Frank De Felitta - Audrey Rose

On another page, she read: “For certain is death for the born, and certain is birth for the dead; therefore over the inevitable thou shouldst not grieve.”

Janice shut the book decisively and stepped away from the table, feeling very much a traitor for having so easily capitulated to the enemy. Bill was right. It was nonsense.

Janice picked up the pile of books and carried them to the hall closet, where, standing on a chair, she consigned them to a shadowy corner on the top shelf, next to several volumes of Bill’s more graphic pornography.

She joined the waiting mothers in front of the school, and at three o’clock sharp the bell rang and the exodus began. Less than five minutes later Ivy appeared at the double doors and smiled her way down the steps toward Janice. Hoover was nowhere to be seen. Bill had been right. No doubt, he was right about everything, Janice thought, her confidence in her husband’s judgment growing by leaps and bounds.

For the first time in nearly a week Janice found herself heading north at a leisurely pace instead of in a panic. Ivy chattered continually. Janice laughed unreservedly. It was like old times for both of them.

“I don’t know if he’s an extortionist or a nut or let’s say he’s a man who believes this to be so. We’re talking about an area that a lot of people don’t know anything about.…” Harold Yates paused a moment to organize his thoughts and place them in their proper legal perspective.

Bill sat on the couch, adjacent to Harold’s Barca-Lounger, from which, in a semisupine position, Harold conducted all his business. There was no desk in the office. A low cocktail table immediately to his right sufficed to accommodate two telephones, a cup of pencils, and several legal pads.

“But regardless of whether he’s a … nut, as you say, whatever the definition of that is,” Harold continued in a slow, pedantic manner, “regardless of whether he’s an extortionist, you’re really concerned about what you can do to protect your family from being bothered by this person. Now I have a question to ask you. Did he make any demand upon you?”

Bill considered carefully. “He didn’t come right out and make a demand, except to say that he wants to see us again and that we have to come to some kind of understanding.”

“What understanding? Does he want Ivy?”

“No. He said he doesn’t want to claim her or take her away, that he couldn’t legally, and in any case wouldn’t, since he knows what it is to lose someone you love. Don’t you see, Harry? It’s a pitch. We’re being primed for a shakedown.”

Harry mulled on this. “Is your question: What are your legal rights?”

“My question is: How do I get him off our backs?”

“Well, when you say off your backs, if he continues to intrude on your privacy, in terms of following you wherever you go, calling you at home, asking to see members of your family, he has no legal right to do that. If the amount of attention he is paying your family is bothersome or a nuisance, you can go to court and apply for an injunction restraining him from harassing or annoying you and your family. If he violates that injunction, he is in contempt of court and will be punished by the court. Punishment for contempt of court is subject to imprisonment.”

Bill’s eyes remained staring across at the lawyer.

“If we do take him to court, how do I prove that all this actually happened?”

“There are ways you can obtain proof. For example, next time he calls and wants to come to your house to talk, have a witness present.”

“Isn’t Janice a witness?”

“Certainly she is, but it would be better if you had an unrelated person present. Conceivably, you might get this Hoover to write you what he wants and proposes to do, or perhaps secretly tape his conversations.…”

That was it, Bill thought with a quick surge of elation. He’d tape him. Surely, Russ Federico would lend him the equipment and even help him set up the living room and work the machine. Russ could be the unrelated witness at the same time. Bill heard Harry droning on in the background of his thoughts and quickly shifted his concentration back to what his friend and lawyer was saying.

“The tape, while probably inadmissible, could certainly be used to convince the police that this man is bothering you and enable you to avail yourself of their legal restraints and powers.”

“I think I can arrange to tape our next meeting,” said Bill rising.

“Not so fast. Where are you going?”

“To set things up.” Bill glanced at his watch. “I haven’t got much time.”

“You intend to do this that soon?”

“I intend to do it tonight.”

“In that case, there are some questions I will want you to ask him.” Harold’s stubby hand reached for a legal pad and sharp pencil. “A few simple bedrock questions the answers to which will have some legal force and validity in a court of law, if indeed that is the course we select to pursue.”

Bill slowly sat back down on the couch and watched Harold bring the rubber end of the pencil up to his thick semiparted lips and begin mentally formulating the substance of his first question.

“One,” he said.

The meeting with Russ had gone as expected; he was not only willing, but eager to help Bill. They agreed to rendezvous at the apartment at six thirty and, as Russ put it, rig the place for action. Bill hadn’t gone into great detail with Russ, only that he was being preyed on by a shakedown artist and that he needed Russ’ expert help to nail the bastard. They discussed the kind of equipment Russ would use and its deployment. Hiding the wire connecting the mike and recorder would pose a problem, he felt, unless he used a wireless mike, which was kind of temperamental and not as dependable as a direct hookup. Russ finally decided to bring a variety of systems and test them all before Hoover arrived.

Bill felt a growing excitement as he saw each step of his plans dropping neatly into place.

Before leaving Russ’ studio, he had called Janice, told her what they were up to, and suggested she arrange with Carole for Ivy to spend the night there.

“He called this afternoon, Bill.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No,” Janice said. “I let Dominick take a message. He left a phone number.”

“Okay, let me have it.”

“Just a sec.” Janice was back almost immediately. “555–1771.”

Bill dialed the number and was surprised to hear a woman’s voice say, “Good evening, YMCA.”

“Good evening,” Bill said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Elliot Hoover, please.”

“One moment, please.” A sharp click, followed by a buzzing sound and then by a subdued male voice: “Fourth-floor dormitory.”

“Elliot Hoover, please,” the woman said.

“One moment, please.”

Bill put his hand over the mouthpiece and quietly asked Russ, “Nine o’clock okay?”

“Nine thirty,” Russ whispered back.

Bill could hear the echoing sound of footsteps approaching. Then Hoover’s voice said, “This is Elliot Hoover.”

“Bill Templeton here.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Templeton.” The voice held a note of eagerness.

“I’d like to get together with you tonight, at my apartment, say nine thirty?”

“That will be fine. Thank you.”

Yes, Bill thought, jumping over a dirt-encrusted snow drift at the corner of Fifty-ninth and Central Park West, it will all work out fine.

“A girl named Abby called. She said that the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette confirmed the information you wanted: that Sylvia Flora Hoover and her daughter, Audrey Rose, were killed in a car accident on the Harrisburg Turnpike a little after eight thirty on the morning of August 4, 1964.”