Hillary Dirkin

1

April 26 16:03 Hours

26 Windsor Drive Durkin Residence

Hillary Dirkin

1

"Central from Six-three David. Call us ten-nine at twenty-six Windsor Drive. MC followup."

"Ten-four Six-three, David. I'll mark you ten-seven out of service."

Keegs was the first out of the RMP with the clipboard in tow. I kicked open the door and yawned before spitting the tobacco from my mouth. I took a water bottle from the console and took a sip, swirled, and spat.

"Are you clean?" I asked. Keegs put his thumb up above his head as I hurried to him.

Johnny Keegan seemed pretty much immune to everything that happened on the street. He never blinked an eye at shootings, DBs, or critical MVAs. But with kids, he became uneasy. Of course, Keegs dealt with all the trauma by being a sex fiend. That was his vice. But kids were his Achilles' heal, and it showed.

"Hey," I said. "Slow down."

Keegs sighed and huffed. He shook his hands and took a water bottle from his back pocket. Sipping, swirling, and spitting, he put the cap back on and put it in front of the garage door.

"Remind me why we're here again?" he asked. He kept swiping his front teeth with his tongue while drumming his fingers on his thighs.

"My uncle wants to build a stronger case against Ethan Martin. If this girl can give us any more information, we can rattle him into giving up his part in this asshole killer."

I took the clip-box from his hand and waited. He stretched, feeling the satisfying crack in his back, and took a deep breath, inhaling through his nose. After six seconds, he exhaled and turned his head from one shoulder to another. After I heard the crack, I smiled and tapped his arm.

"Let's get this over with, brother," I said.

The walkway stretched the entire right side of the two-story Victorian. A wrap-around porch stretched from right to left with two sets of stairs, one to the front door from the driveway and the other to a path ending at the sidewalk.

At the base of the three front steps, massive ornamental stones made up the walkway toward the sidewalk and to the backyard. The landscaper used bluestem grass, blue beards, forsythias, and hydrangeas to surround the trellis, hiding the foundation.

We walked the steps to the beige-colored Anderson door. I knocked five times as Keegs adjusted his duty belt and fidgeted with his magazine pouch.

A voice yelled out from behind the door, but I couldn't make it out. The sound of footsteps grew louder as we heard the bolt and lock disengage.

As the door swung in, a woman, who appeared to be in her forties, opened the heavy storm door. She had pulled her hair into a loose ponytail, which frizzed at the sides. With her face bare, tired, frightened blue eyes greeted us.

Over her gray sweatpants, which drooped to cover her thick blue socks, hung her Seton Hall sweatshirt. Her exhaustion gave way to an exasperated sigh as she let us inside, keeping us in the foyer.

"What do you need?" she whispered. She smelled like cigarettes, and the wrinkles around her lips and cheeks suggested that her smoking addiction had gone into hyperdrive.

"Ma'am, we just want to ask her some questions about Ethan Martin and her relationship with him."

"Ethan Martin?" she snapped. "He's a piece of shit and should burn for what he's been doing. Freaking big-time baseball player, blue-chipper, or some shit. And he keeps getting away with it because everyone's pushing it under the rug. It's a freaking disgrace."

"That's why we're here," I whispered. I showed Mrs. Durkin my palms and lowered them, signaling her to take a deep breath. I couldn't tell her what happened and what we had on Ethan Martin. If it got back to his parents, they could go on the offensive and interfere with our investigation. So I needed to keep my shit wired tight and not divulge too much information but get what I needed from Hillary.

"His name came up in a different investigation, and we just need to ask Hillary a few questions, and we'll be gone. I promise."

2

Hillary Durkin lay curled up in a black and white comforter. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Her left forearm, which had white gauze bandages on the bottom and top, held the blanket up to her chin.

"Sweetie," said Mrs. Durkin. "The police need to ask you some questions. They won't be long, okay?"

Hillary recoiled, pulling the blanket over her nose. Her forehead was pale, and her knuckles turned white from her grip.

"No, no, sweetheart," said Keegs. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You're safe with us. I promise."

Mrs. Durkin hurried to her and picked up the pillows that Hillary laid on. She sat beneath them to rest her head on her mother's lap. Mrs. Durkin shushed her and stroked her hair and ear.

"Shh," she said. "Sweetie, these are the good guys. Answer their questions, and then you can rest."

I kneeled at the side of the couch, propping my forearms against my thighs. To ensure I didn't come across as intimidating, I tried to adopt a relaxed posture and friendly tone to establish a sense of equality. I smiled and tilted my head.

"If it's okay with you, I want to ask you about Ethan Martin and if you know him."

Hillary relaxed her grip and dropped the comforter below her nose. Even with the mental sickness and terror she was experiencing, she was still a beautiful young lady, which meant she was popular and knew the answer to the questions I needed to ask.

"Did he ever text you about a meeting at the Mill Pond Commuter platform?"

She nodded as she readjusted her head against her mom. It no longer rested on her lap, but Hillary leaned on Mrs. Durkin's shoulder.

