Heartstone

1

“Yes?” Caproni yawned. The ringing of the phone had roused him from a deep sleep. The phosphorescent hands of his alarm clock indicated that it was one in the morning.

“Mr. Caproni, I’m sorry to wake you, but this is Officer McGivern. I’ve located Heartstone.”

Caproni sat up in bed and switched on a reading lamp.

“What have you got?”

“The Cedar Arms, room 310. It’s a transient hotel over on Third and Wallace.”

Caproni jotted down the address on a pad on his nightstand.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” Caproni said. “Don’t wait in front of the hotel or he might see you.”

“Don’t worry,” McGivern said, “I’ll be a block away on Prescott, where I can see the front of the hotel.”

Caproni hung up and dressed. He wanted to find Heartstone, but he wished that McGivern had found him on some other night. The Coolidge brothers had elected to have separate trials and Bobby’s had started last week. It had taken several days to pick a jury and the state was now presenting evidence. While Heider conducted the trial, Caproni was in and out of the courtroom, coordinating witnesses, researching legal points and taking care of emergencies. The pace had been grueling and the work did not stop when court recessed. At five o’clock, he and Heider would go back to the office to prepare for the next day of trial. This evening he had returned home at ten o’clock, completely drained.

Caproni backed his car out of the garage and pointed it downtown. He yawned and switched on the radio for company. So far there had been no deviations from the script that Heider had so carefully orchestrated. Of course, the witnesses to date had all been policemen who were involved in the investigation and a few civilians, like the parents of the victims, who had provided background for the jury. The crucial part of the case that would tie in Coolidge with the murders would begin tomorrow when Heider called Roger Hessey. Hessey would take the jury to the party at Alice Fay’s house. He would be followed by the people who had attended the party and witnessed the fight.

After that would come two boys, grown men now, who had talked to Richie Walters and Elaine Murray outside the movie theater on the evening of the crime and who were the last people to see them alive. Mr. Shultz would tell the jury about the drag race on Monroe Boulevard and several people who knew would describe the car that Bobby and Billy were driving on the evening of November 25, 1960.

Thelma Pullen would tell the jury about the girl she had seen running through her backyard on the evening of the crime, after her dogs had awakened her. Dr. Webber would explain how Esther’s glasses were traced to her. Dr. Trembler would identify the glasses as belonging to Esther. Dr. Hollander would lecture the jurors on hypnosis and amnesia and discuss his treatment of Esther. Esther would testify and Dr. Beauchamp would wrap up the show with a graphic description of cause of death, aided by some of the most gruesome photographs that Caproni had ever seen.

While Caproni was excited about the way the technical side of the state’s case was going, he was disappointed by Mark Shaeffer’s poor showing. Shaeffer seemed confused and preoccupied. He had raised few of the pretrial motions Caproni and Heider had anticipated and the points that had been raised were poorly researched and argued. Judge Samuels, who had been assigned the case, had lost patience with Shaeffer on several occasions because of the attorney’s lack of preparation.

Caproni felt the urgency of clearing up the mystery surrounding Toller’s story more than ever now. He had no desire to aid the defense, but he had a strong sense of justice. Shaeffer was doing such a poor job that the truth might never come out at the trial. That made tonight’s interview with Heartstone crucial.

Caproni parked behind McGivern’s car and walked over to it. McGivern got out and handed Caproni a mug shot of Heartstone. Caproni was always astounded at what life could do to human beings. The face in the picture was long and thin, with sunken cheeks and rotting teeth that showed through the gap made by scarred and cracked lips. Heartstone was not the worst example of the desperate man Caproni had ever seen, but he did evoke strong feelings of revulsion and pity.

“Let’s go,” Caproni said. “When we get to the hotel I want you to wait outside. I have to talk with him alone.”

“He could be dangerous,” McGivern said.

“I realize that, but it can’t be helped.”

The entrance to the Cedar Arms was a narrow glass-paned door with a “Rooms to Rent” sign taped to one of the panes. There was no lobby. A flight of linoleum-covered stairs led up to a landing lit by a low-wattage bulb. The cracked plaster walls exuded an odor of cooked, canned chile. Caproni tried not to breathe.

The metal number three on Heartstone’s door was hanging upside down from the bottom nail. Caproni doubted if the door had seen a coat of paint since the building had been completed. He knocked loudly. A radio was playing in a room down the hall. Bedsprings whined and a voice inside Heartstone’s room badly slurred the words “Whaddyawant.” Caproni said “Mr. Heartstone” in a low voice and knocked again. The voice said, “I’m comin’, goddammit” and a shoe worn by a foot out of control thudded on the uncarpeted floor. The lock clicked and the face in the mugshot peered through a crack in the door. Caproni was almost overcome by the man’s breath. He did not need to see Heartstone’s bleary and bloodshot eyes to know that the man had been drinking heavily. The sight of a man in a suit had a sobering effect on Heartstone. His intelligence was low, but he operated with a certain amount of animal cunning. In his environment suits were worn by people who wanted to hurt you, usually the law. He said nothing and waited for Caproni to identify himself. Caproni handed him a business card through the slit in the door.

“Mr. Heartstone, I’m Al Caproni. I’m with the district attorney’s office and I need some help from you on a case. Could I come in?”

Caproni had used the phrase “need some help” on purpose. He imagined it had been quite some time since anyone had asked Willie Heartstone for help or he had been able to give any.

“About what?” Heartstone asked, his interest piqued.

“I’d rather not discuss it standing out here where other people can hear us,” Caproni answered in a tone which he hoped was conspiratorial.

Heartstone tried to weigh his alternatives for a moment, but the task proved too much for him and it must have appeared simpler to let Caproni in, because he moved back and opened the door.

The room smelled of stale clothing and unwashed bodies. A bed covered by rumpled sheets was pushed under the only window. The window was open and late night street sounds drifted in.

Someone had placed a laced doily on top of the dresser. Someone else had stained it. There was an overstuffed secondhand armchair under an ancient pole lamp and a sink attached to the wall catercorner from the window. Caproni sat in the armchair while Heartstone turned on the tap and splashed cold water on his face. A small mirror was suspended above the sink from a rusted nail embedded in the cracked and flaking plaster. The paint on its cheap frame was chipping and the zinc backing showed through in spots, breaking up the face reflected there. Heartstone stared in the mirror and rubbed his eyes as if in disbelief. He turned away from the mirror and dried his face on a towel that hung over the side of the dresser. Then he sat down opposite Caproni on the edge of the bed. There was a half-filled fifth of cheap Scotch and a five-and-dime glass sitting on the nightstand. Heartstone filled the glass and drank from it. He coughed, wiped his mouth and then, suddenly remembering that Caproni was in the room, offered the bottle to him.

“No thank you, Mr. Heartstone,” Caproni said.

“Suitcherself,” Heartstone replied and poured a refill. The drink seemed to make him more sober.

“I came here to ask you for information about a case I’m working on.”

Heartstone eyed him suspiciously.

“I ain’t gone talk wit’ no cops. Lass time they pulled me in when it was that other damn guy. The son of a bitch.”

“This is about a case that occurred some time ago.”

Heartstone stood up. He seemed steadier on his feet than he had when he sat down. His face looked meaner.

“Lissen, if this is about that rap where I was falsely accused of a weapon, I ain’t talkin’ to no cop. That was a frame. That bastard bartender cheated me. Besides,” he added sheepishly, the anger in his voice changing rapidly to shame, “I don’t remember most of what happened.”

“This has nothing to do with that incident, Mr. Heartstone,” Caproni assured him. He seemed relieved and sat down again. Caproni checked the door and window for a possible exit if the man got violent. He also checked the room for possible weapons. Heartstone reached for the Scotch bottle and grabbed it by the neck.

“Were you living in Portsmouth in 1960 and ’61?”

“Sure,” Heartstone said suspiciously, his hand resting on the bottle neck. “I ain’t never lived no other place.”

“Where were you living at that time?”

Heartstone passed his other hand in front of his face, trying to clear away the cobwebs that draped the corridors of his faded, alcoholic memory.

“Shit, I don’t know,” he answered finally.

“Were you living with someone named Ralph?”

Heartstone’s face clouded and his voice took on an edge of potential violence.

“Why d’you want to know about Ralph? He’s long gone. Went to Arizona years ago.”

“We want to speak to him.”

“About what? What is this?”

Caproni decided that it was time to get to the truth.

“We believe that Ralph murdered a girl in January of 1961.”

Caproni did not see the bottle, but he heard the animal roar that escaped from Heartstone’s throat at the moment the bottle connected with his temple. For a moment he was blind and falling. Then his head made hard contact with the floor and Heartstone’s boot made harder contact with the back of his skull.

