THE COED MURDER CLUB. Ken SalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
“No, not really. I know we went up Euclid past the Rose Garden and then took a street that wound around the hills. I wasn’t really paying attention and it was dark. We were talking about the people I had met at La Val’s. Eventually, we turned down a little road and came to a house with a fabulous view.”
“Near Grizzly Peak?”
“I’m not sure. It was off the road and very private. I guess I should have been more observant.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s not important. Tell me what happened when you got to the house.” I didn’t want her to get sidetracked or weepy again.
“We went into the house. The lights were on low. Two guys were sitting in the living room in soft leather chairs sipping after dinner drinks and listening to R & B music with a great beat in an old fashioned jukebox. You know, the ones from the Fifties with rainbow, neon lights. They’d modified it to play CD’s. Everything looked cool and okay. Barry introduced me to the two guys. The black guy was named Earl and the white guy was named George.”
“Weren’t you afraid to be alone in a strange house with three men you’d never met before?”
“Not really. I felt comfortable with Barry. He’d already introduced me to his other friends who were fun to be with. These two guys were clean-cut and seemed nice, too. Earl said he was waiting for a call to go to the airport to pickup his girlfriend who was flying in from L.A. They were mellow. Earl gave me and Barry a snifter with some kind of sweet liqueur called dram… something. George punched some dance music to play on the jukebox.
“Drambuie?”
“Yeah, that was it. We chatted a while and Barry recounted what we’d been doing at La Val’s.”
“Did the two men seem to know the other three people you’d been drinking with earlier?”
“Yeah, one of them even asked about Joanie by name. They all seemed to know each other. Everything seemed super okay. The black guy, Earl, put on some reggae music with a fantastic beat and put a twenty dollar bill in a bowl on the table. He challenged us to a dance contest while he waited for his airport call. The twenty was prize money for the winner. Everyone laughed and asked if he was serious. He said jokingly, ‘Put your money where your mouth is.’ It was like a dare. George pulled out a twenty to match the bet and Barry put up forty to pay for me and him.” Mindy stopped to look at my reaction and took a swig of Coke. I was doing all I could to mask my thoughts about the way they were setting her up. I smiled my encouragement and nodded for her to continue.
“Since the music was reggae, Earl suggested a limbo contest. You know, where you have to dance under a bar without touching the floor. We took turns holding a long, metal fireplace poker for the limbo bar. We’d lower the bar lower and lower and force the dancer to try to dance under it. George fell backwards, flat on his ass and we almost broke a gut laughing at his antics when he tried to cheat by wiggling under the bar the way a duck walks. It was fun. I’m real limber and do a lot of dance for exercise. I won the contest easily.”
“Sounds like you were having a good time.” I was intrigued by how clever Barry and his friends were in engineering the seduction so far.
“Yeah, we were pooped from laughing so hard. We took a break while Earl called the airport to make sure his girlfriend’s plane was on time. We had some more to drink. George put on a Beach Boys tune on the jukebox and showed off his moves. He was hilarious, mimicking a guy on a surfboard riding a wave in beat to the music. He looked just like a surfer with his sun-bleached hair and bulging pecs. When he finished his routine, he suggested another kind of contest. Each of us had to select a tune and do a dance that illustrated the song and music. We drew lots for who had to go first and last. Earl lost the draw and went first.”
“George suggested we use props and dress to look the role we played. He picked a soundtrack from the movie, “Lawrence of Arabia.” We tied a blindfold around Earl’s eyes and wrapped a checkered dishtowel around his head to make him look like an Arab, you know, like Arafat wears?” I nodded my understanding and motioned for her to continue.
“Barry made him take off his shoes, socks and shirt to dance the part of a sheik. When my turn came, they took off my blouse, skirt, shoes and socks and wrapped a dish towel around my waist to make me look like a belly dancer. I had to dance to the Oldies’ song, “Little Egypt.” Mindy glanced at me and abruptly stopped her narrative.
I was flabbergasted. “You mean you let these three guys undress you down to your panties and bra without protesting?”
“I know it seems stupid now, but it seemed all right then. I was the last to dance and everyone else had to take off some clothes to do a part. We’d all been laughing at the funny antics of each dancer and their makeshift costume. We’d agreed that the most original and daring interpretation would win the prize which was double what I’d won in the limbo contest.”
I listened poker-faced. I could see why the police refused to refer this case for prosecution.
What Mindy recounted wouldn’t play well in front of a jury even in liberal Berkeley. It would, however, spark a sensational feeding frenzy in the press that would probably attract reporters from the world’s most sleazy tabloids.
“I did my belly dance and I guess all the booze got to me as I swirled and did my turns. I started to get real dizzy and I almost passed out.”
“Did you finish your dance?”
“Yeah, I kinda pushed myself at the end because I wanted to win the prize.”
“The sequence of events after your dance is very important. Try to remember every detail,” I instructed her. I didn’t want to coach her or cue her to the elements of the crime – forcible compulsion, threats or intimidation. So far what she’d recounted appeared to lay a foundation for a clever seduction rather than a rape.
“I remember getting all woozy and faint when I finished the dance. Barry helped me stay upright when I started to stumble to my knees. He helped me over to the sofa and sat me down. I remember sinking into the soft leather. He was whispering and trying to sooth me. He was saying, ‘You just need to lie down and rest a bit. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you and see you get home.’ Stuff like that.”
“Do you think they slipped something into your drink?”
“No, not really. I’m sure it was just the booze. I’d had too much to drink and all the swirling and whirling I did in my dance made me dizzy. I should have stopped drinking after the beer.”
“Did you pass out on the couch?”
“I don’t know; I’m not sure. I must’ve passed out for a while because when I came to, I was lying down on the sofa.” Mindy paused, sucked in her breath and let out a long sigh.
“Were they holding you down?”
“No, it wasn’t that. It’s so hard to explain what was happening to me and what I was feeling. I tried to make my body turn off what was happening, but my head was out of it. I just couldn’t turn off the sensations. I tried to make my body turn over, but I couldn’t.”
“Were they touching you?”
“Yeah, I finally got hold of myself even though I was real woozy; I remember saying, ‘Please stop.”’
“Did they stop touching you after you asked them to?”
“No, they just laughed.”
“In a menacing way?”
“No, like it was a joke. One of them said, ‘Look, you’re all wet. You’re creaming all over my fingers. Just relax and enjoy yourself.’ They just kept at it. They never stopped touching me. They were touching me and pulling at me all over my body. Their fingers just pulled and tugged at my breasts and sex faster and faster, harder and harder. I know I must have come. Suddenly, intense sensations swept through my body like I’ve never felt before. Somebody laughed and said, ‘She’s coming.’