“You think Ike is going to be able to get Powers back?”
“No,” Sam said. The papers were full of U-2 pilot Gary Powers who had just received a ten-year sentence from a Russian military tribunal on the charge of spying against the Soviet Union.
“Why not?”
“You really think the commies are going to give back one of our pilots simply because Eisenhower asks.”
“It just isn’t right.”
“Of course not. Nothing about a cold war is right.”
“It is better than the alternative.”
“Blowing the hell out of each other? Yes, it is better than the alternative.”
“I guess we should be glad they didn’t execute him, but I still think Ike will get him back.”
“Ike doesn’t have enough time to get him out. He’ll be the one out at the end of the year.”
“Perhaps Tricky Dick will be able to get him out.”
“Perhaps Kennedy will.”
She laughed. The thought of Kennedy beating Nixon was laughable to her even though it was a tight race. Not that she was a Nixon supporter. Lorraine was a firm Kennedy supporter due to her Roman Catholic upbringing. She didn’t like the way Nixon looked and always referred to him as Tricky Dick after learning of the nickname from a Californian friend of hers who told her about the moniker given to him during his senatorial bid back in 1950. Lorraine thought it a fabulous nickname that matched his face. She could hardly contain her glee when the Kennedy campaign started putting up posters with Nixon’s face on it with the tagline, “Would you buy a used car from this man?” She said, “Tricky Dick is the perfect name for a used car salesman. At least it would be honest work.”
“Would it?” Sam had asked doubtfully.
Sam bought the tickets and led Lorraine into the theater by her arm. The air conditioning hit them like a wave. It was refreshing and oddly made his stomach cramp up. Lorraine pulled her shawl up over her shoulders even tighter.
The projectionist of the theater, Marvin Williams, stood over in the corner. Standing next to him was a gangly boy with a slack jaw and a wiry build. Sam led Lorraine over to where the two men stood against the wall.
“How’s the picture, Marvin?”
“You’ll never forget it.” Marvin was a tall, thin man whose response to that question was always that it was all right. Even when asked about Ben Hur, his response was “it was all right.” The anticipation level cranked up another few notches.
“That good?” Sam asked.
“I didn’t say that. I’m not sure if it is good or not, but it is certainly something different. I might have an opinion on whether it is good or not in a few days. But I’ve run it three times today and I still can’t take my eyes off it.”
The boy next to him piped up, “It is really boss.”
“What did he say?” Lorraine asked.
“It’s a gas,” the boy said.
“He means it is really good and a lot of fun,” Sam told Lorraine.
“Oh.” Lorraine looked confused.
Marvin looked at the boy as if he had two heads and then just laughed. “You remember my son, Harry. I’m showing him around. He wants to get into the movie business.”
“That’s great, Harry,” Sam said. “Want to direct?”
“Not sure.”
“How is your wife doing?” Sam asked Marvin. The reason they knew each other well was not simply because Sam often frequented his place of business, but because his wife’s sister had been murdered by her live-in boyfriend. It took all of ten minutes at the crime scene to arrest him. Jimmy Dugan took him back to the station. By the time Sam got finished talking to everyone at the scene, getting witness statements and going to her sister’s home to get any details, the boyfriend had signed a confession. When Sam walked into the squad room, Jimmy was sitting at his desk smiling. The boyfriend was a little battered and bruised, but the guilty never take long to confess under Jimmy’s interrogation. The problem came when the not guilty were interrogated by Jimmy. That could drag out for hours or days depending on how convinced Jimmy was of the person’s guilt.
“She’s doing all right. It’s been four months.”
“Mom cries a lot,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
Marvin stared at his son for a beat too long and then said, “I thought she’d be over it by now.”
Sam never gave much thought to what happened after he was out of everyone’s life. When Sam’s present, everyone is a little hysterical and angry, but there is a drive for justice or revenge. When Sam finally got his man and locked him away, it never occurred to him that these people then had to live with it for the rest of their lives. Once the guy was behind bars it was done for Sam, but not for these people.
Marvin had to get back up to the projector room. Sam wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and led her into the theater and found some good seats.
“What happened to his wife?” Lorraine asked once they were seated.
“Her sister was killed by her boyfriend.”
“Oh. How?”
“Stabbed. Ugly scene. The one in the barn.”
“Oh, yes, you didn’t really want to talk about that one. That is so sad.”
“No one should have to die like that.”
“Well, no, they shouldn’t, but that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“That Marvin and his wife are having so much trouble over it. Marvin just doesn’t understand what it is like to lose someone as close as a sister.”
“I suppose he doesn’t.”
“I hope it doesn’t end their marriage. That would be so sad if that man not only killed her sister, but her marriage as well.”
One of the many reasons Sam Lucas loved his wife was that she was smarter and more intuitive than most. Marvin would try to understand what his wife was going through. They would work very hard at it, but Marvin would leave his wife only a few weeks later and move to Cleveland. His son would leave with him. His wife, the mother of his only child, would commit suicide by the end of the year. The boyfriend, Douglas Robertson, not only killed Marvin’s sister-in-law, Shelly, but also his wife, Betty.
CHAPTER 6
August 20, 1960
Sam sat across from Boris Flick. The muscular man with the pencil thin moustache stared at him with dark brown eyes. He ran his handcuffed hands up his face and over the bald dome of his head. Sam didn’t speak, just eyed him, a photo of the dead Eve Branch sitting on the table between them. Flick took continued glances at pictures of the nude Eve Branch, dark blue marks around her neck. The glances made Sam uncomfortable like Flick was deriving pleasure from seeing Eve like that again. Sam reached over and turned the photo over. Flick looked up at Sam with hatred.
Finally, Sam said, “Tell me about the tunnel you dug between your home and Eve’s attached home next door.”
“What tunnel?” Flick answered.
“Did she dig the tunnel, then? Was that pretty, young girl trying to get into the apartment of a decrepit ugly old man like you? Is that what you’re suggesting?”
He seemed thrown for a second but recovered quickly. “I don’t know anything about any tunnel.”