hunter. The prey was close, the line was taut.

“We have a matter to discuss with Mr. Coolidge. I wonder if you could ask him to step in here for a moment.”

“Of course,” she said, hesitantly. She disappeared into another room and the officers filled up the entry way.

Sarah returned. Shindler studied Bobby as he came down the hall. The D.A. haircut was gone and so was the arrogance. He had put on a little weight, but he was the same person Shindler had seen on the night in ’61 when they had interrogated the brothers at the station house.

“Robert Coolidge?”

“Yes.”

“I have a warrant for your arrest. You will have to accompany us to the station house.”

Bobby smiled and looked back and forth between Shindler and the other policemen.

“Is this a joke?”

“I’m afraid not,” Shindler said, handing Coolidge a copy of the warrant. Bobby did not look at it.

“Well, what’s the charge?”

“Mr. Coolidge, I am here to arrest you for the murders of Elaine Murray and Richie Walters.”