My lost daughter, p.34
My Lost Daughter, page 34
Things were starting to add up in Shana’s head and the prognosis was grim. An eyewitness had seen her standing over the body. Her fingerprints were most likely on the murder weapon. Betsy had probably told the police that Shana hit her, establishing that she had a propensity for violence. The one thing they didn’t have was a motive. In that respect, a mentally ill person might not need a motive. “What about suicide? Norman set himself on fire. That’s how he became so horribly disfigured. Maybe he didn’t want to go through life like that anymore, so he decided to kill himself again and this time he succeeded.”
Lindstrom stood, glancing over at Prescott. “I might tend to agree with you under the circumstances, but we have to rule out homicide first. We have an eyewitness who claims she saw you stabbing the victim in the neck.”
“I know you aren’t going to believe me,” Shana said, rubbing her eye with her finger, “but this hospital is blatantly kidnapping people for money. I’m not crazy or suicidal, nor do I have a drinking or drug problem. I agreed to speak to you without an attorney present on the condition that you’d report what’s going on here and help me get out. They’ve restricted me from making any outside phone calls. If nothing else, please let me call my mother.”
“We’ll put in a call to the attorney general’s office,” Lindstrom told her. “The hospital isn’t your problem right now, Ms. Forrester. You may need to hire a good defense lawyer.”
“Dear God, you’re going to file criminal charges against me?” Shana’s stomach was rolling over like a beach ball. After everything she’d been through, they were going to arrest her for murder! The situation was mind-boggling.
“Not at the moment,” the detective said, walking around in a circle. “We’re going to write a report and submit it to the district attorney. If you were on the street, we’d probably have to arrest and arraign you. But since you’re in a somewhat secure environment, there doesn’t appear to be any reason to take you into custody.”
“Listen to me,” Shana said, adrenaline flooding her veins. “Talk to the shrinks, find out if any of the patients has a history of violent behavior. Let me go to my room and find the phone card with Alex’s last name on it. He’s not a figment of my imagination, if that’s what you’re thinking. I have no idea why he isn’t on the patient roster. The hospital staff knows him. Everyone knows him. Alex is a good source of information. He can help you sort through this thing.”
“I can’t let you go to your room, Ms. Forrester. The only way I can justify not booking you is under the hospital’s guarantee that you’ll be detained.”
“Please,” she pleaded, digging her fingernails into the mattress, “don’t make them put me back in the padded cell. I’d rather be in jail.”
“Calm down,” Lindstrom said. “I’m not going to insist the hospital keep you in a padded cell. Until the DA makes their decision as to how they want to proceed, Dr. Morrow has agreed to hold you in this room. That’s not so bad now, is it?”
“Without the restraints?”
“I’m sorry. The hospital believes you’re dangerous. They say you struck one of the attendants and had to be restrained on a previous occasion.” He paused and then added, “Could one of the other patients have set you up?”
A cloak of silence fell over the room. Shana could hear the TV and people talking in the great room, but all she could think about was Alex and the night they had spent together. Strings of questions danced in her mind. He had said once that he was at Whitehall on a voluntary commitment and could leave anytime he wanted, but surely he would have told her good-bye. Why wasn’t he on the patient roster? Could he have killed Norman? What possible reason would Alex have to kill Norman? Everyone loved Norman. And Alex’s feelings for her had seemed so sincere. How could he swear undying love for her one day and abandon her the next? She hadn’t pegged him as a player. He had made love to her so tenderly, so unselfishly. It had been one of the best sexual experiences of her life. What did she do to push men away? Tears welled up in her eyes. She needed her mother. Why wouldn’t the cops at least let her call her mother? They had said she needed an attorney, so they had to give her access to a phone.
“Ah, Ms. Forrester,” Lindstrom said. “I asked you . . .”
