My lost daughter, p.1
My Lost Daughter, page 1
MY LOST DAUGHTER
FORGE BOOKS BY
NANCY TAYLOR ROSENBERG
The Cheater
My Lost Daughter
MY LOST DAUGHTER
NANCY TAYLOR ROSENBERG
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK NEW YORK
The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.
Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MY LOST DAUGHTER
Copyright © 2010 by NTR Literary Inventions, Inc.
All rights reserved.
A Forge Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Forge® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-1903-6
First Edition: September 2010
Printed in the United States of America
0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
MY LOST DAUGHTER
PROLOGUE
Death was approaching. Rodents and other small creatures scurried as the dry leaves crinkled and the tall weeds were forcefully pushed aside.
Few people ever visited the area because the trees and brush were dense, and a chemical plant a few miles away had long ago polluted the water. From the road above, the shoreline was invisible. The area was also surrounded by a tall wire fence, the gate secured by a heavy padlock.
Two men climbed down the steep embankment to the lake. Earlier, one of the men had used a bolt cutter to gain access. They stood side by side at the water’s edge, the only light from the full moon and the scattering of stars above them.
After several minutes of silence had passed, the taller of the two men asked, “Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?”
“Completely, you know that.”
“What are you expecting to happen when it’s over?”
“I’ll be dead and my family will collect on my insurance.”
“That’s not what I mean,” the taller man said. “What do you believe happens to a person when they die?”
“I’d like to believe I’ll be reborn into a healthy body without the limitations I’ve had in this one. But I know that’s bullshit.”
“You must believe. None of us could go through this if we didn’t believe in an afterlife. You took a vow, remember?”
His face twisted in frustration. “Okay, I believe.”
“You could live many more years the way you are now,” the taller man commented. “Your body is in good shape.”
“It’s my mind that’s the problem.” The shorter man became agitated. “Look, we’ve gone over this a hundred times. I can’t live like this anymore. I don’t care what happens. I want to die. That’s my happy ending. I’ve fought this too long. I want it to be over.”
“Your family will miss you.”
“No,” the shorter man answered. “My family will be relieved. I’m an embarrassment to them. I know they love me. I also know they’ll be better off without me.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. “Can’t we get this over with?”
“You can walk away now and no one will ever know about tonight. There’s no disgrace in bowing out.”
“Please, you promised it would be quick and that you wouldn’t try to talk me out of it.” He reached out and grabbed the taller man’s arm. “Give me the gun, damn it. I’ll do it myself.”
The tension was so thick, it was palpable. This was the part the taller man enjoyed the most and he wanted to savor it, learn from it. A courageous man stood before him. How many men could stare death in the face and invite it to take him? And this man, whether he realized it or not, was prepared to meet the ultimate test, self-sacrifice. Even knowing these things, he couldn’t stop himself from salivating over the terrified look in his eyes, watching as the man’s determination was undermined by confusion and doubt. There was no greater suspense. No book, no movie, no TV show could compare with it. The question hung heavy in the night air.
Would he stay or would he go?
The other thing he loved was the intimacy, the dirty deeds people told him, things they had held back from their closest friends and relatives. In their final moments, he became their confessor. “You know what happens if you shoot yourself?” he told the smaller man. “Your death will be classified as a suicide and your family won’t collect on your life insurance. From what you’ve told me, you didn’t take out the policy until last year. Most insurance companies have a two-year clause when it comes to suicide.” He extended his hand with the gun in it. “If that’s what you want, go ahead and shoot yourself.”
“Fool!” the man shouted, his anger fueled by fear. “You know that’s not what I want. The only reason I’m doing this is to pay my family back for what I’ve put them through. Two years ago, I almost strangled my son while I was psychotic. My wife covered for me or I would still be in prison. My son never forgave me. Even today, he hates me.” He paused, too emotional to continue. At last, he said, “Kill me now or I’ll get someone else to do it.”
The taller man had to stifle a laugh. Where would he find someone to kill him and for free, no less? The man should be grateful. Most people would be too afraid. Going to prison was the least of their fears. Knowing they would have to reconcile what they had done with their creator was a far greater deterrent. When it came to crunch time, everyone believed.
“My own time is coming soon, my friend.” He moved closer to the man and lowered his voice to a whisper. “When I touch your shoulder, turn around and drop your head until your chin almost touches your chest. This is the best way. You’ll die instantly and there’ll be no pain.”
