Despite that, he still enflamed her. She had been aching for this. She wanted their final times together to be romantic. This wasn’t romantic.
“Put the marijuana and beer away, and I will.”
He brought the bottle to his lips and drank the rest of it in long gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He tossed the empty across the room.
“Okay. It’s gone.”
“The marijuana, too.”
“What a party pooper!” He stuffed the baggie under the mattress. “Happy now?”
“Yes.” She made him wait a moment longer; then she walked across the small room and sat down next to him, kicking off her sandals.
He put his arm around her and drew her close. “I’ve missed you,” he sweet-talked her clumsily. “All these people wanting a piece of me. My parents, my grandmother, my lawyer, your mother. Why can’t they all leave me alone?”
Jesus, she thought—you won. Give it up. “Those are the people who stood behind you,” she reminded him, feeling put off by his lack of graciousness. “Your grandmother’s been a saint through all this. Where would you have been without her?”
“You’re right,” he gave in. “It’s just…arrghh…that stupid girl! Why did she have to be such a cunt?”
She stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You weren’t in the courtroom to hear all the garbage they said about her,” he told her, his voice rising in anger. “She lets some bozo she’s never met pick her up in the morning, an hour later she’s hot to trot to fuck him, but it got fucked up so she picks up some other guy and goes off to fuck him. Or maybe it was the first guy, who knows. If she hadn’t been a little whore, none of this would have happened.” He spat onto the floor. “She’d still be alive if she wasn’t such a slut.”
Sophia felt a chill, hearing Maria described that way. She knew of Maria’s reputation, but it still hurt to hear such harsh, unfeeling words. She had said those exact words herself, and now she was ashamed that she had.
“You shouldn’t talk about her like that,” she admonished him. “She’s dead. Think of her poor family and what they’ve gone through.”
He slumped back against the rough plank wall. “You’re right, it’s petty of me. But I lost eight months out of my life that I’ll never get back. And there’s always going to be a cloud over my head.”
Sophia leaned back so she was resting against him. She could feel the heat coming off his body. “Maybe they’ll find the real killer someday. Maybe it’s that other boy.”
Steven shook his head as if trying to shake away the memories of the last eight months. “They never will. It’s always going to be a mystery.” He turned to her. “We don’t have much time left. Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”
She was happy to let the ugliness go. They stretched out on the thin bed. He was naked under his jeans, which slid off his narrow hips onto the floor. He lifted her dress up over her head and tossed it on top of his pants. Reaching behind her, he unsnapped her bra. It joined her dress and his jeans.
They rolled around on the bed. He kissed her swollen nipples. As his hand slid under the band of her panties, she began stroking his erection. “I have to tell you something,” she whispered into his ear.
“What?” The hand snaked lower, caressing the moist curliness of the top of her pubic hair.
She should have told him earlier, but she had been afraid he would withdraw, not want to be with her. “I’m having my period.”
He stopped moving. She felt him tense up.
“It’s almost done.” There was no one around, but she was whispering. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. “We can have regular sex tomorrow night.”
He pulled away. She raised up on her elbow. “Come on, Steven. I can’t help it.” She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Let me do you.”
She put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him down onto his back. Leaning over him, her swaying breasts grazing his chest, she held her hair back with one hand, braced herself with the other, and took his cock in her mouth.
She started sucking him, her head bobbing up and down on his shaft. He pushed up into her mouth, his penis ramming against the back of her throat. She gagged and pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I couldn’t help it.” She took a deep breath and started to go down on him again.
He pushed her away and sat up. “Roll over onto your hands and knees,” he ordered her.
Sophia shook her head. “I don’t want you in me, Steven,” she protested. “Not while I’m on my period.”
It was as if he hadn’t heard her; or more truthfully, that whatever she said and wanted didn’t matter. He grabbed her and spun her around so that she was on her hands and knees, facing away from him.
“Steven,” she cried softly, “I don’t want to.”
He jerked her panties down past her knees. “I’m not going to fuck you in the pussy, Sophia,” he breathed into her ear. His breath felt like fire on her skin. He grabbed her hips and started to push into her anus.
“No, please,” she whimpered.
“Don’t fight it,” he told her. “You’re going to like this, I promise.”
