(1969) The Seven Minutes (12 page)

He twisted the wheel at the service station on the corner and left Sunset Boulevard, accelerating the car up the incline until he arrived at their driveway. Entering between the hedges, he turned off the car lights and drove slowly onto the broad concrete parking area before the carport. His father’s Bentley S3 was already in its accustomed slot, and he eased his own car in beside it.

Only when he had left the carport and started for the house entrance did he become aware that behind the drapes the living room was illuminated. His mother, an invalid, would be asleep, but hisfather might be havingsome friends in. More likelyit was Maggie up late reading. He would have to be prepared for anyone. He would have to be controlled and normal.

The pictures had left his mind, and he felt safer, more assured.

Reaching the front door, he dropped his car keys into his coat pocket and dug down into his trouser pocket for the key ring, the fancy silver one with the shiny disk engraved with his name that Maggie had given him on his last birthday. He kept his car and house keys separate because Maggie and he shared the Rover and she was always misplacing her car keys and borrowing his.

Standing at the door, Jerry fumbled about inside his pocket for the key ring. It wasn’t there. He tried the other pocket. Not there. Worriedly, he went through the pockets of his sport jacket. No key ring. A chill of apprehension swept his chest, and in that moment he felt panic.

He heard a rustle from the hedgerow to his left, and suddenly the bright beam of a flashlight hit his face, and a rangy uniformed police officer loomed over him.

In his free hand, the officer was holding up a gleaming silver disk from which dangled a chain, a metal ring, and a set of keys.

‘You looking for these, son ?’ the officer asked. The beam of his flashlight dropped down to the disk and the ring, now lying in the palm of his hand. Jerry blinked at his name etched in scroll on the

disk. ‘You’re Jerry Griffith, aren’t you, young man?’

‘Yes.’ He began to shake uncontrollably, and he reached for the keys, but the police officer’s fist closed over them. Jerry looked up. ‘Where - where’d you get them?’

‘We found them, Jerry. We found them a couple hours ago. We found them on the floor of the bedroom on Doheny, right near the body of the young gin you’re suspected of having raped tonight. That was a rough one, Jerry.’

‘I didn’t rape anyone!’

‘No? Well, her roommate, she found Miss Moore, and after she phoned for an ambulance, Miss Moore recovered consciousness for a half minute and she told her roommate that she’d been raped, forcibly violated. She was in a coma when they took her to the hospital. Fractured skull. She’s in bad shape, Jerry.’

‘It was an accident,’ Jerry blurted. ‘She slipped, and fell, and hit her head -‘

‘Or maybe somebody hit her head when she was resisting, eh, Jerry? That’s not a question. You don’t have to say a word until your attorney gets here.’ The police officer looked past Jerry, and then Jerry heard the tread of someone else on the cement nearby. ‘Nat,’ the officer called out, ‘this is the kid. Better frisk him.’

He heard someone directly behind him, and then a pair of hands was expertly going through his pockets.

The beam of the flashlight was again full on his face. ‘You alone in this?’ the police officer asked.

‘I… I… Yes, I was alone. Listen, let me -‘

The police officer was looking past him once more. ‘What did you find, Nat?’

‘Wallet. Small change. Another set of keys. Jackknife.’

The police officer with the flashlight nodded. ‘Knife. Yeah, I expected something like that. They’ve always got to have something like that when they try to rape a woman alone.’

Jerry felt flushed and weak. ‘Listen - no - that knife’s a souvenir from Switzerland, when f was - It’s got gadgets - scissors and -‘

‘And blades?’ finished the officer. ‘What’s the other set of keys for?’

‘For the… for - for the car, my car.’

‘Hear that, Nat? You better go through his vehicle with a fine-tooth comb. I’ll take him in the house now. Nat, meet us inside when you’ve finished with his car.’ He took Jerry by the arm. ‘We’re going inside, Jerry.’

‘No!’

‘Don’t make any more trouble, young man. You’re in enough trouble for a lifetime already. Your family’s together in there waiting for you and waiting for the family attorney. You come along. When the charge is forcible rape, with injuries inflicted, you’re going to need all the help you can get. So let’s get moving, Jerry. In you go.’

Luther Yerkes unsnapped the catch on the heavy gold Rolex watch on his wrist, pulled the watch over his dainty hand, and held it up before his tinted glasses.

‘Twelve-thirty,’ he said. ‘I have no idea it was this late. I, think we’ve done as much as we can do in one meeting.’

Elmo Duncan stood up, stretching, yawning. ‘I’m bushed.’

Underwood had returned his papers to his leather portfolio. ‘Well, I hope we accomplished something.’