Shana blinked back the tears and then a moment later exploded in anger. “I remember what you asked me. You wanted to know if someone had set me up. How could anyone do that? Don’t you know how moronic it is for you to even ask me something like that? Maybe one of the patients has the power to bring on a rainstorm. And the power failure, isn’t it possible it was caused by the lightning strikes? If the lights hadn’t gone out, I wouldn’t have gone into Norman’s room instead of my own. Now can I please make a phone call?”
“We can’t go against the rules of the hospital,” Lindstrom said, as disinterested as he was before, as if he was merely going through the motions. “Your chart says you were admitted because of an addiction to methamphetamine. Drug abusers tend to call either their dealers or other users. The hospital wants to break those connections so you won’t return to drugs when you’re released.”
“Bullshit.” The restraints were worse than the Quiet Room. How much could a person take before they became a raving lunatic? “I’ve never used meth in my life,” Shana said. “For God’s sake, look at my arms. My chart probably says I had track marks. Everything in that chart is a bold-faced lie, except for the massive amount of psychotropic drugs they administered to keep me under control. They’re holding me here for no reason except to collect on my insurance.”
Lindstrom picked up the tape recorder and slipped it back into his pocket. “The only advice I can give you is to ride it out. We’re not in the business of arresting innocent people. Once the crime lab works up all the evidence, you may be ruled out as a suspect.”
“I won’t get to go home on Saturday, will I?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Shana erupted again. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stay strapped to this bed until you get off your ass and decide if you’re going to arrest me or not? I demand that you arrest me right now. Otherwise, you have no authority to hold me.”
Lindstrom abruptly walked out of the room. Prescott shrugged, and then turned and followed him. Shana had opened up her mouth at the wrong time. She was forcing their hand. They would probably be back tomorrow with an arrest warrant. At least if they took her to the jail, she might be able to make a phone call.
Shana fought against the restraints, even though she knew she could never break through them. Why was God so pissed off at her? Anyone who ended up in a nightmare like this had to be on God’s shit list. She hadn’t gone to mass in years. Catholics were supposed to go to Mass and partake of the blessed sacraments on a regular basis. She hadn’t confessed her sins, although she didn’t know very many Catholics today who did. But it didn’t matter what everyone else did. Each person was responsible for their own soul. Right now, her soul was stained by sin. She needed to ask for forgiveness for taking money from her mother to pay for Brett’s tuition. She had lied to and cheated her own mother. She was a worthless excuse for a daughter. And it wasn’t the first time she’d taken advantage of Lily. She would have to remember that if she ever got a chance to go to confession.
Had she imagined what had transpired between her and Alex last night? She must be crazy just like everyone thought. If she could just get out of Whitehall without going to prison, she would never complain about law school again, never let some idiot guy exploit her, and she would appreciate all the sacrifices her mother had made to pay for her education and give her a good life. How could she not respect a person who had killed to protect her?
Something flickered in the back of her mind, something she had done everything in her power to suppress. And it was big, a far more serious sin than taking money from her mother. She was a demanding, selfish bitch, used to getting everything she wanted from her parents. Although her mother had made every attempt to discipline her and teach her the right thing to do, up until his death, her father had spoiled her to the point that she treated him like a slave. Didn’t he know the monster he had created?
Memories from a day shortly before her father’s death flooded her mind. Because of her, an innocent young man was dead. She tried to push the memories back, but being strapped to a bed with nothing to do but think made her powerless to stop them.
TWENTY-SIX
2000
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
“Dad,” Shana called out from her bedroom. “Where’s my ice cream?”
John Forrester was asleep in a brown leather recliner in the two-bedroom duplex he shared with his eighteen-year-old daughter. Located on a tree-lined street, the exterior was constructed out of stucco, the pale pink paint cracked and faded. The yard consisted of a small patch of grass. Even though the living room was sparsely furnished, it appeared cramped and cluttered. A green velvet sofa was backed up to a large picture window overlooking the street. Shana had insisted that her father rent a place with a fireplace, which limited their wall space. If they hadn’t placed the sofa in front of the window, they wouldn’t be able to see the television. The only other furniture was an oak coffee table, the top littered with glasses, newspapers, and stacks of unopened mail.
