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Authors: Joyce Carol Oates

Rape (12 page)

BOOK: Rape
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Eventually, the Taurus was towed from the park and impounded as evidence. Rumor on the street and in the NFPD Eighth Precinct was, the Picks had jumped bail and fled into Canada. Their bail would be retained by the county. Their father Walt Pick would declare bankruptcy and die of a stroke within eighteen months. Within a few hours of the discovery of the Taurus, Marvin Pick and Lloyd Pick would be reclassified as
fugitives from justice, should be considered dangerous
.

“Teeeeena!”

Y
OU WERE VERY FRIGHTENED
. Standing at the upstairs window the room in darkness behind you. Watching as the bronze car on oversized tires cruised taunting-slow past the house.

Turning right onto the next street. Circling the block, returning to cruise past the house the driver leaning out the window showing his face.

You thought
It's them. Come back to finish the job
.

You wondered if your mother heard. She was locked away in her old, girlhood room at the rear of the house.

Momma had not eaten dinner. You had not seen her for two days.
Sober
was not much cherished by Teena Maguire.
Sober
is no protection against your thoughts.

“Hey Teeeeena! Teeeeena!”

They'd circled the block another time. Marvin Pick, you recognized. Just one other guy with him, must be his brother Lloyd.

You wondered if in their sick way they loved Teena Maguire. They loved how they'd broken her, made her their own. In the courtroom you had entered trustingly, when the
rapists' lawyer had uttered his terrible words like curses, you'd seen how avidly the rapists had watched your mother. The Pick brothers with their smoldering recessed eyes and part-opened mouths.

“Teeeeena!”

Hyena laughter. Tires screeching in a quick getaway.

Except: you'd seen. You were the witness, clearly you had seen.

You'd given Dromoor's cell phone number to your mother as he'd asked you. But of course you'd memorized it first.

Help us please help us John Dromoor we are so afraid
.

Hawk

K
EEEEER
-
R
-
R
!

The hawk's cry, startled-sounding and shrill. Mixed with the wind like it was, you weren't sure what you were hearing.

Soon after the call from Teena's daughter, Dromoor drove out to Fort Niagara State Park. Wanting to check out the site.

He was off-duty, in civilian clothes. Still, Dromoor carried his weapon.

A cop is never off-duty. A cop is always a cop
.

Let his mind drift and settle. See what's here. Rocky shore, slate-blue mean-looking water in ceaseless waves crashing against pebbly sand. He was watching hawks rising out of pines along the bluff, rising to maybe hundreds of feet, in their hunt.

Predator birds these were. Fascinating.

Dromoor did not know the names of these dark-feathered broad-tailed birds other than
hawk
.

Some species of hawk that, as they rose into the air, from beneath you could see a flash of white on the underside of the tail. And that weird squealing cry:
Keeeeer-r-r!

Reminded him of Teena.
Teeeeena
.

It was notable how, high overhead, the hawks became suddenly weightless. They scarcely needed to move their wings. The wind bore them as if they were swimming. The wind was the hawks' element as completely as if these gusts, random in velocity and in direction, were but the hawks' breaths.

He squinted watching one of the hawks. How, beginning its downward plunge, it accelerated its speed. Jesus! Took your breath away how the bird swooped, seized its prey in beak and wings, and bore it aloft again in a single fluid motion.

Dromoor owned a rifle, now. He was coming to see the beauty of a sleek long-barreled gun, smooth-gleaming wood stock. Yet he would not wish to shoot one of these birds. He would not wish to shoot any living creature except in self-defense or in defense of another.

Help us please help us John Dromoor we are so afraid
.

He felt good about DeLucca. He believed in justice but not in the judicial instruments of justice.
Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth
.

Taking the law into your own hands, fuck what's wrong with that?

Dromoor smiled. Thinking he trusted his own damn hands, not anybody else's.

Letting his mind soar and drift. Scarcely needing to think, he would trust his instinct. He was still soaring with the high from shooting the rapist DeLucca, many times he'd replayed the squeezing of his trigger finger, instanteous
crack!
and the target immediately collapsing, falling to the ground.

Casey had been awed. Casey had not known what to expect but Jesus there it was.

Once you squeeze the trigger if you knew what you were doing your target is gone.

Once your target is gone, he doesn't testify against you.

NFPD Internal Affairs had ruled self-defense in the DeLucca shooting. There had never been much doubt inside the precinct but still IA might have ruled excessive force, which would mean an indictment for Police Officer Dromoor on a count of first-degree manslaughter.

A more serious charge, second-degree homicide, had never been likely.

At the precinct the verdict had been met with much approval, enthusiasm. The media, ever vigilant in the Maguire rape case, seemed to concur. When Officer Dromoor was approached for comment he would say tersely “No comment.” Dromoor was perceived as a somber, frowning man. Husband, father of small children. Not one to be inveigled by the media into saying anything questionable nor even allowing himself to be photographed looking other than somber, frowning.

Self-defense is the best offense
Officer Dromoor believed. Not likely he'd tell the media this.

And now he was training to be a detective. His mind seemed to work pretty well that way, too. A police officer on the street is quick reflexes and a sharp eye for danger, a detective is more like playing chess. It's a game and you have time to make your move. You can see the other guy's moves, right out there on the board. What you can't see, you have to
figure out. What's a detective but a guy using his brains figuring out, If I did this crime, why'd I do it? And who am I? Dromoor liked that feeling.

It was seeing around two corners not just one. Sometimes, three.

Like, not calling Teena Maguire from any phone to be traced to Dromoor. Not ever. If Teena chose to call Officer Dromoor, that could be explained.

Like, firing two shots into DeLucca's heart. As Dromoor had been trained.

In the U.S. Army as at Police Academy shooting instructors repeated: You don't owe the enemy the first shot.