When he came to, a half hour had passed and the room was empty. Heartstone had cleared out. The door of a small closet was open and the closet was empty. Two dresser drawers were half open. Caproni could see all this from his position on the floor. There was a terrible pain in his head and it got worse when he tried to sit up. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, but lying down again was the only thing that helped.

He felt like a fool. How had that wino caught him so off guard? He had never expected him to move so fast. He tried to sit up again and made it by rolling to his side and getting his knees under him. He touched his head. It was tender enough to make him grimace, but, miraculously, there was no blood. Scattered pieces of glass lay all over the floor and Caproni tried not to cut himself on them.

When he was on his feet, he washed his face in the sink. He wondered why McGivern had not come up to find him, then he remembered that he had told him to stay downstairs. What an idiot he had been. He assumed that Heartstone was far away by now. There must be a back entrance. If he had gone out the front, McGivern would have apprehended him or come upstairs to see why he had not come down. He was beginning to conclude that he deserved the kick in the head that Heartstone had administered. He had completely botched things.

When he was well enough, Caproni eased himself downstairs. McGivern was leaning against a parked car and he rushed over when Caproni staggered out.

“What happened?”

“He hit me with a bottle of Scotch and a few other things that he had handy,” Caproni answered.

“Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll radio his description and we can pick him up.”

“No,” Caproni said quickly. Everything he was doing was behind Heider’s back and potentially damaging to the state’s case. He could not risk word of it getting back to Heider.

McGivern gave him a puzzled look, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I think I should take you to the hospital for an x-ray.”

“I agree. But first I want to go to the county jail. There’s a prisoner there that I have to see.”

The front entrance of the county jail looked like the portal of a medieval castle. Caproni rang an electric bell that looked out of place buried in the cold stone blocks and a second later the red iron bars of the front gate swung open.

He walked up a short flight of stairs into a circular reception area. To the right was a counter and, behind the counter, a hallway leading to the office of the jail commander. A guard sat behind the counter. He put down a copy of True Detective magazine, took his heels off his desk and stood up.

“I’m with the D.A.’s office. It’s urgent that I see one of your prisoners, Edward Toller.”

The guard looked at Caproni’s identification and handed it back.

“I’ll get him in a second,” he said and pressed a button on the jail intercom. There was a crackling noise and a voice answered. The guard said, “I need a cell block on an Edward Toller.”

There was silence for a second, then the voice on the intercom said, “He’s not here. Are you sure you have the name right?”

The guard looked at Caproni and Caproni nodded.

“Check the files on him, will you? I have a D.A. here who wants to talk to him.”

There was more silence.

“I got it,” the voice said. “He was released a week and a half ago.”

“Ask him why,” Caproni said. Something was going on here that he did not like.

“Charges were dropped. That’s all I know,” said the voice.

“Dropped by who?” Caproni asked.

“The court order just says motion of district attorney.”

McGivern drove Caproni to the hospital and waited until four o’clock, when he was released. Then he drove him back to his car. Caproni longed for sleep, but he had made a decision that would deny him that pleasure. It wasn’t an easy decision for him to make, because he wanted, more than anything, to be a district attorney, and what he was about to do could cost him his job. It wasn’t a decision that he was certain was right, not only because he feared that what he was doing might help to set two murderers free, but because his solution was a compromise. In his heart, he knew that he should approach Judge Samuels with what he knew, but that would be the end of his career. Instead, he had chosen a middle road.

There was a night guard on duty at the courthouse. Caproni showed him his identification and took the elevator to the district attorney’s office. It was eerie walking the halls of the deserted office at night and Caproni thought he heard footsteps or breathing at every turn. He found what he was looking for and carried the material to the copying machine. At six o’clock, he returned home, showered, shaved, ate a large breakfast and dressed for work.

2

“Your next witness, Mr. Heider,” Judge Samuels said.

“The state will call Roger Hessey, Your Honor.”

Mark Shaeffer watched the bailiff summon Hessey from the corridor. Hessey walked through the ornate courtroom doors dressed more like a swinging single than a witness in a murder case. He was nervous and his facial expressions moved back and forth between a look of deathlike solemnity and an inappropriate, overdone, smile as Philip Heider led him through his part in the events of November 25, 1960.

Shaeffer rubbed his eyes and wished that he could take a short nap. The trial was exhausting him. He was working late and not sleeping well. He looked at Coolidge, who was seated next to him. He was off in space again and Mark leaned over and whispered to him for no other purpose than to make it appear that the defendant was taking some part in his own trial.

Mark had emphasized the importance that a jury would attach to an attitude of indifference manifested by an accused, but Coolidge had gone through the first week of trial without showing any sign of involvement. At times his eyes appeared glassed over, as if, like a zombie, he was already dead and only his body was on trial. Mark had seriously considered calling a halt to the trial so that Coolidge could be examined by a psychiatrist for the purpose of determining whether or not he could aid and assist in his own defense, but he had concluded that Coolidge was not mentally incompetent, merely defeated.

Yesterday, after court had recessed, Mark watched the guards lead Bobby away down the long corridor to the jail elevator and was suddenly overcome by a dizzying emotion similar to the unnerving disorientation that accompanies déjà vu. Perhaps it was the angle of the sun, but the sight of Coolidge in handcuffs, his head and shoulders bowed, his body diminishing in size as it floated down the corridor, a scene he had witnessed on numerous occasions, overwhelmed him. He saw with great clarity his responsibilities in this matter and only a great exercise of will kept him from giving up in despair.

When Shaeffer turned to Coolidge, he caught sight of Sarah sitting in the back of the courtroom. The sight of her angered him. He had arranged for her to visit Bobby any time she chose, but she had refused to see him. Mark had been forced to lie to Bobby to explain why she would not see him.

Sarah had avoided Mark since that day in her apartment and he had slowly come to realize that he had been used by her. He wanted to confront her, but his feelings of guilt over the desire he felt for her made him impotent. He wondered why she insisted on coming to the trial each day and concluded that she wanted to see her belief in Bobby’s guilt justified so she could rationalize her desertion of a man who loved her and her lies to him.

“Mr. Hessey, the defendant was a member of a teenage gang called the Cobras, was he not?” Heider asked.

“Yes,” Hessey answered.

Judge Samuels looked up from some papers he had been reading and over toward Shaeffer to see what his reaction would be to Heider’s last question. Shaeffer seemed oblivious to the danger Judge Samuels saw so clearly on the horizon.

Judge Samuels felt sorry for Shaeffer. He seemed like a nice boy, but he should never have accepted a case of this magnitude. Samuels had tried to give him subtle tips on how to conduct his defense when he realized the boy’s inexperience, but Shaeffer seemed distracted and nervous and he never caught on.

“What was the purpose of this gang, Mr. Hessey?”

“What, uh, did we do, do you mean?” Hessey replied uncertainly. He had been a nervous witness, looking at the judge or jury for approval whenever he gave an answer.

“Exactly.”

Hessey shifted in his seat and ran his hands along the arms of his chair.

“Well, we got together, you know. Had parties…”

His voice trailed off.

“Weren’t members of the gang constantly involved in street fights and…?”

“Mr. Shaeffer,” Judge Samuels’s voice boomed, “aren’t you going to object to that question?”

Shaeffer’s eyes jerked up from his notes. He had been preoccupied with thoughts of Sarah and he had missed Heider’s last few questions. Shaeffer’s confusion was apparent to Samuels and the jurist reddened with anger when he realized that Mark did not know what he was talking about. Shaeffer’s lack of competence was forcing Samuels to take more of a role in the trial than was proper, yet his conscience and sense of professional ethics made it impossible for him to stand by day after day while Heider ran roughshod over his opponent.

“I’m sorry, I…” Shaeffer stuttered. Samuels glared at him for a second, then turned his wrath on Heider.

“It is becoming increasingly apparent to this Court that counsel for both sides have forgotten the rules of evidence concerning examination of witnesses. A person of your experience, Mr. Heider, should know that this entire line of questioning is not permissible.”

Heider rose and accepted the judge’s challenge. He did not appear to take offense at the judge’s remarks and his manner was gracious.

“Your Honor, if this line of questioning is improper, then I will not continue with it. As there was no objection from defense counsel, I assumed the questions were proper.”

That little son of a bitch always has the right answers, Samuels thought. He would lose no points with the jury after that response and he had made Shaeffer look bad.

Heider finished his examination of Hessey by leading him through the events at Alice Fay’s party. He quizzed him about the attitude of Bobby and Billy toward rich people. Shaeffer, as if to make up for his earlier inattention, made numerous objections, most of which were overruled as improper.

“No further questions,” Heider said.

