He was thrown forward and his punch missed her. His head banged the windshield. Tires screeched in protest as a white stretch limousine swerved to avoid the Mercedes.
As he recovered his balance, she released the brake. The car coasted forward. If she stopped in the fast lane of the expressway for a few seconds, she thought, he would be so terrified he would plead with her to drive on. She stepped on the brake once more, throwing him forward again.
This time he recovered more quickly. The car came to a halt. Cars and trucks swerved around it, horns blaring. Jeannie was terrified; at any moment another vehicle could slam into the back of the Mercedes. But her plan did not work: he seemed to have no fear. He put his hand up her skirt, grasped the waist of her panty hose, and pulled. There was a tearing sound as her tights ripped open.
She tried to push him away, but he was all over her. Surely he would not try to rape her right there on the expressway? In despair she opened her door, but she could not get out because she had her seat belt fastened. She tried to undo it, but she could not get at the buckle because of Steve.
To her left, traffic was joining the expressway from another ramp, coming directly into the fast lane at sixty miles an hour and flashing by. Was there not a single driver who would stop and help a woman who was being attacked?
As she struggled to push him away, her foot came off the brake and the car crept forward. Maybe she could keep him off balance, she thought. She had control of the car; it was her only advantage. In desperation she put her foot on the accelerator pedal and floored it.
The car took off with a lurch. Brakes squealed as a Greyhound bus narrowly missed her fender. Steve was thrown back in his seat and distracted briefly, but a few seconds later his hands were all over her again, pulling her breasts out of her brassiere and thrusting inside her panties as she tried to drive. She was frantic. He did not seem to care if he killed both of them. What the hell could she do to stop him?
She swung the car hard across to the left, throwing him up against the passenger door. She almost hit a garbage truck, and for a cliff-hanging instant she looked into the petrified face of the driver, an elderly man with a gray mustache; then she swung the wheel the other way and the Mercedes lurched out of danger.
Steve grabbed her again. She braked hard, then floored the accelerator, but he laughed as he was thrown around, just as if he were on a joyride at a carnival; and then he came back at her.
She hit him with her right elbow and her fist, but she could not put any power into the blows while she was at the wheel, and she succeeded only in distracting him for a few more seconds.
How long could this go on? Were there no cop cars in this town?
Over his shoulder she saw that she was passing an off-ramp. There was an ancient sky blue Cadillac on her near side a few yards behind her. At the last moment she swung the steering wheel. Her tires screeched, the Mercedes went up on two wheels, and Steve fell against her helplessly. The blue Cadillac swerved to avoid her, there was a fanfare of outraged car horns, then she heard the thud of cars crashing and the xylophone sound of breaking glass. Her near-side wheels came down again and hit the tarmac with a bone-shuddering thump. She was on the ramp. The car fishtailed, threatening to hit the concrete parapet on either side, but she got it straight.
She accelerated down a long off-ramp. As soon as the car was stable, Steve thrust his hand between her legs and attempted to get his fingers inside her panties. She wriggled, trying to stop him. She glanced at his face. He was smiling, his eyes wide, panting and sweating with sexual excitement. He was having fun. This was crazy.
There were no cars ahead or behind her. The ramp ended in a stoplight which was green. To her left was a cemetery. She saw a sign pointing right that read “Civic Center Blvd.” and she swung that way, hoping to see a busy town hall with crowds of people on the sidewalk. To her dismay the street was a bleak desert of unused halls and concrete plazas. Ahead of her, a light turned red. If she stopped, she was done for.
Steve got his hand inside her panties and said: “Stop the car!” Like her, he had realized that if he raped her here there was a good chance no one would interfere.
He was hurting her now, pinching and thrusting with his fingers, but worse than the pain was the fear of what was to come. She accelerated wildly toward the red light.
An ambulance came from the left, swinging in front of her. She braked hard and swerved to miss it, thinking crazily, If I crash now, at least help is at hand.
Suddenly Steve withdrew his hands from her body. She had a moment of blessed relief. Then he grabbed the transmission lever and pushed it into neutral. The car suddenly lost momentum. She yanked it back into drive and floored the pedal, passing the ambulance.
How long can this go on? Jeannie thought. She had to get to a neighborhood where there were some people before the car stopped or crashed. But Philadelphia had turned into a moonscape.
He grabbed the steering wheel and tried to pull the car over onto the sidewalk. Jeannie jerked it back quickly. The rear wheels skidded and the ambulance honked indignantly.
He tried again. This time he was cleverer. He knocked the transmission into neutral with his left hand and grabbed the wheel with his right. The car slowed down and mounted the curb.
Jeannie took both hands off the wheel, put them on Steve’s chest, and shoved him away with all her might. Her strength surprised him and he was flung backward. She put the car in drive and stamped on the accelerator pedal. The car rocketed forward yet again, but Jeannie knew that she could not fight him off much longer. Any second now he would succeed in stopping the car, and she would be trapped in here with him. He recovered his balance as she turned into a left-hand bend. He got both hands on the steering wheel, and she thought, This is the end, I can’t do any more. Then the car rounded the bend and the cityscape changed abruptly.
There was a busy street, a hospital with people standing outside, a line of taxicabs, and a sidewalk stall selling Chinese food. “Yes!” Jeannie shouted triumphantly. She stamped on the brake. Steve jerked the wheel and she pulled it back. Fish-tailing, the car screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. A dozen cabdrivers at the food stand turned to look.
Steve opened his door, got out, and ran.
“Thank God,” Jeannie breathed.
A moment later he had disappeared.
Jeannie sat there, panting. He was gone. The nightmare was over.
One of the drivers came over and put his head inside the passenger door. Hastily Jeannie rearranged her clothing. “Are you okay, lady?” he said.
“I guess so,” she replied breathlessly.
“What the heck was that all about?”
She shook her head. “I sure wish I knew,” she said.
36
STEVE SAT ON A LOW WALL NEAR JEANNIE’S HOUSE, WAITING for her. It was hot, but he took advantage of the shade of a big maple tree. She lived in an old working-class neighborhood of traditional row houses. Teenagers from a nearby school were walking home, laughing and quarreling and eating candy. It was not long since he had been like that: eight or nine years.
But now he was worried and desperate. This afternoon his lawyer had talked to Sergeant Delaware of the Sex Crimes Unit in Baltimore. She had told him she had the results of the DNA test. The DNA from traces of sperm in Lisa Hoxton’s vagina exactly matched the DNA in Steve’s blood.
He was devastated. He had been sure the DNA test would end this agony.
He could tell that his lawyer no longer believed in his innocence. Mom and Dad did, but they were baffled; they both knew enough to realize that DNA testing was extremely reliable.
In his worst moments he wondered if he had some kind of split personality. Maybe there was another Steve who took over and raped women and gave him his body back afterward. That way he would not know what he had done. He recalled, ominously, that there were a few seconds of his fight with Tip Hendricks that he had never been able to bring to mind. And he had been ready to drive his fingers into Porky Butcher’s brain. Was it his alter ego who did these things? He did not really believe it. There had to be another explanation.