They linked eyes in silence. The man who would soon be dead was drenched in sweat and visibly trembling. The taller man knew it was wrong to make him suffer any longer. He softly touched his shoulder and the man turned his back and bent his head down to his chest, standing perfectly still. He was saying something under his breath, more than likely praying. The taller man eased his finger off the trigger to give him a few more seconds of life.
As soon as the man stopped mumbling, he raised the gun, bracing it with his free hand as he took aim. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
A loud explosion pierced the silence. The bullet seared its way into the back of the shorter man’s head. He loved the sound of a dead body striking the ground. It reminded him of a tree falling in the wilderness; only tonight there was someone to hear it, bear witness to it. And it had been perfect because there was no wind, no traffic, and no barking dogs to interfere with his hearing.
As his friend’s bloody and lifeless body remained on the ground, the man used a small flashlight to search around. As soon as he found what he was looking for, he picked it up and placed it in his pocket. He then shoved the gun in the back of his jeans, wiped his prints off the flashlight, and tossed it in the bushes. After taking another final look to be certain he hadn’t missed anything, he zipped up his jacket and climbed back up the hill.
ONE
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 13
VENTURA, CALIFORNIA
Once the jury was seated and the defendant was led in and placed at the counsel table beside the defense attorney, the bailiff stepped to the front of the courtroom. “All rise,” Leonard Davis announced. “Division Forty-seven of the Superior Court of Ventura County is now in session, the Honorable Lillian Forrester presiding.”
A tall, slender redhead entered through the back door of the courtroom, ascending the three steps to the bench in a swirl of black robes. Lily’s hair was one of her most distinctive features, and she wore it long, an inch or so past her shoulde
Lily knew the prosecution of criminals was a cat and mouse game. The majority of cases never made their way to trial. If every case required the time and resources of a jury trial, the criminal justice system would collapse. Even in the most gruesome homicides, a plea agreement was the preferable way to put a case to rest. But plea agreements in cases of this magnitude weren’t normally offered right away. The system was similar to a boa constrictor. The longer it squeezed a criminal, the more information would pop out and the more willing a defendant would be to accept whatever sentence was offered. This was particularly true when the alternative was death.
The courtroom was packed and noisy. Lily had forbidden the proceedings to be televised, so members of the media filled most of the seats. Reporters were scribbling on notepads or creeping down the aisles with their cameras in hand to snap photos. The case was sensational, the kind that turned murderers into celebrities. The defendant, Noelle Lynn Reynolds, had been a popular local girl, a former cheerleader and prom queen at Ventura High. The petite blonde with the round face and dove gray eyes didn’t look much older than her high school yearbook photos, although she was only a few months shy of her twenty-third birthday. The last thing she looked like was a cold-blooded murderer, a woman so callous she would kill her own child in order to enjoy a carefree existence.
Gone were the plunging necklines and bare midriff Reynolds had so proudly displayed in the various nightclubs, bars, and beaches she’d frequented in the weeks following her two-year-old son’s disappearance. She was dressed in a dowdy polyester suit, her large breast implants squashed inside the beige fabric of her jacket. Her hair was slicked back from her face and she wore no makeup. The flamboyant party girl had been intentionally disguised for the benefit of the jury.
Lily’s eyes came to rest on Clinton Silverstein, a district attorney she had known and worked with since the beginning of her career. One of the judges was retiring and Clinton was hoping to get his slot. This case could be a deciding factor, and in Lily’s opinion, the prosecutor had already made a poor decision. The State was asking for the death penalty. Lily felt it was highly unlikely that a middle-class Ventura jury would send a young woman like Noelle Reynolds to her death, regardless of the unspeakable crime she’d committed. Lily had called Silverstein into her chambers on several occasions, attempting to get him to reconsider. In a case of this magnitude, prosecutors generally filed numerous counts such as second-degree murder, or even manslaughter, along with other crimes that were considered lesser or included, meaning if the jury decided guilt in one count, they couldn’t find the defendant guilty of the others. The benefit of this type of filing is that it gives the jury an alternative other than acquittal. Pleading special circumstances, which justified the death penalty, was also used to pressure the defendant into accepting a plea agreement.
Silverstein wanted justice, though, and had given little thought to offering Reynolds a deal. An adorable little boy had died terrified and alone at the hands of the one person in the world who should have loved and protected him. The prosecutor argued that an attractive, young, and manipulative woman such as Noelle Reynolds would do well in prison, even if she had killed a child. If she’d been a man, another inmate might have sought revenge, as even criminals looked down on people who victimized children. Women weren’t as violent as male offenders, though, nor were they as willing to throw their future away to make certain a fellow inmate received the ultimate punishment.