“Your witness, Mr. Shaeffer.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Mark checked through his notes one last time. He was excited by the prospect of cross-examining Hessey. For the first time in the trial Mark felt that he would be able to score points. The state was basing its case on the credibility of Esther Pegalosi. It had tied her to the murder scene through her glasses. Mark was now prepared to destroy that key link between the star witness and the scene of the crime.

“Mr. Hessey, in 1960, you dated Esther Pegalosi on several occasions, did you not?”

“I guess so.”

“You and Mrs. Pegalosi had sexual relations, did you not?”

Hessey hung his head and grinned sheepishly.

“Me and most everyone else I knew.”

Heider was on his feet objecting and the spectators were laughing.

“Mr. Hessey, just answer the question,” Judge Samuels instructed.

“Mr. Hessey, did Esther wear glasses?”

“Not all the time. She used to wear them when she was in class and at a movie. Times like that. Sometimes she’d keep them on after.”

“Is it fair to say that Lookout Park was used as a ‘make out’ spot in 1960 by large numbers of teenagers?”

Hessey smiled.

“Yes, sir,” he said a bit too enthusiastically and several of the spectators laughed.

“Did you ever use Lookout Park to ‘make out’?”

“Yes, sir,” Hessey answered with even more enthusiasm. Philip Heider and Judge Samuels joined in the laughter this time.

“Did you use Lookout Park to ‘make out’ approximately one week before the murders of Richie Walters and Elaine Murray?”

Heider’s face clouded over and the laughter in the courtroom died down.

“What’s he getting at?” Heider whispered to Caproni. Caproni shook his head and concentrated on the questions.

“Yes, sir. About one week before.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Well, I remember when they found Richie Walters up there joking about how it could have been me, because I had been right up by the hill just the week before.”

“And you are sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“Where had you been prior to making out in the park, one week before the murders?”

“To the movies.”

“With whom?”

“With Esther.”

“When you drove to Lookout Park was Esther wearing her glasses?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

Hessey looked suddenly serious and embarrassed.

“Well, uh, I tried to take them off when we parked, but she wouldn’t let…she, uh, said ‘no dice.’”

“To taking off the glasses?”

“She, uh, didn’t, uh, want to make out.”

“Why was that?”

“Well, I was, uh, dating another girl I’d started seeing.” He shrugged. “I guess she was jealous.”

“When she said that she wouldn’t make out, did you get angry?”

Hessey hung his head.

“I guess so.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, she started in on me about this girl. I can’t even remember her name now. And I yelled back and she ran out of the car.”

“Did you chase her?”

Hessey nodded.

“You’ll have to speak up, Mr. Hessey.”

“Yes.”

“Where were you parked when she ran out of the car?”

“The meadow.”

“The meadow? Is that the same meadow where Richie Walters’s body was found?”

“Yeah. All the kids used that meadow to make out. In the summer it was usually packed.”

“What did you do when you caught Esther?”

Hessey mumbled something.

“You will have to speak up, Mr. Hessey. What did you do?”

“I slapped her.”

“And what happened to her glasses?”

“They went flying off.”

There was a gasp in the courtroom. Several of the jurors were writing furiously. Heider and Caproni were engaged in a rapid-fire consultation.

“No further questions,” Shaeffer said. He could feel a pulse pounding in his ears and his hands were shaking.

“Mr. Heider,” Judge Samuels said, secretly amused at Heider’s discomfort.

“One moment, if you please, Your Honor.”

Shaeffer turned to see how Bobby had reacted to his bombshell. For the first time in the trial, Coolidge was leaning forward, attentive. Mark turned toward Sarah, but she would not meet his eyes. Heider and Caproni ended their conversation.

“Mr. Hessey, were you in the habit of slapping women in your younger days?”

“Like I said, I did a lot of things then that I am not proud of now.”

“Had you ever slapped Esther before?”

“Yes.”

“Ever knock her glasses off before?”

Hessey paused.

“Once I think.”

“What did she do when you did that?”

Hessey looked as if he wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Cried, I guess.”

“No, Mr. Hessey, I mean with the glasses. What did she do with the glasses?”

Hessey paused.

“Picked them up, I guess.”

“And what did she do when you slapped off her glasses in Lookout Park?”

Hessey stared at Heider open mouthed, then he shook his head from side to side.

“I can’t remember.”

“Did you drive her home from the park?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I did.”

“Is it likely that she would have forgotten her glasses?”

“No,” Hessey said thoughtfully.

“Do you remember now whether she picked up her glasses?”

“I don’t.”

“But you will not swear that she did not?”

“No. I’m not sure.”

“Did she drop her purse when you slapped her, Mr. Hessey?”

“No…No, I’m pretty sure she didn’t.”

“Did she drop a cigarette lighter on the evening you slapped her?”

“No, just the glasses.”

“Or a blue rat-tail comb?”

“No.”

Heider smiled at the witness.

“No further questions.”

Judge Samuels looked at Mark to see if he wished to ask any further questions. Mark just shook his head.

“I think that this would be a good time to adjourn,” Judge Samuels said. “We will reconvene at nine-thirty tomorrow morning.”

“He killed us, didn’t he?” Bobby said bitterly as the jury filed out.

“No, I think we scored some real points with Hessey,” Mark said, but he did not believe it. He was crestfallen. He knew that he was not doing a good job, but he had hoped to redeem himself with Hessey. Now he had nothing. Heider had completely neutralized the effect of Hessey’s testimony about the glasses. He had also established that Esther had been in possession of her glasses as late as one week before the murders.

“See you tomorrow, counselor,” Bobby said sarcastically as the guard led him out. Mark watched Heider leave with a trace of bitterness. He began to gather up his papers.

“Mark, I have to talk to you.”

Mark looked up. Albert Caproni was standing behind him. He had spoken so softly that Shaeffer had barely heard him.

“Can I meet you at your office, tonight?”

“Sure,” Mark said. Caproni was looking around, as if he was afraid to be seen talking to Mark.

“What’s the problem?” Mark asked, puzzled.

“I can’t explain here. Promise me you won’t mention our meeting to anyone. Not even your wife.”

Mark started to ask Caproni what was wrong, then changed his mind. Caproni was scared and Mark respected Caproni enough to accept his request.

“I won’t say a word.”

“Eight o’clock,” Caproni said and walked rapidly from the courtroom.

Albert Caproni was waiting in the shadows of the lobby when Mark arrived at his office building. He refused to speak until they were safely locked in Mark’s office. Once the door was closed, he placed his attaché case on the desk in front of him.

“There are some ground rules I want you to agree to before I tell you anything,” Caproni said. Mark noticed the edge in Caproni’s voice and the nervous way his fingers drummed on the desk. “First, you must swear to me that under no circumstances will you ever tell anyone about this meeting. If you did, it might cost me my job.”

“Al, is this something to do with Bobby’s case? Because, if it is, I don’t know if I can ethically promise you anything.”

“Well, you’re going to have to bend your ethics, because what I have to tell you might win this case for you, but I am not going to risk my career and I won’t tell you anything until I get your promise.”

Mark hesitated, then agreed to Caproni’s demand.

“Okay. Now, some of what I am going to tell you could provide grounds for dismissal of the case, but only if I were called as a witness. Do I have your promise that you will never attempt to call me as a witness, no matter what I tell you?”

“You know something that could lead to a dismissal of the charges and you want me to promise you that I won’t call you?” Mark asked, aghast.

“Yes. Other information I give you may clear your client, so what I know may not be necessary. But you will get nothing from me.”

“What choice have I got?” Mark said. “You have my promise.”

Caproni sighed and leaned back in his chair. For the next half hour he recounted the events surrounding Eddie Toller’s story and his subsequent disappearance and his meeting with Heartstone in the skid row hotel. He also told Shaeffer about the research that Dr. Rohmer had done for him.

“The problem with all this is that nothing I’ve uncovered can be substantiated. Toller’s gone, so he can’t testify and Heartstone has split. There’s a good chance, given Toller’s background, that his story is a lie he invented to get a deal. And Heartstone might have run away for reasons unconnected with Elaine Murray’s murder.”

“There must be something we can do,” Mark said.

“I’ve been thinking and I have an idea. The real importance of Toller’s story is that it places Elaine Murray in that basement alive almost six weeks after the Coolidges are supposed to have killed her. Does your client have an alibi for the first few weeks in January?”

Mark thought for a second, then his face brightened.

“They were in the hospital. It was a car accident or something. Wait, I have it here in my notes.”

He shuffled through some papers until he had the right one.

“January 3, 1961 until early February.”

“All right,” Caproni said. “If you can prove Elaine Murray was alive in January, you get an acquittal.”

“But how do I do that?”

“Have the body exhumed and reexamined.”

“What?”

“Make us dig up the body.”

