My Lost Daughter (38 page)

Norman stared out over the great room. “I went to the bicycle shop and smashed the window. I took the most expensive bike on the floor. I wanted my son to have the best.” His words were generally slow and measured. Now they were coming out rapid-fire. “I hid the bike in the garage. That's when I saw it . . . the can of gasoline for the lawn mower. The voices kept screaming at me, ‘Take it . . . take it.' I put the can in the backseat of my car and told my wife I was going out to finish the rest of my Christmas shopping.”

They were sitting so close, their bodies were touching. Shana was staring out over the room as well, her mind chained to Norman's in those agonizing hours.

“While I was driving around, I thought of my insurance policy. With that money, Gladys and the kids would be okay. I didn't want them to lose the house. Gladys loved that house. It meant the world to her. I'd failed her, failed everyone. More importantly, I'd failed myself. If I set myself on fire inside the car on the highway, the police would think the engine exploded and it would be classified as an accident.” The fan fell unnoticed from his fingers as he glanced furtively at Shana. “I drove on the freeway, parked, and grabbed the can from the backseat. I threw the key to the car out the window into the bushes. Then I locked all the car doors, afraid I'd panic and try to get out. The windows were automatic and wouldn't work without the key in the ignition. Then I soaked my clothes with the gasoline. All I had to do was light a match and drop it in my lap.”

Shana saw the burning car with the image of Norman inside, consumed in the flames. She could imagine his terrified screams, and how he must have placed his palms against the cool glass of the windows. “I'm so sorry, Norman,” she said. “Thank God you survived.”

“I didn't want to survive,” Norman shot out, a muscle in his face twitching. “How did I know the fire department had a station only a block away? My wife lost our home and had to file for bankruptcy because of my medical bills. I even failed at killing myself.”

“Well,” Shana said, wishing she'd never brought up the subject, “I'm glad you survived, and I know Alex and the others feel the same. Life is precious, even though we sometimes forget it. I know about depression, the feeling that everything is collapsing around you and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Then someone smiles at you, calls you, holds you, and you realize how lucky you are to be alive.” She stopped and inhaled. “Regardless of how you look, Norman, you're still the same man. Everyone loves you.”

“You don't know anything about the others,” Norman told her, his tone even more agitated. “You're just a tourist here. Saturday you'll go back to your life, and we'll be nothing more than a colorful story to tell your college friends.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Norman.” Shana pushed herself to her feet, completely drained. Someone should have told her not to talk to Norman about his injuries. He'd seemed so relaxed and open. Her vision suddenly blurred and she felt drugged and disoriented. What had they given her now? Saturday, she told herself. All she had to do was hold on for four more days. But four days at Whitehall was like a month, a year, a lifetime. Peggy marched over and handed her a clipboard.

“Sign on the red X,” she said. “Dr. Morrow ordered it.”

Taking the clipboard, Shana walked to a small table and sat down in the chair. She certainly wasn't going to sign whatever Peggy had given her without reading it, but the drug had affected her vision and she had to strain to make out the words on the piece of paper. She'd already made a mistake in the emergency room. Her excitement at catching Morrow at his dirty tricks helped to sharpen her state of alertness.

Shana held the document close to her face. There it was. Not on the first page, but the second. It was a consent form to treat her with psychotropic medication, specifically Thorazine. A sentence was
typed at the bottom stating that she was to be released that Saturday, so at least Morrow had held true on one promise. She signed her name and dated it with the current date, then handed the paper back to Peggy.

She watched as Peggy walked away, her hips swaying underneath her blue shirtwaist dress. She glanced over her shoulder at Norman. Of course he was bitter. What was he going to do with the rest of his life? Where could he get a job with such severe deformities? He certainly couldn't work in retail sales.