‘Why don’t we meet again in a few days ?’ said Irwin Blair, rising briskly. ‘We’ve got a long enough list of new ideas we can kick around.’

‘I’m too foggy to know whether we came up with anything constructive,’ said Duncan. ‘But I appreciate it, the way you’re all pitching in.’

Yerkes downed the last of his third armagnac. ‘We’re not going to give up, Elmo.’ He suddenly cocked his head. ‘Is that the telephone at this hour?’

There was a faint ringing from the billiard room, and then the muffled sound of the butler’s voice.

‘Probably my wife,’ said Duncan with a short laugh. ‘Well, gentlemen, I’d better be -‘

The Scottish butler had materialized in the archway.

‘It is a telephone call for you, Mr Duncan.’

‘See? I told you,’ said Duncan.

‘Chief of Police Patterson wishes to speak to you, Mr Duncan,’ the butler added.

Duncan groaned. “That’s worse. That’s business.’

‘If you want to save yourself a walk, Elmo, you can take the call in here. Unless it might be private. We’ve installed a microphone and loudspeaker - it’s called a Speakerphone - for conference calls here.’ Yerkes pointed to two small green boxes, with the usual perforations over microphone and amplifier, that rested on the table between the armchairs.

‘It shouldn’t be anything private. Turn it on and we’ll see, Luther.’

Yerkes leaned over and depressed the push button on the microphone.

Duncan nodded his thanks and then called out to the telephone microphone, ‘Hi, Tim. This is Elmo. What’s up?’

The reply crackled through the speaker. ‘Hate to bother you, Elmo. Nothing unusual, actually. Forcible rape on Doheny in West Hollywood. Victim sustained a head injury, is in a coma, got her over to Mount Sinai. Mostly routine, except some big game involved, so when the officers reported it I thought you might want to be notified.’

‘Who’s the big game, Tim?’

‘Well this twenty-one-year-old kid who did it - he’s confessed to the whole thing, that’s sewed up - but he’s the son of - His father

is Frank Griffith.’

‘The Griffith who has the advertising agencies ?’ Duncan asked.

‘That’s the one,’

Luther Yerkes had sprung to his feet, waving a hand at Duncan. ‘Elmo, ask the Chief if he’s absolutely positive. Griffith Advertising does a lot of billing for me. I know Frank Griffith. I’m sure it can’t be the same -‘

Duncan turned back to the microphone. “That was Mr Yerkes, Tim. Did you hear him ?’

The loudspeaker crackled. ‘I heard. Yes, it’s the Frank Griffith whose son -‘

‘I can’t believe it,’ said Yerkes. ‘Do you know who Frank Griffith is? He’s up there with Benton and Bowles, Young and Rubicam, Doyle Dane Bernbach. He’s got one of the best reputations in the world. You remember, he was an Olympic hero - decathlon -years ago. Today he’s one of the most respected men in the community. How could his son - it can’t be his son.’

Duncan bent toward the microphone. ‘You heard that, Tim. Are you positive this is Griffith’s boy?’

The Chief’s voice came on again. ‘My men apprehended the boy as he was returning home. Frank Griffith was there and he brought in Ralph Polk, his attorney. And, as I said, the boy confessed to forcible rape.’

Duncan glanced at Yerkes, then at the amplifier. ‘He confessed, fine. Any corroborating evidence?’

‘The victim was a Miss Sheri Moore, eighteen. Her roommate was out and returned and found her semiconscious, and she said she’d been raped, and the roommate called the police. Jerry Griffith - that’s the boy’s name - his keys, with a name disk, were found near the victim. He said he did it alone. We found a knife on him, so that’s probably true. We’ve had a report from the hospital. The tests show she was entered, no question. The boy’s car was searched after he was apprehended. There was a cigarette butt with a trace of lipstick - the lab will test it in the morning - and, let me see - oh, yes, four books in the rear trunk, three of them college texts and the fourth one was found under the spare tire - a dirty book - believe it or not, the book that made us haul in that bookseller in Oakwood this morning -what the devil was the title ? -yes, The Seven Minutes - that was there, and then there was -‘ ‘Tim, you mean you found that book in the Griffith boy’s car?’ ‘Yup. Hidden away under the spare. Anyway, I thought -‘ Darting forward, Yerkes reached up and grabbed Duncan’s shoulder. ‘Elmo, tell him goodbye, tell him you’ll speak to him later,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Let me shut that damn machine off.’ Obeying, Duncan called out, ‘That covers it, Tim. Thanks for checking in. I’ll be in touch. Thanks a lot.’ He freed himself from Yerkes’ grasp and pushed down the off button on the microphone. Yerkes, who was behaving as if he had St Vitus’ dance, was pulling

Underwood and Blair forward, one on either side of him. Now he looked at Duncan with a strange excitement.

