Chapter 29 – January
The next day was January 1st, 1965. The Beatles were back at Number One with “I Feel Fine,” Lyndon Johnson was going to be President for four more years, and the Yankees’ dynasty was going to last forever. The only cloud in the sky was the brutal death of Sally Delisle.
With only three days left in our vacation, we were determined to have some outdoor fun before we had to go back to school. High School Hill was out – it was still roped off, and we weren’t very keen on going back there just yet anyway. But Win had hatched a plan.
Our buddy, Karl, who was sixteen, and a junior in High School, had been a critical help in our six-week adventure, with his driver’s license, his pickup truck, and his very liberal attitude towards petty theft. We hadn’t associated much with him since we returned, partly because he was older and had very different interests and friends, but also because he was old enough to be actually charged for some of the stuff he and we had stolen, so we had to make sure nobody connected him with us.
Win and Karl were good friends, in spite of the age difference, so they got together and planned a sliding expedition. Karl was into speed, and thrills, and he didn’t mind that we were just kids. He knew of a hill in Jericho that was high, steep, and fast, and he agreed to bring us there for an afternoon of sliding adventure. We had to do some major sneaking and lying to make sure nobody knew we were with Karl, but we were old hands at that.
It was me, Win, Larry, who was Karl’s brother, and Karl, all crammed into the front seat of his pickup truck, with our sleds piled in the back. We had a raucous good time on the way to Jericho, with a lot of juvenile humor mixed with reminiscences of our summer-long project of procuring supplies and building our hiding place. As one of Essex Junction’s leading proponents of rebellion and disorder, Karl was immensely proud of his part in our escapade.
We arrived at the hill, which was on a dirt road, a little after noon, to find only a few people there. They were families, and they were staying on the safer slope, so the big hill was wide open for us. Now this was a totally different sliding experience than High School Hill. Rather than a narrow trail between trees and rocks, this was a long, wide hill where you could build up a lot of speed. There were bumps – big rocks deeply covered in snow – but they were easily avoided, if that was what you wanted. It was also a long walk from the bottom back to the top.
A lot of people had been there since the big snowfall, so there were trails already packed down, and they were really fast. But there was a lot of space, and you could veer off into deep snow in a lot of places. We did a lot of solo runs, enjoying the pure speed, and then we started challenging each other, deliberately going over the bumps, which varied greatly in size and danger. Some of them had been built up by previous sliders into ramps, so you could fly right over them, and we did a lot of that, watching each other to see who could get the greatest elevation. Of course, the greater the elevation, the greater the impact when you landed. The higher you went, the harder it was to stay on your sled when you landed, and, of course, it hurt.
We did that for a while until everybody needed a break, and then we sat in the truck with our thermoses. We had two of them, filled with hot chocolate, which was no longer really hot, but warm enough to make a difference. The screw-on top of each thermos served as a cup, and we had a couple extra cups with us. We portioned it out among the cups, and then Karl pulled out a flask and poured a little something else in his. He laughed when we stared at him, open-mouthed. None of us were brave enough to ask for any of whatever it was.
Being big rock-and-roll fans, we wanted to know about Karl’s band. He and three friends had recently formed a band, tentatively named “The Planets,” and they were practicing in one of the guys’ garage. I knew the other three by name and reputation; they were High School semi-hoodlums, like Karl. Win had been to one of their practices, and he thought they were pretty good.
Karl said they weren’t good enough yet, but they were hoping to get some jobs – “gigs,” he called them – playing at High School dances around the area.
We went back to the hill after finishing the hot chocolate for a couple more runs, but the walk back up the hill was getting longer and longer, so we were just about ready to call it quits. I challenged Win to one last side by side run. There were two big humps almost parallel and about the same size, only a few feet apart, so we agreed to slide down simultaneously, hoping to hit the humps at the same time so Karl and Larry could judge who went higher and farther.
We both had good, fast runs, and we hit the bumps at the same time. But my sled veered to the left coming off the hump, and Win’s to the right, and we crashed right into each other, our heads smacking together, cheekbone to cheekbone. As we lay groaning in the snow, Larry and Karl were laughing their asses off, and we started laughing, too, but it hurt like Hell. If we hadn’t both been wearing woolen tuques pulled down over our ears, it would have been even worse. As it was, I had a big welt on the left side of my face, and Win had a matching one on the right side of his. That seemed a fitting way to end the day, so we gathered up our sleds and ourselves and headed for the truck.
