“Do you?”
Dix was wearing a black turtleneck sweater today. And gray slacks. His bald head and clean-shaven face were shiny clean. His thick hands were motionless on the arms of his swivel chair, which he had tipped back while he listened to Jesse. His fingernails looked manicured.
“I want to kill anyone she’s
with,” Jesse said. “I feel like
I’ll explode if I don’t.”
“Because …?” Dix said.
“Because I love her.”
“But,” Dix said, “you
don’t kill anyone.”
Jess shrugged and smiled a little.
“Because I love her,” Jesse said.
“You win, you lose,” Dix said.
“You lose, you
lose.”
“Exactly. Ain’t love grand.”
“It might not be love,” Dix said.
Jesse straightened a little in his chair.
“Do shrinks believe in love?” Jesse said.
“I do,” Dix said, “loosely
speaking.”
“I love her,” he said. “If I
know nothing else, I know
that.”
Dix nodded.
“You accept that?” Jesse said.
“Sure,” Dix said. “But almost
everything human operates at more
than one level.”
“You think there’s something else at work?”
“Don’t you?”
Jesse sat for a moment, looking at the palm of his right hand, flexing the fingers.
“I imagine her with them,” Jesse said.
“Having
sex.”
“She ever tell you about it?” Dix said.
“God no,” Jesse said.
“So you don’t know what she’s
doing in fact.”
“I can imagine,” Jesse said.
His voice was hoarse. He cleared it. Dix was entirely still in his chair. Jesse saw that he was wearing black loafers with tassels, and no socks.
“Knowledge is power,” Dix said.
Jesse stared at him. Dix’s face never showed anything. Jesse
folded his hands and sat back in his chair with his elbows resting on the chair arms. The room was quiet. He heard his chair squeak as he shifted in it.
“But I don’t know what she’s
doing,” Jesse said.
“So you invent it,” Dix said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “I guess I
do.”
“How long have you been inventing her life?” Dix
said.
“Always,” Jesse said.
31
Suitcase Simpson sat very straight in the chair across from Jesse’s desk. He was always serious when he reported. Like a kid,
Jesse thought, giving a school report on Denmark.
“Bo Marino,” he said, “is around
school bragging about how he
spent a night in jail. Troy Drake is staying clear of Bo, and Kevin Feeney hasn’t been in school for the past three days.”
“You try his house?” Jesse said.
“Not yet, I wanted to check with you first.”
“Okay,” Jesse said. “Go get
him.”
“What about Drake?”
“We don’t know that Drake was
involved,” Jesse
said.
“Candy said …”
“Candace,” Jesse said. “And we
didn’t get any of this from her,
remember?”
Simpson nodded.
“And take Molly with you,” Jesse said.
“You think I can’t handle this
alone?”
“I’ve seen you handle worse than this alone, Suit. Molly has a
calming effect on parents.”
Simpson looked pleased for a moment, and left. Jesse picked up the phone and called Abby Taylor.
“You still representing Bo Marino?” he said when she
answered.
“No.”
“Old man fire you?”
“He didn’t get the chance,” Abby
said.
“Good for you.”
“File him under life’s too
short,” Abby said. “Are you going to pursue this?”
“I am.”
“I wish you well.”
“You know who your replacement is?”
“No, but I’ll bet he’s a
loudmouth,” Abby said.
“No bet,” Jesse said. “Want to
have dinner some
night?”
There was a pause. Jesse waited.
Then Abby said, “Of course I would. I have always felt bad about
the way we, ah, ended.”
“Gray Gull?” Jesse said.
“Tonight?”
Again the pause. Again Jesse waited.
“Absolutely,” Abby said.
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Good,” Jesse
said and hung up.
He leaned back against his chair and looked up at the ceiling for a time. See if I can stay sober.
32
Simpson brought Kevin Feeney in with his mother and father.
When
they were seated in Jesse’s office, Simpson left and closed the
door behind him. Kevin’s face was pale and he swallowed often. His
freckles stood out starkly.
“Kevin says he doesn’t know why you
arrested him,” Kevin’s
father said.
He was a smallish man with thinning red hair and a somewhat unsuccessful mustache. Mrs. Feeney had long gray hair. Her flowered dress was large and shapeless.
“Actually,” Jesse said, “we
haven’t arrested him. We have asked
him to come in and answer some questions.”
“About what,” Mr. Feeney said.
His voice cracked a little. Jesse took a copy of one of the photographs from a folder and slid it across the desk.
Candace’s
face had been blacked out.
Mr. and Mrs. Feeney looked at the picture. Kevin did not.
Mrs. Feeney said, “Oh my God, Kevin, is that you?”