"Yeah, for one of his freaking raves. Accept that night. He wanted us to meet him at the Eighty-eight and then go to the rave."

Hillary dropped the comforter below her chin, revealing clenched teeth and tight lips.

"When you say us, do you mean Casey and Jasmine?"

"Yes. He had a thing for Jasmine and wanted to get into her pants something fierce. We all knew it. She basically threw herself at him, flirted, showed him her low-cut blouse, and made it known she wasn't wearing a bra. They were making out pretty hard behind the dugout, and she flipped out on him."

"Flipped out? Do you know why?"

"Yeah. Ethan was all up inside of her when she started screaming about—"

In an instant, the pitch of her voice changed, and her eyes flashed. Her pupils widened as her cheeks drew back toward her ears. The comforter was back at her eyes, and she turned and buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

"It was that freaking demon. The one we conjured in the Asylum's embalming room, Melech Balahot. He tormented Jasmine all week, telling her he was going to sacrifice her. Jazzy even went to confession that night before we got Ethan's text."

She looked at her mother as Mrs. Durkin put her palms against Hillary's cheeks, tears filling her eyes. I looked up at Keegs, who stood motionless. His stare was blank, and his eyes fixed on the girl and her mother.

Neither of us believed in all that superstitious hocus pocus crap, but Hillary did, hence the psychiatric evaluations. And somehow, it's been maddening her.

"I'm so sorry, Mom, but we left her there. It was Casey's idea. She envied Jasmine and told Ethan that she would be a much better lay than a virgin. So we got in the car and went to meet everyone at the platform."

Hillary wept and sobbed as she clung to her mother and climbed up on her lap.

I looked at Mrs. Durkin, who tried to comfort her by shushing and holding her as tight as possible. I put my hands in the air, letting her know I wouldn't push it any farther, but she nodded.

"Hillary, honey. You need to tell the corporal the rest. Be strong right now. He's going to make everyone pay for what happened."

I settled back in when Hillary pushed the comforter aside and stretched her hand toward me, her fingers wide open. I looked at Keegs, who nodded for me to reach back. As I inched nearer and with gentleness, I made palm-to-palm contact. But when she felt my touch, she squeezed my fingers tight.

"I drove Casey's car to the platform," she said, "while she gave Ethan a blowjob in the back seat. And when we got there, the place was mobbed."

"Oh, Hillary," said her mom. "Why would you—"

Mrs. Durkin raised her eyes and sighed. With her mouth open, she shook her head, her face clenched as if ready to cry.

"It's okay," I said. Her mom would have to deal with this later. I need to keep Hillary focused. "Thank you for telling me that. I know this is beyond hard for you."

Hillary grasped my wrist and pulled me closer to them. I leaned over and readjusted so I could accommodate her.

"Sweetheart, did you cross the tracks at any time and go into the woods off the access road?"

She sobbed so hard that when she tried to speak, she got out one word, followed by crying, then another two. She had devolved into a panic, and whatever she wanted to tell me, she fought back.

"Listen, Hillary. I'm here for you. But if you need me to come back, I will. I know how you feel, trust me. Our circumstances are different, but the emotions are very similar."

Hillary lifted her head from her mom's chest and sniffled as she twitched from the emotional surge of fear and panic. Her hand slid to my elbow, and I moved as close as possible.

"What happened to you?"

"I was a combat Marine in Afghanistan. And we came upon an honor killing. The Taliban had buried a girl in the ground up to her neck and were stoning her to death. We broke our tasking and killed every one of them. And I lost one of my best friends. But I think about her every night, and sometimes I can't unsee what they did to her and what we did to them."

"That's what's happening to me," she stuttered. "Ethan gave me something to drink, and I blacked out and got weak. The next thing I remember, he was behind me and had my skirt pulled up and my panties around my knee, and he did it to me...And Casey saw it and hit him in the head with a stick."

My mind flashed like a wild animal, restrained but seething with intensity. I tried but failed to show my rage. I bared my gritted teeth. But as Hillary looked into my eyes, our realities collided, and we found comfort in each other.

"Do you know what happened to your cousin?"

"All I remember is that she yelled at him. Something about Ethan already screwing Casey and Jasmine and threatening to tell what he did. He tried to talk to her and followed her down the trail. That's the last I saw of her."

She leaned back against her mom, who enveloped her head and chest in a strong and warm embrace. She kissed Hillary's forehead as I still held her hand. Hillary's face relaxed, and she gave me a smile as her eyes slow to close.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

She opened her eyes and let go of my hand, cuddling up into her blanket. She snuggled into her mother and breathed out.

"I feel good. Thank you so much." While the tears still fell, she looked up at her mom and hugged her back. "Mom," she stammered. "I'm ready to make my confession."

"Okay, honey, but let's take some time for you to rest."

"Confession? Do you go to Saint Gabriel's?" I asked. Her mother squinted as she turned her head with a quizzical stare.

"We've been going there for a while," said Mrs. Durkin. "Is something wrong?"

"The new priest there hears the confessions of all the students at Saint Gabriel's," said Hillary. "He's weird, but he's nice."