Sacrificial Ground (20 page)

“Well, she'd been a little nervous all night. I don't know why. Maybe it was the opening night jitters.”

“What did she say, Stan?” Caleb asked insistently.

“She had this look in her eye. Like she was mad at me or something. I thought she was going to say something bad, but she didn't. I mean, she'd been really sharp to people all night. Everybody was waiting for Mr. Jameson to chew her out, but he didn't. He just stayed clear of her, like he was afraid of her or something.”

Frank could see her face, the hard blue eyes, the tight strained mouth, the cool, lean words that came from it when she spoke.

“‘Get in,' she said,” Stan told him. “It was in this hard voice. She just said ‘Get in.'”

Frank wrote it down quickly.

“Is that all she said?” Caleb asked.

“That's all she said.”

“So you got in, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Stan said. “I got in and I really didn't know what was going on with her. So I just said, ‘What's up, Angelica?' or something like that. And she just laughed this little laugh and she said, ‘You'll find out, if you keep your mouth shut.' Then she pulled out of the lot. And I mean she really pulled out, squealing her tires, you know?”

Frank could hear the echoes of the tires as they resounded through the summer night, a high, thready wail.

“Where'd you go?” he asked.

“We headed downtown,” Stan said. “I remember it very well. It was a clear night, and the dogwoods were blooming, and I said something about how beautiful they were, and she said, ‘Yeah, beautiful.'”

“So you went downtown,” Caleb said. “Whereabouts?”

“We ended up on the Southside,” Stan said, “Grant Park, around in there.”

“Did you just end up there, or did she look as if she was headed there in particular?”

“Well, now that you mention it, she seemed to know where she was going from the first.”

“And she went directly to the Southside?”

“Yes, sir, directly,” Stan said. “She went right to Grant Park. Then we circled the park a couple of times, maybe more. She was always looking out the window. I got the feeling she was looking for somebody.”

“Did she mention drugs?” Caleb asked.

“No.”

“Because a lot of dealers hang around the park.”

“She didn't say anything about drugs.”

“But she did circle the park?” Frank asked.

“Yes, sir. She circled it at least twice, maybe more.”

“Then what?”

“She drove into the park itself,” Stan said. “She went down to where they're doing the restoration on that historical diorama thing, you know, the battle of Atlanta?”

“The Cyclorama?” Frank asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Frank wrote it down.

“And that's where she parked,” Stan added.

Frank looked up from his notebook. “She parked at the Cyclorama?”

“That's right. She pulled over to this storm fence they have there, and she parked.”

“How long did you stay there?”

Stan thought about it. “Maybe ten minutes. Maybe less, maybe more. I'm not really sure. To tell you the truth, I didn't exactly know what I was doing at that point. I mean, she hadn't said a word to me all the way downtown. I figured since we'd parked, maybe she'd start to talk. But she didn't. She just sat where she was, smoked a cigarette and stared into the rearview mirror.”

“The rearview mirror?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not straight ahead?”

“Well, there was nothing but a fence in front of us,” Stan said, “and the Cyclorama sign.” He shrugged. “Once in a while she'd glance up at the sign, then back in the mirror.”

“Did you get the idea she was waiting for someone?” Frank asked.

“I don't know,” Stan said. “I couldn't figure out what was going on with her. She'd smoke one cigarette, then another one. I'd never seen her smoke before.”

“She didn't say anything at all?” Caleb asked unbelievingly.

“Not until just before we left,” Stan told him. “Then she just looked over at me with this real hard look in her eye, and she said, ‘Well, this is your lucky night,' and that's when she started the car again, and we drove out of the park.”

Frank could hear the engine as he wrote in his notebook and could smell the smoke of her cigarette, see its white garlands in the air around him.

Caleb leaned forward slightly. “Did she drive through the park some more?”

“No, not through it,” Stan said. “We went around it once. I was getting sort of bored. She was so weird. She wasn't talking or anything, and when she did say something, it was something you couldn't understand.”

