'And you didn't see any markings of any kind on his body?'
'I told you already, no.'
'And then what happened?'
'He cut me loose and made me roll over, and then he tied me up again,' she said.
'When Officer Dohner found you, Miss Flannery, your hands were tied with lamp cord. Do you remember where he got that?'
'No,' she said.
'He cut the panty hose with which you were tied, is that right? He didn't untie you?'
'He tried,' she said. 'And then when he couldn't, he got mad. And then he got even madder when he couldn't find any more panty hose. He pulled the dresser drawer all the way out and threw it on the floor.'
'And after he had tied your hands behind you, what did he do?'
'He said we were going for a little ride, he wanted everybody to-'
'To what?'
'To have a look at me.'
'Are those, more or less, his exact words?'
'He said he wanted everybody to see… my private parts, and to see his come all over me.'
'Then what?'
'He found my raincoat…'
'Where was that?'
'In the hall closet,' she said. 'And he told me to get up, and he put my raincoat over my shoulders. And he said that if I tried to run away, he'd…he'd stick the knife up… in me… he'd stick the knife between my legs.'
'And then?'
'He took me out the back and put me in the back of his van.'
'Tell me about the van,' Hemmings said. 'Where was it?'
'In the parking lot behind my apartment.'
Hemmings tried and failed to recall a mental image of the garden apartment complex parking lot.
'What kind of a van was it?'
'Avan,' she said, impatiently.
'Where did he put you in the van?'
'In the back.'
'Was there a door on the side, a sliding door, maybe? Or did you get in the front?'
'There was a sliding door. He opened it, and told me to get in and lay down on my face.'
'Did you see anything in the back of the van? I mean, was it plain in there, or did he have it fixed up with chairs and upholstery? Was there a carpet, maybe?'
'No. The floor was metal. And there was nothing in there. Just avan .'
'Did it look to you like a new van, or one that has been around awhile? Was it scratched up, maybe? Was there a peculiar smell? Anything like that?'
'It was dark, and I had my face on the floor, and I couldn't see anything,' she said.
'And then what happened?'
'He got in front and started it up, and I guess he just drove me to where he pushed me out and the cop found me.'
'Did anything happen while you were in the van? Did you hear something, maybe, that stuck in your mind. Can you think of anything at all?'
'I thought he was going to kill me,' she said. 'I was praying.'
'Tell me about what happened when you got to Forbidden Drive,' Hemmings said.
'I knew we'd left the street,' she said. 'A regular street, I mean. It sounded different under the wheels.'
That response disappointed Dick Hemmings a little; if she had picked up on that, she more than likely would have picked up on anything else odd that had happened. Therefore, nothing interesting had happened.
'And?'
'And then he stopped, and I heard him opening the door, and then he told me to get out. He said that I should walk away from him, and if I turned around to look, he would kill me.'
'And he was still wearing his mask?'
'Yeah.'
'And then?'
'He took my raincoat off, and pushed me, and I started walking,' she said. 'And then I heard him driving off.'
'Did you know where you were?'
'I thought the park,' she said. 'We hadn't come that far. But where in the park, I didn't have any idea.'
'Did anyone come by before Officer Dohner got there?'
'No,' she said. 'I saw lights, headlights, and started walking toward where they were going past.'
'I'll certainly be talking to you again, Miss Flannery,' Hemmings said. 'But this is enough to get us started. Thank you for being so frank with me.'
'I hope he runs away when you catch him, so you can shoot the sonofabitch!' she said.
'Maybe we'll get lucky,' Hemmings said.
I shouldn't 't have said that.
'What happens to me now?' Mary Elizabeth Flannery said.
'Well, I guess that's up to the doctor,' Hemmings said. 'He'll probably want you to spend the night here.'
'I don't want to spend the night here,' she said, angrily. 'I want to go home.'
'Well, that's probably your decision…'
'How am I going to get home? I don't have any clothing, my purse…'
'If you'd like me to, Miss Flannery,' Hemmings said, 'I'll be going to your apartment. I could bring you some clothing, and if you can work it out with the doctor, I'd be happy to drive you home. But if you want my advice, I'd stay here, or at least spend the night with your family, or a friend-'
' 'Hello, Daddy, guess what happened to me?''
'I'm sure your father would understand,' Hemmings said.
She snorted.
'What my father would say would be, 'I told you if you insisted on getting an apartment by yourself, something like this would happen.''
'Well, what about a friend?'
'I don't want to have to answer any more questions from anybody,' she said.
'Well, I'll go get you some clothing,' Hemmings said. 'And bring it here. You think about it.'
THREE
As Mickey O'Hara had walked across the fine carpets laid over the marble floor of the lobby of the Bellevue- Stratford Hotel, and then onto South Broad Street, 6.3 miles to the north, where Old York Road cuts into Broad Street at an angle, about a mile south of the city line, the line of traffic headed toward downtown Philadelphia from the north suddenly slowed, taking the driver of a 1971 Buick Super sedan by surprise.
He braked sharply and the nose of the Buick dipped, and there was a squeal from the brakes. The driver of the Mercury in front of him looked back first with alarm, and then with annoyance.
I'm probably a little gassed, the driver of the Buick thought. I'll have to watch myself.
His name was David James Pekach, and he was thirty-two years old. He was five feet nine inches tall, and weighed 143 pounds. He was smooth shaven, but he wore his hair long, parted in the middle, and gathered together in the back in a pigtail held in place by a rubber band. He was wearing a white shirt and a necktie. The shirt was mussed and sweat stained. The jacket of his seersucker suit was on the seat beside him.
The Buick Super was not quite three years old, but the odometer had already turned over at 100,000 miles. The shocks were shot, and so were the brakes. The foam rubber cushion under David James Pekach's rear end had
