My Lost Daughter (22 page)

“You know I'd never do that. Look, this place gives me the creeps. Since we're not going to call the cops, let's get your stuff together and split.”

Shana found a cloth laundry bag in a corner, then began filling it with jeans, T-shirts, blouses, underwear, and several pairs of shoes. After dragging the bag into the living room, she told Jennifer that there might be some empty boxes in the garage. “I want to take as much as I can. I don't want to come back here tomorrow.”

Before they went to get the boxes, Shana picked up the phone and dialed the number for her father's voice mail, wanting to see if he had received her messages. She listened to two calls from people inquiring about various real estate properties, then heard a male voice identifying himself as Detective Mark Osborne, asking that her father contact him immediately. According to the recording, the call had come in Friday night.

Quickly checking her own voice mail, Shana discovered that Detective Hope Carruthers had left a message on her phone that morning as well. She rushed into the other room, finding Jennifer stacking some of her schoolbooks by the front door. “Th-that guy . . .” she stammered. “The one my father hit with the car . . . Antonio Vasquez . . . he was in one of our classes.”

“Which class?”

“Philosophy 101.”

“I don't remember him, but it's a gigantic class.”

Shana wasn't aware that she was holding a tennis shoe in her hand. “The police asked me if he was in any of my classes. They thought I'd been dating him, that we got into a fight and it was me instead of my dad who was driving that night. This is all because I let my dad drive my car.”

“From the way it looks,” Jennifer said, walking over and hugging her, “the police have already picked up your father. You have to stop freaking out. The world isn't coming to an end, Shana. You've always been tough. I'm the whiner, remember?” She pried the tennis shoe out of her hand, setting it down on the table beside the phone.

“No,” Shana said, crying now, “don't you understand? My dad was going to leave me here to take the blame. He's probably left town. I started to feel sorry for him. I tried to call him, see him, tell him I loved him. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't even care if they arrest me.”

“Come on now. Get it together so we can get out of here. Where's the door to the garage?”

“Outside,” Shana told her, heading toward the front door.

“I can't believe you don't have a garage door opener,” Jennifer said, straining as she tried to lift the heavy door.

“This is an old place.”

“Something stinks. Can you smell it?”

Shana caught a whiff of something unpleasant. “It's probably fertilizer. The lady that lives next door is out here every day, planting and snipping.”

Both girls jumped when Hope Carruthers walked up behind them. By the time the detective had determined that John Forrester wasn't inside the residence, Osborne and the patrol unit had arrived. A Frenchwoman had once told Hope that her highly refined sense of smell could earn her a great deal of money in the perfume industry. But what she smelled inside the garage was far from fragrant. It was the unmistakable odor of death.

“Let's talk over here,” she said, anxiously leading Shana and her friend to the street.

“Are you two girls going somewhere?” Osborne asked, the two uniformed officers taking up positions on either side of the two young women.

“I'm just moving some of my clothes out,” Shana told them. “I didn't get the message that you wanted to talk to me until I came home about an hour ago. I've been staying with my mother in Santa Barbara. I have no idea where my father went.”

Advising the patrol officers to detain the girls on the opposite side of the house, the detectives returned to the garage. Hope flicked on her flashlight, seeing several pools of what appeared to be blood. “Get the crime scene unit and more officers out here.” She panned the walls and spotted what appeared to be bloody handprints on the wall near the light switch. “There's a dead body in here somewhere.”

Osborne asked, “What about the girls?”

“I didn't see any blood on the girls' clothing. Check them again. If they look clean, get them out of here. We have to find the body.”

“I'll have one of the patrol units take the Forrester girl to the station and stash her somewhere. Should we take her friend into custody as well?”

“It's your call,” Hope told him. “I think she was just helping Shana move her things.”

A short time later, an officer jotted down Jennifer's name, address, and driver's license number and sent her on her way. He waited until the girl drove away to tell Shana that Detective Osborne had instructed him to take her to the station.

Shana was terrified, her back ramrod straight and her arms rigid at her sides as she stared into the open garage. She resisted when the officer tried to get her into the backseat of the patrol car.

“I'm going to have to handcuff you if you keep fighting me,” the officer told her, placing his hand on top of her head as he helped her into the car.

Shana stared at the screen separating her from the police officer. She felt like a stray dog en route to the pound, caged and panicked. Peering out the rear window, she saw several more police units and a white van pulling up in front of the duplex. She began gasping for air; certain now that the putrid odor her friend had smelled had not been fertilizer. Unable to accept what her reason was telling her, she fainted, her head striking the back of the seat with a thud.

MONDAY, JANUARY 18
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

Lily was in her chambers waiting for Richard Fowler. She had asked him to approach the bench for a sidebar while they were in session, whispering that she wanted to see him in her chambers during the morning recess. Richard must have assumed it had something to do with the case and was taking his time merely to annoy her.

“Mr. Fowler is here to see you,” Jeannie said over the intercom.

“Send him in.”

“What did I do wrong, Your Highness?” he said, walking over and flopping down in a chair in front of her desk. “Silverstein's opening statement was seriously over the line and you know it. He practically convicted my client with outrageous accusations and speculations and you sat there and let him get away with it.”

“Your client is guilty,” Lily told him. “And don't give me a speech about due process. I didn't call you in here to talk about the case. Shana's in a mental hospital.”

Fowler looked shocked. “When did this happen?”

“She stopped answering her phone so I flew up there Friday night. She told me she hadn't been sleeping, that a girl was raped
in her apartment building, and that she wanted to drop out of school. Oh, she's also decided she doesn't want to be an attorney.”

