He stood up and walked to the window facing the foot of the bed. Through the ghostly wavering image of himself reflected in the dark, rain-streaked glass, he looked down at the myriad droplets bouncing off the gleaming surface of the almost deserted parking lot. Strangely, the words of Portia’s classic speech from the “Merchant of Venice,” began to drift soundlessly across his mind-’The quality of mercy is not strain’d. It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath.’-But, where was the ‘quality of mercy’ in Wanda’s case? If each drop of rain falling past the window were a separate act of mercy, it would require a deluge to wash out the merciless cruelty inflicted on her in her young life.
Stanhope! Arnold Stanhope! Good God! The respected banker-psuedo British sportsman-pillar of the community-shocked, outraged father! He was also either a consummate actor, or the most cold-blooded bastard he had ever run across. Or was he? The stricken look in his eyes at the news of the Beamers could not have been faked. And his apparent uneasiness during their brief discussion of the accident had seemed genuine-and would have been pointless to pretend. He had thought it odd at the time, but had completely forgotten the conversation with him as the shocks and surprises of the investigation were heaped one upon another, finally burying it in his sub-conscious. Now that Wanda had dragged him back into the light, he tried to bring the image of the distinguished, handsome features into sharp focus
- to see again into his eyes, and recalled how they had kept shifting nervously away from his
- to hear the words coming from beneath the trim mustache, but unable to find any hidden meaning in the few trite phrases that he could remember.
It seemed incredible but yet, was it possible that Stanhope could be Mr. In-Between? Undoubtedly, he knew Bentley, but did he also know Closter? Since Plainville was still a comparatively small community and his was the only bank in town, it was not only possible, but probable. But still, despite the tanned, vigorous appearance of the forthright, tweedy outdoorsman, Stanhope had impressed him as weak and ineffectual-while Mr.In-Between
- it had seemed to him-would have to be a man of unstoppable determination, and capable of inspiring both fear and obedience in those under his control. On the other hand, if Stanhope somehow knew about Closter’s prison record and had used it to coerce him to join in the smuggling/hijacking scheme, it was easy to believe that he could also have recruited the venal Bentley with the mere promise of a satisfactory share of the spoils. In that case, how much strength and determination would he need, as long as he had Closter’s instinct for self-preservation and the sheriff’s insatiable greed working for him?
Wanda’s voice timorously calling his name interrupted his reverie and he realized he had not heard the end of her story. He was not sure he wanted to but, perhaps, from what she still had to tell him, he could glean some further clues to the character of the banker that would help him decide what he really was-actor, bastard or just another dupe of the real Mr. In-
Between.
He turned and walked back to the side of her bed, accepting the hand that she held out to him. “That was a real shocker, Wanda.”
“But-you believe me, don’t you, Mr Tuesday?” she asked eagerly, searching for the faith she obviously needed in order to continue.
He studied her now open, pleading and almost innocent face and felt again the surge of anger and abhorrence for all those who had contributed; in one way or another; to the marks and bruises that were visible on the surface, and the pain that lay hidden deep behind her eyes.
“Yes, Wanda. I believe you. It’s too fantastic not to be believed. Who else was at the party?”
Obviously pleased by his belief in her, she unhesitatingly picked up where she had left off. “Well, there was.. .were three other men there. They were all older-maybe in their forties or fifties-but they said we should call them by their first names. Even Mr. Stanhope said we should call him ‘Arnie’.”-(‘Good Lord’, he thought to himself)-”and the others were named Joey, Tony and Sam. They were all from out of town. Joey was from Cleveland, Tony from Atlanta and-I’m not sure now-but I think Sam said he was from Denver.”
“You’ve got a good memory, Wanda,” he told her as she paused.
She smiled sadly. “Sometimes I wish it wasn’t so good-if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do. And you don’t have to tell me all the details, if you don’t want to, Wanda.”
She looked at him gratefully, but shook her head. “I do want to. I’ve wanted to tell somebody for a long time.”
“All right, then. Go ahead.”
Still tightly gripping his hand, she resumed once again, “Well, the first thing after we got there, Arnie-Mr. Stanhope-took all of us to one of the bedrooms and said we should change into our party clothes. I didn’t know what he meant, ‘cause Grossman had told me I didn’t have to bring anything with me. Then he gave each of us a pair of baby-doll pajamas.” Incongruously; considering what her life must have been like during the past two years; she blushed and averted her eyes. “They were real thin-just tiny bikini panties and bra, and a short top. It was a good thing it was nice and warm in the lodge.”