While we were driving back to Essex, Karl asked if we wanted to check out the cabin before we went home. There was a burst of enthusiasm, and we drove out Lost Nation Road to the spot where Karl had delivered all our wood and stuff. But when we got there, the drifts of snow in the field we would have to cross were too deep, and we didn’t have the energy. So we gave it up for the time being, and Karl drove us into the village, where Win and I decided where each of us should get off so no one in our families would see us with Karl.
My Mom had cooked a stewing hen in her big pressure cooker, and the house smelled great. It was one of my favorite meals; falling-apart chicken with vegetables and broth, and biscuits with butter. I had to deal with a lot of questions about where I had been sliding, and who I had been with, and especially what had happened to my face, but, eventually, I was able to just sit down and stuff my face with food. We had hot fudge pudding for dessert, another favorite, and I was just about falling asleep on the couch when the news came on Channel Three. I saw Richard Gallagher through half-closed eyes, and then Chief Mulrooney appeared, and I sat upright, eyes wide open.
It was another press conference at the Police Station. This time, just the Chief was in the picture, standing behind a podium. He had a big smile on his face, and it seemed that he decided to appear “folksy” this time, rather than his usual pompous. Most of my family was in the room, but this time my Dad didn’t have to ask for quiet; we all wanted to hear this.
“I have the latest information on the murder of Miss Sally Delisle and the progress of our investigation. I will take questions after I have finished. We now have the official autopsy report, and it confirms our initial assessment of the killing. The victim was struck twice on the back of the head with a blunt object. One of the blows fractured her skull and killed her. It seems most likely that the first blow knocked her unconscious, and the second blow killed her. Her body was found at the bottom of a short, steep slope, and we believe that she was struck while standing at the top of the slope, and that she subsequently fell, or was pushed, down the hill.
“The time of death was estimated by the Medical Examiner to be approximately four P.M., give or take two hours, which fits precisely with the physical evidence. As we all know, the big snow storm had started between three-thirty and four, and there was very little snow found underneath the body. We do not have a motive for the killing, at least nothing definite, but we can rule out a couple of things. The victim was not sexually assaulted, and she was not robbed.” He picked up a piece of paper before continuing.
“The contents of her purse, which was found underneath the body, included about fifty dollars in cash, jewelry valued at close to a hundred dollars, and a plane ticket to Hawaii, among other things. The fact that she was not robbed, and not sexually assaulted, leads us to believe that this was not a random killing by a stranger, as those would be the usual motivations for such a killing. We believe that she was killed by someone she knew, and that the motive was tied to that personal relationship.
“That brings us to our prime suspect, Roger Warren, twenty-one years of age, of Hawthorne, California. He was the victim’s boyfriend, he is a known criminal, having been expelled from UVM for academic dishonesty, and he is currently being held by the Burlington Police Department on charges of drug trafficking. We have not charged him with murder, as of yet, but, as I say, he is our prime suspect, and we are cooperating with Burlington PD and exchanging information with them in order to further our investigation. I will take questions at this time.”
We all looked at each other, my brothers and sisters and I, and started talking, and now my Dad had to hush us up, as the reporters were asking the Chief questions.
“Thank you, I’m happy to clear up any confusion regarding that. The school’s janitor, Mr. Benjamin Flanders, is no longer considered likely to have been the killer. He is a vital witness in the case, as the only other person known to have been at the school that day, but there is no motive – no known reason for him to have killed the young woman, and he appears to be a man of exemplary character, as attested to by many members of the community.”
Just like last time, we couldn’t hear the questions; only the answers.
“Yes, the janitor’s fingerprints were found on the victim’s purse, but that has been satisfactorily explained and corroborated by other witnesses.”
“Yes, he was considered a likely suspect at first. It was only natural, as he was there, and no one else was, that we were aware of, and there were the fingerprints. But we now know much more about Mr. Flanders from the authorities in Quebec, and we have received numerous testimonials from community members here in the village. We no longer consider Mr. Flanders a likely suspect.”
“Yes, we believe the murder took place right there, on the edge of the parking lot. There was a lot of blood on the ground under her body, and the Medical Examiner indicated that the two head wounds, especially the second one, would have bled profusely immediately after impact. If she had been killed somewhere else, and her body carried to that hillside, there would be a lot of blood where she was killed, and very little under the body.
“No, we have not found the murder weapon. It could have been a rock, a large piece of wood, a pipe – anything heavy. The whole hillside has been cleared of snow and searched, but no weapon has been found.”
A longer pause this time.
