Buried Evidence (16 page)

Richard parked his car in his designated parking spot, getting out and heading toward his office. The sun had been out when
he’d left the police department. Now a dark cloud loomed directly over his head. Before he reached the front of the building, it began pouring. He stopped walking, tilting his face toward the sky. The drastic change in weather seemed symbolic, almost like an omen. For six years he had rocked along in a quasi state of normality. Joyce might not be the love of his life, but the problems she presented were minor. Had he made a mistake by contacting Lily? Was she the mystery woman who had called his office three times in less than an hour? He belched loudly, his stomach bubbling. Since he’d left the D.A.’s office, his stress level had dropped considerably. Representing criminals had its rewards. He didn’t spend many sleepless nights worrying about the outcome of his cases.

June Overland burst out laughing when she looked up and saw him standing in front of the reception console. A short woman with large breasts, her hair was gray but tinted a golden blonde. “You look like a duck who forgot how to swim.”

Soaked, hungry, and deeply concerned about Lily, Richard was not amused. “Are my messages on my desk?”

“Where else would they be?” she answered, bristling. “When you try to be funny, I’m supposed to crack up. Just because you’re having a bad day, you bite my head off. Not only that, you’re ruining our new carpeting. Haven’t you ever heard of an umbrella?”

Richard entered his office and slammed the door. He grabbed a stack of pink message slips off his desk, setting them all aside except for the one where June had left the caller’s name blank. Slipping his jacket off, he draped it over the back of his chair, then headed to his private bathroom to relieve himself and run a comb through his wet hair.

Richard stared at his image in the mirror. While he had been busy building his practice, and Lily had passed her days reviewing cases on appeal, Marco Curazon had been confined in a cramped cell, his days passing in agonizingly slow motion. What had he done to occupy his mind, to contain his hostilities, to pull himself from one day to the other? Read novels, obtain his GED,
attend services in the prison chapel? “Right,” he told himself, shouting for June to bring him a fresh shirt.

“I can hear you better when you leave your door open,” the woman said, handing him one of the plastic-wrapped shirts she picked up every Wednesday at the cleaners.

“Thanks,” he said, balling up his wet shirt and handing it to her.

“Poor baby,” she said, gawking at him, “you’re shivering.”

“I’m fine, June.”

She stood on her tiptoes and placed her hand on his forehead, checking to see if he was running a fever. “I’ll make you a cup of hot tea,” she told him, reaching over and fastening the buttons on his shirt. “You can’t walk into an air-conditioned office looking like you just crawled out of a swimming pool. You’ll catch your death.”

Richard stuffed his shirt inside his pants. He appreciated her concern, but he wasn’t in the mood to be mothered. “Forget about bringing me tea right now. I need to make some phone calls, so please, just close my door on your way out.”

He knew what men like Curazon did to pass the time in prison. They bonded with new crime partners, pumped iron to shape their bodies into powerful killing machines, planned who they were going to victimize or punish when the prison gates finally swung open.

He dialed the number on the message slip, ending up with a recording stating that he had reached the county of Santa Barbara. Since he didn’t know Lily’s extension, he had to wait for an operator to come on the line. “Lily Forrester, please.”

“Hold on,” a female voice said, the sound of computer keys tapping in the background. “Ms. Forrester is with the district attorney’s office, extension 210. Do you want me to connect you?”

What else would he want? “Please,” he said, impatient. Lily’s voice came on and he began speaking, then realized he was talking to a recording. Waiting for the beep, he left a message for her to call him. A few moments later, he hit the redial button and again reached the main menu for the county offices. She had to have an assistant, someone who could give him the number to
her cell phone or, at the very least, contact her and tell her he was back in his office so she could call him. He felt like kicking himself. When he’d seen her the day before, he’d failed to ask her for her home number.

