The Lesson of Her Death (40 page)

“Wrestling practice,” she explained to Breck.

“Ah.” Breck turned to Sarah. “What’ve you got there?”

“My backpack.”

“What’s in it?”

“Barbie. And Redford T. Redford—”

“That’s one of her stuffed bears.” Diane felt a need to translate.

“That’s a clever name.”

Sarah announced, “He’s the world’s smartest bear. And I have my tape recorder.”

“Tape recorder? Oh-oh, are you recording what I’m saying? Like a spy?”

“No!” Sarah smiled. “I’m writing stories.”

“Stories?” Breck’s eyes went wide. “I’ve never known anybody who writes stories.”

“Dr. Parker is having me write a book.”

Breck said, “I write books. But mine are very boring. Students use them in class. I’ll bet yours are more interesting than mine. Sarah, why don’t you sit over here next to me.”

Diane asked, “Can I get you anything?”

“A salt shaker,” Breck said.

“Pardon?”

“Actually, the whole carton would be better.”

“Salt.”

Breck said, “Please.”

Diane walked into the kitchen and Breck turned to Sarah. “How do you spell ‘chair’?”

“C-H-A-I-R.”

“Very good.”

Sarah beamed.

“How about ‘table’?”

She closed her eyes and thought for a minute. She shook her head. Then she said, “T-A-B-E-L. No, L-E.”

“That’s right. How ’bout ‘tablecloth’?”

The girl went quiet, her mood changed fast as a balloon popping. “I don’t know.” Her face became sullen.

“Tablecloth,” Breck said.

Diane, returning with the blue carton, felt an electric rush across her face—sympathetic fear.
She’s getting upset
,
she’s going to be blocked and you’re bucking for a tantrum, boy
.…

Breck opened his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of black paper. Diane handed him the salt. Breck took it and poured a large pile onto the paper then spread it out smoothly. Mother and daughter watched—one with fascination, one with caution. Breck said to Sarah, “Let’s spell it together.”

“I don’t know how.” She stared at the salt. Diane stood in the doorway until she saw what she believed was a glance from Breck, requesting privacy. She retreated to the kitchen.

“Give me your hand,” Breck said to the girl.

Reluctantly Sarah did. He took her index finger and drew a T in the salt with it. “You feel it?” He asked. “You feel what a T is like?”

Sarah nodded. Breck smoothed the salt. “Do it again.”

She hesitated, then started the letter. It was a clumsy attempt, looking more like a plus sign.

“Let’s try an A.”

“I can do that one,” she said and smoothed the salt herself.

For a half hour they made salt letters. A hundred “table”s. A hundred “cloth”s. A hundred of those words put together, making a third word. Even though Sarah struggled fiercely to spell it correctly—and did so the majority of times—Breck did not seem interested in her results. Less a tutor than a sculpting instructor, Breck urged her to feel the shape of the letters. Diane, crouched like a peeping Tom, peered through a crack in the kitchen door and watched.

At the end of the session he gave Sarah a tracing notebook, which contained a story Breck read to her. Sarah declared it was “a pretty darn good story,” even though she guessed the ending halfway through. Breck gave her instructions on tracing the paragraphs. He stood up and left Sarah to her book and tape recorder and mangy stuffed bear.

“Hello?” Breck called. “Mrs. Corde?”

“In here.”

He walked into the kitchen, where Diane had rapidly resumed peeling potatoes.

“You are amazing,” she said. Then confessed, “I overheard.”

“These are very well-known techniques. Rapport with the child. Multisensory stimulation. Work with her motor skills. Use her given talents to compensate for her deficits.”

“You seem like an artist.”

“I like what I do. That’s the optimal motivation for any endeavor.”

Optimal? Endeavor?

“You want some coffee?”

He said, “Sure.”

She poured two cups and chattered about her garden and a PTA bake sale she was chairing. Diane Corde didn’t know what to make of her rambling. Apparently neither did Breck, who sat in the kitchen and sipped coffee while he looked close to uncomfortable. He gazed out over the backyard. When she paused he said, “I like these windows, you can see the whole field there. I have bay windows like these in my town house.”

“Where’s that?”

“Chicago. South Side. Only I don’t see fields. I see the lake.”

“I wonder if that’s why they call them bay windows. Bay, lake.”