He returned the wry grin she flashed at him. “When I first heard about this lodge, I was under the impression it was just a small cabin that Stanhope used for hunting or fishing. From what you say, it must be considerably larger to accommodate all the people at the party.”
“That’s what I thought too, when Ronny first told me about it. But, it’s really a swell place. It’s got five bedrooms-each with its own bathroom-a real, nice living room with a great, big fireplace-a kitchen-and downstairs, there’s a big family room with a pool table, and a shuffleboard, and a card table and a real fancy bar. But, that was mostly used by the other guys.”
“What other guys?”
“The bodyguards for Joey, Tony and Sam. I didn’t even know they were down there at first, until one of them came upstairs for somethin’. Afterwards, I found out that all the guys who came to the parties always brought their own bodyguards with them. Most of the time, I never even saw them. But, they were there, ‘cause Arnie told me.”
“Can you tell me how to get to the lodge?”
She hesitated, a shadow of fear flickering across her face. “Yes. I been there a lotta’ times.”
“Good. You can give me the directions before I leave. But, go on with what happened at the party.”
She looked at him pensively for a few seconds longer before beginning again. “It.it wasn’t really much of a party. None of them ever were-at least, not for us girls.” She glanced at him with the same ineffably sad and meaningful grin. “After we changed clothes we went out to the livin’ room. At first, they.. .they kidded me a lot ‘cause they all knew it was my first time there and they could see I was kinda’.. .embarrassed for them to see me dressed like that. But, then we had some drinks and somethin’ to eat, and some more drinks, and I didn’t mind no.anymore, and they stopped kiddin’ me so much. Then they had the raffle.”
“Raffle?”
“Yeah. Me.” She grimaced with remembered shame. “Each of them-the guys-put their names on a piece of paper in a bowl. Then they told me to pick one out. The first one I picked was Tony. He.he got to make the first bid. He bid.two hundred dollars. The next one, Sam, he bid three hundred. Then Joey made it five hundred. Arnie.. .Mr. Stanhope, was last. He bid a thousand. None of the others would go any higher so he.he.won.me.” Her voice trailed off momentarily and he squeezed her hand in encouragement. “We all had some more drinks after that and Mr. Stanhope kept whispering to me that.that he was gonna show me how much better he was than.. .than his son. After awhile, he took me back to his room.” The tears rolled slowly, silently down her cheeks. “Oh, Jesus! Mr. Tuesday! I didn’t want to.to do anything with him but.but, at the same time, I did. ‘cause it was like getting’ back at Ronny for what he done.. .what he made me do when he took me out there-lettin’ the others watch us and.. .and then makin’ me do it with them so he could watch. And then lyin’ about it after and makin’ it seem like I was.I was just.. .just a.”
Her voice was choked off, strangled by the bitter roots of her memories. He took out his handkerchief and gently blotted her tear-streaked face-remembering how he had done the same thing for Elise just a few hours earlier. Her sobs slowly subsided and the grip of her hand gradually was relaxed. The words were in his head-on his lips. Words of solace, of sorrow, of apology for his sex and for himself. Words of understanding and promise. But, at that moment, they all seemed fatuous and inept in the face of what she had experienced at the hands of the Stanhopes-father and son. So he kept his silence, hoping that the continued pressure of his fingers was enough to convey his unspoken thoughts, until she was composed again and able to continue.
“Later.. .he got up and told me to stay in the room. He said they had some business to take care of. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see any of them anyhow. I felt kinda’ sick from the drinkin’.and everything. But, after he left the room, I fell asleep. I don’t know how long he was gone but, when he came back, he was too drunk to.to do anything else” Her lips twisted with hate. “He wasn’t as good as Ronny, either! And Ronny was lousy!” She shook her head roughly from side to side as if trying to throw the memory of the two of them out of her mind. “Oh damn! Damn! Damn! That’s a stupid thing to say! They were no worse than.than any of the others. Anyhow-that’s all that happened. In the morning, after the others left with their bodyguards, the chauffer took us back to the truck stop. Before I left, Arnie give.. .gave me the thousand dollars he had bid for me—and Grossman made me give him half of it,” she concluded sardonically.