He pushed her down, onto her stomach. She tried to punch at him, but he was on top of her, straddling her. She managed to turn her head and bite his hand.
He yanked it away. “You bit me!” He stared at his hand. “It’s bleeding!” He grabbed her by the neck and shoved her down. “Stop fighting me,” he roughly told her again. His breath was scorching her face. It smelled like gasoline, he had so much alcohol in him. He pulled her up, so that she was in the doggie position. “This how all you high school girls like it, isn’t it,” he said, his voice low and thick.
She felt herself becoming hysterical. “I don’t want to do this,” she wailed. “Don’t do this, please. Please, Steven, don’t!” she screamed.
Before she could cry out again, he forced himself into her. His thrust was hard and fast, no gentleness, no easing his way in—the opposite of how they normally made love. Incredibly, in some deep recess of her mind she was excusing him: it was the drinking and the dope that was making him act this way. This wasn’t the Steven she knew. But the pain, not just the physical pain, but the humiliation and helplessness to stop him because he was stronger obliterated all that, and also the flash that went through her mind again, about what he had said—that high school girls liked it up the ass.
She screamed and tried to kick him off as he pushed her down again, one hand on the back of her head, smashing her face into the blanket. She started bucking, and he grabbed her by the shoulders to control her. As his hand came away from her head, she screamed again.
The explosion sounded like thunder clapping between her ears. Steven’s body slammed against hers, his face smashing into the back of her head. His teeth cracked against her skull as if he was trying to bite through to her brain.
There was blood. She knew her anus was bleeding from his harsh penetration, but this was different blood, she could feel it on her back, it was spreading down her lower back, down her ass and legs, and then he wasn’t moving, and she could hear a heavy rattle coming from somewhere deep inside of him.
He was like a set of weights on top of her. Unmoving, heavy, inanimate. Summoning all the strength she had left, she rolled over, forcing him off her. He fell in a heap on the floor.
The bullet had entered his body below his left shoulder blade. The blood was oozing out, not pumping fast, but already he was covered in it.
“Steven!” she screamed. She looked around wildly. “Steven!” she screamed again.
She heard someone running. Hurriedly, she put her panties back on, and reached for her bra. Her panties began staining with her blood, but she had nothing to staunch it.
She looked up as the footsteps approached. Juanita, her long hair streaming down her back, ran into the room. She stared in horror at Sophia, cowering on the narrow bed. Then her eyes went to Steven, naked and bloody on the floor.
“Somebody shot him,” Sophia ghost-whispered. She was shaking uncontrollably. Juanita looked at her grandson. Her face was bloodless. She knelt down and put her fingers on Steven’s throat. She hovered there for a moment, as if in prayer.
“Put your clothes back on, Sophia,” she told the hysterical girl.
While Sophia fumbled into her clothes, Juanita laid a blanket over Steven. Then she took Sophia’s shaking hand and brought her back to the house. They went into the bathroom. Juanita drew Sophia a hot bath.
“Wash yourself up thoroughly,” she ordered Sophia. “You aren’t bleeding too badly.”
She eased Sophia into the steaming water. While Sophia collapsed in the tub, Juanita went into her kitchen, picked up the telephone, and dialed 911.
“This is Mrs. McCoy, out at Rancho San Gennaro,” she told the dispatcher in a voice that was eerily disembodied. “An intruder has murdered my grandson.”
R
EBECK AND WATSON
blew in as if propelled by a hurricane. Sophia was out of the bath, smothered in an old robe of Juanita’s. She was huddled into herself in a chair. Her face was blank, as if she was in a catatonic state.
Rebeck crouched down next to her. She could see the girl was an emotional mess, but she had no time for civility. “Did you see anything?” she asked urgently. Every minute was critical.
Sophia shook her head.
“She didn’t see anything,” Juanita interjected. She hovered over Sophia. “Can’t you see she’s in shock? I don’t want you asking her any questions,” she told them with a fierce protectiveness. “I’ll answer whatever questions I can.”
She led Sophia into her bedroom. “Stay here and don’t say anything. I’ve called your mother. She’ll be here shortly.”
“But shouldn’t I…?”
