Chapter Forty
Janet Swift was the first of the three swim team girls I interviewed. Marsha Russo was with me. We conducted the interview in my office at the Sheriff’s station.
At seventeen, she was a fully developed woman, slender and muscular, full-breasted, slim-hipped, a shorn brunette with lively blue eyes, a tiny upturned nose, and a small, pouty mouth.
She had on a sleeveless, scoop-necked white t-shirt worn over gray capri athletic pants. She alternately put on and then kicked off a pair of Tom’s dark blue classic slip-ons. She was clearly nervous.
“You understand why we asked to speak with you,” I said.
She nodded.
“You know you’ve been identified as having been a participant in Henry Carson’s play parties.”
Again she nodded.
“Have you anything to say about that?”
She looked away and cleared her throat. “Am I in some kind of trouble?”
“Not at all. This interview is a routine part of our ongoing investigation into Mr. Carson’s murder. You’re in no trouble whatsoever. But I am curious as to how you were recruited.”
“Recruited?”
“Asked to join.”
She started to twirl the small thatch of hair that was threatening to cover the top of her left ear. “Coach Carson, he began paying a lot of attention to me.”
“Attention?”
“Yes. He would always come over and talk to me. He wanted to know all about me. Where I lived. What kind of music I liked. Who my friends were. Stuff like that.”
“And?”
“He kept telling me how good I was. What a good swimmer I was. How I had so much potential. He seemed to really care about me. No other adult had ever taken any interest in me before.”
She sat silently for a while, still twirling and re-twirling her hair. “One afternoon, after practice, he offered to drive me home.”
“And you accepted his offer.”
“I did. He said he had to stop at his office to pick up something he’d forgotten. So I went with him.”
“And what happened?”
“He closed the door behind us and locked it. Then he moved close to me. He told me how beautiful I was. He said he was mesmerized by me.”
“Mesmerized?”
“His word.”
“And?”
“He touched me.”
“Where did he touch you?”
“At first he caressed my hair. Then he moved his hand down my back and rested it on my behind. He pulled me to him and began kissing my neck. No man had ever done that before. I mean, the guys, some of them would always try. But Coach Carson knew exactly what he was doing and it started to turn me on.”
When I didn’t say anything, she continued, this time a little more self-assured. “He raised my shirt. I was wearing a tee, pretty much like the one I have on now. He reached behind me, unhooked my bra and slipped it off. Then he started touching my breasts and kissing my, you know, my nipples. Then he touched me down there.
“He asked if I was a virgin and I told him yes. He thought about that for a while, then told me how much he wanted me but he didn’t want me to lose my virginity on a desk in some crummy office.
“So he unzipped his pants and he took out his thing. He placed my hand on it. Then he told me to get on my knees and put it in my mouth. After he finished, he zipped back up and, as if nothing had happened, he drove me home.”
“Then what?”
“A couple of days later he asked me again if he could drive me home. I said I really didn’t need a ride, but he insisted. This time we stopped at the Sleep Easy highway motel. He parked in the back and took me to a room where we did it.”
“You had intercourse?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you feel about it?”
“Weird, I suppose. I had always thought I’d do it for the first time with a guy I was in love with. But Coach Carson, he was real knowledgeable. Very gentle. I really wanted to do it. And when we did, he made sure I was enjoying it. Even when it hurt.”
“Did it occur to you that what he was doing was against the law?”
“No. You see, I really liked it. It felt good. He took his time and he taught me everything. He wore a rubber so I wouldn’t get, you know, pregnant. I thought it wasn’t such a bad way to learn about sex.”
“And you never told anyone.”
“Why would I? You have to understand how exciting it was for me. I loved him. I thought he loved me. It was only later I came to hate him.”
“Because?”
“The parties. Everyone was doing it with everyone else. Even with boys they didn’t like. The football guys were the worst. They’d pick a girl and then both of them would do it to her. Whether she wanted them to or not.”
“Were you one of them?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone about it?”
“I got scared. Paulie told me I was sworn to secrecy and that I’d be taken care of if I ever told.”
“Taken care of?”
“His term for hurting me.”
“And Coach Carson?”
“He turned out to be a different person from the guy I thought I loved. Yeah, he did it with me. But he also did it with everyone. Sometimes two or three at a time. It turned into a nightmare.”
“Do you know who killed him?”
“No. But I wish it was me. I wish I had killed him.”
“Somebody did.”
“Thank God,” she said.
The other two seventeen-year-olds, Jessie O’Hara and Marjorie Battles, had similar stories. Whatever mystique he possessed, it enabled Henry Carson to exercise a Svengali-like influence over any number of young women, all of whom willingly succumbed to his sexual advances.
“It’s time,” I said to Marsha Russo.
“Let me guess,” she said. “The D.A.?”
“Bingo.”
“Proof?”
“In the numbers. It’s time to escalate this thing. Make a few arrests and see where they lead.”
“Indictments?”
“I don’t know, Marsha. Yes, laws were broken, but apart from the deceased, the lawbreakers were high school kids. Kids who had been unduly influenced by a sexual megalomaniac who opened a forbidden door and personally ushered them through it.”
“A predator who somebody murdered.”
“I still can’t figure it out. With luck somewhere, someplace, I’ll stumble upon a clue.”
“A clue would be good,” Marsha said.
“It would, wouldn’t it?”