THE RIGHT TIME TO DIE (32 page)

Dojcsak said, “I’ll take it under advisement.” He reached for his jacket, which earlier he had hung from a hook on the examination room door.

As he pulled it over his shoulders, Bauer said, “She was a patient here, Ed. The girl, Missy Bitson.”

“Oh?” Dojcsak was noncommittal, aware of the constraints governing doctor-patient confidentiality and the difficulty in meaningful disclosure. “Half the town is a patient here, Henry.”

Bauer appeared to be ill, his expression pained, as if vexed by some internal dilemma. He removed his half-glasses, his eyes still fixed to the floor, as if contemplating a mark that only he could see. The exhaust fan hummed. Outside the small room, Dojcsak heard the voices and sounds of a busy working environment, though nothing to indicate what the nature of the work might be. Patiently, he waited for Bauer to continue.

When finally he spoke, he said, “You’ve received the preliminary autopsy report, I assume?” Bauer raised his eyes to meet Dojcsak.

Dojcsak said, “I have, though aside from cause of death, it’s inconclusive.”

“And?”

“Pretty straight forward; her neck was broken.” Dojcsak refrained from elaborating.

“Nothing more?”

“What is this is about, Henry?” asked Dojcsak, thinking he needed a cigarette. He rubbed his jaw self consciously, while Bauer watched.

“Was she raped?” Henry asked.

Dojcsak paused before replying. Missy Bitson was thirteen and therefore
legally
under the age of consent; in Dojcsak’s mind this did not necessarily equate to
ethically
under the age. “She’d had sex, Henry,” he said. “Fairly recently before her death, though based on the forensic evidence it’s unlikely she was raped. I don’t say the killing wasn’t a direct result of sexual misconduct, but for now, we don’t think it includes rape.”

Bauer came to a decision. Her reputation in tatters, Missy could no longer be maligned, though regretfully she could no longer be redeemed. He paused, from embarrassment or for effect, Dojcsak didn’t know.

“The girl was HIV, Ed.”

“She was HIV? You mean
AIDS
?”

“You would have known soon enough, when her blood work returned from the lab. The mother didn’t know, and I hadn’t yet been able to tell the girl.”

Dojcsak said, “Hadn’t been able, or hadn’t been willing.”

“I would have done. She died before I could.”

“But you knew she was promiscuous.”

Bauer shifted uncomfortably. “I knew she wasn’t a virgin. I’d treated her for various infections over the last year.”

Dojcsak interrupted. “Over the last
year
?”

“The child was active at an early age.”

“And you never thought to report it to child welfare? To her parents? To
me
?”

“She knew what she was doing, Ed. Missy was not being abused by her father; she was insistent on that. Whatever the girl was into was of her own free will.”

“She was thirteen, she had no free will.”

“Listen, Ed,” said Bauer, raising his hands as if to deflect a blow. “I thought I could counsel her, convince her to stop, or at least be more careful. I’d warned her about taking precautions against the dangers: pregnancy and venereal disease. In my wildest dreams, I could not have imagined this. I mean, we’ve had a run on amoxicillin, I’ll admit; it’s like perpetual spring fever around here, lately. The kids are screwing like rabbits. In a small town like this, seems they have nothing better to do. But HIV? It’s just not something I’ve ever seen. Not here. Ever.”

Dojcsak considered the implications, resisting an urge to laugh. Poor Missy Bitson; she had opened her legs and like an infected email attachment had willingly spread her virus to the unsuspecting world. Killer spam.
Such irony
, thought Dojcsak, that ultimately Missy should have her revenge in this way.

Before turning to the door, Dojcsak said, “Well Henry, from what we know of her reputation you may want to plan for a full-blown epidemic.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

“
ED,
” SAID SARA
in a way that made Dojcsak flinch. “I’m not comfortable withholding the fact she had HIV. It’s a public health issue. We have a responsibility to react.”

“How, Sara, with an announcement in
The Sentinel-Tribune
?”

“We could leak the details,” offered Burke. “I agree with Sara, Ed.” Unlikely as it seemed, Sara was grateful of his support.

“To what end?” Dojcsak wanted to know.

“To see it doesn’t spread. We have it from
two
reliable sources now,” Sara said, holding up two fingers in the sign of peace, though her tone remained combative. “The doctor and the medical examiner. She was sexually active. There’s a strong possibility one or more of her partners may take this home to a girlfriend or a wife. There’s also a strong possibility whoever killed her found out and broke her neck because of it.”

“A call to Seamus from an anonymous source?” said Burke, warming to his proposal.

Dojcsak had just returned from the office of Henry Bauer. When asked by his deputies, Dojcsak implied a clean bill of health. Eying him suspiciously, they dismissed the notion as being either overly optimistic or medically unsound.

Dojcsak said, “No longer concerned for our victim’s reputation, Sara?”