Mark looked at Caproni to see if he was serious. Caproni stared back. His face showed no trace of humor. Mark felt that events were getting out of hand. Caproni was asking too much of him.

“How am I going to do that? You say you won’t get involved. I don’t see how I could get Judge Samuels to sign a court order.”

Shaeffer’s negative attitude irritated Caproni. He expected Mark to be excited. Instead he seemed afraid of his new responsibilities.

“I’ve thought of that. Line up several of the top gynecologists in Portsmouth and put them on at a hearing. They’ll testify that the acidity in the vagina would have destroyed any trace of sperm shortly after Murray died. Just show Samuels Dr. Beauchamp’s autopsy report and you have your grounds.”

Mark made hasty notes while Caproni spoke. He wondered where he would get the money to hire the doctors. He could not take it from his remaining fee or he would end up trying the case for nothing.

“I brought something else that might help,” Caproni said, laying a thick sheaf of papers on the desk. “This is a copy of a transcript of the hypnosis sessions with Esther Pegalosi. It might help you prepare your cross-examination.”

Caproni stood up and closed his attaché case.

“I…I’m really grateful for all this,” Mark said. “I know what a risk you’re taking and I…”

Caproni was exhausted. All he wanted to do was get some sleep.

“Don’t thank me, Mark. Just pray that I haven’t helped set a murderer free.”

3

“What do you think?” Mark asked.

“I think that there is an excellent possibility that Esther did not see the Walters boy killed,” Dr. Nathan Paris replied.

Mark breathed a deep sigh of relief. He felt well prepared for his cross-examination of Esther Pegalosi, but he needed a medical explanation of her testimony if he was going to convince the jury that she was not worthy of belief. Dr. Paris was a professor of psychiatry at the University Medical School, a Diplomate of the American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology and a respected author and lecturer in the field of memory and hypnosis. In addition to his credentials, he had the boyish good looks and open, forthright manner that impressed a jury.

They had just returned to Mark’s office from the courthouse where Dr. Hollander had testified. As part of Dr. Hollander’s testimony, the tapes of his hypnosis and amytal sessions with Esther Pegalosi had been played. Dr. Paris had been permitted to listen to them so that he could evaluate the sessions. Mark had prepared him by giving him the transcript to study over the weekend.

“Why do you think she’s lying?” Mark asked.

“She’s not necessarily lying. Are you familiar with the term ‘confabulation’?”

Mark shook his head.

“‘Con’ means with and ‘fabulation,’ coming from fable or fabulary, means talk or discourse. Confabulation may mean just carrying on a conversation or constructing a fable, or it may have the more technical meaning given to it by neurologists when they are discussing the type of story constructed to impress the listener that it is in fact a rendition of reality when the story teller is suffering from a memory defect. In other words, the story teller constructs a fable to compensate for a memory defect. You see this with alcoholics who have brain damage and who have been in a hospital for a few months. You ask them where they were the day before and they will tell you they were at such and such a place having a great time.”

“Is confabulation limited to people with brain damage?”

“No. Psychiatrists and neurologists use the term to mean making up a tale. There is an interesting study that was conducted in 1954 by two Yale researchers named Rubenstein and Newman. They wanted to check the validity of past memories related by people under hypnosis. They reasoned that one way to check on possible confabulation or suggestibility by people supposedly remembering past events would be to put a person in a hypnotic trance and have them visualize themselves ten years in the future and describe what was happening. If they could describe what was happening in 1979, then it would raise some question as to the validity of their recollections of what had happened in 1939.

“The researchers worked with five subjects and found that they could consistently live out ‘future’ experiences when an age or date was suggested to them under hypnosis. The futures that they created for themselves were plausible and well within the realm of probability as judged from a personality study that had been made of the subjects prior to the start of the investigation.

“So, you see, you may have memories of things that did occur, things that occurred only in fantasy and things that have never occurred at all.”

“And Esther?” Mark asked.

“When a person is given amytal for the purpose of suppressing consciousness in addition to hypnosis, this person is placed in a greater state of suggestibility than if she is fully conscious. If a person is suffering from amnesia, we use hypnosis or drugs to make the guardians of that person’s repressed memory lower its guard. When that happens, information comes out more easily. But this is a two-edged sword and the patient becomes more open to the suggestions, intentional or unintentional, of her questioner, because her psychological defenses are depressed and her ability to test reality against unreality is weakened.

“My impression of Esther Pegalosi from hearing the tapes and reading the transcript is that she is a person with an extremely poor self-image. She tried to kill herself once. She longs to be a strong, self-confident woman. She craves love. I think that Dr. Hollander, and to a lesser extent, Detective Shindler, became father figures and love objects during her therapy sessions. As such, anything that they suggested would be eagerly accepted out of a fear of losing their affection as well as a desire to please them.

“Esther originally claimed to have had so much to drink on the evening of the murders that she could not remember what she had done. There is your memory defect, just waiting for a fable to fill up the missing time period.

“I can point to several instances during the hypnosis sessions when questions concerning important information were put to Esther in a manner that suggested the answer. For instance, in Tape #5 Esther is told that she went cruising downtown after they finished drinking the stolen wine. It is then suggested that she took Monroe Boulevard home. She rejects this and states that she usually goes home by way of Marshall Road. The questioner then states, ‘But you could go that way,’ meaning Monroe. She is then told to fantasize that she is on Monroe Boulevard on the evening of the crime.

“This whole technique, making the subject see what is happening on a movie screen, lends itself to the creation of fantasies.

“And listen to some of the other things Hollander tells her,” Dr. Paris said, turning to pages in the transcript he had marked with paper clips.

“Here, in Tape #8, just after he administers the amytal for the first time, he tells her that she can ‘forget,’ ‘remember’ or, and this is the important one, ‘misremember’ as her personality needs require.

“Or on Tape #10. ‘Tell us what you remember and don’t worry about what’s true. What you remember will be true.’ Those are open invitations to confabulation.

“And there is one thing more that convinces me that there is a high possibility that Esther’s story is the product of her imagination.”

“What’s that?”

“I find the whole theory that she developed amnesia because of the trauma of seeing Walters murdered unacceptable. This girl has been exposed to violence throughout her life. She discusses seeing her father stab her mother. And there was the incident where the police chased her after the miniature golf robbery. Her father shoots the pet dog she loves and makes her watch. Yet we have no amnesia. No, I…”

The phone rang. It was after five and Mark’s secretary had left. He answered it.

“Is this Mr. Shaeffer?” a woman asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re the one that’s defending that Coolidge boy?”

“Yes.”

“I got some information on the case about how they tortured Esther.”

“Excuse me?” Mark said, not sure he had heard the woman correctly.

“Esther wasn’t at no murder. She was made to say that by the police.”

“I see,” Mark said, wondering how he could end the conversation, which was turning out to be one of the numerous crank calls he had received since the start of the trial. “How do you know that the police tortured Esther?”

“I seen what they done. I’m her mother.”

The short, thin man who answered the front door walked with a slight stoop. His naked chest was covered with thick hair, in contrast to his head, which was bald except for a fringe of dark hair that started just in front of his ears and worked its way around the back of his skull. A rounded, protruding jaw and disproportionately long arms gave him a slight resemblance to a chimpanzee.

It was bright and sunny outside, but the shades were drawn and Mark could hear a baseball game on a set in the darkened living room.

“I’m Mark Shaeffer. Mrs. Taylor asked me to see her.”

“She’s inside in the bedroom,” the man answered belligerently, as if the request was an insult. He had a can of beer in his right hand and he wiped the sweat from his chest with his left.

“Who is it?” A voice called from the rear of the house.

“She’s in the back,” the man said. Mark expected to be escorted to the bedroom, but the man went back to his ballgame, leaving Mark to search out the source of the voice.

Mrs. Taylor was a mountain of flesh propped up on a mound of pillows. Her fleshy face was the color of pale candle wax and her gray hair was unkempt. Bottles of pills and potions sat on the nightstand alongside a reading lamp and some confession magazines. A portable television set tuned to a soap opera was perched on a second nightstand.

“Sit down,” she said, indicating a chair piled high with dirty clothing. “Just push ’ em off. Make that son of a bitch husband of mine do some work.”

The last sentence was said in a voice loud enough to be heard in the rest of the house. The only sound from the living room was a broadcaster’s voice announcing a three-and-two count.

“I’m sorry I ain’t up. I’m under a doctor’s care.”

Mark nodded sympathetically.

“You said you had some information about Esther Pegalosi,” Mark prodded.

Esther’s mother shook her head.

“I should never have let her talk with that cop,” she said half to herself. “Cops always bring trouble.”

“What officer was that?”

“That, uh…Shindler. He’s the one who tortured her.”

