Rape (14 page)

Except if he'd killed the girl, or somebody'd killed her, and the mother, none of them would've been caught, maybe. No witnesses! Fritz Haaber wouldn't have been picked out of the police lineup by Bethel Maguire, wouldn't be in the shit he was in now breaking his mother's heart.
Your own fucking fault, see? You didn't act when you had the fucking chance
.

Now it was too late. The trial was starting. He could never get to the girl. He'd be watched, under surveillance. Sure he'd seen her a few times in the neighborhood, he'd parked across from the junior high to observe her departing, he'd followed her a little and she had not seen him, and at the mall the other day, just an accident he'd seen her there but he had followed her for a few minutes and it was fascinating watching her, this girl of maybe thirteen, not a pretty girl but sweet-faced, ashy-blond hair like the mother, walking with her grandma and the two of them wholly oblivious of being observed like with a telescope, almost Fritz came to think she could not see him he was invisible! A great feeling but fuck it she'd glanced up and seen him,
and he liked it how scared she'd been, her face going dead white and looking like she was going to faint. Wild! A real rush! But Fritz knew, better get his ass out of there fast. Before the old-bag grandma sighted him, too, and started screaming.

He'd thought maybe some NFPD cops might come banging on his parents' door looking for him that night. Some crap about harassment of witnesses there was a law about. But no.

Bethel Maguire had not told. In her heart, Bethel Maguire had a thing for Fritz Haaber, huh?

Fritz was worried about this “forensics” shit. He knew it was real and all that, it was “hard science.” He'd seen it on TV. Some kind of X-ray of semen, blood, hairs, clothes fibers. Like a jigsaw puzzle Kirkpatrick said these parts were, all of them scattered and the jurors were supposed to fit them back together to see if there should be a verdict of “guilty” or “not guilty.” That was not so easy. You could distract and confuse the jurors, Kirkpatrick said. Because there is a wish in the heart of mankind to be distracted and confused. Truth is but one attraction, and not always the most powerful. Which was why Kirkpatrick insisted that his clients testify, and to memorize what Kirkpatrick had scripted for them. Already Kirkpatrick had led Fritz through his testimony so many times Fritz believed his brain was cracking. He was absolutely going nuts. No meth, not even dope, but he was allowed some beers. Needing to relax for Christ sake. He told Kirkpatrick he had not slept through a night nor had his bowels been normal in memory. He was lonely, too! His friends
were keeping their distance for now. Even his relatives. And girls. They seemed scared of him, even girls who knew him from grade school. Even his girl cousins for Christ sake! It was insulting.

So when this call came, Fritz was primed for it.

A woman for him, saying it was urgent she speak to Fritz Haaber. Fritz took the call on the portable phone going off where his mother could not eavesdrop.

Afternoon of November 22. Three days before the trial. Christ he was nerved up! This female voice low and sexy in his ear saying she'd been seeing his picture on TV, in the papers. In the
Falls Clarion
the interview with Fritz's mom who sounded like the most wonderful supportive mother, that had made her cry almost. “That Woman Has Destroyed My Son's Life.”

She knew some things about that Teena Maguire, her and her mother both knew plenty. She'd tell Fritz if he was interested. The kind of thing that should be aired in court, so the jury knew who this woman was. But mostly she just wanted to see Fritz. Her name was Louellen Drott. She'd transferred to Baltic High from Holy Redeemer and she'd graduated in 1993 she said. Fritz figured by this that she was three years behind him, he'd been class of '90 though he had not graduated. As the girl talked he was trying to recall Louellen Drott. The name Drott was a familiar name. There was a Drott Car Wash. There was a Drott who'd been a rookie for the Buffalo Bisons a few years back. Louellen said it was crucial
that she see him that night. She had things to confide in him, and she had a rosary to give him. She knew from his photos that he was telling the truth about what had happened in the boathouse. He had warm sincere eyes that would not lie.

Louellen's voice was so sexy in his ear. Fritz shallowed hard. He knew that this was something special. It was like he was a wrongly condemned man, and Louellen was fated to save him. He could almost see her and he liked what he saw. She'd have long wavy hair possibly red-blond sliding over one eye. She'd be a petite girl. Fritz was five feet nine, he hated tall clunky girls who came on strong like lezzies. This Louellen Drott was not one of these.

In a lowered voice Louellen said there was this place where she worked, out by the airport, the Black Rooster Motel. She did not say exactly that she was a chambermaid at the motel but Fritz guessed this for she said she had access to all the rooms, and he could meet her in one. They would be “very private”—“no interruptions”—Louellen promised. The room at the farthest end of the motel was number 24 and she would be there waiting for him at 7:00
P.M
., she would have
DO NOT DISTURB
hanging from the doorknob but he should just come inside, she'd be waiting.

Fritz said okay. His voice was weak asking should he bring a couple of six-packs? Or like maybe wine?

Louellen laughed saying no just bring yourself, Fritz. She would provide all that was needed, she promised!

Fritz felt close to swooning. Almost he could hear himself telling Marv Pick
Did I get laid last night! Man
.