He said, “Or perhaps it’s because they’re shaped like a bay.”

Diane said that was true and felt like a fool that her joke had missed its mark.

Breck said, “Sarah’s a good candidate for improvement. Dr. Parker has her dictating stories to build up self-esteem, I assume?”

“That’s right.”

“She has an astonishing imagination.”

“She’s always making up things. It drives me nutty
sometimes. I don’t know what’s real and what’s fantasy.”

“A plight many of us suffer from.”

Plight
.

There was a moment of long silence. Breck was still gazing, though no longer at the cow pasture. Now it was Diane’s eyes he was examining.

He asked, “Do you work?”

“Yep. You just finished with one of my bosses. I got two more. Jamie—you saw him—and a husband. They’re all a handful.”

“Ah, your son. The bicyclist. Does he have any learning problems?”

“Nope. Good student, good athlete.”

“That’s not unusual. Birth order is often a significant factor in dyslexia. And your husband’s a policeman?”

“A detective. He works like a maniac, he’s away from home so much.” Diane found herself about to blurt, “And
that’s
with a case he’s been ordered off of!” But she said only, “We don’t get many murders in New Lebanon.”

“From what I’ve read it’s got the town in quite an uproar.”

“Well, all this talk of Moon Killers and cults and that nonsense …”

“Is it nonsense?”

“Well, they’ve caught that boy. I shouldn’t be telling you this but that’s why Jamie was a little moody. The one they’ve indicted was a friend of his.”

“Really?” Breck frowned in sympathy. “Poor kid.”

“I’m of mixed mind. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Sarah but the reason the deputy’s out there? Somebody’s left some threats.”

“How terrible.”

“To get Bill to stop the investigation.”

“And they think your son’s friend did that?”

“Philip’s a sorry soul. With parents like his I’m not surprised he turned out bad. He’s been abused, I’m sure.
And his mother drinks. But threatening my daughter … I don’t cut him any slack. He gets no sympathy from me.”

“But if they’ve arrested him, why the guard?”

“That’s my Bill. Between you and me and the fence post, he’s not sure the boy’s guilty. He asked to have the deputy kept on the house for a few days longer. I can’t say that upsets me too much.” Diane hesitated. “I guess I shouldn’t … I mean, this is pretty much classified stuff I’m telling you.”

Breck acknowledged the discretion with a nod and Diane turned the talk back to the PTA. After ten minutes Breck looked at his watch and stood. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d like to stay longer,” he said with sincerity, “but I have a lecture to prepare.”

Diane took his hand and found she was studying parts of him—his floppy hair, his eyelids, his lips, reaching conclusions about each. This allowed her to avoid conclusions about Breck as a person. Or as a man.

She thought suddenly that this was the first time in years she was having a serious talk alone in her kitchen with a man not related by blood or marriage. She asked, “Next Tuesday?”

“I’ll look forward to it.” Breck added, “I’ve enjoyed talking with you. I think we have some good rapport established.”

“Is that important?”

“Indeed.” Breck took her hand again. He continued to hold it, pressing firmly, as he said, “You’d be surprised how important the tutor’s relationship with a parent is.”

MEMO

TO: Files

FROM: Dennis B. Brann, Esq.

DATE: May 8

RE: People v. Halpern, a Minor

Attached are the relevant portions of a transcript of my interview with Philip Halpern, defendant
in this case, which interview took place today at the New Lebanon Sheriff’s Department, following a bail hearing at which bail was set in the amount of $1 million and was not posted. The Grand Jury of Harrison County has indicted Philip with one count of first-degree murder, one count of first-degree manslaughter, one count of first-degree rape and one count of first-degree sodomy, in connection with the death of Jennifer Gebben, and one count first-degree murder and one count first-degree manslaughter in the death of Emily Rossiter.

DNA genetic marker test results indicate that the semen found in and on the Gebben victim was Philip’s (see Attachment “A”).

DBB: Philip, I’d like to talk to you about what happened at the pond. Everything you tell me, even if you tell me that you did what you’re accused of, is only between us. The court will never find that out.

PH: Yessir.

DBB: Tell me what happened that night, that Tuesday, April 20.

PH: I was with Jamie—

DBB: That’s Jamie Corde?