“When did this ‘torture’ happen, Mrs. Taylor?”

“In ’61, when it first happened. Now she’s a big TV star. But no one came to interview me. I couldda told them a thing or two. That girl’s lyin’ cause of what he done to her.”

“What exactly did Detective Shindler do to her?”

Mrs. Taylor shut her eyes and let her head sink into the pillows. She seemed to have lost interest in the conversation.

“You got a cigarette?” she asked.

Mark shook his head and this seemed to annoy her. For a second, Mark was afraid that she would end the interview.

“Get me one from the drawer,” she said, indicating the end table with the TV. “You can turn that thing off.”

Mark walked around the bed and switched off the set. He handed a cigarette to Mrs. Taylor, who ripped a match out of a matchbook and lit up.

“Esther was never on that hill,” she said after a moment. “They scared her so bad she’d say anything.”

“How did they scare her?”

“With the picture. You know, she had nightmares from that picture until she moved outta the house and that was years after. I was gonna sue. I shouldda done it.”

“What picture is this?” Mark asked, feeling himself growing impatient.

“Shindler took her to the station house and showed her a picture of that Walters kid’s face after it was bashed in. It was disgustin’. She used to wake up screaming.”

“Did you ever ask her if she had seen Richie murdered?”

“Of course. She never seen it. That’s what she said every time. Only she said Shindler tried to make her say she was there. And when she wouldn’t, he showed her the picture.”

“And this happened in 1961, right after the murders?”

“Yeah. That girl’s been brainwashed. I can tell that. Ever since she seen that picture she’s been different. Only the one thing she always denied was that she seen that boy murdered.”

“I can’t do it,” Esther cried. Shindler held her tightly, fighting down the impulse to strike her.

“It’s all lies,” she sobbed.

“It is the truth, Esther. You told me and you told Dr. Hollander. If we thought that you were lying, we wouldn’t let you testify.”

He tried to sound calm, but he had been in turmoil since her call. She was hysterical and he was afraid she would try to kill herself again. All during the harried ride to her apartment, he thought about the years of planning and investigation. So close. And now to have it ruined by an hysterical child.

“I don’t know what’s real and what you put in my head.”

“I didn’t put anything in your head, Esther. You were there…”

“No.”

“And you saw Bobby and Billy Coolidge beat Richie Walters’s head until it was a mass of blood and torn flesh…”

“No.”

“And then they took that girl and raped her and strangled her…”

Esther’s sobbing grew wilder and she began to shake.

“And you’ll testify to that, Esther…”

“Oh, God.”

“Or I’ll leave you and you’ll never see me again. Do you understand?”

He lifted her chin and made her look into his eyes. She didn’t want to. She was afraid of the fire. She could see hell there. But he forced her to look and held her chin in his hard, callused hand so that she could not avert her eyes. She wanted to die. Her body trembled and her face was tracked by tears.

“Please don’t,” she begged.

“Never see me, Esther. You’ll live alone and die alone.”

“No,” she sobbed and sank slowly to her knees, catching the thin fabric of his slacks, burying her head against his knees.

He looked down at her kneeling figure and felt only disgust.

4

“Would you state your full name and spell the last, please?” the clerk asked.

“Esther Pegalosi. P-e-g-a-l-o-s-i.”

“Thank you. Would you take the stand?”

Esther stepped up into the witness box. She was wearing a new gray knit outfit that Roy had purchased for her. Roy had also sent her to the beauty parlor and her hair felt clean and looked just right. She straightened her skirt when she sat down and absent-mindedly touched the armature of the glasses that Roy had made her wear. She focused her attention on Mr. Heider, as she had been told. She would not have had the courage to look at Bobby anyway.

Her hands began to shake and she grabbed her left hand with her right to stop them. There were so many people in the courtroom. She had been very frightened when Roy and the other policemen led her down the corridor to the courtroom. There had been so many people squeezing around her, pushing and shoving. The reporters all talked at once and she couldn’t make out any of their questions. An old woman had tried to touch her. The noise in the corridor sounded like the rumbling of a train approaching in a darkened tunnel.

But her fear in the corridor had been nothing to the fear she felt when the courtroom door closed behind her and she had to walk alone down the row of seats through the bar of the court and to the witness stand. She had fastened her eyes on the judge. He seemed very stern and aloof. She could feel his presence above her and to the right, hovering like God, watching her for lies he would punish with terrible swiftness.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, do you reside in Portsmouth?” Philip Heider asked.

“Yes.”

“How long have you lived in Portsmouth?”

“All my life.”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” a voice from in front and to her left said, “but I can’t hear the witness.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pegalosi,” the judge’s voice boomed from above, “you are going to have to speak up so that Mr. Shaeffer and the jurors can hear you.”

Esther felt ashamed, as if she had done something wrong. She wanted to speak up, but her throat was so dry. Involuntarily, she ran her tongue across her lips.

“Perhaps we could have a glass of water for Mrs. Pegalosi,” Mr. Heider said.

The clerk filled a clear glass with water from the judge’s pitcher and handed it to her. She was grateful for the excuse to put off talking.

“Were you attending high school in 1960 and 1961?” Heider asked when she was ready.

“Yes.”

“Did you hang around with a gang called the Cobras?”

“Objection, Your Honor, to the characterization as a gang,” Shaeffer said.

“Oh, Your Honor,…” Heider began.

“We’ve been through this before, Mr. Heider,” Judge Samuels said.

“Very well. Did you associate with a group known as the Cobras?”

“Yes.”

“Was the defendant a member of this group?” Heider asked, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Yes.”

“And his brother, Billy Coolidge?”

“Yes.”

“And Roger Hessey?”

Esther nodded.

“Now I am going to call your attention to the evening of the twenty-fifth day of November, 1960, and I ask you whether or not at this time you have an independent recollection of what you did that evening.”

Esther could hear a hum in the courtroom. She moved her head, because her neck was beginning to ache from tension and she saw Bobby. He was sitting up in his chair and he was looking right at her. She averted her eyes.

“Mrs. Pegalosi,” Heider repeated.

“Yes.”

“You do have an independent memory?”

“Yes.”

“Will you please relate to this Court and this jury what you did that evening.”

“I left my house around six-thirty and went to Bob’s, because…”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but what is Bob’s?”

“It’s for hamburgers, shakes. A restaurant.”

“And did members of the Cobras hang out there?”

“Yes.”

“Go on.”

“Roger was there and Billy and Bobby.”

“That is Roger Hessey and the Coolidge brothers?”

“Yes. Anyway, we sat around and then Billy or Bobby said we should crash a party. Roger didn’t want to go, but he finally did.”

“Whose party was this?”

“Alice Fay.”

“When you say ‘crash,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, we weren’t invited, you know, because those kids didn’t like us that much. But Billy said let’s go anyway.”

“What kind of ‘kids’ were Alice Fay and her friends?”

“They were rich…richer than us. They didn’t like the Cobras.”

“Did Billy and Bobby like rich kids?”

“Billy said…”

“Objection. Billy Coolidge is not on trial here.”

“Sustained,” Judge Samuels said.

“Just confine yourself to the defendant,” Heider said.

“No. Bobby didn’t like them. He thought they got everything so easy and didn’t deserve it.”

“What happened at the party?”

“We got there and right off Billy wanted to mess around. Roger got nervous, then he left and we had a fight. When I came back in, Billy went over to the table where they had a punch bowl and some food and there was a fight.”

“Who fought?”

“Bobby and Billy fought with Tommy Cooper, Alice’s boyfriend, and some of his friends.”

“What did the Coolidge brothers fight with?”

“Bobby was just punching, you know, with his hands. But Billy had a knife.”

“What kind of knife?”

“A switchblade knife.”

“Had you seen that knife before?”

“Sure. We all had. Billy was always bragging with it how…”

“Objection. Hearsay,” Mark Shaeffer said.

“Your Honor, we are not introducing these statements to prove the truth of the contents. We are trying to show that the defendant’s brother used this knife on occasion.”

“That’s not admissible, Your Honor. Other incidents may have occurred. We are talking about one alleged incident.”

“Yes, Mr. Heider. Let’s keep this to the events of that evening,” the judge ruled.

“Very well. When he was fighting with the knife, did Billy say anything?”

“He…he said he would cut one of the boys.”

“How did the fight end?”

“Some boys had Bobby down and Billy was waving the knife and Billy said to let Bobby up and we would go and they did.”

“When they left the party, how did Bobby and Billy act?”

“Bobby was pretty calm. He acted like he was just glad to get out. But Billy was furious. He was yelling about rich kids and such and when I said he had started it, he stopped the car and said how he would hit me and how the rich kids were worthless. I don’t know the exact words.”

“He was angry?”

