Maria Eftimiades - Lethal Lolita: A True Story of Sex, Scandal, and Deadly Obsession

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Contents

Id like to talk to you about your husband Joey.

Mary Jo stepped outside, curious. She perched on one side of the wooden railing. Amy, on the opposite rail, sat a few feet away. In the marina behind the house, light waves on the bay rippled softly as a boat cruised by.

Whats this about? Mary Jo asked.

Its not every day that I confront a wife, Amy began, but your husband, Joey, is having an affair with my sixteen-year-old sister.

Mary Jo was taken aback. Really? she said.

Look, Amy said, I have proof. She held up the T-shirt in her left hand. It bore the logo of Joeys auto body shop.

Mary Jo shrugged. Joey gives these shirts to a lot of people, she said, standing up. That doesnt prove anything. Listen, Im going to go in and call Joey now. Thanks for coming by to see me. She turned and reached for the door handle.

It was not the reaction Amy Fisher had expected. Suddenly fury engulfed the young girl. Withdrawing the automatic pistol hidden deep inside her pants pocket, Amy raised it to eye level, and pointed it at Mary Jos right temple. Then she pulled the trigger.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks to People managing editor Landon Y. Jones and chief of reporters Nancy P. Williamson for their patience and support. Also, I owe a debt of gratitude to my editor Charles Spicer and his assistant, Liz Weinstock, St. Martins managing editor John Rounds, my agent Jane Dystel, and People writer Joe Treen.

Chapter One

The 1983 maroon Thunderbird pulled up in front of a white, split-level house next to South Oyster Bay in Massapequa, Long Island. The driver killed the engine and paused, his hands clenching the steering wheel. It was just after 11:30 A.M .

Wait here, Amy Fisher said to him. Ill be back.

The high school senior gathered what she neededa white extra large T-shirt and a .25-caliber Titan. She walked up the driveway and slowly climbed the two front steps. The driver sat motionless in the car, wondering what was going to happen.

The sun poked in and out of the clouds. The promise of hot days was near. It was May 19just six weeks before Amys graduation on the football field of John F. Kennedy High School. A summer of beach parties. College in the fall. It should have been an auspicious time for pretty Amy Fisher, the daughter of a prosperous family from nearby Merrick, Long Island.

But Amy Fisher stood on that front stoop, alone with a haunted past and wrenching secrets. She was a desperate young girl on a deadly mission. In a short time all the pain of the last year would climax in a fury she could not control. In an instant the teenager would shatter two families and expose her formidable secrets to the world.

Mary Jo Buttafuoco knew nothing about this slight, unsmiling girl wearing loose-fitting pants and an oversize shirt, her auburn hair tucked inside a baseball cap. The slender blond housewife had been painting lawn furniture on the back deck when she heard the bell. Her husband, Joey, was working at his fathers repair shop, Complete Auto Body, in nearby Baldwin. Her children, Paul, twelve, and Jessica, nine, were in school.

Mary Jo wiped her hands on a towel, walked through the house, and opened the screen door a crack.

Hello, she said. Can I help you?

Are you Mrs. Joseph Buttafuoco?

Yes.

Id like to talk to you about your husband, Joey.

Mary Jo stepped outside, curious. She perched on one side of the wooden railing. Amy, on the opposite rail, sat a few feet away. In the marina behind the house, light waves on the bay rippled softly as a boat cruised by.

Whats this about? Mary Jo asked.

Its not every day that I confront a wife, Amy began, but your husband, Joey, is having an affair with my sixteen-year-old sister.

Mary Jo was taken aback. She started to speak, then paused to regain her composure. After all, she did not know this young girl, and she wasnt about to get into a confrontation on her front stoop. Her marriage had had its share of ups and downs in the last seventeen years, but her Joey and a teenage girl? It seemed impossible.

Really? she said.

I think the idea of a forty-year-old man sleeping with a sixteen-year-old is disgusting, Amy continued.

Mary Jo smiled. Well, she said, hes not forty years old yet.

Now it was Amys turn to be surprised. Where was the shock, the anger, the sense of betrayal shed been expecting from Mary Jo Buttafuoco? Amy shifted on the rail and clutched the T-shirt tighter. She didnt know what to say.

Mary Jo seized control of the conversation. Whats your name? she asked.

Ann Marie, said Amy, using the name of a friend.

Where do you live, Ann Marie?

Over in Bar Harbor, Amy replied, waving her hand.

Honey, Bar Harbor is in the opposite direction. Whats this about? Where do you really live?

I live on Dolphin Court, Amy said, naming a street just blocks from Berkley Lane, where she lived with her parents.

Mary Jos questions continued. Whos that with you in the car? she asked, motioning to the Thunderbird.

My boyfriend.

At this point Mary Jos patience was wearing thin. What are you trying to pull here? she asked, her voice beginning to tighten with anger.

Your husband is having an affair with my little sister, Amy replied earnestly. Look, I have proof.

She held up the T-shirt in her left hand. On the front and back was a small yellow racing car and the logo COMPLETE AUTO BODY AND FENDER INC .

Mary Jo reached out and took the shirt. She unfolded the tag in the collar, checking the size. She shrugged. Joey gives these shirts to a lot of people, she said, standing up. That doesnt prove anything. Listen, Im going to go in and call Joey now. Thanks for coming by to see me. She turned and reached for the door handle.

It was not the reaction Amy Fisher had expected, and the teenager was bewildered. This woman was dismissing herignoring her charge and walking away. True, the story was not quite accurate. Amy Fisher did not have a sister; she was an only child. There was no Ann Marie on Dolphin Court. It was she, Amy, who had been having the affair with Joseph Buttafuoco. It didnt matter. Mary Jo had tossed off the allegation with aplomb.

Fury engulfed the young girl, and she reacted with meteoric speed. Withdrawing the automatic pistol hidden deep inside her pants pocket, Amy raised it to eye level and pointed it at Mary Jos right temple. She pulled the trigger.

The bullet entered Mary Jo Buttafuocos head above her right ear, shattering her jaw and severing the carotid artery. It ripped through her eardrum and came to rest at the base of her brain, behind her right ear, just an inch from her spinal column. In her last seconds of consciousness, as she fell to the pavement, blood streaming from her head, Mary Jo thought, Shit. The little bitch got me.

Later, when police picked Amy up for questioning, the teenager would contend that the shooting had been an accidentin anger, shed struck Mary Jo on the side of the head and the gun fired unexpectedly. But Mary Jo would insist that she was never hit. The first and only thing she felt was a bullet exploding into her head.