Some people, the instinct is strong not to kill. Not to hurt. Their instinct is dangerous to their survival, and has to be overcome.

Dromoor had not been born with that instinct, apparently. If he had, it had died in the Persian desert. His inchworm soul coiling up and dying in the hot sun.

His wife accused him, sometimes. Not she didn't love him like crazy but she was scared of him, a little. Saying she never knew where his mind was and what he was thinking even when they were making love sometimes she knew
It's some other woman is it?
Dromoor only just laughed, wouldn't dignify such a question by any reply.

He had a way of not answering that had become more pronounced in the past few years. His wife believed it had to do with him becoming a cop, carrying a gun. Seeing the kind of ugly things a street cop sees.

In fact Dromoor wasn't in love with Teena Maguire.

He didn't think so. It wasn't that. Not so simple.

Just some feeling he had about her, and the girl. The daughter.

Because he'd been the first on the scene. Maybe that was why. He was the one.

Now he walked along the bluff above the lake for approximately thirty minutes. Met no one, you wouldn't expect to. It was damn cold out here. Returned to his station wagon, smiling to see Robbie's baby shoes hanging from the mirror. He guessed, the Picks saw those baby shoes, they'd have a good feeling.

Watching the hawks, he'd made his decision. Not even thinking but just watching the hawks.

Dromoor felt good about DeLucca. He seemed to know, he'd feel even better about the Picks.

How Things Work Out

C
ASEY WAS GONE AT
last from Teena Maguire's life. He had ceased telephoning, for his calls were not returned. He would not again humble himself coming to the house on Baltic Avenue as, one Friday evening in November, he'd driven over uninvited and was told by Teena's embarrassed mother Agnes Kevecki that Teena was not home.

Saying, “Teena has gone out, Ray. I'm not sure where.”

Casey had been drinking, you could see. But he was clean-shaven and somber in appearance. He had always liked Teena's mother, and she had liked him though she had not approved of Teena “seeing” a married man with young children.

“Who with, Agnes? D'you know who with?”

Casey's voice broke, enunciating
who with
.

“Ray, I'm afraid I do not.”

Casey nodded. All right. He must see the logic of this, probably he knew it was for the best.

“Tell Teena I love her, okay? Can't say I'm gonna miss her because I been missing her since, you know. Since that night. So tell her good-bye, will you?”

“Yes, Ray. I will.”

You'd been upstairs on the stairway landing, listening. You knew maybe you should come downstairs, say good-bye to Casey, too. But you held back. Just didn't want to see him. Didn't want to risk crying.

Soon after you would hear that Ray Casey was “reunited” with his family. There was talk of Casey and his wife selling their house, moving over to Grand Island, maybe Tonawanda. Out of Niagara Falls where there's too many bad memories.

For the best
Teena said.
Maybe it is God's will. How things work out
.

Media Frenzy

L
OCAL TELEVISION
,
RADIO NEWS
. Newspapers. Tabloids.

Since the headlining on the morning of July 5, 1996, of the sensational R
OCKY
P
OINT
G
ANG
R
APE
it was rare for more than a few days to pass in Niagara Falls and vicinity without R
OCKY
P
OINT
R
APE
C
ASE
figuring prominently in local news. G
ANG
R
APE
: M
OTHER
, D
AUGHTER
V
ICTIMS
? was a far more intriguing headline than the usual headlines concerning contaminated landfills, EPA lawsuits against local chemical factories and oil refineries. Through July/August/September/October you could not escape the inch-high headlines and their accompanying photographs, often in full color.

N
OTED
B
UFFALO
A
TTORNEY
K
IRKPATRICK
E
NGAGED

I
N
D
EFENSE OF
F
ALLS
Y
OUTHS
A
CCUSED

OF
G
ANG
R
APE

N
IAGARA
C
O
. G
RAND
J
URY
I
NDICTS
8 F
ALLS
Y
OUTHS

July 4th Gang-Rape, Rocky Point Park

S
CHPIRO
N
AMED
R
OCKY
P
OINT
R
APE
T
RIAL
J
UDGE

D
EFENDANTS
P
LEAD
“N
OT
G
UILTY

IN
R
OCKY
P
OINT

R
APE
T
RIAL

The tabloids were not so restrained. You would see some of these by chance, on newsstands or in stores. You would wish to quickly avert your eyes but sometimes could not. T
EENA
blazoned on the front pages of these publications signaled T
EENA
M
AGUIRE
, A
LLEGED
G
ANG
-R
APE
V
ICTIM
whose story was many times recycled, with variants, on inside pages. The tabloids had offered your mother thousands of dollars in return for her “confidential” story but your mother had not replied. You too had been approached, and had literally run away. (Reporters and photographers waited for you outside Baltic Junior High, the first week of school.) Soon then the tabloids turned nasty: T
EENA
C
HALLENGED BY
A
LLEGED
R
APISTS
: S
EX
C
ONSENSUAL
,
FOR
$?

The most sensational of the local tabloids ran lengthy interviews with mothers of the several of the “alleged rapists,” including Mrs. Pick, Mrs. DeLucca, and Mrs. Haaber. One of these, ripped from the paper and shoved inside your locker at school, was headlined G
RIEVING
M
OTHER
V
OWS
“D
EFAMATION
” L
AWSUIT
A
GAINST
T
EENA
:
“That Woman Has Destroyed My Son's Life.”

Eventually, there were unexpected developments. Even larger headlines, photographs.

D
ELUCCA
, 24, S
HOT AND
K
ILLED BY

NFPD O
FF
-D
UTY
O
FFICER

D
EFENDANT IN
R
OCKY
P
OINT
G
ANG
-R
APE
C
ASE

BOOK: Rape
8.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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