PH: Yeah and what it was, we’d been fishing, only nothing was biting so we thought since it’d rained during the day there’d be some worms close to the surface, so we thought we’d dig some and we walked over along the dam. It was around ten. Jamie and me were walking along there and we looked down and we seen this white thing and we thought it was, I thought it was one of those, you know, those dolls they sell in the back of magazines sometimes.…

DBB: Dolls?

PH: You like blow them up and, you know, do things to them.

DBB: Inflatable dolls.

PH: Yeah. So I go, “Let’s go look,” and we go down there and it isn’t a doll, it’s this girl and she’s lying there and she looks dead.

DBB: Where was she?

PH: Next to the truck. The old Ford.

DBB: What position was she in?

PH: Lying on her back. They’re not listening in, are they? I mean is there a microphone here or anything?

DBB: No, there isn’t. It’s okay to talk to me.

PH: She was lying in the mud on her back. Her arm’s up over her face and her fingers were all curly. It was like weird. Jamie and me walked down to her and we think she’s like asleep but then I think maybe she’s dead and I don’t want to touch her at first and we just stand around and look at her then we look at each other for a while and we’re like, oh, man, what’re we going to do? And we can’t think of anything. So I finally bend down and feel on her neck like they do on TV for the pulse or whatever, and I’m like I can’t feel anything and then I …

DBB: Go on.

PH: Then I keep touching her. And Jamie bends down and he touches her leg and she’s cold but she’s not hard like, you know, with rigid mortis. I …

DBB: Go on.

PH: I touch her, you know, her tits. Then I pull up her skirt and Jamie’s like, “Man, this is too much.” He goes, “Like I’m serious, we gotta call somebody. Let’s call my dad.” But I’m still touching her. I can’t help myself. I cut her underwear off with the knife.

DBB: Your Naryan knife?

PH: Uh-huh. I cut them off, her underwear, and Jamie was touching her, you know, down there. He stuck his finger in a couple times.… Then I, you know, I did it. I couldn’t stop myself.

DBB: You had intercourse with the corpse?

PH: Yeah, I guess.

DBB: Did you ejaculate?

PH: Uh, yeah.

DBB: Did you have both vaginal and anal intercourse with her? You know what I mean by that, don’t you?

PH: (inaudible)

DBB: What was that?

PH: I wasn’t sure how it, you know, worked at first.

DBB: What happened then?

PH: I kind of just finished. I asked Jamie if he wanted to. But he didn’t. He was like totally freaked. So we went home.

DBB: Did you touch her in any way afterward?

PH: Oh, yeah. She didn’t look right, lying there. So I made her look better. I pulled her dress down and folded her arms.

DBB: Why did you do that?”

PH: Well, in this movie I saw,
The Lost Dimension?
—it’s a really really good movie—the hero brings this princess back to life. The Honons had killed her. They’re like totally evil. And Dathar like made her look like that.

DBB: Did you think you could bring her back to life?

PH: I don’t know.

DBB: Did you ever see the girl before? When she was alive?

PH: No.

DBB: Could you tell me about those pictures
of the girls you had in your file cabinet? The drawings?

PH: Well, it was sort of a game Jamie and me made up. It was like based on the movie—

DBB:
The Lost Dimension?

PH: Yeah. And we wanted to do a computer game of it and sell it but we don’t know programming too good so we made up this board game. We used some of the girls from school as characters. We cut their pictures out of the yearbook.

DBB: Was this like a religion or a cult?

PH: No sir. It was just a game. We were going to sell it to Parker Brothers or Milton Bradley. I was going to make a lot of money and get a house of my own and move out.

DBB: Did you see anyone else around the pond that Tuesday?

PH: We saw some guys fishing but that was at dusk.

DBB: Do you have any idea who killed her?

PH: No.

DBB: Do you recognize this photocopy?

PH: That’s my knife.

DBB: Are you sure it’s yours? Or does it just look like one you have?

PH: I don’t know. It looks like mine.

DBB: You don’t have that knife any longer?

PH: I lost it. I think I dropped it at the pond.

DBB: Philip, did you know a Susan Biagotti?

PH: Who?

DBB: A student at Auden University.

PH: I don’t know about her. I never heard of her.

DBB: She was killed last year.

PH: I don’t know anything about that. Really, Mr. Brann.

DBB: Now you went back to the pond on the twenty-eighth? The night of the twenty-eighth?