Her own predicament came to mind. What was she going to do when she got out on Saturday? She had told the others that she was going to Ventura, but it would be difficult to live with her mother after what she had done. Witnessing the greed and corruption at Whitehall had changed her mind about becoming an attorney. Even if she didn't want to practice, she could use her credentials to tackle a plethora of problems. She was too far behind to catch up, though, so she would have to make up the semester in the fall. She doubted if her mother would continue to pay rent on her apartment, particularly when she came clean about paying for Brett's tuition, which she fully intended to do. Although she hated to admit it, being removed from all of her problems had been good for her. She felt more mature and confident. Of course, no longer having to carry the burden of Brett's problems and the demands he placed on her was partially responsible. How could she let anyone take advantage of her, let alone a man? And Brett's sexuality simply wasn't compatible with someone who'd been raped. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy sex because she did. She had normal desires and needs. What she couldn't tolerate was a man telling her what to do in the bedroom.

Shana placed her head in her hands. Her new cashmere sweater already reeked of cigarette smoke. Except for Norman and herself, most of the people who hung out with Alex were smokers. All she could think of was charred flesh. Did Norman still smell it? Would the scent of burning flesh ever go away?

A nasal voice she immediately recognized as Peggy's jolted her
out of her thoughts. “Sign this again,” Peggy said. “The first one was torn up in the copy machine.”

Shana took the clipboard and signed her name. She checked to be certain the sentence about her release date was still present. It was, but something was missing. Then she saw it. There was no date. The section next to her name where she had written in the date had been deleted.

Peggy reached for the clipboard, but Shana refused to let her have it. She slapped the document on the table and printed the word “date” next to her signature, then entered the current date.

Shana understood the game.

“Here you go, Peggy,” she said. “And don't tell me this one got torn in the copy machine. You'll be wasting your time. I won't sign it.”

Peggy snatched the clipboard and stomped off. The hospital was trying to protect itself from a lawsuit. She had Morrow and his cohorts on the run. They wanted the date to match up with the date she was admitted. Before she checked out on Saturday, Shana would demand to see the form again to make certain it hadn't been altered.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 19
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

When Chris and Lily ate at home, they cooked as a team. Tonight they were making fish, one of Lily's specialties. Chris was chopping up vegetables for their salad while Lily prepared the sea bass, baked potatoes, and fresh asparagus. A bottle of Sauvignon Blanc was open on the counter.

“I want you to call tonight and see if you can get through to Shana,” Lily told him, covering the sea bass with a light lemon butter sauce she had prepared earlier.

“That doesn't make sense. Why would she talk to me? We've never even met.” Chris removed a bottle of honey mustard dressing from the refrigerator, shaking it and then dribbling it over the salad.

“You're going to pretend to be Brett.” Lily placed the fish in the oven and then walked over to the sink to wash her hands. “She won't refuse a call from him.”

“That's cruel, Lily.” The muscles in his face tightened. “I thought you wanted me to develop a good relationship with Shana. If I do what you want, you'll be sabotaging any chance of that happening. You can't start a relationship with a lie.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” She dried her hands with a
dish towel. Taking a sip of her wine, she added, “Maybe there's something physically wrong with her. I haven't spoken to her since she was admitted.”

“I know you're concerned, but you put her in that place. If it was me, I wouldn't talk to you, either.” Seeing Lily turn away, he walked over and captured her face in his hands. “Look at me, honey. I'm not criticizing you. If anyone should understand, it's me. I did the same thing with Sherry. The chances of something being seriously wrong with Shana are remote. From what you've told me, she's a healthy young woman. Now let's sit down and enjoy our meal. The fish smells delicious.”

“I'm not hungry,” Lily said, sniffling.

“Come on,” he said. “You were too busy to have lunch today. You have to be famished. You'll get sick if you don't eat. Besides, I like my women with some meat on their bones.” He tossed the salad and then carried it to the table, returning for the bottle of wine.

Lily was quiet throughout their meal. Chris's statement about not starting a relationship with a lie had hit too close to home. Once she had cleaned up the kitchen, she asked him to come outside on the balcony. The evening air was chilly with a brisk ocean breeze. A storm was working its way north and heavy clouds were forming on the horizon. She went to her bedroom for a sweater and brought along one for him.