“Very angry.”

“Where did you go from there?”

“We drove around and then Billy went into an all-night grocery and stole some wine. Then we went near a school and drank it and I got pretty drunk.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“I don’t know. But it was a lot. I was sick when I came home.”

“What did you do after you drank the wine?”

Esther hesitated.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, did you hear the question?” the judge asked.

“We drove downtown.”

“Did you drive on Monroe Boulevard?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness.”

“Yes, Mr. Heider, I will sustain Mr. Shaeffer’s objection.”

“Tell the jury what happened downtown.”

“We drove around downtown for a while. All the movies were letting out and there were crowds on the sidewalks and plenty of cars in the street just showing off or driving around.

“Then I said I wasn’t feeling well ’cause of the wine and Bobby said they should take me home. We drove up Monroe Boulevard. We came to a light and there was a car there with a boy and a girl in it and Billy said he knew the girl. He pulled alongside and raced his engine and the light changed and we started racing.”

“Did you see who was in the car you were racing?”

“No. Not then.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, Bobby had got in the back with me and he was, uh, he tried to, uh, you know, make out, and I was making out too, even though I wasn’t feeling so well. Then when the race started, it was real quick and I got scared and wouldn’t look.”

“What happened then?”

“Billy drove too close and we bumped them. Then the other car bumped us back and we spun around. I screamed, but Billy got the car under control and we stopped.”

“How did Billy and Bobby feel about the other car making you spin out?”

“They were very mad. They said they should get them and they drove very fast in the direction the other car had went.”

“Did they find the other car?”

“Not at first. At first they went too far up Monroe and there was no sight of them. Then Bobby said he bet they were in the park and we drove back there.”

“What park is that?”

“Lookout Park. We drove around, but we couldn’t find them. Then I saw the car in the meadow.”

“Police officers have driven you to the meadow where the body of Richie Walters was found, have they not?”

“Yes.”

“And you were shown the car in which his body was found, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“Was the meadow where you saw the car the meadow where Richie Walters’s body was found?”

“Yes.”

“And was the car you saw Richie Walters’s car?”

“Yes.”

“What happened then?”

Esther took another sip from her glass of water. She could feel Bobby’s eyes on her and she felt her head turning toward the defense table. She had expected to see fear or anger in Bobby’s eyes. Instead, she saw nothing in them. It was as if he was looking past her at some scene she could not see.

“Billy drove the car onto the meadow and behind the other car and the car door on the driver’s side of the other…of Richie’s car opened and Richie got out.”

“Could you see that it was Richie?”

“I think it was. I couldn’t see real well, ’cause it was dark.”

“What happened then?”

“They were yelling and all of a sudden Billy hit the boy and Bobby crawled out of the back seat and ran around the car.”

“What did you do?”

“I got out to watch.”

“Were you frightened?”

“No. Not really. I thought they would just beat him up. I’d seen Billy do that and other fights before.”

“What happened then?”

Esther felt suddenly dizzy and nauseous.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, are you all right?” Judge Samuels asked.

“I’m just…If I could have some more water.”

“Would you like us to take a recess?” the judge asked. She shook her head. She didn’t know why, because she suddenly felt that she could not remain in the courtroom any longer. Yet she was equally afraid to move. She wished that Roy was there. If she could only see him…

The clerk handed her back her glass. She took a drink and sat back.

“I’m okay, now,” she heard herself say. It sounded like someone else’s voice.

“What happened after you got out of the car?”

“They hit him a few times and he fell down. Richie fell down. And they kept hitting him.”

“Did you see them hit Richie with any object?”

“I don’t know…remember if…I wasn’t paying attention, because I was looking at the girl in the car.”

“The girl?”

“The light was on in the car because the door hadn’t closed and you could see inside. And while they were fighting there wasn’t…It didn’t look like there was anyone else in the car. Then this girl sat up and Billy saw her and Billy and Bobby raced around the car and I walked over to where the boy was lying.”

“Did you look at the boy?”

She could feel the tears now and she could feel the pain in her throat when she tried to talk. She could not speak. She could only cry.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, I know this is difficult for you, but we must know. This jury must know. What did you see when you looked at that boy lying in the grass in that meadow on the evening of November 25, 1960.”

“He had no face,” she heard herself scream. “He had no face.”

They had to recess before she could go on. Mr. Heider and Roy sat with her in a small room next to the courtroom and Roy spoke to her in a soothing voice. She wanted to die. She told them she could never go back in there with all those people staring at her, after making such a fool of herself. They told her everything was all right and she cringed and folded up inside. In the end, she agreed to go on.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, after you saw Richie lying in the grass, what did you do?”

“I guess I ran away. Just kept running down the hill.”

“And where did you end up?”

“At first, in a backyard. I ran into it and these dogs started barking and ran out at me. I ran out of the backyard and out onto the highway.”

“Which highway is this?”

“Monroe Boulevard.”

“What happened then?”

“I started walking and every time a car would come by I would jump in the bushes so they wouldn’t see me. Eventually I felt that I couldn’t walk all the way home and that I would have to take a ride. So, when I saw lights coming I got out of the bushes and walked out and a car stopped and it was them.”

“Who?”

“Billy and Bobby and the girl.”

“What girl?”

“Elaine Murray.”

“How do you know it was Elaine Murray?”

“Well, I knew her from school. She was very popular.”

“Tell us what you observed at that time.”

“Bobby was driving and Elaine was in the back with Billy. He had her by her arms and around her shoulders and she looked, I don’t know, dazed.”

“Did she say anything or try to get away?”

“No.”

“What happened to you?”

“They just dropped me by my house. In the street.”

“Did they say anything to you?”

“No. Just dropped me.”

“And did you see the Coolidges again after that?”

“Not much. They were in an accident shortly after and in the hospital and there was the vacations and my mother said I couldn’t hang around with that crowd no more, because I was drunk and sick when I came home.”

“Mrs. Pegalosi, did you lose anything on the evening of November 25, 1960?”

“Yes. My glasses, a lighter and a blue rat-tail comb.”

Heider handed Esther a plastic bag containing a pair of woman’s glasses, a blue rat-tail comb and a cigarette lighter.

“I hand you what have previously been marked as State’s Exhibits 35, 36 and 37 and I ask you if you recognize these items?”

“Yes. I lost these that night.”

“Now you were contacted by the police regarding these items shortly after the murder of Richie Walters, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell the police about the glasses?”

“I told them I lost them three months before they came.”

“Why did you tell them that?”

“I believed it.”

“All right. Now, you have testified that you dated a Roger Hessey in 1960.”

“Yes.”

“And can you tell us about an occasion that occurred between you and Mr. Hessey shortly before the Walters murder in 1960.”

“Yes. We went to a movie and up to the meadow to make out. It was where everyone would go, you know. And I was mad because he was dating some other girl and I found out, so I wouldn’t kiss him and I ran out of the car and he caught me and slapped my glasses off my face.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, I got the glasses and he drove me home.”

“Did you have several meetings with Dr. Arthur Hollander during which you were hypnotized and, sometimes, put under the influence of sodium amytal?”

“Yes.”

“How many meetings were there?”

“Gee, I…Several. More than ten, I know.”

“Prior to these meetings did you recall what you have told us today?”

“No, I did not.”

“And today, when you related what happened on November 25, 1960, was that from your own independent memory?”

“Yes, it was.”

“No further questions.”

Mark checked over his notes from the tapes and transcript and made sure that the other documents that he would use during cross-examination were in order. They had dressed up Esther, so she looked like a secretary or a schoolteacher. Respectable. But nervous. Very nervous.

He had spent considerable time going over the transcript of the hypnosis sessions. When he heard her, the doctor and Shindler speaking the words he had read, it reinforced the clinical explanation that Dr. Paris had given for Esther’s testimony. She was lying or brainwashed and he had to make the jury see that.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, I have tried on two occasions to speak to you about this case, have I not?”

“Yes.”

“And you refused to discuss the case with me on both of those occasions, isn’t that true?”

Esther looked down at her hands.

“You slammed the door in my face on one of those occasions, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well, we’ll discuss this case now, won’t we? Is it your story that after drinking the stolen wine, you became drunk and did not feel well?”

“Yes.”

“And you went cruising downtown and then asked the Coolidges to take you home?”

“Yes.”

“And the Coolidge brothers drove from the downtown area of Portsmouth to Monroe Boulevard, so that they could drive you home?”

“Yes.”

Mark stood up and carried a map of Portsmouth to an easel that stood next to the witness stand.

“Monroe Boulevard is not the shortest route to your house from downtown Portsmouth, is it?” Mark asked.

Esther stared at the map, then at Mark.

“I…I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t you look at the map and tell the jury what route you usually took home from downtown.”

