The Driving Passion Murders Read online

  The Driving Passion Murders

  Published by Penn Oak Publishing

  Copyright © Gene Epstein 2020

  All rights reserved

  Cover design: The Steve Williams Design Office

  Edited by Alan Grayce

  Author photograph by Marlene Epstein

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording by any information storage retrieval system without permission in writing from the author.

  Acceptance of this book constitutes agreement with the term and conditions set forth herewith:

  The author assumes no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or damages to any persons, organizations or place resulting thereby from the contents within. Names have been changed to protect identities. Any names relating to living or deceased people or companies are purely coincidental. Any errors contained within are purely unintended. The acceptance of this book releases the author and all persons involved in this book from liability.

  IN NO EVENT SHALL THE AUTHOR NOR PERSONS INVOLVED IN THIS BOOK BE LIABLE FOR ANY DAMAGES WHETHER DIRECT OR INDIRECT, OR INCIDENTAL OR CONSEQUENTIAL, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO LOSS OF REVENUE.

  Also by Gene Epstein

  Lemon Juice: The Confessions of a

  Used Car Dealer–a Metamorphosis

  Dying for an Heir

  I wish to dedicate this book to the love of my life

  since she was 15 years old and I was 16 years old,

  my wife Marlene; without her I could not exist.

  Prologue

  On a delightful spring day, Robert Snyder was admiring beautifully restored classic cars adjacent to the Philadelphia Art Museum. He thought about his teenaged years when he worked with automobiles like these. But, after acting school, his only somewhat successful job was the lead role as the murderer in an off-Broadway play, which closed after a mere few weeks run. He thought to himself: How did I ever get myself involved in multiple murders? Was this déjà vu?

  Chapter 1

  It was just a few days since the world news focused on the failed rescue attempt of 52 United States Embassy hostages held in Tehran that resulted in the deaths of eight U.S. servicemen but here on a bright sunny day in Center City Philadelphia the concentration was on the Grand Philadelphia Antique and Classic Automobile Show.

  Many years had passed since Robert had driven a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible. It seemed like it was a lifetime ago. His dreams as a teenager were caught up with reality and were never realized. Here he was, getting a firsthand look at one of his dreams that went down the proverbial toilet. This was Robert’s first visit to the Grand Philadelphia Antique and Classic Automobile Show. For several years he had noticed the publicity for the automobile show in Fairmount Park adjoining the Museum of Art but this was the only time that he was interested enough to attend, never thinking in his wildest dreams that it would lead to multiple murders.

  There were well over 100 magnificent automobiles lined up in perfect rows with their proud owners busy in conversation with other enthusiasts. He was drawn to the row of the 1950 cars as his mind temporarily drifted back to his

  16th birthday. Donald, his eldest brother, had prepared him for his driver’s test however, their parents wouldn't let Robert take the family Buick Roadmaster for the road test. They did not believe he was capable of driving at the young age of 16, never telling him what age he would have to be to gain permission to drive the family's car, except constantly being told “older.”

  That's when Robert first called his uncle Al Goodson. He was his mother’s brother and always liked Robert who he also called “Bob” or “Robert.” He told Bob that he would help him get his first car since he owned a used car lot on Dealers Row on Broad Street in North Philadelphia.

  Robert asked him if he could borrow any car so that he could at least pass his driver’s test. Uncle Al told Bob to come to his car lot after school and he would have his porter, Arnold, take him for his driver’s license exam in one of his cars.

  “If you pass your test the first time, I'll give you a part-time job here after school and on the weekends, Robert,” Uncle Al said. Robert was thrilled. Al instructed Arnold, his tall, stately African-American porter about 30 years of age to take the 1952 Chevrolet out of stock. "It's got automatic transmission, Robert, so you'll have no problem driving it,” Al said as he patted Bob on the back. “Thanks, Uncle Al. This means so much to me. I'll be very careful,” he said with sincere gratitude.

  Uncle Al wanted Arnold to sit next to Robert on the drive to the state police barracks so that he could help him get used to the car. After only a few minutes of driving, Bob took to it like his first experience on a bicycle. It was so much smaller than the family Roadmaster and the Powerglide automatic transmission was perfect for a beginner. Robert was in a cold sweat. His hands were shaking, but 15 minutes later it was like "old hat.” Less than two hours later he had completed the examination and had passed with flying colors. Robert jumped for joy after the police officer placed the “PASSED” stamp on his learner’s permit. So excited, Robert hugged Arnold. Arnold looked astonished with his eyes wide open. “Don't you do that to me again. No! No! Don't do that again. What do you think I am? Queer?” Robert was laughing at him with his surprised look. “Sorry, Arnold. I was just so happy that I passed the test the first time. Thank you so much for helping me,” he said and looked relieved.

  Once back at the car lot Uncle Al was happy to learn that Bob had passed his road test, “Just be here on time after school and I'll pay you minimum wage. Arnold will teach you how to make a piece of shit look like a diamond, "Al remarked.

  “Uncle Al, I don't know how long it will take me to get here after school. I have to take the bus and then the subway then walk three blocks, but I'll get here as quickly as possible,” he replied to Uncle Al.