Mr. Feeney continued to stare at the picture. Jesse waited quietly.
After a time Mr. Feeney said, “Who’s the girl?”
Jesse didn’t say anything.
Mrs. Feeney said, “Kevin?”
Kevin looked at the floor.
“Kevin,” Mrs. Feeney said. “Who
is that girl?”
Kevin kept looking at the floor. He shook his head.
Mrs. Feeney looked at Jesse. “Who is she? Why is her face
blacked out?”
“No reason to humiliate her more than necessary,” Jesse
said.
“But how can we help if we don’t know who she
is?”
“Kevin probably knows,” Jesse said.
“Goddamnit, Kevin,” Mr. Feeney said.
“Who is she? What’s going
on?”
Kevin huddled up tighter into himself and stared harder at the floor. Both parents looked at Jesse.
“What’s going to happen?” Mrs.
Feeney said to Jesse. “He’s not a
criminal, you know.”
“We have a picture of him forcibly restraining a naked young
woman who is crying,” Jesse said.
“There’s probably a crime in
there someplace.”
“How can you tell she’s crying,”
Mrs. Feeney
said.
“I’ve seen the full picture,”
Jesse said. “Face and
all.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Mr.
Feeney said. “Should I get a
lawyer.”
“You won’t need one until we
arrest
him,” Jesse
said.
“Arrest?” Mrs. Feeney said. “How
can you arrest him? He’s a
child, for God’s sake.”
Jesse got up and walked around his desk and sat on the corner of
it in front of Kevin.
“Who took the picture?” Jesse said.
Kevin stared at the floor.
“Did you rape this girl?” Jesse said.
Without raising his eyes, Kevin said, “I didn’t do
nothing.”
Jesse let out an audible breath.
“This isn’t skipping school, Kevin, or smoking a joint,” he
said. “This is jail time.”
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Feeney said.
“Oh my God.”
“I say there are three of you,” Jesse said. “You holding her
hands, somebody else taking the picture, and a third party, off camera, holding her feet.”
“I didn’t do nothing.”
“Do you know Bo Marino?” Jesse said.
Kevin nodded. He looked as if he might collapse in his chair.
“Did he take these pictures?”
“I don’t know.”
“We found them in his possession.”
“I don’t know.”
“Was someone holding her feet?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was holding her feet.”
Kevin began to cry.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“I don’t know anything.”
“Don’t yell at him,” Mrs. Feeney
said. “Leave him
alone.”
Jesse nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said. “Kevin Feeney,
you are under arrest for sexual
assault.”
“No,” Mr. Feeney said.
“You have the right to remain silent,”
Jesse said. “Anything you
say can be used against you in a court of law.”
“Wait a minute,” Mr. Feeney said.
“Wait.”
“You have the right to an attorney to assist you prior to
questioning and to be with you during questioning if you so desire.”
“Don’t arrest him,” Mrs. Feeney
said.
“There must be something we can work out,”
Mr. Feeney
said.
“If you cannot afford an attorney you have the right to have one
appointed for you prior to questioning.”
“I don’t know a lawyer,” Mr.
Feeney said.
“One will be appointed,” Jesse said.
“Do you understand these
rights, Kevin?”
Kevin was crying noisily.
“Am I going to jail,” he said.
“At least until a judge sets bail,” Jesse said.
“Mom,” Kevin said.
“Oh God, Kevin,” she said.
“If he tells you?” Mr. Feeney said.
“I might not arrest him.”
“Tell him, Kevin.”
“I can’t rat out my friends.”
“Do you want to go to jail?” Mr. Feeney said. “Tell him, for
crissake.”
“They’ll be pissed at me,” Kevin
said.
He was able to speak briefly, between sobs. Jesse picked up the
phone.
“Molly, you or Suit come back here.”
Almost at once, Simpson opened the door.
“Take Kevin down to a cell and lock him up,” Jesse said. “Then
call the public defender’s office, tell him the kid needs a lawyer.”
Simpson put a hand under Kevin’s arm.
He said, “Come on, kid.”
Kevin was crying loudly. Mrs. Feeney was crying just as loudly.
Kevin’s father stood and leaned over his son.
“Was it Bo Marino?” he shouted at him.
“Yes,” Kevin said.
Simpson paused and looked at Jesse. Jesse made a wait-a-minute gesture.
“Who else,” his father shouted at him.
“Troy.”
“Troy Drake?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you’ll sleep at home
tonight,” Jesse said.
33
Kevin had stopped crying. He was drinking a Coke.
Jesse said, “Who’s the girl,
Kevin?”
“Candy Pennington,” Kevin said.