‘Of which, Bentley undoubtedly got his cut,’ he concluded mentally. “How many other parties have you been to at the lodge?”
She took a moment to calculate the answer. “Nine. Five last year and four more so far this year.”
“Have they all been about the same as the first one?”
She shrugged. “More a’ less. ‘Cept, after that first one, it.it got easier. It didn’t matter no.. .anymore who Arnie was-or the others either.”
“Did Stanhope continue to.to show the same interest in you?”
“No. I guess it didn’t matter to him either. He took a different girl every time until about a year ago. Then this new bro.girl showed up and she’s been the only one he’s bothered with since.”
“Is there something special about her?”
“I’ll say! She’s got the biggest pair of ti.breasts I’ve ever seen. And they stick straight out like.. .like a coupla’ torpedoes!”
He was sure despite his astonishment, that he knew the answer before he asked the question. There could not be more than one female in the area with a build like that. “Is her name ‘Sally’, by any chance?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Do you know her?”
“Only slightly. I met her for the first time yesterday when I went to see the sheriff. She’s his receptionist.”
“His receptionist! Fer crissake! No wonder she never seems to know any of the other girls-or have anything to do with us. She never even rides with us. She always gets there before us and leaves after we do.” She stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. Then her face clouded with anger and obvious indignation. “But-I don’t mind tellin’ you, Mr. Tuesday-there was some pretty rotten things went on at them parties.. .those parties, me included. But, she was the worst. It made Arnie real mad ‘cause she always wanted all the guys to.to go to bed with her. One time she even snuck downstairs and tried to make out with the bodyguards. But, the other guys didn’t like it and got pretty mad when they found out, so she didn’t do it again. But.. .why, she even wanted to.”
He placed the fingers of his free hand gently on her lips. “Spare me the details, Wanda. I think I can fill them in myself.” There seemed no point in any further discussion of the bounteously equipped Sally, so he brought her back to the mainstream of her story. “Besides Stanhope, were the same three men at all of the parties you went to?”
“No.. .not all of them.. .and not at the same time. Usually, there was.. .were different guys there, from different places.New York, Miami, Los Angeles, Dallas.all over, even Hawaii. And there was always a girl for each of them. But.. .there was no.no goin’ from one to another until that bit.. .that damn Sally showed up. Then.. .all of them.. .wanted to.to do it with all the girls.”, incongruously, a strangled giggle was mingled with the anger and remorse of her choked sobs. “leastways, as many as they could. And things just kept getting’ worse and worse after that.”
The words trailed off into silence, but the unspoken memories of the multiplying corruption and degradation of the ‘parties’ was graphically etched in anguished humiliation on her bruised face.
“I wanted to quit, honest, Mr. Tuesday. I told Grossman that I didn’t want to go there anymore. I told him I’d.I’d even rather hustle the drivers. But, he said I was too-too valuable, and if I didn’t do what I was told, he’d make sure nobody would ever want to look at me again.”
Blotting her streaming cheeks again with the handkerchief he said, “Forget Grossman. Forget Sally. Forget Stanhope and the rest of them. They’re never going to touch you again, Wanda, any of them. I’ll make sure of that, I promise you.”
He had hoped, in coming to see her, to gain her confidence and cooperation. But now, he was getting much more than he could have anticipated. Her information about the ‘parties’ and the people who attended them-especially the revelation about Stanhope and, to a lesser extent, Sally-was certainly germane to his investigation. But he was not too interested in the possibilities of having Stanhope, or Bentley, or Grossman convicted of any of the morals charges of which they were all guilty by reason of their participation in the activities at the truck stop and the hunting lodge. Primarily, he wanted to be able to establish their implication in the smuggling and hijacking scheme and, in particular, their complicity in the murders of Haggerty and Closter.
But, he realized he could not afford to be impatient with her, or allow her to think that he did not care about what had happened to her in the past, or what might happen to her in the future. Because, the truth was, that he did care-more than he would have thought possible. But, it was getting late and he could see that she was near exhaustion-emotionally drained by the effort and shame of admitting the sordid details of her life for the past two years. He had not expected to unleash all of the horror that she had kept hidden within her for so long but, having done so, he knew it would be his responsibility to shield her from any further possible repercussions arising from her new-found confidence in him.