Fritz shaved, and changed some of his clothes. Told his mom not to wait supper for him. Drove out the airport road. Fast-food restaurants and gas stations and industrial sites FOR LEASE and a strip of brightly lighted tacky motels at the end of which was the single-story cinder block BLACK ROOSTER. A neon sign flickered VAC NCIES. Fritz was so excited by this time, he'd been chewing the end of his cigarette. Fact was, nobody had been nice to him since the thing in July. Nobody gave a damn about Fritz really. Even before the thing in July. Donna had dumped him. None of her friends would go out with him. His mom gave her weepy interviews and prayed for him but he'd seen her stare at him sometimes, he knew that look of wonder and revulsion. Fritz's old man could not remain in the same proximity with Fritz for more than five minutes. His brothers and sister hated his guts. They were damn jealous, all the attention he was getting. All the money being pooled for his “defense.” But Louellen Drott, she'd seen into Fritz's heart. She had a rosary for him. Before they fucked, they would say the rosary together. Or after they fucked. Or both. Louellen had been secretly in love with Fritz Haaber he guessed back at Baltic High. If Fritz got sent away to prison, Louellen would visit him. She would be faithful to him. The only fucking individual Fritz would consent to see and Louellen's picture too and interview would be printed in the
Clarion
.

When Fritz got paroled, they would be married. The 6:00
P.M
. Fox TV News would do the interview.

*   *   *

It was off-season at Niagara Falls. Not many tourists this lousy time of year. Only a few rooms at the Black Rooster were occupied. These were nearest the highway, and farther from the airport runways. Fritz turned his car into the cinder lot and drove slowly to the end, where an outside light burned at number 24. Inside number 24 the interior was warmly lighted, the blind drawn.
She is waiting inside. Oh Christ
. Fritz counted just three vehicles parked outside the single-story motel. Two were parked by the manager's office and the third, a Ford station wagon, was parked in front of number 19.

Overhead, an airliner was just landing. Deafening screeching noise, made Fritz's teeth vibrate. It gave you a nervous rush like the first chords of heavy-metal rock. Breathless climbing out of the car pocketing his keys approaching the door where, sure enough,
DO NOT DISTURB
was hanging. “Louellen?” He turned the knob. The door was unlocked as she'd promised. His heart was beating so it hurt. In a hoarse hopeful voice he said, “Hello? Anybody here? This is Fritzie.”

He'd love it for Louellen Drott to call him Fritzie. No one had called him Fritzie for a long time.

“Destroyed Son's Life”

T
HE CHARRED AND UNRECOGNIZABLE
corpse would be discovered in the late morning of November 23, 1996, at the end of a narrow access road a quarter mile from the Niagara Falls Airport, in a no-man's-land of underbrush and stunted trees. It would require no experienced medical examiner to determine that the body had been dosed with gasoline and set afire. An empty gallon can of gasoline was close by the corpse. A car was parked on the roadway, key in the ignition. Except for the car, identification of the corpse would have required some time. NFPD officers called in the license plate, and were informed that the vehicle was registered in the name of Fritz Haaber, 3392 Eleventh Street, Niagara Falls, New York.

Carefully placed on the car's dashboard ledge above the steering wheel was a handwritten note framed by a crystal rosary:

The handwriting, though shaky, was identified as unmistakably
that of left-handed Fritz Haaber. The rosary, the notepaper, the steering wheel of the car, the car door handles and interior, the gallon gasoline can: all were covered with Fritz Haaber's prints. On the ground close by the burned corpse was a book of matches from Arno's Fine Italian Foods & Pizzeria, which Fritz Haaber frequented, and this book of matches too was covered in Fritz Haaber's prints. It had been dropped some inches to the right of the body, approximately where it would have been dropped by a left-handed individual like Fritz Haaber holding the matchbook with his right hand and striking a match with his left.

Another time Gladys Haaber, the deceased young man's mother, would be interviewed for a cover story in the
Clarion
. Her grieving mother's portrait would appear beside a blown-up snapshot of her son Fritz taken several years before, in happier times when the boy was clean-shaven, no mustache and no straggly hair falling into his face and no jeering grin. It was never doubted by Gladys Haaber or by any of the Haabers that Fritz had taken his own young life in despair of being hounded by the Niagara County DA's office and that slut Teena Maguire for a crime he had not committed.

“My son was sensitive. He took things hard. He was driven to this. He could not sleep, he could not eat, and his bowels were never right anymore. Through the night we would hear the toilet flush. I hope they are happy now! These bloodsuckers who hide behind the law. I pray God that if there is justice on this earth it is exacted in the right place and on the right people,
soon
.”

Heaven

Part III

Lonely

F
ROM TIME TO TIME
you see him: Dromoor.

Always unexpectedly. Always it's a shock.

A young police officer in uniform. Climbing out of a police vehicle. Walking on the street. Once, in Central Park, on horseback riding with another officer. Lean, straight-backed, head close-shaven at the back and sides and dark glasses covering his eyes.

You pause, you're stricken into silence.

It's years later. It's another world. This world of urban New York City where you and your husband live, in no way contiguous with the lost world of your Niagara Falls girlhood. As your husband is in no way kindred to the boys and men you'd known in that world, of whom you have told him virtually nothing.

When will you tell him? Maybe never. For why tell him? He would not understand. There was ugliness in that world but there was beauty, too. There was hatred, but love. Only one man could understand and your husband is not that man
.

You know that Dromoor isn't a uniformed police officer any longer. He isn't assigned to the street. He's Detective
First Class John Dromoor, he wears clothes like any civilian, coat, probably a white shirt, a tie. Not likely he'd be in New York City, either. Last you heard he was still with the NFPD, promoted and transferred to the First Precinct.