“Why couldn't you understand it?”

“It was under her breath,” Stan explained. “She was sort of muttering under her breath.” He looked at Frank. “I just wanted to go home.”

“Then why didn't you tell her to take you?” Frank asked.

Stan shook his head. “I don't know. I guess because she was so beautiful. Just being near her, it was like a thrill, or something. It was like something was coming off her body. It just swept around you. You couldn't pull away from it. At least, I couldn't.”

As he listened, Frank tried to recall the intensity of such youthful desire. He remembered long nights when he'd been unable to sleep because of it. Everything became moist, swollen, infinitely sweet. He knew that that was how Stan must have felt as he sat beside Angelica Devereaux. Frank had felt that way for Sheila, and it struck him that the slow decline of such passion, the way time wore its sharpness down to a flat, featureless nub, was one of life's great losses.

“I had had some experience before,” Stan said, quietly. “I mean, before that night. But nothing like Angelica.”

“Where did you go after you left the park?” Frank asked.

“We drove around that same area,” Stan said. “We just went all around that part of town.” He shrugged. “I'd never been over there much before. But Angelica, she seemed to know it pretty well.”

“How do you know that?”

“She just acted like she knew it, like she'd been around there a lot.”

“Did she ever mention any names? People she might have known who lived in the area?”

Stan shook his head. “No.”

“Did she concentrate on any particular streets?”

“Well, there was one that she went up and down a couple of times.”

“Do you remember the name?”

“No, sir,” Stan said.

“Are you sure?”

“I didn't notice a name. I'm sorry.”

“Think hard,” Caleb said.

“I've been trying to remember everything,” Stan said, “I really have. But it was at night, and I'd never really been around that part of town much.” He looked at Frank. “It's sort of seedy over there, you know. I got sort of nervous. I mean, I locked my door. I remember that. And I even told Angelica to lock hers.”

“Did she?” Frank asked.

“No.”

Frank jotted a few notes into his notebook then looked back up at the boy. “So you drove around the Grant Park area for a while, then what?”

“We ended up in this back alley,” Stan said. “It was behind some buildings. I don't know exactly where it was.”

“Did you notice any signs in the alley?” Caleb asked. “Any particular kinds of trucks, like a beer truck or a TV repair truck, anything like that?”

“It was empty,” Stan said. “I think that's why she stopped.”

“Because it was empty?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because of what we did,” Stan said. “I mean she picked it because she knew what she was going to do.”

“Which was?”

“Well, have sex,” Stan said hesitantly. “She stopped the car and just sat there for a while. She didn't say anything. She just stared out the window. I don't know how long. I didn't say anything to her. Angelica had a way of making people keep their mouths shut. When she wanted you to be quiet, she could make you, just with a look. And that's what she wanted, just to sit for a while and be quiet. Finally though, I just mentioned that we could go over to the Varsity and have a hamburger and onion rings.”

“What did she say?” Frank asked.

“She gave this little laugh of hers,” Stan said. “Very cold laugh, almost nasty. And she said, ‘Hamburger? Is that what you want?' Then she laughed again. Then she said, ‘Don't you want me, Stan? Isn't that what you want?'” He glanced nervously to Frank, to Caleb, then back to Frank. “Then she just started to unbutton her blouse. She laughed again, that same laugh. ‘Me,' she said, ‘everybody wants me.'”

Frank could almost hear Angelica's voice, almost see the flinty look in her eyes. There was something in both that was wounded beyond repair. He could sense that some part of her was either already dead or swelling with the wish to die.

He wrote “everybody wants me” in his notebook, then looked up at the boy. “She started to unbutton her blouse,” he said. “Then what happened?”