“I can see you’re tired, Wanda, and I’m truly sorry to put you through such an ordeal. But, I need your help for just a little while longer, if you feel up to it.”
“Oh. I’m all right, Mr. Tuesday. Really,” she replied, obviously weary, but seemingly eager to continue. “What else do you want to know?”
“You said earlier that, at one point during the first party, Stanhope told you to stay in the bedroom because he and the other men had some business to take care of. Did that happen at any of the other parties?”
“Yes. It happened at all of them.”
“Did you ever find out what kind of ‘business’ he was talking about?”
“Not for sure. But I gotta’ coupla’ hints and, after what you told me earlier, I think I canguess what it was. Arnie.. .Mr Stanhope.. .was sellin’ them ‘H’.. .heroin.”
“What kind of ‘hints’ did you get?”
She took a few seconds to search her memory.
“Well.. .like one time, this fella I was with, he made a crack about knowin’ what horseflies was.. .were, but that he never heard of horsebees before.” A puzzled, bemused look crossed her face. “It didn’t make no.. .any sense to me when he said it, but it sure made the other guys mad.”
“What happened?”
“They made me leave the room. But I was in one of the bedrooms close to the living room and I could hear them hollerin’ and arguin’ about it. He told them we was.were all just a bunch of. of dumb whores who couldn’t even figure which way was up unless we were layin’ on our back lookin’ at the ceilin’. They told him, if he didn’t learn to keep his mouth shut, he’d be layin’ on his back, permanent-ly lookin’ up at the inside of a casket. Later, when he come.. .came back to the bedroom, he was pretty loaded, and he kept mumblin’ and cursin’ about what they said. He asked me if I ever ate any pickled bees. I told him it almost made me sick just to think about it. Then, he took a little jar out of his pocket and asked me if I’d like them any better if I knew he’d just paid Arnie four thousand dollars for it. A jar of pickled bees, for crissake! I told him I didn’t care what he paid for it-I wouldn’t touch it, and I thought he was nuts to pay so much money for such junk. He thought that was real funny. He laughed so hard that Arnie and a coupla’ the others come.came bustin’ into the room wantin’ to know what was the matter with him. He told me to tell them what I said and, when I did, I thought they was.were gonna’ kill him! They began beatin’ up on him-all except Arnie-and then they made him get dressed and told his bodyguard to get him out of there. He was real scared by then and kept promisin’ he wouldn’t say anything else, but they made him leave right then-in the middle of the night.”
Throughout, he had been aware of, and strangely moved by her determined-but, none to successful attempts to correct her syntax and speech in spite of the difficulty of recounting the unpleasant and degrading aspects of her story. It was as if-having decided to be honest with him-she was now afraid that he would not understand or accept what she told him if it was not also grammatically correct.
“What did they do to you, Wanda?”
She grinned shyly. “Nothin’. After he left they asked me what I thought he had meant by what he said. But, I just acted like what they thought I was-just a dumb whore! I told them I didn’t know what he was talkin’ about, or what was so funny about a jar of dead bugs.” The grin faded and was replaced by fear. “But, they must’ve killed him, after all, Mr. Tuesday.”
“What makes you think so?”
“A coupla weeks after the party, Grossman showed me a story from a Philadelpha newspaper. That’s where he was from-the guy I was with at the party. His name was Eddie. In the story, it said his full name was Eddie di Riccio, and that he had drowned when he fell offa’ boat. Grossman said that’s what could happen when someone doesn’t know enough to keep their mouth shut-that they could wind up swallowin’ a lot of water. He thought that was a big joke. I.I was afraid to think what he really meant.”
He thought it was little less than a miracle that she had not suffered the same, or a similar fate—and realized that his brief conversation with her at the truck stop had obviously brought her very close to it.
“All right, Wanda. Just a few more questions and I’ll let you get some sleep.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Tuesday,” she responded, fighting her exhaustion. “I don’t mind talkin’ to you, now.”
He squeezed the hand that still grasped his. “Good girl. Then; now that you know what has been happening; do you know who drugged Mike Haggerty-or any of the other drivers-and how it was done?”
She nodded decisively. “It hadda be Grossman. Most of the time he was real tight and mean about everything, and didn’t like us to even give anybody a second cup of coffee. But, once in awhile, for no reason, he’d get real friendly with one of them and treat him to a piece of pie.”