“I agree on the last part,” Fowler told her. “I hate this job. If I hadn't lost a bundle in the stock market, I'd try to find another way to earn a living. Defending scumbags is not the way I want to spend my days.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Isn't Shana at Stanford?”

“Yes, this is her last year. Or it would have been her last year. I don't know what to do, Rich. She's . . . God, I still don't believe it. She's addicted to meth.”

His jaw dropped. “That's one hell of a nasty drug for such a bright woman.”

“She has open sores all over her body,” Lily told him, forcing back tears. “I couldn't believe it when I saw the picture.”

“What picture?”

“She admitted herself, Richard. She looked thin when I saw her, but without her clothes on, she was emaciated. I don't know what to do. Has Greg ever had a problem with drugs?”

“He's a surfer, remember? He starts smoking marijuana as soon as he rolls out of bed every day. He calls it wake and bake. It's never interfered with his work, though. He's a marine biologist now and involved in some enthralling research.” Fowler held up a palm. “Let's backtrack. You never answered my question. Who showed you this picture of Shana?”

“The hospital administrator.”

“What's the name of this hospital? Is it here in Ventura?”

“No,” Lily told him. “It's about twenty miles from Palo Alto, just on the outskirts of San Francisco. I found it on the Internet and it looked like a pretty good place. They told me Shana didn't want to see me or speak to me. She was furious that I brought her there. I tricked her into thinking we were going to a restaurant.”

“Wait a minute. Didn't you just tell me she admitted herself?”

“She did, but after I took her to the hospital. She was acting crazy, Richard. Her place was a pigsty and all she was eating was
fast food. A girl was raped in her apartment complex and she was terrified she'd be his next victim.”

“That's understandable with her history.”

“I realize that,” Lily told him, her voice rising. “But she wasn't sleeping. She wouldn't even sleep in her bed. She sat on the sofa all night staring at the door. She kept a hammer tucked into the cushions so she could bash the rapist over the head.”

Fowler crossed his long legs. “I hate to say this, Lily, but nothing you've told me so far sounds crazy. The meth thing, well, that's serious. I'm surprised she admitted herself. Most addicts would rather die than intentionally put themselves in a place where they didn't have access to drugs.”

“I don't think she'd gone that far down,” Lily said, praying she was right. “Maybe she wanted help. Her boyfriend broke up with her, which was devastating. She thought the guy was still going to marry her. Shana admitted he hadn't called or seen her for three weeks and she'd deluded herself into believing he was coming back and would proceed with their plans to get married.”

“Slow down,” he said, a concerned look on his face. “You're talking ninety miles an hour. What caused the breakup?”

“Another girl.” She stopped and sucked in oxygen. “I guess he was sleeping with her. You know . . . the new girlfriend. Shana said his infidelity didn't mean anything, that the girl was nothing more than a fuck.”

“She was probably right.”

Lily's eyes narrowed. “Well, you would know.”

“You sure haven't changed.”

“I doubt if you have, either.”

Fowler stood. “If you brought me in here to fight, I'm leaving.”

“I'm sorry, okay? I'm under a lot of stress right now.” She placed her hand over her chest. Acid was bubbling back in her throat and the awful taste filled her mouth. “Anyway, now that I know about the drugs, I'm wondering if the boyfriend was her supplier.”

“Listen, Lily,” he said. “Shana is a terrific girl. She's been through
some horrendous experiences. And law school isn't as easy as people think, particularly a high-ranking school such as Stanford. Drugs are readily available in every college in the country. Drug dealers even peddle that shit in elementary schools these days. Shana did the right thing by admitting herself into rehab. People get sick. I doubt if it will show up on her record as long as you provide documentation. Voluntarily entering rehab means she wants to get straight. So what if she messes up a semester? She can make it up next year.”

“I'm not sure she wants to,” Lily told him, bracing her head with her hand.

“That's just the drugs talking.” He repositioned himself in the chair. “In addition to child killers, I also represent drug dealers, so I know. I won't even see them until they get clean. I know you must be upset and disappointed, but everything will work out.” He glanced at his watch. “It's time to go back to work, Lily. My adorable client is probably wondering what happened to me.” He paused and then added, “I'm curious, why did you come to me with this? Rumor has is that you're involved with Christopher Rendell. I hear he's a fantastic listener. Why didn't you make him your sounding board?”

“Greg and Shana used to be close, remember?” She jotted down the phone number to Whitehall. “Maybe he can call and find out how she's doing. Not today, of course, because she's probably still going through detox. Ask him to call her later on in the week. I have no idea how long it takes to get that stuff out of her system.”

“Greg will be happy to call her,” Richard said, walking over and picking up the paper off the edge of Lily's desk. Instead of leaving, he just stood there and stared at her, his eyes filled with longing. “I still love you, you know. I always will. And you're still beautiful. You haven't aged a day since I last saw you.”

Lily's face flushed with embarrassment. “If you think I called you in here to start something, Richard, you're wrong. I'm in love with Chris. We get along great. Outside of Shana, I'm really happy right now. He asked me to marry him and I accepted.”

Fowler ran his hands through his dark hair, now laced with gray. “Jesus, woman, you're getting married again? I thought this time you'd stay single for a while, have a little fun, maybe enjoy your independence.”

“You got married,” she snapped. “Not that marriage matters to you. I assume your little blond co-counsel is your latest conquest? How old is she? She looks young enough to be your daughter.”

“I planned on getting married a few years back, but I realized she wasn't the right woman so I bailed. And Beth Wiseman is my partner's daughter. If I even looked at her the wrong way, Mike would rip my head off. I don't date young women anymore, Lily. I don't have anything in common with them.”

“Now I'm late.” She stood and threw on her robe. If she wasn't careful, her tardiness would get back to Hennessey.