With little but circumstantial information available, thus far, to strongly influence the course of the inquiry, Sara was more concerned with the need for public disclosure of Missy’s startling condition. “I agree with Chris,” she said, conceding to Burke. “Leak it to Mcteer. It might compel potential suspects to seek treatment.”

“How does it help us, Sara? Medical records are confidential. We can’t know
who
is being treated, let alone
why,
” Dojcsak said.

They sat in Dojcsak’s office, the remnants of a fast food meal—Styrofoam containers and paper napkins—littering his desk. From the limited take-out menu of the
Gyros Palace Restaurant
, Dojcsak had chosen a grilled souvlaki dinner with Greek salad, roast potato and rice, Burke ditto and Sara a chicken pita with garlic mayonnaise. Must have her period, Burke thought before walking out the door to retrieve the phone-in order.

Dojcsak had offered to pay for the meal from petty cash and had asked Burke to return with beer. With customary old-world hospitality, the proprietor, Nicky Papandreou, had willingly obliged with a cold six-pack of which Dojcsak now consumed his third. The powerfully tantalizing scent of Mediterranean spices that accompanied the arrival of the food now came back on Dojcsak in the form of relentless heartburn, making his chest heave and his bowels bubble. He scratched the stubble at his chin, contemplating a trip to the john.

“Well,” said Sara carefully, not yet having fully vetted her position. “We could stake out the medical center and the family doctor. No doubt in my mind that two minutes after the news breaks in
The Sentinel-Tribune
, Jordy will be on Henry’s doorstep looking for treatment.”

Unconvinced, Dojcsak said, “It’s no good, Sara; too haphazard. We don’t have the manpower and it would take too much time. There’s no guarantee either the clinic or Henry Bauer treats Jordy Bitson.”

Hopeful, Sara said, “We could ask.”

“It’s a Fifth Amendment issue.” Dojcsak paused to sip beer straight from the can. “It would invalidate any hope for future prosecution. It’s the most egregious misinterpretation of
Probable Cause
imaginable.”

Sara said, “In the death of a
child
, Ed, I resent that such considerations should exist.”

Fifth Amendment and Probable Cause considerations aside, the following day Sara commenced upon her own possible violation of the inalienable Constitutional rights of Jordy Bitson. She disclosed to no one her strong, though unqualified, suspicion of the boy. That would come later, she decided, after obtaining sufficiently credible evidence; then,
Wham!
, she would haul in his skinny black ass and put him through the third degree, forcing a confession.

Though her earlier interrogation of Jenny had supplied Sara with nothing concrete with which to build a case against Jordy, it had given her enough, inarguably, to question the nature of the relationship between him and Missy. According to Jen, Jordy was infatuated with Missy, emotionally and possibly sexually; from his demeanor, this was clearly implied. Jordy was protective, almost jealous of her company and the relationships she enjoyed with other boys. He arranged to meet with her and to walk her home after school, sometimes standing too close when he did, so as on occasion to
accidentally
make contact with a thigh, a breast, or her bum.

Jenny recalled to Sara a bush-party at which a group of them had camped by the river, smoking weed and drinking beer late into the night. Toward dawn, as the gathering became increasingly stoned, Jordy and Missy had wandered away from the group, beyond the glow from the light of a fire. After an hour, they returned, Missy’s dark hair a wild tangle, her tight blouse partially undone. “I’m not saying anything happened,” Jenny had told Sara. “Just telling what I saw.”

It wasn’t unusual or even unnatural, Pridmore acknowledged, for children of a certain age to indulge in games of
you show me yours, I’ll show you mine
. As a youngster, Sara had herself played doctor with her cousins, mostly on weekends during family sleepovers at the century-old farmhouse of her grandmother.

In those days the game had been called
tickle me
, not doctor and nurse, consisting of each child having his or her turn to examine the private parts of the opposite sex. She and her cousins ranged in age from nine to eleven. While the experience was stimulating, in hindsight, Sara could hardly describe it as being erotic.

Her curiosity on the fundamentals of anatomy came to an abrupt halt one Saturday evening when a particularly mature twelve year old distant relation had been inadvertently introduced to the proceedings. The sight of his fully erect penis standing stiff between his thighs, anchored by a set of dangling testicles only partially obscured by a dense thicket of dark pubic hair, had traumatized the ten year old Sara, leaving her with horrific images of snakes, reptiles and worms slithering menacingly through the underbrush.

Thereafter, she was unwilling to participate unless the door was locked, and even then only in the presence of female company. At the age of twelve, Sara withdrew altogether from the activity, having experienced her first unexpected and at the time embarrassing and wholly unwelcome orgasm. As to Missy and Jordy Bitson, by their age, Sara believed all such adolescent urges should have long since passed.

Following up on her suspicion of Jordy, that evening Sara waited patiently at the corner of Main Street and Suffolk Avenue, south of the river and kitty-corner from the
Big Top Diner
. The street was busy. The night was clear, stars plastered across the dark sky like a string of Christmas tree lights. Sara’s outlook, if not her experience, convinced her by tomorrow it would rain or, with the temperature forecast to dip to below freezing, possibly snow.

