“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.”
“I can,” Frank said firmly.
“Good enough,” Caleb said. He pulled into the next bar he came to, a little plaster imitation of a Mexican tavern.
There was an empty booth in the back, and they walked directly to it.
“Give me one of them Tequila Sunrises,” Caleb said when the waitress arrived. “What about you, Frank?”
“Scotch.”
They drank silently when the drinks finally came, and Frank allowed his eyes to drift idly over the grain of the wood of his table, then up along the rough, exposed beams toward the plaster ceiling, and beyond that to where the sky could be seen, blue and vacant, through a small skylight at the very crest of the ceiling.