  “Don't worry Robert,” Uncle Al said, “here's the keys and the owner’s card. You drive it carefully and it's yours as long as you work here.” Al said. "Don't screw up or you'll be walking rather than driving and you’ll be out of work.” He finished his commands as he smiled and handed Robert the keys.

  “She's been restored to better than original condition. Each nut and bolt has been replaced from the ground up,” said the owner of the ‘57 Chevy Bel Air that Robert was looking at.

  He looked at the man with glassy eyes thinking about his aspirations as a youth which were never fulfilled.

  ***

  Robert was the envy of most of the kids in his class to be driving a 1952 Chevy. Not that it was a flashy car. It was just plain as it could be; however, it was a car. Transportation...Freedom...Only a few of his classmates had cars back then. At home, they were borrowed from their parents for an occasional ride to school. Only one other kid took a car on a regular basis, Tom Eckinger. And he had the car that everyone dreamed about: a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible that was silver-gray with red vinyl and silver interior like this one at the car show that he was admiring. It was a gift from his wealthy parents. When he drove the car to school, everyone flocked to see him. Every kid had dreamed of owning a car like this.

  “I never had a car like this when I was younger. It took me four years to get this together and a whole lotta money,” mentioned the proud owner. "You won't find a better one anywhere,” he continued as Robert looked into the rear seat of the car.

  One Friday, after working at Al’s Autorama for six weeks and doing a good job compounding and waxing the cars, Al had handed Robert his pay envelope. It was heavier than usual: inside were the keys to a ’57 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible.

  “You can use this tonight but it better g
et back here safe and sound if you ever want another chance to use it,” Al commanded.

  That evening Robert had a date with Joyce Anderson, a girl that he met in the school lunchroom. Joyce was a pretty girl with blond hair and blue eyes and was about 5' 3" tall. They liked each other from the first time they met standing in line waiting for lunch. From that time in the ninth grade through most of high school they were great friends and lovers.

  At a park in the Chestnut Hill area named by both young and old as “Lover’s Lane,” Robert had driven his car down the gravel road leading from the park’s split-rail entrance through some brush to find a place off the beaten path.

  “Robert don't do that to me. Not here where someone can look in.” Joyce cried out when they were making out in the backseat of the '57 Chevy.

  ***

  “I bet many lovers used that seat over the years,” the owner at the car show chirped.

  “I'm sure they did,” Robert replied as he snapped back to reality, coming back from the 50s. He walked to the next row of cars leaving the owner of the Chevy with his dreams until another memory hit him.

  There it was… A gorgeous 1955 Jaguar Roadster displayed in handsome British racing green with a tan top and Bridge Weir tan leather seats. Years before that car was one of his Uncle Al's favorite. Robert was not even permitted to take Al's Jaguar Roadster to the gas station. Neither was Arnold. Every week Robert would wash the Jaguar thoroughly and apply another coat of wax, hand rubbed and polished even though it was spotless. The dashboard was replete with handsome walnut wood in which the gauges where inset. The car that Robert was looking at was every bit as nice as his Uncle Al’s.

  ***

  “Are you working or not, Robert?” Al startled him.

  While Robert was applying leather conditioner to the seats, his mind drifted as he ruminated about being a movie star. Since being in a class play in junior high school, he had aspirations of being an actor. He got plenty of help watching his uncle Al come up with far-fetched stories when he sold his used cars. He was one of the few boys to take drama in high school and sought to continue in college. He thought someday he would be a famous actor.

  The first summer working for Al went by quickly. He looked forward to working there the following summer while just managing to get passing grades at high school over the fall and winter. As the next summer approached he knew that in order to be accepted to college he would have to take additional courses in summer school to make up for his barely passing grades. Somehow, he managed a schedule with Al that still enabled him to work a full week at the car lot while attending early classes at summer school, which significantly increased his grades. Al was glad to see his nephew work hard at the car lot and do so well in school that he sold a 1949 Ford two-door coupe with a V-8 engine (that Al was asking $200 for) to Robert for only $50.

  Robert, as most youths entering college, was uncertain what he would major in. A liberal arts track was the first step towards figuring out whether to become a lawyer —which meant extending his college education by years—or taking classes in drama. After being accepted to Temple University, Robert thought that he would love to be in the theatre; however, it made more sense to pursue law and eventually become a prosecutor or a criminal defense lawyer. He finished his academic studies near the top of his class and entered law school but then totally changed direction. Robert could never stop dreaming of becoming a famous actor and he dropped out of law school after his first year.

  He then attended drama classes, which was a thrill of a lifetime for him. He paid more attention to all his instructors than ever before. This would be the threshold over which he had to pass to become a noted actor.

  ***

  Robert's eyes opened wide as a 1954 Cadillac Eldorado convertible came through the entrance gates and parked in a line of prestige automobiles. Its white finish blend and tons of chrome sparkled in the sun showing off its massive front grille with bullets protruding like ramming rods. He walked up to get a closer look at the car as he peered through the driver’s door only to hear: "Please sir,” the owner’s voice crackled, “don’t touch the car! See the sign,” he said, pointing to a very conspicuous sign.