“Pie? What kind of pie?”
“Oh, different kinds. Blueberry, strawberry-” a look of sudden awareness lit her face and she hastily added, “but they always had a lot of powdered sugar on top!”
“Did he serve the pie himself?”
“Yeah! Yes he did. He would make out like it was just fresh baked and go out to the kitchen and get it himself.”
“Is that what happened Monday, with Haggerty?”
“Yes-except that Mike didn’t eat it all. He took only a couple of bites and left the rest. Grossman tried to coax him to eat all of it, but Mike told him he didn’t want it.”
“Didn’t he like pie?”
“Oh yes! He did. Usually he had a piece every time he came in-and blueberry was his favorite-and that’s what Grossman gave him.” She paused to consider the mystery for a moment. “It must have been because he was kinda’ mad at his boss for puttin’ a spotter on him.”
“A ‘spotter’? What kind of ‘spotter’?”
“Somebody to follow him to make sure he wasn’t goofin’ off,” she explained. “I guess a lot of the truckin’ companies use them ‘cause I’ve heard other drivers talkin’ about it. Mike said he saw the guy tailin’ him almost as soon as he left the terminal, and that he had followed him right to the truck stop. He figured he was still sittin’ out in the parkin’ lot timin’ him, and he was real mad because his boss didn’t trust him.”
The ‘spotter’ must have been Closter and, in his misguided effort to discover the hijackers’ identities and methods, he had upset Haggerty’s appetite and precipitated the entire chain of grisly events that had followed-including the deaths of both of them.
“It’s too bad he didn’t finish the pie, Wanda. He might be alive now, if he had. But then, we probably wouldn’t know what we do now-and you would be getting an invitation to another party.”
She gazed at him wearily, vainly trying to weigh the imponderables of all that had happened to the driver, and herself, in the past few days.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Mr. Tuesday,” she finally-and enigmatically-conceded.
“How well did you know Mike Haggerty?”
“Pretty well. He was a real, nice guy-with everybody. He.he knew the score about what was goin’ on at the truck stop, with the girls I mean. But, he never messed with any of them! He was just.. .real friendly like. He.he talked to me kinda like he was my.. .my big brother. He wanted me to quit workin’ there. He said he knew some other places-better places-where he could help me getta job. But. but, I couldn’t quit. Grossman would never have let me. Only I couldn’t tell Mike that.”
“But you will tell the FBI what you know-about Grossman, and Stanhope, and Bentley, and the two deputies-won’t you, Wanda?”
A transitory flicker of doubt and fear clouded her face. Then, her chin became firm again and she replied firmly, “Yes, I will, Mr. Tuesday.”
“That’s fine, Wanda.” He was pleased with her apparent resolution and courage and hoped that it would not wane before she had the opportunity to display it to the FBI. “There’s just one more thing I want you to do for me. Tomorrow, I want you to try to remember the dates of all the parties you went to at the lodge, and the names of all the men-besides Stanhope-who were there, and where they were from. Make a list, and also write down anything else you can remember hearing about the business they conducted. Do you think you can do that, Wanda?”
“I’ll try, Mr. Tuesday.”
“Good. Now, give me the directions to the lodge.”
He took out his notebook to write them down and, replacing it in his pocket, stood up to leave. She reached out her hand to grasp his once again. The hardened, surly, gum-chewing truck stop waitress had been completely expunged and she was just a very tired, and very lonely, seventeen year old girl-child yearning for simple kindness and understanding.
“What is it, Wanda? Is there something else you want to tell me?”
She shook her head, speaking hesitantly-shyly. “No. It’s...it’s not that. Only.. .would.. .would you.. .kiss me before you leave, Mr. Tuesday.”
The request caught him by surprise but he managed to conceal it and smiling, bent down to her. “I thought you were going to ask me something difficult. It’s always a pleasure to kiss a beautiful girl.”
He started to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her face to him and he kissed her gently on the mouth. Her young lips had been debased and brutalized, but now, against his, they seemed almost virginal-tremulous with her long suppressed need for tenderness and love. “Good-night, Wanda,” he murmured, and she lay back with a wan but pleased smile, her one good eye almost as closed as the swollen one. He turned off the light over her bed and, even before he reached the door, he could hear the soft, regular breathing of her sleep.