In a steady though not heavy flow, shoppers entered the discount and convenience stores populating the area, tending to last minute retail purchases (on this side of the bridge consisting mainly of adult videos from the
Exxxotica
and, from the
Quiki-Mart
, cigarettes and booze). Afterward, before the restaurant locked its doors for the evening at ten, they would meet for coffee at the
Big Top Diner
, returning home to watch television, eat junk food, drink beer and before retiring to bed—if the inclination or capacity were there—to have sex.

On this side of the street, the lights from the
Exxxotica
were visible, a coat of opaque film across the windows obscuring the view to inside. The front door opened and closed with the rhythmic regularity, Sara thought, of two people having intercourse. Wayne
Wobbly
exited with an unmarked plastic bag beneath his arm, cradling it like a loaf of bread. Sara imagined him, sitting in front of his television screen wanking his weenie to the pornographic images on his set, while in the next room his elderly mother listened to the muffled moans and groans of her overwrought son. She shivered at the thought.

Across the street in the restaurant, Jenny Dojcsak and Jordy Bitson occupied a front booth, sitting across from each other, smoking and sipping coffee from white, earthenware mugs. The waitress had returned half a dozen times to refill their order. Even from a distance, Sara recognized the look; impatience over what the waitress knew would be a two-dollar check, and an even more meager tip. After a while, the couple held hands.
How quaint
, Sara thought.

Along Main, a half dozen newly boarded shop windows faced onto the street, the merchants victimized by two successive evenings of vandalism and destruction. Sara could not help but feel responsible. Preoccupied with the murder investigation, she had allowed her other duties to slide. But she wouldn’t ask for help, not unless Burke did so first. Despite his carousing and with a pregnant wife at home, Burke had earlier in the week managed to submit to Dojcsak a completed stack of teacher interviews and reports, single-handedly eliminating three dozen potential suspects, all of whom had, at a Dojcsak imposed minimum criteria, a credible alibi for the afternoon Missy Bitson was killed.

“Good work, Christopher,” was all Dojcsak said, pushing the reports aside as if the results were expected. Sara suspected Burke of having either fabricated or fudged half the reports, but lacked the confidence to come right out and say.

Meanwhile, she had followed up on Joe Doeung’s suggestion with a request to Verizon for a list of telephone calls either originating at, or being made to Church Falls from the Mineola exchange. She’d been promised the results today, which of course hadn’t happened, though increasingly, Sara was skeptical anyway of a link from her murder to the broader investigation by the feds. Her request for a trace on Missy’s cell phone records hadn’t yet been honored, either.

Though the creeping chill had begun to nip at her fingers and her toes, Sara stayed put outside the
Big Top
. Shortly after eight, Jordy and Jenny emerged and parted company, the boy turning toward the river, the girl toward home. Sara waited patiently, in the shadows and out of sight, while Jenny paused to ignite a cigarette and replace the package to her purse. Sara then moved from the sidewalk to the street, crossing quickly in Jenny’s direction.

“Jen,” she called, “wait up.”

Jennifer Dojcsak started, turning quickly and stepping back as if under attack. Pridmore slowed, held up her hands and said, “It’s only me Jen, Sara.”

“Oh,” Jenny replied, taking a moment to regain her composure. “
You. Again.”

Jenny was taller than Sara by half a foot. She turned quickly to walk away from Pridmore, but not before Sara recognized in her face the signs of tears; dark streaks of mascara soiled her cheeks. Was Jordy Bitson the cause?

“I spoke with your mother today. Luba is getting worse. According to Dr. Bauer, it won’t be long. You should spend more time at home with your own family and less with a shit-head like him,” Sara said, referring to Bitson.

“Give me a break, Sara; they’ve been saying that for years. Just when you think it’s curtains,
poof,
” Jenny said with a gesture of her hands, “Luba catches her second wind. That kid has more lives than a fucking cat. Given her long-term prospects, seems wasted on her.”

“It beats the alternative.”

“There are worse things.”

Not wanting to argue, Sara said, “You could be right, though off hand, I can’t think of any.”

They walked for a while in silence, taking the first right off Main, through a two-block long district of automobile repair and body shops, then finally into a residential area of tree-lined streets and older, neatly tended brick bungalows.

The Dojcsak’s had moved to this neighborhood shortly after Rena and Ed were married; the children had never known another home. Though Dojcsak’s salary from the County was now sufficient to allow a move across the river to a more prosperous survey, neither he nor Rena were inclined. The house was fully paid, within eight years Dojcsak could retire on full pension if he chose, the neighbors were quiet and friendly if not friends, and neither Rena nor he possessed the desire or the enthusiasm for change. “I’ll leave here feet first,” Dojcsak said on the subject, during the rare times he and Rena discussed the possibility.

“What have you got against Jordy anyway?” Jennifer asked, breaking the silence. “His color?”