‘Elmo, Elmo, don’t you see it?’ Yerkes demanded.

‘I think so. The book - the boy - but I’m not sure if we can -‘

‘I’m sure! I’m positive!’ Yerkes shouted. ‘Griffith’s son, that poor kid, he didn’t commit forcible rape and grave injury. He didn’t do it and he’s not responsible for it. You know who is responsible ? You know the real criminal out there ? It’s that filthy, slimy book, The Seven Minutes. There’s your true criminal, the one that incited a decent boy from a good family to commit rape. There’s your clear-cut evidence of what sort of thing is driving youngsters berserk, sending them out into the streets like hordes of beasts to perpetrate the worst kind of criminal attacks. That vicious book, Elmo - there is your rapist!’

Underwood and Blair were bobbing their heads in hypnotized agreement, and Duncan found himself nodding his own assent with fervor.

‘By God, Luther, you’re right, you’re right,’ gasped Duncan. ‘I think it’s possible to -‘

Yerkes had whipped off his tinted glasses, and his eyes were fanatical dots.

‘Elmo,’ he said, dropping his voice, ‘that little censorship arrest of yours this morning - it’s no longer the jewel theft - you know what it is? - it’s the irrevocable murder - the very act that can arouse millions in this state and country. Elmo, forget sleep and forget caution. You take yourself over to Frank Griffith’s place as fast as you can get there, and you take command personally. Because you know what - we’ve finally got hold of the winner we’ve been looking for - the big case, the big issue, the big image-maker, the best one possible. Pounce on it. Rip those rapemakers limb from limb. Protect the public from those lust-provoking books that lead to terror. Do that, and you’ve got it made - we’ve all got it made, Senator Elmo Duncan!’

He had been dreaming that he was basking in the Riviera sun on the deck of his white yacht anchored off Cannes, when a sudden explosion shredded the dream, dissolved it, and flung him back on his bed in West Los Angeles.

‘ Eyes closed, he could still hear the reverberations of the explosion, nearby but diminished in volume.

His head cleared, and so the sound became clearer, and he realized that it was the ringing of his telephone.

He opened his eyes, turned his head on the pillow, and saw that it was seven o’clock in the morning. He lifted himself on an elbow, and more to shut up the damn persistence of the telephone than to take a call, he reached for the receiver and brought it to his ear. If it was the wrong number, he would perform mayhem on someone.

It was the right number.

‘Mr Michael Barrett?’ The voice was feminine, secretarial, and distant.

‘Yes,’ he croaked in his before-breakfast guttural.

‘Mr Philip Sanford calling you from New York. One moment, please.’

Clutching the receiver, he threw aside the blanket, sat up, and swung his legs off the bed.

Philip Sanford came on. ‘Mike, sorry to wake you. I held off as long as I could.’

He sounded agitated, and Barrett dimly wondered. ‘Never mind, Phil. Is anything - ?’

‘Have you heard what happened last night out your way ? Have you seen this morning’s front pages?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘Let me read you one of the headlines. It’s not the banner head, but it’s on the front page, which is bad enough. Here it is.’ Sanford seemed to catch his breath, and then he read aloud, ‘ “Son of Prominent Ad Man Confesses to Rape; Blames Allegedly Porno Book.” Did you hear that? It’s our book he blames!’

Barrett was wide awake now. ‘What’s this all about?’

‘Every newspaper is carrying it at length. And I’ve had the television on. All the top news commentators are reporting it. You’d think this is the first time rape had ever been committed.’

‘Phil, will you please tell me - ?’

‘Sorry. I thought I was upset yesterday, but after this lousy break! Some kid picked up an eighteen-year-old girl and gave her a ride to her apartment, and then he followed her in, and he held a knife over her and raped her. Apparently she tried to resist and he banged her head against something and she suffered a concussion and she’s in the hospital now, in a coma. Something dropped out of the boy’s pocket when he was trying to dress, and the police traced him and arrested him. Guess what was found hidden in the kid’s car? You guessed. A copy of our edition of The Seven Minutes. Then the boy admitted rape, and he put the entire blame on the book. In one of the wire stories - where is it ? - anyway, he was quoted as saying, “I read it and it got me all worked up. Then something sort of snapped in my head and I guess I went crazy.” And later on he said, “Yes, that novel, that’s what incited me to do what I did.” ’