“I don’t think I took any route like that.”

“You don’t, Mrs. Pegalosi? That’s interesting,” Mark said, returning to counsel table and picking up an index card from the top of a stack.

“Do you remember being asked this series of questions on Tape Number 5 and giving these answers:

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

Answer: I think so.

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

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

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

Answer: No. Usually I would go on Marshall Road from downtown.

“I don’t remember that.”

“Would you like me to play that tape for you?”

“No, I…”

“Is it not a fact, Mrs. Pegalosi, that the normal way, the usual way, for you to go home from downtown Portsmouth in 1960 was Marshall Road?”

“I guess so.”

“And is it not true that you repeatedly told Dr. Hollander that you could not remember being on Monroe Boulevard that evening?”

“That was before…”

“Before they brainwashed you into believing you were on Monroe?”

Heider was on his feet, objecting.

“I withdraw the question, Your Honor,” Mark said and returned to counsel table.

“Is it your testimony that you lost your glasses and your lighter and your comb on the evening of November 25, 1960?”

“Yes.”

Mark selected a police report from the top of a stack and turned to one of the pages in it.

“During the second week of January, 1961, do you remember being visited by two police detectives, Roy Shindler and Harvey Marcus?”

“I can’t remember the exact date, but they did visit. Mr. Shindler came more than once.”

“I am talking about the first occasion. This was at your home and your mother was present.”

“I remember that.”

“Do you remember telling those officers that the glasses had been stolen from you three months before?”

“I said that, but…”

“Just answer the question, please.”

“Yes.”

“And three months before the second week in January would be right around the time that Roger Hessey slapped those glasses off, not the date of Richie Walters’s murder, wouldn’t it?”

“I said that because…”

“Your Honor,” Mark said, “would you please instruct the witness to answer my questions.”

“Mrs. Pegalosi, you must answer Mr. Shaeffer,” Judge Samuels said.

Esther glanced at the spectators. They were silent, staring at her, accusingly.

“I guess so. I didn’t count.”

“On direct examination by Mr. Heider, you said that you told the police the glasses had been stolen because you believed that was the truth.”

“Yes.”

“And when did you stop believing that?”

“After I realized that I had information to give.”

“And when was that, Mrs. Pegalosi?”

“After…When I met with Dr. Hollander and I began to see that…I began to know the truth.”

“Was it the truth that you were telling during the sessions you had with Dr. Hollander?”

“Yes.”

Mark selected another index card and read it while Esther waited. She was perspiring and she could feel the droplets on her brow. Her stomach was churning and the tension was making her lightheaded. She tried to imagine Dr. Hollander’s fingers on her wrist, his soothing voice. She had to relax.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, do you recall these statements on Tape Number 8?

Question: Do you recall telling me about Monroe Boulevard and Lookout Park?

Answer: Uh-huh. I probably lied.

Question: You probably lied to me?

Answer: Could I have lied about what I said?

Question: I doubt it.

Esther licked her lips again and looked over at Mr. Heider. Heider was leaning back in his chair with a bored look. He had told her that he would not give her support during cross-examination, because the jury might interpret it as coaching, but she needed support and wished that he would break the rule, just once.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, I asked you if you remembered that sequence of questions and answers.”

“I don’t remember that exactly.”

“I see. How about this one? This is from Tape Number 10.

Question: Where did they go?

Answer: Into Lookout Park.

Question: You went into the park?

Answer: It seems like it. It couldn’t be my imagination.

Question: No. You’re doing fine. Your memory is working better than it ever has. What happened next?

Answer: We…I saw the car.

Question: The car you were dragging with?

Answer: 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?

“I don’t recall that.”

“You don’t? Would you like me to play the tape for you?”

“No. It’s just that…When you are under it…The drug makes you dreamy and it’s hard to remember what you said.”

“Well, do you recall saying this, a bit later?

Question: You’re doing fine. Let’s see how good your memory is.

Answer: 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.

“Do you remember saying that?”

Esther kept thinking of Dr. Hollander’s fingers.

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t seem to remember a lot of things.”

“I told you,” she said, her voice rising a little in panic, “you can’t remember with the drug so well.”

“Do you remember saying, ‘…I can’t remember what I’m supposed to say’?”

Esther shook her head. She concentrated on the fingers. Soothing, relaxing. Don’t panic.

“Or ‘Wait a minute. How many times have I lied to you about this…?’ Do you remember that?”

“No,” Esther said. As soon as the word was out of her mouth she realized that she had said it a little too loudly. She had to get hold on herself.

“How many times did you lie to Dr. Hollander?”

“I didn’t.”

“How many times have you lied…?”

Mark stopped. He looked at Esther’s hands. The right was stroking the left wrist rhythmically.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, what are you doing with your hands?”

She stopped stroking abruptly. The jurors’ eyes were on her wrist.

“Nothing,” she replied guiltily.

“I saw you stroke your wrist. Are you trying to hypnotize yourself? Your Honor, I ask the Court to instruct the witness that she may not hypnotize herself during cross-examination.”

Heider was on his feet.

“This is ridiculous. What is Mr. Shaeffer…?”

Judge Samuels rapped his gavel for order.

“Both of you gentlemen, sit down. We will take a short recess.”

The bailiff took the jurors to the jury room and the judge waited until the door was closed. Then he turned his attention to Mark.

“Now, what is your problem, Mr. Shaeffer?”

“The witness was constantly stroking her wrist during my examination, Your Honor. That is how she hypnotizes herself. It was on the tapes.”

Samuels leaned back in his chair and seemed thoughtful. He swiveled toward Esther.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, I don’t want you to be afraid, but I do want a straight answer. Were you attempting to hypnotize yourself, just now, while Mr. Shaeffer was questioning you?”

Esther looked down into her lap.

“I…Yes.”

“You can not do that. Do you understand? If you were under medication or intoxicated, I could not have you testify. You must be fully alert. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said so quietly that the judge had to ask her to repeat her answer.

“You will not try to hypnotize yourself again, do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Bailiff, bring back the jury.”

“Mrs. Pegalosi, why do you think you were unable to remember that you saw the murder of Richie Walters for all these years?”

“I…Dr. Hollander told me seeing the body…The face…like that, you know…I couldn’t take it. It made me too scared. Plus I was drinking…” She shrugged her shoulders. “That’s what he said.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Mark said, smiling. “I would be pretty scared, too, to see all that violence. Tell me, was this the first time you ever saw any violence, Mrs. Pegalosi?”

“No,” she said in a low, trembling voice.

“In fact, you have seen quite a bit of violence in your life, haven’t you?”

“I…I wouldn’t say a lot, I’ve…”

“Now don’t be modest. Tell the jury about the boy you stabbed with a knife. Andy Trask.”

“I wasn’t convicted of that.”

“I didn’t say you were. But you were arrested and put in juvenile detention, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And that wasn’t the first time, was it?”

“No.”

“You have been in detention as a runaway and for assault of Andy Trask and for robbery, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you did stab Andy Trask, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you remember that in detail, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember seeing your father beat your mother?”

She started crying. Mark repeated the question and Heider leaped to his feet.

“Your Honor, counsel is browbeating the witness. This is all irrelevant.”

“It is very relevant, Your Honor. Mrs. Pegalosi comes in here and says suddenly after all this time she remembers that this young man is a murderer. Then she says she forgot because she was so scared by the violence. I am entitled to show that she is no stranger to violence. That she remembers incidents of violence very clearly.”

“I agree with Mr. Shaeffer and I will overrule the objection. On the other hand, I will not let you harangue this witness.”

“Your Honor, I didn’t start this crying. If her conscience…”

“You have heard what I said, Mr. Shaeffer.”

“Yes, Your Honor.

“Mrs. Pegalosi, did you ever see your father stab your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Tell the jury what you remember of that incident.”

Esther dried her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I was sleeping and I heard yelling from momma…my mother’s room. He was drunk again and the door slammed open and I could hear her running to the kitchen and he was cursing.”

“Go on.”

“Momma had a kitchen knife and said she would stab him if he came near her, but he backed her against the refrigerator and got the knife.”

“I am having trouble hearing you, Mrs. Pegalosi,” Mark said.

Esther sipped some more water.

“That was all. He stabbed her and there was blood on the white refrigerator and momma fell and he dropped the knife and said ‘What have I done?’ and walked out.”

“And you remember that?” Mark asked in a hushed tone.

“Yes,” Esther replied and there was no other sound in the courtroom.

“And you remember a man named Bones robbing the miniature golf and racing the police when you were with him?”

“Yes.”

“In detail?”

“Yes.”

“And you testified on direct that you were not scared initially when Bobby and Billy and Richie Walters were fighting, because you had seen other fights. Have you seen fights where blood was spilled?”

