“What tendencies did you notice?”
“Antisocial personality,” said Stark. “He lurked around the neighborhood at all hours, with no clear purpose. Smiled a lot but there was no warmth to it. He was blithe to the point of recklessness-would smoke dope openly, just amble up my block toking away, not even trying to hide it. Other times, he’d walk around with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his rear pocket.”
“Not much parental supervision.”
“None that I ever saw. My mother said his mother was an airhead more concerned with fashion than child-rearing. I was fifteen when we moved in, my brother a year younger. Mom sized up the situation pretty quickly and forbade both of us from having anything to do with him.”
I said, “Some teens would rebel at that kind of restriction.”
“Some would, I didn’t,” said Stark. “He was clearly someone who wouldn’t be good for me. And that was buttressed by what happened a few months after we moved in. There were a bunch of burglaries in the neighborhood. Nighttime break-ins, while people were sleeping. My parents were convinced Pete had something to do with it. My dad, in particular, was certain he had criminal tendencies.”
“Why?”
“Pete sassed him a couple of times. And I wouldn’t discount Dad’s opinion. He worked as a high school counselor, had experience with acting-out adolescents.”
Milo said, “Tell us about the girls.”
“There were two of them, the summer before my senior year they lived above Mrs. Whitbread and Pete. Older than me, maybe twenty-one, twenty-two. A few months later-after I took my SATs but before I went on a college tour, so it would have to be late September or early October-they disappeared. Dad tried to spur some police interest but couldn’t get anyone to take him seriously.”
Petra said, “Where can I reach your father?”
“Eugene, Oregon. His and my mom’s pensions stretch a lot further up there, so after I graduated they sold me their place and got a house with acreage.”
“Names and number, please.”
“Herbert and Myra Stark. I can’t guarantee they’ll cooperate. When the police didn’t get back to Dad about the girls, he got so irate he complained to his councilman. But no help there, either. No one cared.”
Petra said, “What were the girls’ names?”
“I never knew their surnames, their first names were Roxy and Brandy. We knew that because they’d shout to each other, didn’t matter what time of day. Bran-deee, Rox-eee.”
“What did they do for a living?”
“My parents said those were stripper names, they had to be strippers, but I had my doubts.”
“Why?”
“Strippers would work at night, right? But those two had irregular hours. Sometimes they’d be gone during the day, other times, at night. They always left together, arrived together. Weekends they’d sleep in, never show themselves. During the week they’d be out, working and partying.”
“Tell us about the partying.”
“I don’t know for a fact, I’m using logic. They’d drive up three, four a.m., race the engine, slam the car door, and if that hadn’t woken us, their laughter and chattering did the trick. They were extremely raucous and from the way they slurred their words, high on something.”
“Your parents ever complain?”
“Never, not their style. Instead, they fumed and gossiped and regaled Galen and me with morality tales using the girls as negative examples. Of course, the end result was to get Galen and me interested. A couple of wild girls living right across the backyard? But we never tried to talk to them, even if we’d had the guts there was no opportunity. When they were home, we were at school, and when we were home they were sleeping or out.”
Milo said, “They’d come and go together in the same car?”
“Every time I saw.”
“Remember the make and model?”
“Sure do. White Corvette, red interior. Dad called it the Bimbo-mobile.”
Petra said, “Tell us about the disappearance and why you suspect Pete.”
“Right before I took the SATs I was up in my room and got distracted by loud music. The way my bedroom’s situated, I have an angled view of Mrs. Whitbread’s yard. The girls were out there sunbathing and blasting a tape deck-dance music. I was about to close the window but got even more distracted by what was going on. They were rubbing lotion on each other, giggling, playing with each other’s hair, slapping each other’s butts.” Stark tightened his tie. “Totally naked, it was kind of hard not to notice.”
Milo said, “Good-looking girls.”
“Of that type,” said Stark. “Long blond hair, long legs, sunlamp tan, big chests. They looked alike, for all I know they were sisters.”
“Roxy and Brandy,” said Milo. “What year Corvette?”
“Sorry, I’m not a car guy.”
“Who’d they hang out with?”
“I never saw them hang with anyone, but that doesn’t mean much. Except for that week of SAT prep, I barely saw them during the day. What I can tell you is that Pete Whitbread was aware of them. Midway through the week, when I was cramming advanced vocab, really trying to concentrate, the music started blasting again. Same deal, naked girls, lots of merriment. But good little grind that I was, I actually intended to ignore it. Then I noticed Pete sidling down the driveway and sneaking around toward the back. I say sneak because his head was darting all around, obviously furtive. And he’d pressed himself against the wall, found himself a vantage spot where the girls wouldn’t notice him. He stood there watching them for a while, then he unzipped his fly and did the predictable. But not normally-he was yanking at himself so hard I thought he’d rip it off. With a bizarre smile on his face.”
I said, “Bizarre in what way?”
“Teeth bared, like a…coyote. Pleasuring himself but he looked angry. Enraged. Or maybe it was just sexual intensity. Whatever it was, it grossed me out and I moved away from the window and never went back. Even when the music blasted the next day and the next.”
“The girls had no idea they were being watched?”
“Were they putting on a show for him? I’ve wondered about that.”
“Did you ever see Pete with them?”
“No, but as I said, I wouldn’t have. What you should be concerned about is a few weeks later, they were gone. Just like that.” Snapping his fingers. “No moving van, no truck being loaded. And when they moved in, they did use a van, had tons of stuff. I knew they weren’t sleeping in because (A) it wasn’t the weekend, (B) the lights never went on for two consecutive days, and (C) on the second day my mother took a walk by and the door to the upstairs apartment was open and a cleaning crew was working full-guns. Plus, the Corvette was still there. Parked in back next to the garage, the girls always parked in the driveway. It sat there for an entire week, then one night I heard it start up and looked out. Someone was easing it out the driveway. Driving extremely slowly, with the headlights off. I told my father and that’s when he called the police.”
Milo said, “Two days of dark windows.”
Byron Stark said, “If you want to believe they just moved to Kansas, be my guest. But maybe you should reserve judgment until I tell you the rest. The night after the car was moved, my father was walking the dog over on Fourth, I’m talking one in the morning.”
“Kind of late for a dog-walk.”
Stark smiled. “I could tell you the dog had a bladder problem but sure, Dad was curious, we all were. And it paid off. A van was pulled up to Mrs. Whitbread’s building and two guys were loading stuff. When Dad got closer he could see it was Pete and his friend and what they were hauling were garbage bags. Lots of them. When they saw Dad, they jumped in the van and slammed the door shut. Didn’t drive away, just sat there. Dad kept walking, circled the block again, stood at the corner. The van was still there but a second later it took off full-speed.”