“I really didn't know what to do exactly,” Stan said. “I mean, I'm not stupid or anything; I knew what she was getting at. But I couldn't figure out why she was doing this with me. She could have had anybody. Some hotshot college man or something. That's who I figured she'd end up doing it with. But not me.” He shook his head. “And not like
that
with anybody. I mean, in the car, in a back alley. She didn't seem to be the type for a quick thing like that.” His voice softened, and his eyes took on a look of tender wonderment. “She was so beautiful. I couldn't believe it.” He stared out the front window as if he were looking for something in the trees. “Anyway, it was fast. And then she just got dressed and drove me back to Northfield.”

“Did she say anything?” Frank asked.

“No,” Stan told him. “Not one word. I tried to make a little conversation. Who wouldn't at a time like that? But she wasn't interested. Every time I tried to talk to her, she'd just glare at me like I was something terrible, something ugly, like she was disgusted with everything that had happened.” He looked at Caleb. “And that's the way she looked at me from then on.” He turned back to Frank. “Of course, I couldn't really blame her. I mean, when it's your first time, you want it to be special.”

“First time?” Frank asked.

“Yes.”

“For you?”

“For her,” Stan said. “I mean, I haven't been around a lot, or anything. I'm not saying that. But I wasn't a … virgin.”

“But Angelica was?” Frank asked.

“Yes.”

“You're sure about that?”

Stan smiled. “I'm not that stupid,” he said. “I know the difference.”

“What was Angelica like when you saw her after this?” Frank asked.

“She acted just like she had before. Before that night, she barely knew I existed, and that's the way she acted after it.”

Frank wrote it down, then closed his notebook. “Thanks for your help,” he said.

Caleb stood up. “Yeah, thanks,” he said. “And we'll stay in touch.” He handed him a card. “You keep in touch, too. Especially if you think of something that could give us some help.”

Stan got to his feet. “Listen,” he said cautiously, “I know it's not exactly right to bring this up, but this pregnancy thing, my father doesn't know anything about that. I mean, I didn't know about it before you told me.”

“And you'd just as soon keep the slate clean as far as your daddy is concerned, right?” Caleb asked him.

“If it's possible.”

“It's possible,” Caleb assured him. He looked at Frank. “Think we could keep this just between the menfolk?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Frank said. He got to his feet slowly. “We'll probably talk to you again, Stan,” he said. “We may have to go over everything several times.”

“I understand.”

Within a few minutes the three of them were standing together on the front lawn.

“Must be interesting, being a policeman,” Stan said casually.

“Sometimes,” Caleb answered dryly.

“I thought about law enforcement as a career,” the boy added, “but my father wants me to go into something else … something more … more …”

“Well, he's probably right,” Caleb said. “The flatfoots, they walk a ragged way, don't they, Frank?”

Frank nodded quickly. He could see Angelica in her muted frenzy, hear the sharp pain in her voice. What had caused it? He wondered if Sarah's silent agony had been like this, dark, sullen, edged in a rage he could neither see nor hear in his own daughter. A sudden wave of depression swept over him.

“Well, we'd better be going, Stan,” Caleb said heartily. “Nice meeting you, son.” He walked to the passenger side of the car and got in.

For a moment, Frank stood frozen, staring lifelessly at the neatly kept yard.

“Hey, Frank,” Caleb called.

Frank turned to him. “I don't want to drive, Caleb,” he said.

Caleb's eyes narrowed slowly. “You don't? Well, okay.” He slid over behind the wheel, and waited as Frank took the now empty passenger seat.

“Nice boy,” Caleb said, after he'd backed the car out of the driveway.

“Yeah,” Frank said dully.

“No killer in Ansley Park, that's for sure.”

“No.”

“'Course he could be lying,” Caleb added, as he pulled the car into Piedmont Avenue and headed back toward downtown, “but I don't think so.”

Frank fixed his eyes on the angular gray wall of the city as it rose before him.

“Hey, Frank, you okay?” Caleb said after a moment.

“Yeah, fine.”

“You look like you ate something that didn't agree with you.”

“I'm okay.”

Caleb stared at him closely. “No, you're not,” he said. “Do you need a drink?” He smiled softly. “All you got to do is tell me you can handle it.”