“Yes.”

“And could you recount those fights, in detail, to this jury, if I asked you?”

“Some of them.”

“Even those where there was blood?”

“Some of them.”

Mark paused. He could hear the sound of his own heartbeat in the courtroom. He could see the eyes of the jurors riveted on Esther. He could see her face clearly, drained of color, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“You once owned a pet dog, did you not?” he asked quietly.

“Oh, no,” Esther moaned.

“I ask the court to direct the witness to answer the question.”

“Mrs. Pegalosi, you must answer.”

“Yes,” the answer came in a choked whisper.

“Did you love that dog?”

“Yes,” she sobbed.

“Tell the jury how that dog died.”

Esther paled.

“Mrs. Pegalosi,” Mark said.

“I…I can’t,” she said, looking up at the judge. Samuels instructed her to answer.

“My…my father shot the dog.”

“In the eye?”

Esther was crying and could only nod.

“And you remember that in detail, do you not?”

“Yes.”

“And you loved the dog, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Yet you can remember that.”

“Your Honor,” Heider shouted.

“Sit down, Mr. Heider. This is appropriate cross.” The judge turned to Shaeffer. It was clear that he was restraining himself. “Do you intend to pursue this line of questioning much further, Mr. Shaeffer?”

“No, Your Honor. I believe the point has been made.”

Esther was doubled over in the witness box. Someone had given her a handkerchief. The judge ordered a ten-minute recess.

“Mrs. Pegalosi,” Mark asked when court resumed, “is it your testimony that you actually saw Richie Walters’s battered face shortly after he was murdered?”

“Yes,” Esther replied. Her voice was a monotone. She had cried so hard and so long that she had nothing left inside. She knew that court would recess soon and she was just going through the motions until it was over.

“And it was the sight of this face that shocked you into amnesia?”

“That is what Dr. Hollander told me.”

“When did you first realize that you had actually seen Richie’s face?”

“After…When I was given the drug by Dr. Hollander.”

“Isn’t it a fact, Mrs. Pegalosi, that you did not see Richie’s face until some time after the murder?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember this exchange between you and Dr. Hollander on Tape Number 10?

Question: But you remember seeing the boy murdered?

Answer: No, I didn’t see that.

Question: Didn’t you say that you saw the fight?

Answer: 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.

Question: Didn’t you say you saw Richie’s face?

Answer: I saw it later.

“When was later, Esther?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you remember telling Dr. Hollander that the last thing you remember seeing on the hill before you ran was Bobby and Billy holding Richie against the car like they were frisking him?”

“I told you I can’t remember what I said, because I was under the drug.”

“Do you want me to play the tape for you?”

“No. If you say that’s what it said…”

“What you said. Esther, did you ever wake up screaming in the night because of nightmares in which you saw Richie’s bloody face?”

Esther looked into her lap again.

“Yes, I did. A lot.”

“Those nightmares did not start right after the murder, did they?”

“I can’t remember exactly when.”

“Have you ever met a detective named Roy Shindler?”

Esther felt as if she had been struck. She looked directly at Shaeffer, her face white. Her hands twisted the handkerchief she was holding into a tight knot.

“Mrs. Pegalosi?”

“Yes,” she answered hoarsely.

“Did your nightmares start soon after you met Detective Shindler?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do, Esther. Detective Shindler is the same detective who made you see Dr. Hollander, isn’t he?”

“He didn’t force me. I went because I wanted to.”

“To what, Esther?”

“To see if what he said was real.”

“What did he say?”

“That I saw the murder. He knew it even back then.”

“Back when?”

“When they were murdered. He told me.”

“Told you and showed the scene.”

“Yes.”

“Took you up there and suggested how a girl might lose her glasses running down that hill in a certain way.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Suggested that you might have dragged Richie that night, even though you couldn’t remember.”

“It was in my subconscious. Hidden. That’s what Dr…”

“Showed you that picture that scared you so much you became hysterical and had nightmares for years after.”

Esther stopped.

“What picture?” she asked hesitantly.

“You tell the jury what picture.”

“I don’t know any picture.”

“You don’t remember Detective Shindler bringing you to the station house in 1961 and showing you a color picture in one of the interrogation rooms?”

Esther couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t take her eyes away from Shaeffer’s face. He was rising and walking slowly to a table piled high with exhibits that had been introduced into evidence. He was bending slightly from the waist and selecting a manila envelope. There was a roaring in her ears. He was saying, “Perhaps this will help you to remember” and she was back at the police station and it was Roy’s hand drawing the color photograph slowly out of the envelope, face down. And she was peering at it again and it was rotating toward her and she was screaming again.

Sarah had passed him the note as he was leaving the courtroom. It was on yellow note paper and she had obviously written it during the trial. He had slipped it into his pants pocket and retrieved it when he changed back into his prison clothes.

That evening, after dinner, he had stretched out on his bunk, too exhausted from the day’s session to do anything but lie there. He had saved the note, even though he wanted so much to read it, because it was the first real communication he had had with Sarah for so long.

She had been in court every day and she had talked to him during recess, but their conversations had been superficial and she always had an excuse for not visiting him at the jail.

When she had handed him the note, she had not looked at him. He tried to speak to her, but she hurried away.

He was afraid of what she had written. When the paper was unfolded, he held it up to the light. It was very short and it said that she was going away and did not want to see him again. It said that she wanted to believe that he was innocent and that the girl was lying, but she had watched Mark Shaeffer torture her today and had come away feeling sick to her stomach that she had ever let him touch her.

He let his hand fall to his side. The yellow paper fluttered to the cement floor.

5

Mark Shaeffer put his attaché case on his counsel table and opened the snaps. Every seat in the courtroom was already filled and more spectators were milling around in the hallway waiting for someone to leave. He smiled in anticipation of today’s continued examination of Esther Pegalosi. He was feeling good. The trial seemed to be shifting in his direction and he had already picked up several new clients because of the publicity he was receiving on TV and in the papers.

Bobby wasn’t in the courtroom and Mark had some points he wanted to cover with him. He was about to ask the guard to bring Bobby down when Judge Samuels’s clerk signaled to him. Mark straightened a file, then walked to the entrance to the judge’s chambers.

Caproni and Heider were sitting in front of the judge’s desk. Samuels had not donned his robe yet. They all looked grim.

“Sit down, Mr. Shaeffer. I have some unsettling news for you.”

Mark looked at Caproni, but Caproni would not look at him.

“Approximately one hour ago I received a call from the jail,” Samuels said. “I’m afraid the trial is over. Mr. Coolidge killed himself some time last night.”

Esther had been silent during the ride from the courtroom and Shindler was grateful for the chance to think. The trial had ended so suddenly. What did it all mean? For years he had been preparing himself for the moment when a judge would read the jury’s verdict. Now that was not to be. He felt vindicated by the suicide, but he also felt as if business had been left unfinished. Without a jury verdict, Coolidge’s guilt would remain officially unproven. Already, someone in the press had asked him about the note that had been found in Bobby’s cell. The reporter wanted to know about the girl who had written it. They would say he had died for love. Still, there was always Billy. They would do it over again and this time there would be a verdict.

Shindler parked in front of Esther’s apartment. She was staring ahead, as she had all during the ride, and she made no effort to leave.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He wanted to be rid of her, but he still needed her for Billy’s trial.

“No, I’m not all right.”

Her voice was a hard monotone and her intensity surprised him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Esther. He killed himself because he knew he had no chance.”

“He killed himself because I lied.”

“No, Esther. We’ve been over and over this. You were there. You told the truth on the stand yesterday and you’ll tell it again at Billy’s trial.”

“There won’t be another trial, because I won’t testify,” she said firmly. There was no whine in her voice. No indecision.

“Of course, there’ll be another trial. You’re just upset.”

She shook her head and looked at him. Her eyes did not waver.

“I know what it’s like to want to die, remember? To feel like there’s nothing left. Now I have to live the rest of my life knowing I made Bobby feel like that because of you, Roy. You used me because you knew I’d do anything to keep you, but I’m through now.”

She opened the door and got out of the car. He followed her up the path, catching her at the entrance to the apartment house.

“Esther,” he started, taking hold of her arm. She broke free and he grabbed her again. This time she turned toward him. Her eyes were filled with hate.

“Don’t ever touch me. Don’t ever come near me. If you do, I’ll tell everyone what you did to make me kill Bobby. Everyone. How you kissed me and made me kneel. I’ll fill the papers with it. I see you, Roy. I see you. Don’t you ever come near me or call me or I’ll make everyone see what you are.”

The door slammed shut. He saw her walk away through the glass. He stood on the path staring, even after she was gone, trying to think of what he would do next.