“Yes, that’s right; we thought at first, as we told you, that Mr. Flanders was the only other person at the school. That’s why he was our prime suspect. We now know that Mr. Warren was also at the school that afternoon, looking for Miss Delisle, the victim.”
The Chief was starting to get a little testy, and a little impatient.
“No, no, no. There is no marijuana problem in Essex Junction, either at the schools or anywhere else. The fact that Mr. Warren is a suspected drug dealer does not have any bearing on this murder case.”
“No, I cannot identify the boy who found the body. Anyway, it’s not relevant.”
“I cannot answer that question. This press conference is strictly about the murder of Sally Delisle, and nothing else.” He looked at his watch.
“Are there any more questions?”
Well, that was a relief. Everyone in my family, and I’m sure people in families all over Essex Junction, were happy that Old Ben was no longer the main suspect. Of course, we had all known he couldn’t have done it; it was just that stupid Slingerland jumping to conclusions. Now, my opinion of Chief Mulrooney wasn’t very much higher than my opinion of Shit-Slinger, and I didn’t have much confidence that they could actually figure out who killed Miss Delisle. But shifting the focus away from Ben was at least a step in the right direction.
The next day was Saturday. I talked to Win on the phone in the morning, and we decided to get together at the Bake Shop that afternoon, with Tom and Rollo, if they could make it. I got there at about one-thirty, and Amy, bless her heart, was very sweet and sympathetic about the big bruise on the side of my face. But when Win walked in with his matching bruise, she couldn’t stop laughing.
“I’m sorry, guys, I know it’s not funny, but…” Well, it obviously was funny, because she couldn’t finish her sentence, she was laughing so hard. It was a scene that would be repeated many times over the next week, whenever Win and I were in the same place at the same time. We ordered doughnuts and hot chocolate, as usual, and Tom and Rollo showed up a few minutes later.
Our facial damage had to be explained before anything else, so we told Tom and Rollo all about the sliding expedition, which they were sorry to have missed. They had both had family things going on; some families had New Year’s Day traditions, I guess, but not mine.
They had seen the news broadcast, so that’s what we talked about, mostly. Those two were more than ever convinced that Roger was the killer. Not surprising, considering that there were zero other suspects, and that we knew something the cops didn’t – that Roger had tried to pressure Sally into helping him sell pot.
Rollo, slightly more law-abiding then the rest of us, was uncomfortable with that knowledge; he thought we should tell the cops. But Win and I, with Tom’s support, insisted that we had to keep our mouths shut. It wasn’t that we were particularly sympathetic towards pot smokers, or that we felt any cultural identity with them. We really knew almost nothing about marijuana, and it would be years before any of us had the opportunity, and the courage, to try it.
What was important to us was protecting Miss Delisle’s reputation and protecting Jane, who had taken us into her confidence. She knew a lot about Roger and his activities, and she had told us some of it. Whether she chose to reveal that knowledge to the police was up to her, and we felt honor-bound to leave it that way.
Up to that time, Win and I hadn’t told the guys about our little meeting with Jane in her apartment. The astonishment and obvious envy on their faces when they heard that Win and I had actually been invited into the apartment of a voluptuous twenty-one-year-old single girl was delightful to see. We enjoyed their reaction for a couple of minutes, then, carefully looking around to be sure no one else could hear us, we repeated what Jane had said about what Sally and Roger had done and said that day.
I tried to be very careful about what I said. Tom and Rollo were our best friends, but Jane had taken Win and me into her confidence, not them. The things Jane had told us that she would not tell the cops, I kept quiet about. After going over Roger’s movements that afternoon, I explained Jane’s rationale that she didn’t believe Roger was the killer.
Tom wasn’t buying it. He believed that, if Roger was as deep into drug trafficking as the Burlington Police had said he was, he would do anything to protect himself, including murder. He hadn’t fled the area immediately because that would have looked like an admission of guilt. Besides, he had no idea he was under suspicion and surveillance, so he believed he was safe.
Well, that sounded kind of plausible, but I still disagreed. Anyway, we didn’t have nearly enough information to make an informed decision. I was determined to figure it out, though. It had become very personal to me, and I had very little confidence in a Mulrooney-led investigation.
When I got home, my Mom had a message for me.
“Is there a girl named Jane in your class? You got a phone call from someone named Jane, but I don’t know who she is.”
I mumbled something inaudible as my face turned red, and several of my siblings started laughing. My second-oldest brother started taunting me about how ugly she must be if she was calling a spaz like me, but that backfired, because picturing Jane’s figure in my mind brought a big smile to my face. If only he knew.
