Waiting and Watching (8 page)

When they found no note in the car, they went back inside and found Connie's purse at the bar where she'd left it.

“Something is very weird here,” Andrew said. “I'm beginning to get worried. Where do we go from here?”

“Let's head back to our hotel and see if she's there,” Julio said.

“I'll meet you over there,” said Andrew.

They walked into the lobby and asked the desk clerk if Connie had been back. He said he hadn't seen her yet tonight and she would have to come by the desk to get a key. The clerk told Julio that he had an urgent message for him, but it wasn't from Connie. The message was from Lily and she asked that Julio call her as soon as possible.

“Shit,” said Julio. “I don't have time for her hocus pocus crap.” But he dialed the number anyway. “Hi, Lily,” he said impatiently, as he was eager to get back to locating Connie. “I'm in a hurry. What's so important?”

“Well, this will sound odd,” she said with hesitation. “I know you're skeptical about my psychic abilities, but I keep having feelings that Connie's in trouble. I can't tell you where, but I think she's in danger. Tell me she's okay so I can relax and go to sleep.”

“Lily, I can't tell you that. In fact, right at the moment, she's missing. I'm going to hang up with you now and call the Tilden Park Police. Thanks for your concern, Lily.”

“One more thing, Julio. Do you know anyone with the initials J.R.? I feel you need to contact him.”

Julio remembered Connie talking about Sgt. Joe Reynolds and how he was taking an interest in their parents' case. “I think the sergeant Connie met is Joe Reynolds. I'm going to call him right now.”

Julio quickly hung up and called the Tilden police. They said they would radio Sgt. Reynolds and have him call back immediately.

Connie hadn't yet had an opportunity to make a break for freedom. Martin was forcing her to dance with him. One arm stayed firmly around her waist, while his free hand wandered over her body, fondling her breast and then cupping her ass to pull her against him. She could feel his erection and her fear of rape had grown exponentially. She knew she had to get out. And soon.

Connie struggled to free herself from his grip, but he was too strong. Martin hummed to the music and seemed absorbed in his personal fantasy.

Martin danced her roughly over to the bed and pushed her down backwards. Oh God. It's going to happen. With one knee firmly wedged against her stomach so she couldn't move and could hardly breathe, Martin pulled a long shiny knife out from under his robe. Slowly, but with enough pressure to cut through her dress, he ran the knife along the fold of her breast. “Did you like it rough with your nigger stud?” he asked, sneering down at her.

Connie was squirming and turning her head so she couldn't see the twisted smile on Martin's face. As Martin taunted her with the knife, he said, “You're so pathetically stupid, Constance. You thought you came from the perfect family. Your mother was an idiot and your father was a womanizer,” he said bitterly.

“Martin, you know both of my parents really cared for you.”

“Oh sure,” Martin said. “Until they adopted that little wetback. Then the fatherless kid next door was out of the picture. Did you know the father you worshipped was cheating on your simple-minded mother? She was so busy feeding the poor and hungry that she didn't even get the fact that her bookish psychiatrist husband was banging every slut in town.”

Connie breathed deeply in an attempt to keep herself focused. She knew Martin was a ranting mad man, and if she didn't escape soon, he would have his revenge. Her only strategy was to play for time in the hope that something would distract him and she could run. She didn't believe anything Martin said, but she needed to keep him talking. “Tell me what you know about my father cheating on my mother. How do you know that's true?” Connie feigned interest, not believing any of his pathological ravings.

“Everyone knew about your father. It was all over town. People talked behind your backs and felt sorry for you. They also talked about you and your colored boyfriend, and how your bleeding liberal parents approved and even liked him. They had the audacity to invite his parents into their home. Yeah. Your family was the joke of the town—your dim-witted mother, your cheating father, and your shit-brown brother.”

Martin started laughing that high pitched laugh. The vulture started squawking again, and Connie couldn't stop shaking with fear.

“Did you kill my parents?” Connie asked.

Martin continued to laugh. “No. I can't take credit for that, but whoever it was did the whole town a favor. You and your family were bringing the neighborhood down. First it was that nigger family moving in and then it was the darkie-lovin' Harrimans.”