Dressed in jeans and a black tank top, Shana left her desk to see why her father hadn’t answered. “Wake up,” she said, shaking his shoulder. “You promised you’d go out for ice cream. The chicken you made tonight tasted like an armadillo.”
“What time is it?” he asked, looking at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up before now?”
“Because I was busy writing a paper. Can’t you get rid of all this trash? You know I can’t concentrate when the house is a mess. A cluttered house is symbolic of a cluttered mind.”
John stared up at her, his eyes groggy from sleep. Up until her first day in college, Shana’s room had been a pigsty. Now the pendulum had swung the opposite direction. The duplex had to be kept in perfect order. He stood, tucked his shirt in, and stepped into his loafers. At five-nine, he wasn’t a large man. His daughter stood five-nine, only an inch shorter than her mother. If Shana hadn’t possessed Lily’s intelligence and drive, she would have had no difficulty earning her living as a model. Her red hair fell to the center of her back, but tonight she had it tied up in a ponytail on the top of her head.
“Baskin-Robbins might be closed,” he told her, brushing his hand over the top of his head. The only hair he had left was a fringe around the base of his skull. To make matters worse, his hair had turned gray during the past year and he now had to have it colored twice a month. “Don’t worry,” he said, picking his car keys up off the coffee table. “Ralph’s is open all night. Peanut butter and chocolate, right?”
“I don’t want ice cream from the grocery store,” Shana protested. “I missed so many classes last week, I had to stay up until three o’clock this morning studying. Please, Dad, don’t go back on your word.” She grabbed one of the glasses off the coffee table and brought it to her nose. “Were you drinking this afternoon? Is that why you burned our dinner?”
“Of course not,” he said, snatching the empty glass out of her hand. “One of my deals fell through. I was trying to see if I could salvage it. That’s why I burned your dinner.”
“Maybe you should get a regular job.” Shana picked up the remote to lower the volume. Her father watched TV incessantly, and she was starting to suspect he was losing his hearing. He kept the volume at such deafening levels, it made it almost impossible for her to study, one of the reasons she stayed up so late. “Mom says you’re not cut out for real estate. She thinks you’d be better off getting a job that paid you an hourly wage. You know, something you could count on every month.”
John bristled. “When did you talk to your mother?”
“Yesterday.” Shana scooped up the old newspapers and dumped them in the trash can in the kitchen, and then walked the short distance back to the living room. “Mom’s already paying my tuition. It isn’t right for her to pay for everything, especially with all the money I’ve been giving you. If she finds out you’re driving my car without insurance, she’ll be furious. It’s not like she’s rich or anything. She’s a district attorney, Dad. She works for the county.”
“She’s makes more money than I do,” he said bitterly. “Why didn’t she go into private practice? I’ll never understand why she wanted to be a DA.”
Shana hated being trapped between two individuals who were constantly arguing. People thought divorce affected only young children but they were wrong. As much as she loved her parents, the situation was sometimes maddening. She felt like a lawyer forced to defend both the criminal as well as the victim. “Mom’s worked hard all her life. I’m proud that she’s a district attorney again. She didn’t belong in that boring job at the appellate court. All day she was locked in a little room trying to find out if a judge screwed up. She’s too good in the courtroom. Because of her, tons of violent criminals are in prison.”
“Lily could have done the same thing in Los Angeles.” John’s jaw protruded like a petulant child’s. “You could have seen her more often. Then I wouldn’t have to listen to her complain that I monopolize all your time.”
“Can’t you please stop it?” Shana shouted. “After the years she spent in L.A., Mom wanted to be near the beach. She had to take whatever position was available, anyway. You’re talking stupid, Dad. I’m too tired tonight to listen to this crap.” She turned to head back to her room and then stopped. “Hurry and make it to Baskin-Robbins before they close. I bought all those groceries yesterday. I lied and told Mom I needed the extra money for schoolbooks.”