Tragically, Noelle Reynolds wouldn’t be the only woman in prison for murdering her child. When women killed, they generally murdered individuals they had once loved—husbands, boyfriends, parents, or children.
In most instances, in exchange for their guilty plea and the money they would save the state by not taking the case to trial, the defendant would be offered life without the possibility of parole, or twenty-five years to life in the state prison. In an indeterminate term, such as twenty-five to life, the defendant would be eligible for parole in approximately twelve years.
After spending months studying autopsy photos of a lifeless toddler whose decomposing body had been stuffed in a garbage bag and tossed into the ocean, Silverstein had turned the case into a personal vendetta. What Noelle Reynolds hadn’t realized was that bodies that ended up in the ocean in Ventura always washed ashore at the sewage plant in Oxnard, adding another disgusting element to an already heinous crime.
Lily let her eyes slowly drift over to the defense attorney. Richard Fowler was a former lover, and she’d given thought to asking Judge Hennessey, the presiding judge, to assign someone else when she learned Fowler was representing Noelle Reynolds. But the case was important and she didn’t believe there was a conflict of interest. The Ventura justice community was tight and everyone knew each other. They not only knew each other, they had sex, married, and divorced each other.
Lily hadn’t seen Fowler in years and was shocked at how much he had aged. Of course, the fact that she was engaged to Christopher Rendell, a brilliant, handsome judge who was several years younger than Fowler, played a prominent role in purging any lingering attraction she might have for the attorney.
Her eyes narrowed, however, as she checked out the young blonde serving as Fowler’s co-counsel, wondering if she was the woman he’d married several years ago. Good lord, she thought, the girl didn’t look older than twenty-five. Talk about robbing the cradle. But regardless of the gray hairs and the lines around his mouth and eyes, Richard Fowler was still a good-looking and desirable man.
Accepting the court file from the hands of her clerk, Susan Martin, Lily’s penetrating gaze swept over the room. “People vs. Noelle Lynn Reynolds, case number A367428912—a violation of Section 187 of the California Penal Code, Murder in the First Degree.” Special circumstances had also been pled, but would be decided in a separate penalty stage of the trial once the defendant was convicted. And she would be convicted. The evidence was overwhelming.
Lily repositioned the skinny black microphone closer to her mouth, and then looked over at the prosecutor. “Mr. Silverstein, are you ready to present your opening statement?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” he answered, pushing himself to his feet. A short, overweight man in his late forties, he ran his hands through his bushy brown hair. “Ladies and gentlemen, the people will prove to you that Noelle Reynolds willfully and intentionally, with malice aforethought, murdered her two-year-old son, Brandon Lewis Reynolds.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “What kind of mother could do this to her own child? What led up to such a depraved act? Let me paint you a picture of such an individual.
“Noelle Reynolds lived a life of privilege. Her father was a doctor and earned enough money to give his only daughter whatever she desired. At sixteen, he bought her a Porsche and gave her an American Express card with no spending limit. And as we all know, privilege can lead to popularity. Noelle was captain of her cheerleading team, as well as prom queen at Ventura High. Her grades were exemplary, enough so that she gained admittance to UCLA.”
He walked over to the jury rail. “But something went wrong, and it went wrong fast. Noelle failed almost every class. Noelle’s roommate at UCLA will testify during the course of this trial that Noelle paid her to do her work assignments. Having others do her work was a lifelong habit for the defendant. Another witness will testify how she bleached her hair to look more like Noelle, and took the SATs for her, the only reason Noelle was accepted to UCLA. Earlier classmates will testify as to how they were consistently paid by Noelle to do her work and steal answers to exams.” He spun around and faced the defendant, pointing an accusing finger at her. “Noelle Reynolds, the woman sitting comfortably before you in an air-conditioned courtroom after leaving her precious toddler to suffocate in the trunk of her car, has lied her way through life and lived off the backs of others. But the one thing she wanted, she couldn’t have. She wanted Mark Stringer, a fellow student at UCLA. She wanted him so desperately that she set out to get pregnant with his child with the belief that he would marry her. When she didn’t immediately get pregnant by Stringer, the defendant went on a promiscuous binge, sleeping with an untold number of men until she accomplished her goal. What Noelle didn’t know, and even Mark Stringer himself wasn’t aware of at that time, was that he was physically unable to father a child. Mr. Stringer was sterile.