Connie heard a door bang shut, then the sound of footsteps running up the stairs. Martin didn't seem to notice. Connie feared it was her imagination until they both heard Nola's voice yelling for Martin. Oh, thank God, Connie thought. “Nola, help me!” she screamed.

“Stay out, Mother!” Martin yelled. He turned and Connie grabbed hold of his arm to keep him from ostensibly locking Nola out. He backhanded Connie, forcing her to let go of his arm. He made for the door, but it was too late.

The door opened and Nola rushed into the room. “Junior, what's going on in here?”

“Nothing, Mother. Connie and I were just dancing for old time's sake. We're enjoying what should have been, aren't we, Connie?”

“Help me, Nola!” Tears ran down Connie's cheeks. “Martin has a knife!”

“Martin, give me the knife,” Nola demanded, holding out her hand. “You don't really want to hurt Connie, I know you don't.

He hung his head, and after a moment, put the knife in Nola's hand.

Nola looked with concern at Connie. “I'm so sorry, dear. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think so.” Connie sat up on the bed and looked warily at Martin and then at Nola with growing anger. “Thank God you got here when you did. Martin needs help, Nola. Or he needs to see the inside of a jail cell for a very long time. He was going to rape and kill me.”

“I know. He's always wanted you, and I plead guilty for encouraging him to keep trying to win you over.”

With that, Martin broke into tears and began wailing. “I'm sorry, Mama.”

Nola put her arm around him. “Martin has been under a lot of pressure. He needs help. Please don't press charges against him. I'll get him the help he needs and right now I'll get him out of here so you can put yourself together. Come with me, son.” Nola spoke in a comforting voice as she led him from the room and down the stairs.

Connie stood in her old bedroom trembling. She couldn't catch her breath. She wanted to run, but her feet felt like lead. In shock, she stood there for what seemed like an eternity. Still in her old prom dress, slashed by Martin's knife, she darted down the steps and out the front door.

Earl Lookey still lived in the same house he had lived in for over 40 years. He and his wife, Sue, bought it the year they were married, thinking it would be the perfect place to raise children. Unfortunately, they never had any and it was a great disappointment to them both. Sue fed her maternal instinct by teaching third grade, but Earl just got crotchety and rigid due to the lack of loving chaos that comes with children and grandchildren. Sue's death several years back left him a bitter recluse with only his television and a basset hound named Sniff for company.

Earl had been dozing in front of his television when he heard something outside his front door. He went to the window to investigate and could see a woman collapsed on his front porch steps. She was disheveled, her fancy dress was torn, and she was crying as if she'd lost her last friend, but Earl was still leery of opening the door to a stranger, particularly at this hour of the night. He was always suspicious of pranksters. In his opinion, the behavior of kids today was appalling, even in this affluent suburb.

However, when the woman looked up and spotted him through the door's beveled glass, the illumination from his outdoor light revealed her identity. Earl couldn't believe his eyes. He stood there like a deer in headlights, unable to reconcile seeing Connie again. She was older now of course, but she still looked enough like the pretty young girl he remembered for sympathy and concern to fill his heart.

He opened the door and rushed to her aid. “My God, Connie, what's happened to you, girl?” He helped her up and into the safety of his living room.

“Martin abducted me,” she explained, as he sat her down and she settled into the welcoming comfort of his well-worn sofa.

“What!” Earl frowned, noting she was shaking like a leaf. He rushed over to the sideboard in the attached dining room to pour her a stiff shot of scotch from a crystal Tantalus. “I always knew that boy had a screw loose,” he said, returning with the drink. “Here, take a big swallow. It'll put some starch in your knees.”

Connie accepted the drink from him but she was shaking so hard, Earl had to cup his hands around hers to keep the scotch from spilling. She grimaced after taking that first bolstering swallow. The heat of it running down her throat and into her stomach worked quickly to calm her jangling nerves.

“Thank you, Mr. Lookey. I really needed that.”