“Why didn’t you buy ice cream?”
Shana flashed her dynamite smile, displaying a perfect row of white teeth. “Come on, Dad. You don’t like ice cream from the grocery store any more than I do. Most of the time it’s burned from the freezer.” She licked her lips. “I know what you want . . . a great big sundae with nuts and whipped cream. Doesn’t that sound yummy?”
John lumbered out the front door, climbed into his daughter’s Mustang, and backed out of the driveway. Making Shana happy was the focal point of his life, even if she did have a tendency to treat him like an errand boy. He had given up on women years ago. Now that he was in his fifties, certain things weren’t as important. After college Shana would be entering law school. He had no doubt that she would become a successful attorney. And she certainly wasn’t going to follow in her mother’s footsteps if he had anything to do with it, working for peanuts as a county prosecutor. He envisioned her in one of those skyscrapers down on Wilshire, where all the high-powered lawyers had their offices. Those were the people who raked in the big bucks. If Shana played her cards right, she might even get her own TV show someday.
Pulling up at a stop sign, John glanced over at one of his listings, a three-bedroom fixer-upper with a swimming pool. When he’d decided to get his real estate license, he had anticipated earning a large income with a minimal amount of effort. Instead, he spent every day jabbering on the phone or chauffeuring people around. Resigning from his job with the government might have been a mistake, but there was nothing else he could have done. He ran into some financial trouble a few years back and cashing out his retirement had been his only option.
Outside of his relationship with Shana, his future didn’t hold a great deal of promise. He had to get his career as a real estate agent off the ground or he would end up living the remainder of his life on Social Security. The day before, he had suffered the embarrassment of having to call Lily and tell her the truth: that he couldn’t afford to continue paying the rent on the duplex. The fact that she had immediately told Shana made him furious. No man wanted to look like a failure in the eyes of his daughter.
A black Mercedes came from out of nowhere, causing him to swerve to avoid a collision. “Idiot!” he yelled out the window. Behind the wheel of the Mercedes, a pretty blonde had a cell phone to her ear. “Try driving instead of talking.”
Before the divorce, John and Lily had owned their own home. Maybe it wasn’t a palace but it was certainly better than where he was living now. He missed his old yard, the backyard barbecues, chatting with his neighbors. While Lily devoted herself to prosecuting criminals, he had coached Shana’s softball team, prepared their meals, and dropped whatever he was doing to rush to her school when she got sick. Lily was responsible for what had happened to his daughter. She had refused to listen to him. If she had quit the county and opened her own law practice, she wouldn’t have lured a criminal home and thrown all their lives into chaos.
Shana’s face flashed in his mind, the disgusted way she looked at him. So what if he had suffered a financial setback or needed a little help making ends meet? Why hadn’t Lily kept her mouth shut? He had begged her not to tell Shana. But no, she had jumped on the opportunity to degrade him. And his ex-wife was far from perfect. He knew things about her that could send her to prison. Unlike Lily, though, he didn’t run around telling people. “Bitch,” he mumbled, wishing he had the money to stop for a stiff drink.
When he reached the corner of Melrose and Santa Monica Boulevard, he spotted the pink-and-white neon sign for Baskin-Robbins. The clock on his dashboard read 8:55. He punched the accelerator and careened into the parking lot, missing the driveway and running up over the curb. He couldn’t continue to drive forward as there was a large metal container in front of him, a receptacle for people to place items in that they wanted to donate to Goodwill. Throwing the car into reverse, he revved the engine, wanting to make certain the Mustang cleared the curb.
“Shit,” he said, hearing a loud thud.
Slamming on the brakes he looked in the rearview mirror, certain he must have struck a tree. The area was so dark, all he could see were the lights in the office building across the street. He rubbed his neck, wondering if he could put in a claim for whiplash, then reminded himself that he was no longer insured. After his DWI arrest, his premiums had skyrocketed and he had been forced to sell his car.