  “She’s a one-owner with 35,000 original miles. You'll never find another one like her anywhere in the country.”

  Thoughts of which just had raced through Robert’s mind.

  “This was the finest Cadillac ever built. A real trouble-free car.”

  “Yes I know,” Robert said as he continued walking on.

  “Bob. Bob Snyder. Is that you?” a female voice rang out. He turned around and hesitated at first looking into a crowd of people and manage to see a familiar face.

  “Mandy. Mandy Roberson? I can't believe it’s you! After all these years!” He reached out for her with open arms as they embraced. “Your perm threw me off.”

  “And you? When did this hippie ever go around wearing a smart suit? You were always wearing torn jeans and hair down to your shoulders,” Mandy reacted.

  “Look at you. Your sculptured face still would make a Greek goddess jealous,” he said, looking at this woman who he had loved. “How are you, Mandy? It's been so long.”

  “First of all, I'm no longer Mandy Roberson. I am Amanda Dillington.” She hesitated. “It's been a lifetime ago since our days at Temple. Who would ever have expected Robert Snyder to be the bon vivant looking and dressing like a self-made millionaire? What have you been doing for the past 20 years?”

  “Let's grab a dog and a Coke like the good old days,” he said and reached for her outstretched hand as they walked over to a nearby vendor. “Two hotdogs with extra sauerkraut,” he ordered. When he got the order, he put on a heavy coat of mustard and handed one to Mandy. The two of them set down on the Victorian style wooden slatted bench and immersed themselves in conversation covering the past 20 years. Robert had very little to recap since his life had been pretty much uneventful.

  Mandy had realized very shortly that Robert's ambitions were never realized and that he went through many periods of desperation, misery, and a definite lack of accomplishments. The only thing Amanda could ascertain that Robert had going for him lately, was a job at his uncle Al’s car lot polishing cars.

  She, on the other hand, had dropped out of drama class and had plunged head-on into a law career. She subsequently became an assistant district attorney in Philadelphia prosecuting trials of many headline cases. It was in her first year in the DAs office where she met the man she would ultimately marry, Clarkson Dillington III, who had recently been killed in an automobile accident.

  They discussed the times when they both were hippies and going through a hot and heavy courtship. They thought that they held the answers to all the world’s problems. Drugs were the scene, however, neither of them ventured into anything more powerful than marijuana during their ‘flower child’ period.

  Robert’s mind quickly focused on one particularly enjoyable day having sex with Mandy in a vacant second-floor classroom at Temple. They both had the same finance class; however, for some reason, the professor only showed for the first day of the semester. All the students in the class were told to read their books and they could be assured of getting a B. The teacher never returned, thus the classroom was virtually empty as the other students relaxed around Mitten Hall.

  One morning after having breakfast on campus Robert became completely aroused when Mandy gave him her most passionate kiss. Instead of going to Mitten Hall with the other students, Robert suggested that they both meet at the empty classroom. He arrived just moments before Mandy and had already lit up a joint. He was inhaling a few drags when Mandy entered. He had an erection which was throbbing in his pants. This was obvious to Mandy as she reached down and unzipped his fly. She took a third hit on the joint and as she did, Robert pulled her to the floor and reached beneath her skirt to find that she had been wearing nothing else. Both of them stripped off their clothes and Robert inserted himself deep into her as they both let out passionate
screams as they were reaching an erotic climax.

  Once finished, finding himself still erect and Mandy wanting more, he guided her on to the teacher’s desk where they had sexual intercourse again. Mandy’s erotic screaming caused someone to try to enter the classroom but Robert had locked it from the inside. Mandy looked frightened; however, that quickly wore off when Robert yelled to whoever was on the other end of the door, ”Class is closed; get the fuck out.”

  She said that she was worried, but Robert said to her “Who gives a shit?“

  A few minutes later both had put their clothes back on and unlocked the classroom door to find ten students standing there waiting for the next class. They looked at each other and laughed.

  The noise of a car door slamming brought Robert back to the present. He took Amanda by the hand like an old buddy and walked her through the lanes of cars.

  "They were great times. Weren't they? "Robert asked of Mandy.

  “Times change,” she replied. “You know nothing stays the same. Are you married?”

  “No. Not even going with anyone,” he answered.

  After looking at dozens of other automobiles they both seemed lost for words and less interested in the automobiles that they came to see. Their worlds were diametrically opposed. From a beautiful sunny day the first Sunday in May, the skies turned quickly to grey with one or two ominous clouds approaching fast. All eyes were on the sky as car owners rushed to protect their ‘gems’ with various covers while the public scattered to get out of the rain.

  Robert and Amanda looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders as if to ask, “Are you going?”

  Just when Robert thought she was looking to leave, she said “Come on, we can get shelter at my place and I’ll even prepare dinner. I live at 1700 Rittenhouse Place. We can be there before the storm hits.” Amanda told him where her car was parked and that he could follow since she had valet parking on site.