That mental image gave me a brief burst of confidence, and I went boldly to the phone, pulled the matchbook out of my pocket, and called her number.
She answered right away, and told me she had something to tell me, but she was busy. Could we meet tomorrow?
“Sure,” I said, “Do you want to meet at the Bake Shop?”
“No, it’s too busy there on Sunday, and I’d rather a lot of people didn’t see us talking together. Why don’t you just come over here?”
“Okay. I’m busy with church and stuff, but I could come over about two.”
“That’s good; I’ll see you then.”
Well, that made for a pleasant evening. I sat on the couch after supper watching TV while my brothers and sisters taunted me about having a date with a girl and tried to figure out who she was. I just kept smiling and kept my mouth shut.
Win and I were in Sunday School and regular church service together, so I filled him in, but there wasn’t much to tell him. One thing was certain – no matter what Jane had to tell me, our biggest untapped source of information was Old Ben, and one or both of us was going to have to talk to him at school tomorrow.
I wanted to get out of the house right after Sunday dinner, but my second-oldest brother was determined to either stop me from meeting this girl named Jane, if she really existed, or follow me so he could figure out who she was. Why would he want to interfere? Just because he could.
The dynamics of sibling rivalry are familiar to most people, but most people don’t grow up with eight siblings, and things can get pretty complex in a family of nine. My oldest brother, when he wasn’t disgusted with my slide into juvenile delinquency, was pretty good to me, but second-oldest brother and I did not get along at all, even though we were both Yankee fans.
He was apt to rough me up on occasion, when no one else was around; he wasn’t much of a tough guy, but I was an eighty-five-pound beanpole. He would never hit me in the face, but my arms took a beating.
I got out of the house after Sunday dinner, in spite of my brother’s best efforts to detain me, and I lost him pretty easily when he tried to follow. He could have been more persistent, but that would have given me more importance than he would ever allow. By two o’clock, I was dashing across Pearl Street and up the back stairs to Jane’s apartment.
Jane looked like she’d been through a lot since I had seen her on Thursday. It was obviously a stay-at-home day for her; her hair was tied back, she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she was in a thick, warm-looking bathrobe which, while it covered her from head to toe, still displayed that wonderful figure of hers. She had made cocoa, of course, without brandy this time, and she poured me a mug and invited me into the living room.
“What a weekend,” she moaned, as we settled into our chairs. “I’ve been dealing with people non-stop, mostly parents, since Friday. Actually, if you count the people at the party Thursday, since then.”
“Your parents?” I asked.
“No; my parents are practically the only ones I haven’t heard from. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but anyway, Sally’s Dad called me Thursday night, just as I was about to leave for the New Year’s Eve party, then called again on Friday. He’s been in Burlington since Tuesday, waiting for them to release the body after the autopsy. He’s talked to the police over and over again, trying to find out anything he can, and he’s convinced that Roger killed her.
“He apparently decided at some point that I must hold the key to getting Roger indicted, because he’s been pumping me for information and urging the police to question me again. I talked to him for a long time on the phone Friday and, believe me, he wasn’t nearly as pleasant to talk to as you and your friend, Win. He called one more time on Saturday, and he had calmed down a little. He flew back to L.A. with the body yesterday afternoon.
“Sally’s Mom called me Saturday, from Hawaii. She was much nicer; she cried a lot. She feels bad for Roger, and thinks he must have been framed, for the drug charges, that is, and that they’re probably setting him up for the murder rap, as well. From what Sally told me, her Mom has a long history with the police, and she believes all police departments are thoroughly corrupt. She’s not coming here, thank God. She’s flying back to L.A. for the funeral service, and it will be the first time she’s seen her ex in over six years. That’s going to be a Hell of a party.
“Roger’s Dad also called me, on Friday. I tell you, the last thing I wanted to do with a New Year’s Day hangover was talk to the father of a murder victim and the father of the main suspect. All I wanted to do was soak in my bathtub with about a quart of coffee.”
I must admit that, while I was listening eagerly to what she was saying, I was also picturing her soaking in a bathtub.
“So Roger’s Dad has been here since Wednesday, and I’ve talked to him a couple of times. Actually, I helped him find a lawyer. I called one of my bosses and he recommended someone. Our firm doesn’t do criminal defense; just corporate and real estate law. But they know every lawyer in the area, so they were able to steer him to someone good. I’ve known Bill, that’s Roger’s Dad, for years. Of course, he knows that his son has been smoking pot since he was fourteen, and dealing since he was sixteen – he’s a California Dad, and he’s not stupid.