“You’d have found out
anyway.”
“What happened?” Jesse said.
Kevin looked at his mother. No one said anything.
“It was Bo, really,” Kevin said.
“Me and Troy just went
along.”
Jesse nodded and waited. Kevin looked around. No one said anything.
“She was such a freakin‘
brownnose,” Kevin said.
“Kevin!” his mother said.
He didn’t look at her.
“Well, she was,” he said. “She
was always sucking up to the
teachers. Always acting like she was better than anyone else.”
Jesse waited. Kevin drank his Coke and didn’t say anything more.
The room was still.
“So you thought you’d take her down a peg,” Jesse
said.
“Yeah. Exactly. Bo said we should take her out in the woods and
pull her pants down.”
“Oh, Kevin,” his mother said.
“Embarrass her, you know. Maybe take a picture of her.”
Mr. Feeney had his head tilted back against his chair. His eyes
were closed.
“My God, Kevin,” Mrs. Feeney said.
“You’re not helping, Mrs.
Feeney,” Jesse said. “Let him tell his story.”
her mouth. Kevin wouldn’t look at her.
“Bo told her a bunch of us were hanging out there, partying, you
know. So she goes out there with us and we, you know, did it.”
“What was ‘it’?” Jesse
said.
Mrs. Feeney made a little moaning sound into her clenched hands.
“You know, had sex. I mean we wasn’t going to, we was going to
just, like, look at her. But then Bo said we’d gone this far and
what the hell. And then he got on top of her.”
“And had sex with her?”
“Yeah.”
“And you?”
“Yeah, I went second.”
Mrs. Feeney moaned again. She was rocking slowly in her chair.
Mr. Feeney neither moved nor opened his eyes.
“And Troy Drake?” Jesse said.
“He went after me.”
“He had sex with her?” Yes.
“And how did she feel about this?” Jesse said.
Kevin shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“How did she act,” Jesse said.
“She was crying,” Kevin said.
“When Bo did it she tried to push
him off, but she couldn’t.”
“Did she say no?”
“I guess so, she was yelling help and stuff.”
“And with you?” Jesse said.
“She just laid there,” Kevin said.
“Was she still crying?”
“Yes, but that’s all. It was like she decided to go along with
it.”
“She have any other options?” Jesse said.
“I don’t know.”
“So then what happened?”
“Troy did her. Then we held her down while Bo took her picture.
Bo told her if she said anything we’d show everybody in school the
pictures.”
Mrs. Feeney c
ontinued to moan and rock. Mr. Feeney continued to
sit immobile with his head back and his eyes closed.
“I’m really sorry,” Kevin said.
“Mom, I am. I’m
sorry.”
“I tried,” Mrs. Feeney said into her clenched hands. “I tried
and tried to teach you to respect women. Didn’t I?
Didn’t I drum
that into you since you were little. To disrespect one woman is to disrespect us all. In shaming that poor girl, you shamed me.”
Mr. Feeney opened his eyes, and without lifting it, he turned his head toward his wife.
“You know, Mira,” he said. “This
really is much more about Kevin
and that poor girl than it is about you.”
“Oh, God,” Mrs. Feeney said and pressed her hands to her face
again and began to cry.
Jesse reached over and shut off the tape recorder.
“I’m going to have that
transcribed,” Jesse said. “Then I will ask you to sign it.”
“Okay.”
“Mr. Feeney, you’ll need to sign it too, I think, since Kevin is
not of age.”
Feeney nodded.
“If he testifies against the other boys,”
Mr. Feeney said, “can
he get a break?”
“When you have a lawyer,” Jesse said,
“your lawyer and the DA
can negotiate that.”
“Will you put in a word for him?”
“Yes.”
“He’s never been in trouble
before,” Mrs. Feeney
said.
“And now he is,” Jesse said.
“But he won’t have to go to
jail?”
“Mrs. Feeney,” Jesse said. “He
participated in the gang rape of
a sixteen-year-old girl. He’ll have to answer for that.”
“Oh, my God,” she said and cried harder.
34
Jesse’s condo was only a block away from the Gray Gull, and they
walked to it after dinner. There was a hard wind off the harbor and Abby put her arm through Jesse’s and pressed against him.
Inside
the condo Jesse poured them each a Poire Williams and they stood at the glass slider and looked out past his deck at the dark harbor.
There was a storm coming up from the southwest and the water was restless.
Abby turned so that she could look up into Jesse’s face. She had
drunk two Rob Roys before dinner, and they had shared a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
“You look tired, Jesse.”
“Busy time at the office,” Jesse said.
“I know,” Abby said. “How many
television interviews have you
done?”
“Many.”