Her conversation with Dr. Morrow had left her feeling confident that Shana was in the right hands and would soon be herself again, but oddly, she became tense when she was alone with Chris. His story about his wife had been unsettling to say the least, but it was far more than that. She had to tell him the truth. The same uncomfortable feeling was surfacing again. Hiding the truth from Bryce had made her miserable. Even a louse deserved to know the person he was sharing his life with.

“Remember when I told you I did something wrong?” Lily asked, the wind whipping her hair back from her face.

“Yes, but Lily . . .”

“You have to know, Chris. I didn't shoplift something from a department store. I killed someone.”

His expression remained the same, almost as if he needed time to digest what she had told him. Some time passed and then he blurted out, “Who did you kill, for God's sake?”

Her voice cracked with emotion. “I caught sight of the rapist in the light from the bathroom when he was fleeing. A siren scared him off. Unfortunately, no one had called the police, even though Shana and I had screamed for help. But something about the rapist was familiar. I was certain I'd seen him before but I couldn't remember where. After John took Shana home, I figured out where I had seen him. I convinced myself he was the suspect Clinton Silverstein was prosecuting on a rape case. When the victim failed to appear at the preliminary hearing, we had no choice but to drop the charges and release him.”

Lily stopped speaking and massaged her back. It had started throbbing as soon as she'd brought forth the memories of that night. Chris was sitting in rapt attention, so she knew she must continue. “The suspect was released the same day we were assaulted. I built this whole picture in my mind, how he'd watched me getting in and out of my car from the windows of the jail, then followed me home when he was released. I had the report with his mug shot in my briefcase. When I took it out and looked at it, I was certain it was him. He was wearing the same red sweatshirt and an identical gold crucifix around his neck. I was so full of rage I couldn't think straight. I took my father's shotgun out of the garage and drove to the address on his booking sheet. I even altered my license plate with a Magic Marker.” She stopped and placed her hands over her face. “Then I waited for him. I sat there all night watching for him to come out of his house so I could kill him. And when he came out early the next morning, that's exactly what I did. I blew him apart.”

“You killed the wrong man? Is that what you're trying to tell me?” Chris clasped Lily's hand, but there was something artificial about his gesture, almost as if he did it without thinking.

Lily turned and linked eyes with him. “I killed Bobby Hernandez.
Have you heard about the Lopez/McDonald murders? It was one of the most atrocious crimes ever committed in Ventura. I doubt you know about it because it happened before you moved to Ventura.” When he shook his head, she continued. “The victims were teenagers, lovers. The boy was beaten and bludgeoned. The girl was raped and mutilated. The killers were five Hispanic gang members. They played target practice on the girl's breasts. They shoved a tree limb up her vagina. Bobby Hernandez was the ringleader, Chris. That's the man I killed.”

“I need a drink,” Chris said, getting up and going inside.

Lily remained outside, wondering if he would return. The sea seemed to mimic her emotions, as an enormous wave barreled its way to the shore beneath her. He would leave her now. Her back pain had disappeared. The horrible secret she had carried inside for so long was finally out. There was no statute of limitations on murder. The minutes ticked off inside her head. What would Chris do?

He finally joined her again on the balcony. “I don't know what to say, Lily. I don't condone vigilantism and from what you've told me, what happened is a perfect example of why people shouldn't take the law into their own hands. I'm not going to turn you in, if that's what you're worried about. No one can say how they would react under the same circumstances. At least you didn't kill an innocent man. I guess you could say you brought a killer to justice. Are you certain Bobby Hernandez was involved in the deaths of the teenagers?”

“The police had eyewitness identification,” Lily told him. “One of the other gang members also rolled over on Hernandez, targeting him as the ringleader. Unfortunately, DNA wasn't available back then. After Hernandez was murdered, though, the police were able to search his house. They found the girl's necklace as well as other evidence that linked him to the crime.”