After fifteen minutes of irritation, he placed his hands on top of his desk and stared at the adjacent wall. He had shouted at the operator when she’d claimed she didn’t have a listing of employee positions, only their names and extensions. Picking up a case file off his credenza, he tried to concentrate but he was too distracted. He didn’t want his stomach to gurgle with acid. He detested the fact that he’d become unglued and cursed at an operator who was only attempting to earn a living. Only twenty-four hours after he’d seen Lily and he was already suffering the consequences.

“I’m going to lunch, June,” he said, striding into the outer office. “If the same woman calls again, give her the number to my cell phone.”

She looked shocked. “But you never give your cell phone number to clients. Maybe she’s a nutcase or something. What kind of person refuses to leave their name?”

“A person who’s in trouble,” Richard told her, grabbing an umbrella out of the stand by the front door before he stepped outside into the rain again.

B
y three o’clock that afternoon Lily had scraped together the ten thousand she needed to post John’s bail. She had emptied out her checking account, dipped into her savings, and still come up short. The remaining two thousand she had obtained by taking cash advances on her credit cards. When the first of the month rolled around, she wouldn’t be able to pay her bills. That was two weeks away, however, and she hoped to have arranged a loan through the credit union by then. Steering the car onto the 101 Freeway headed to Los Angeles, she dialed Richard’s office, then finally connected with him on his cell phone. “I need to see you right away.”

Richard was eating lunch. “Is something wrong? Why didn’t you leave your name when you called the office this morning?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” she said. “Where are you?”

“At Madeline’s Restaurant in Ventura.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Lily said, afraid she’d get lost. “How about the Elephant Bar? We both know where that place is.”

“Of course,” he said, even though he would have to call June and ask her to rearrange his afternoon schedule. “Can’t you tell me what this is about?”

“Not over the phone.” Lily depressed the gas pedal but tried to stay within the speed limit. The last thing she wanted was to cause an accident. “I’m on the outskirts of Camarillo right now. I think I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

As soon as she disconnected, Shana called. “I just got out of class and I don’t have a way to get home. When I got up this morning, my car was gone. I caught a ride with Jennifer.”

“Why don’t you see if she can pick you up?”

“I can’t find her,” her daughter told her. “Look, Dad and I
had an argument last night. I took the keys to my car away from him. He must have found the spare set and taken the car anyway. He’s acting like such a jerk right now, Mom. You can’t imagine.”

The understatement of the year, Lily thought. “Can’t you take a bus?” She refused to tell her daughter over the phone that her father was in jail on charges of vehicular manslaughter.

“It’s raining. I’ve been sick, remember? That’s why I wanted to cut class and go home early today.” Shana stopped and blew her nose. “The last time Dad forgot to pick me up, I had to take the bus and then walk seven blocks.”

“What about a cab?” her mother suggested. “I’d come and get you, but I’m too far away. Do you have any money on you?”

“Only a few dollars,” Shana said pensively. “I didn’t expect you to come and get me, Mother. I only called because I thought you might have spoken to Dad today. I feel bad that I’ve been bugging you so much lately. It was silly for me to call you last night. I should have called the police myself.”

Lily searched her mind, trying to come up with a believable story. “Your father is probably in the middle of a real estate transaction,” she said. “Business has been slow lately. I’m sure you wouldn’t want him to miss out on an opportunity. I could be at the school in a few hours. Then we could have dinner together. Can’t you hang out in the library until I get there?”

They made arrangements to meet at the UCLA cafeteria at six o’clock that evening. “I don’t want Dad to drive my car anymore.”

The fact that John had been driving Shana’s Mustang at the time of the accident could cause enormous problems. Overnight, their lives had become a sham. John was lying to her. She had lied to him when confronted about the Hernandez homicide. Now she was lying to her daughter.

“We’ll discuss the car when I see you tonight.”

Lily could post John’s bail, but she knew the police wouldn’t release the car until the trial was over. Problems seemed to be rushing toward her like a freight train. Her mind was too weary to assimilate them, let alone come up with solutions. A car wasn’t like replacing your child’s goldfish when it died, then convincing
her nothing had happened. How could she prevent Shana from learning the truth? The situation was too serious, and as usual, John had managed to make her the bearer of bad news. Her lips compressed in bitterness. She picked up the envelope containing the ten thousand dollars and clutched it in her hand, thinking of how long she had scrimped and saved, determined that Shana’s future would be secure. She decided her son of a bitch ex-husband would just have to cool his heels in jail.