“Hush,” Juanita whispered. She put a finger to Sophia’s lips. “This has been a terrible time of suffering,” she said gravely. “Don’t you think we’ve all suffered enough?”
Sophia stared at her, dumbstruck.
“Steven’s gone now,” Juanita said in a quiet, authoritative voice. “He can’t defend himself. Just as that poor girl couldn’t defend herself.” She stared into Sophia’s eyes as if looking into her soul. “It’s time to let them go. We need to let them take their secrets to the grave.”
She leaned in closer. “You saw nothing,” she repeated intensely. “I’m doing this to protect you, Sophia. Do you understand that?”
Sophia nodded. “I didn’t see anything,” she repeated by rote.
Juanita shut the bedroom door behind her and went back into her living room. She sat down on her couch.
“I was about to go to sleep,” she told the detectives. “I was exhausted. We all were. We’d had a party this evening to celebrate the verdict, and to bid farewell to Steven, who was going home to Arizona tomorrow.” She stopped for a moment. “It was his last night here,” she said in a choked voice.
Gathering herself, she continued. “Steven said good night to us and went to his room in the back of the stable. Sophia wanted to take a bath, and I got ready for bed. Just as I was about to get under the covers, I heard some voices outside.”
“What kind of voices?” Watson asked. “How many were there?”
“It sounded like there were two,” Juanita answered slowly. “I’m not positive. You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not completely straight in my head right now.” Although her eyes were dry, she dabbed at them with a handkerchief.
“Did you recognize them?” Watson pressed. “Both, or either?”
“One of them sounded like Steven’s.”
Watson huddled down right next to her. “What did he say?”
She shivered. “I heard a voice cry out, ‘No! Don’t!’ Like that.”
“And what did the other person say?” Watson continued. Both he and Rebeck were scribbling notes as fast as they could.
Juanita closed her eyes in thought. “I didn’t hear it clearly. It might have been, ‘It’s your turn’ or ‘It’s your time.’”
The detectives exchanged loaded glances. “Then what happened?” Watson asked.
“I heard a gunshot.” She started to say more, then stopped.
“Go on,” Rebeck prompted.
“I ran to the front door and threw it open. I was afraid to run out, because I didn’t know who was out there.” She paused for a moment. “Then I thought I saw someone running away.”
“Did you see who it was?” Rebeck asked feverishly.
Juanita shook her head. “It was too dark, and the figure was too far away.” The handkerchief twisted in Juanita’s hands. “I ran to the stable…” She hesitated for a second, then went on. “I could see right away that Steven was dead.” She rubbed her dry eyes. “All that grief he went through. That we all went through.” She buried her head in her hands. “For nothing,”
Kate, frantic with worry, pulled up in front of Juanita’s house in a cloud of dust. Half a dozen police cars were parked there, along with the coroner’s van. She ran inside, pushing past the clustered detectives.
Juanita was in the living room, waiting for her. “She’s in my bedroom. It’s been a terrible ordeal, but she’s all right. She’s sleeping now.”
Kate sagged. “My God. What about you? Is Steven…?” Her face registered shock and horror.
Juanita nodded somberly. “Someone killed him.”
Kate gathered Juanita in her arms. “Oh, Juanita,” she lamented. “I’m so sorry.”
The tears finally came. “He almost made it,” Juanita said, in a voice as soft as a cloud. “He was so close to getting on with his life and putting this ugliness behind him.” She bowed her head as if in prayer. “It’s all such a tragedy,” she whispered. “Such a needless, wasteful tragedy.”
Three weeks after Steven was buried in a quiet ceremony at the family’s ancestral graveyard, Rancho San Gennaro had its annual spring roundup. Cowboys from all over the valley came to help out. After a long and exhausting day, two hundred and thirty-seven calves were branded and inoculated. The males were castrated, and twenty prize heifers were culled out to be used as future breeding cows.
In the evening, Juanita threw a barbeque to feed all her helpers. Sophia was right in the mix. During the day she helped move the six-month-old calves from the holding pasture to the pens, and then worked alongside Juanita and a dozen other women to prepare the meal. When it was all over and everyone had departed, she and her surrogate grandmother collapsed in fatigue and satisfaction in a job well done. Sitting outside Juanita’s house, they toasted each other with apple cider.