Earl looked at the torn top of her party dress. She had obviously been through a terrible ordeal. “The bastard didn't hurt you, did he?”

“No, but only thanks to Nola finding us. Could I please use your phone, Mr. Lookey?”

“Of course.” He hurried into the kitchen and brought her the receiver off his wall phone. She dialed the Tilden Park Inn's phone number and asked to be connected to her room.

Julio just happened to be at the front desk. When the clerk told him Connie was on the phone, he leaned over the front desk and grabbed the phone out of the clerk's hand. “Oh, my God, Connie. I'm so relieved. Where in the hell are you?”

“I'm at Mr. Lookey's house. You have to come right away. I'll explain when you get here.”

“Which house is Mr. Lookey's?” Julio asked. “Never mind. Andrew's with me and he says he knows the house. We're on our way.”

When Connie handed Earl the phone, he suggested she lie down and rest until her brother arrived. “I'm going to call the police too,” he said, beginning to dial.

“Ask for Sgt. Reynolds and have him meet us here,” she told him. The thought of Martin's hands roaming over her made her nauseous. “I need to use your bathroom while you make the call. I feel sick to my stomach.”

“Go,” Earl said, still waiting for someone to answer his call. “Do you remember where it is?” he asked, but Connie was already running down the hallway. She pushed past the half open door to the bathroom and rushed straight to the toilet. She didn't even have time to lift the seat before she threw up. She heaved until she was weak and there was nothing left inside her, except revulsion. Sitting on the commode seat, she washed her face and hands over and over again, trying to rid her skin of Martin's foul touch.

“Are you all right, Connie?”

When she looked up, Mr. Lookey stood in the doorway looking concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”

Connie told him she felt better and would be okay. “I just need a few minutes, Mr. Lookey, and then I'll be out.”

“All right.”

Just then the doorbell rang and Earl went to answer it.

Sgt. Joe Reynolds didn't mind the graveyard shift. In Tilden Park not much happened after ten at night during the week and although the weekends were a different story, usually they brought only the occasional DUI or teenage pranksters getting out of hand.

Last Wednesday night, the quiet routine had been broken by Connie Harriman. He'd found her in a rental car staring up at the house where her parents were killed. Connie and the promises he'd made to her had been on his mind for the last few days. So much so, that he had gone into the station earlier than his shift called for to do some research on the case. The file was full of information—the autopsy report on both John and Claire Harriman, a thorough reporting of the crime scene, police interviews with neighbors and friends, and newspaper articles. Lots of information, but no real leads.

The police had put pressure on Connie Harriman's boyfriend, Andrew. He was either innocent or tough as nails. Either way, he didn't crack or incriminate himself in any way. His alibi was shaky, yet there was no hard evidence to link him to the murders, only suspicions from people who were openly prejudiced at having an educated and affluent black family in their neighborhood. Andrew's teachers and friends couldn't say enough good things about him: honor society, class officer and varsity athlete going back to his freshman year. Everything about him seemed to indicate an intelligent, well brought-up young man who had never been in any kind of trouble.

Reynolds assumed he would have another typical Saturday night, so he was surprised when his radio blared and the supervisor in charge asked him to turn his siren on and head for Earl Lookey's. Over the years, Lookey had been the victim of several teen pranks and this was probably just another annoying disturbance by giggling teens with nothing better to do than ruffle Earl's feathers.

Reynolds was only minutes away from Lookey's house when he received the radio call. As he approached the front door, Mr. Lookey stood in the doorway waiting. The surprise certainly showed on Reynolds's face when he saw Connie come out of the bathroom and into Mr. Lookey's living room. Joe knew right away that the circumstances tonight were far different from those of Wednesday night.

Connie's face was ashen and what in the world was she wearing? It looked like something from the Salvation Army. He wondered if coming back to the place where the double murder of her parents had occurred had caused a mental break down. Late nights and too much booze would just aggravate a disturbed condition. Wednesday night he hadn't noticed anything to make him think her unbalanced, but seeing her tonight, and hearing from dispatch that her brother reported her missing, had given him new-found concerns.