The Murder Book

Undoing her ponytail, she shook her hair loose in a sable billow, tied it up again. Tucking her legs under her, she hugged herself and studied the carpet.

"Larner had been bothering me for a while. It began soon after I started volunteering. Nothing blatant- looks, smiles, little asides about my clothes- how cute they were, what a nice healthy girl I was. He'd pass me in the hall and pat me on the head or brush my hip or chuck my chin. I knew what was going on, but what I didn't realize was just how wrong it was." She took hold of her hair, smoothed the ends. "I didn't want to leave Achievement House, thought it would be a good summer experience. And even if I'd told someone, what was he really doing to me?"

"Insidious," I said.

"Insidious and devious and altogether creepy. I tried to avoid him. For the most part, it worked. But that day- it was a Monday, I remember that because I'd been to the beach over the weekend, had gotten tan. Willie Burns had been gone a good week, maybe more. I remember asking about Willie because with him gone the halls were quiet. When he worked, he'd usually be humming, low-key, some kind of bluesy thing. He always looked stoned, but he did have a good voice. And he was friendly, would generally look up and smile, and say, 'Hi.' "

"Friendly to everyone?"

"To the kids. They seemed to like him, though I got the feeling some of them were making fun of him- that drugged-out demeanor. The only time he got furtive was when he was with Caroline. Anyway, he was gone, and an older woman was doing his job- an old Latina who didn't speak English. I asked people what had happened to Willie, but no one seemed to know."

She twisted in her chair, cupped one hand over a knee. "That Monday, I'd been delivering charts when Larner called me into his office. Something about new filing procedures. That sounded strange- why would the director want to talk to a student volunteer about procedure? I didn't want to go, but I couldn't see any way out. If I refused, that would be insubordination. When I got there, Larner's secretary was out in front, and that made me feel better. But then she told me to go right in and closed the door after me. It was summer and I was wearing a sleeveless white sundress and my tan was pretty blatant and I just knew he'd say something about it and started to tell myself I was stupid for not covering up more. But Larner didn't even look at me. He was standing, sleeves rolled up, a cigar in one hand, his back turned, on the phone, listening. I stood near the door. He was rocking on his heels and clenching the phone tight- he was a big, pink disgusting thing, and his hands were tight around the receiver- mottled, like lunch meat. Then he half turned, but he still didn't acknowledge me. His face was different from all the other times I'd seen him. In the past he'd always smiled. Leered. Now he looked furious. Red-faced- he's naturally ruddy, but this time he was like a beet. I remember the contrast with his hair- he had this blond-white hair that looked as if he waxed it. I just stayed there, with my back against the door, and he barked something into the phone and slammed it down. All I caught was Willie Burns's name. Then something about 'We'd better do something about it.' Then he hung up." She held out one hand. "That's it. I never paid much attention to that, because it really wasn't the focus of my memories."

"You had your own issues," I said.

She lowered her head, then raised it very slowly. Her eyes were closed, and her face had lost color.

"After he slammed down the phone, he began to dial another number, then he saw me, gave me this surprised look- surprised and hateful. As if I wasn't supposed to be there. Then there it was- that smile of his. But the anger remained on his face, also, and the combination scared me- predatory. He came around from behind the desk, shook my hand, held on too long, told me to sit down, said something to the effect of 'How's my favorite volunteer?' Then he walked behind me and just stood there, not talking or moving. I could smell his cigar, the smoke kept wafting toward me. To this day, I can't see a cigar without…"

She sprang up, strode to her own desk, and sat down, putting wood and space between us.

"He started talking- softly, in a singsong. How did I like working at Achievement House? Was I finding satisfaction? Had I thought about career choices? Maybe teaching would be good for me because I was clearly a people person. I didn't say much, he really didn't want answers. It was a monologue- droning, hypnotic. Then he stopped talking and I tensed up, and he said, 'Don't be nervous, Allison. We're all friends, here.' Nothing happened for what seemed to be forever. Then suddenly I felt his finger on my cheek, pressing, stroking, and he said something about my skin- how clean and fresh it was, how nice it was to see a young lady who cared about her hygiene."

She caught hold of her hair with one hand and tugged hard. Then both hands slapped flat on the desk and she was staring at me- daring me to look away.

"He kept stroking," she said. "It was a

She turned icy and still. Didn't move for a long time. "He didn't come. Thank God for that. I managed to wrench free, first, made it to the door, ran out, never looked back. Drove home like a zombie, called in sick. Which wasn't much of a stretch because I felt sick as a dog. For the next few days, I took to bed. Threw up when my mother wasn't listening, lay there feeling degraded and scared and worst of all stupid- replaying it over and over, blaming myself. For the tan and the dress and not being on guard- I know it's never the victim's fault, God knows how many times I've told that to patients. But…"

"You were seventeen," I said.

"I'm not sure I'd have handled it better- or felt differently- had I been twenty-seven. Not at the level of consciousness twenty years ago." She slumped, loosened her hair again, fooled with it, flicked something away from the corner of one eye.

"The worst part was how alone I felt. Abandoned, with no one in my corner. I couldn't tell my parents, because I was too humiliated. I told Larry Daschoff a sanitized version, because even though Larry had been my mentor for the summer and he'd been kind and helpful, he was a man. And I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was to blame. So I just kept calling in sick to Achievement House, told my mother I had some kind of flu, stayed holed up in my room. Obsessing about what had happened, dreaming about it- in the dreams it was worse. In the dreams I didn't get away and Larner came in my mouth and then he hit me and raped me and forced me to smoke the cigar. Finally, I realized I was falling apart- was wasting. I needed to do something. So I found out the name of the school's chairman of the board- some downtown lawyer- Preston something- and after agonizing about it for a whole week, I called his office, got through after several attempts, and told him what had happened. Only I didn't really tell him. I soft-pedaled it. Reduced it to grabbing- the same story I told Larry."