“So, what he wants from me is information to help Roger beat the drug rap. Usually the best way to do that is to turn State’s evidence; to rat on somebody else. But Roger’s at the top of the pyramid, as far as Burlington is concerned. The only people he could turn in are the people he bought the pot from in California, and the Burlington cops don’t care about that, or he could rat on the all the people he sold to, and his partners in the term paper business, but you don’t usually get anywhere unless you turn in somebody bigger than you, not smaller.
“Anyway, his lawyer has already convinced the court to hold a de novo hearing for Roger tomorrow. That’s an appeal of the bail decision. See, they denied him release on bail when he was charged with trafficking, but the attorney says that’s bullshit, because it wasn’t a violent crime. The cops, both Burlington and Essex, want him held without bail, but the attorney thinks he can convince the judge to grant bail as long as they haven’t charged him with murder.” She paused for a moment to sip her cocoa, then asked, “What happened to your face?”
“Sliding accident.” I described the crash and Win’s matching bruise, and Jane laughed, but sympathetically.
“That must look really funny when the two of you are together. Looks like it really hurts, though.”
I grinned. “Yeah, it hurts,” I said, “but some of us were just born to be wounded heroes.”
She laughed even louder and rocked back in her chair. “You’re a lot more fun to talk to than all those parents, much less the guys at the party. I should tell you about the New Year’s Eve party. I’ve never had less fun at one of those things! I mean, my date was okay; he didn’t know what was going on. But so many of the people there knew Roger, and they all wanted to ask me about him. There were four kids there, UVMers, who had bought pot from Roger, and all of them were asking me about him. They’re worried that they’re going to be in trouble. Thing is, I suspect at least two of them are informants, who probably were paid by the cops to buy it, and they’re just trying to cover themselves by pretending to be worried.”
She threw her hands in the air and shook her head. “I wouldn’t talk to any of them; did not say one word. My date was all confused; didn’t know what was going on. But these kids from Vermont, and the other easterners, they’re so naïve! If they’re going to buy and sell pot, they’ve got to learn how to keep their mouths shut!”
I was thinking it was pretty ironic that Jane was ranting about secrecy and naivety while telling all this stuff to a twelve-year-old boy she only met three days ago. She must have known what I was thinking, because she immediately starting explaining herself.
“Look, I know this is strange. But I’ve got to talk to someone, and everybody else, even her parents, has some kind of axe to grind. You just care about Sally.”
I didn’t know what to say. She was right, and I was really glad that she trusted me, but I didn’t want to spoil it by saying something stupid. She just smiled and that was nice.
“Look, here’s what I wanted to tell you. That handsome sergeant called me Saturday to ask me some more questions. Mostly about Sally’s portfolio case; they can’t find it. Every witness they’ve talked to said she was carrying both her portfolio and her purse. They found her purse underneath the body, but the portfolio is missing. They stripped all the snow from the slope and the parking lot, and it’s not there. They’ve searched her apartment, and mine, Roger’s van, his motel room and they can’t find it.”
“She didn’t leave it in the teachers’ room?”
“No, she wouldn’t do that. It was a gift from her Dad, and it was really nice – beautiful soft leather. And didn’t your friends say she had it with her when she met them at the Bake Shop?”
“Yes, I think they did. But we know she went back to the school, and we don’t know what happened after that. The only one who knows that is… “
“The one who killed her.”
“Yeah. So maybe the killer has it.”
“But why? Like I said, it’s a really nice case, but it’s worth maybe forty bucks, tops, and the stuff in her purse was worth four or five times that. Why take the case and not the purse?”
We talked it back and forth for a couple of minutes, but couldn’t make any sense of it. I said I would have to talk with Kate and Jackie about it.
“Yeah. I’m sure ‘Sergeant Dreamboat’ will have called them, too. You’re back in school tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Yeah; vacation’s over.” I must have looked pretty gloomy.
“Ahh, well. At least you’re going back as a wounded hero; the girls are going to be all over you.”
I actually blushed when she said that, and she very kindly kept talking to cover my embarrassment.
“Look, Denny, I’ll make a deal with you. You’re going to have a chance to talk with that janitor, right?” I nodded; that’s what I was hoping, anyway. “Well, I want to know what he has to say, and I’ll never get it from the cops. You’ll never get anything out of Roger, but I might; if he makes bail, that is. So, you fill me in, and I’ll fill you in. Okay?”
So that was how we left it.