On the outskirts of Ventura, she drove into what appeared to be the center of the thunderstorm. She flicked her windshield wipers on high, their clacking sound making her even more jittery. The heavy rain made it difficult to see where she was going, but luckily, the Elephant Bar was located on the access road to the freeway and its sign was large and distinctive. Lily saw Richard’s Lexus and pulled into the adjacent parking spot. She motioned to him, then leaned over and opened the passenger door to her Audi. Other than a battered pickup truck, the parking lot was empty. The bar didn’t open until four o’clock, one of the reasons she had thought it would be a good place for them to meet. “What’s going on?”

Lily explained the situation as calmly as possible. Having him near her made her feel stronger, less panicked. “I can’t take a chance on discussing this with anyone else,” she said. “I was going to bail John out, then I changed my mind on the drive down. Even if he suspects the truth, he doesn’t have proof.”

A tense silence ensued. “You might be making a mistake,” Richard said quietly. He saw the look on her face and quickly interjected, “Please, Lily, let me finish. I doubt if anyone really gives a damn who killed Hernandez. The only way the police will reopen the investigation is if someone higher up the ladder pressures them, maybe due to complaints from the victim’s family. Force John’s hand, and you have no idea what kind of can of worms you might be opening.”

Lily placed her head down on the steering wheel. The windows were fogged up, rain was beating down on the roof of the car, and Richard’s presence was no longer comforting. Her childhood had been difficult, if not abysmal. Her marriage to John had
been good in only one aspect—Shana. She had struggled to obtain her law degree, tried her best to be a loving parent, worked diligently in her career.

Richard lightly touched her arm. “Manny Hernandez saw you, Lily. He was the primary witness to his brother’s murder. He’s the one who helped the Oxnard P.D. put together that composite drawing of you.”

Instead of her earlier state of agitation, Lily suddenly felt like she had entered into another dimension, as if the past had overlapped the present. “Is that composite still floating around?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “Manny told Cunningham there was something peculiar about the person who murdered his brother, remember? I think he used the word
spook
, if I’m not mistaken. You know, like he thought you were a ghost. Your skin tone is extremely fair, and whether you realize it or not, you have distinctive features. Your high cheekbones, the shape of your eyes, your long neck, your height. Even under the duress of seeing his brother killed, Manny knew the shooter wasn’t another gang member.”

Scenes from the night of the rape played over in Lily’s mind. In addition to altering her license plate, she had attempted to disguise her appearance. At the time she’d shot Hernandez, her hair had been stuffed inside a blue knit ski cap, and she had been dressed in Levis and hiking boots. No one would ever imagine that a female district attorney would travel to one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Oxnard, leap out of her red Honda Civic, slam a shotgun down on the roof of the car, then proceed to blow a man away. For all practical purposes, Lily had committed what most experts would consider the perfect murder. Shana and John had stumbled across a few pieces of the puzzle, but Detective Cunningham had come the closest to putting together the entire picture even before she had broken down and confessed to him. Although he had let her go in what she viewed was an act of compassion, she suspected the detective might have fallen in love with her.

“Are you following me, Lily?”

“Yes,” she said, a glassy look in her eyes. “But the police killed Manny Hernandez. A dead witness isn’t very effective.”

“I know,” Richard said tensely. “That’s not the point. The composite drawing was in all the newspapers. We have to find out what Bruce Cunningham did with the evidence.”

She glanced at her watch. “I promised Shana I would pick her up at six. We don’t have much longer. Do you know who took over Cunningham’s caseload?”

“Fred Jameson.”

Lily jerked her head around. The Oxnard Police Department, where Detective Cunningham had worked, no longer existed. A few years back it had merged with Ventura. “Are you certain? I mean, with the merger and all—”

“Yes,” Richard said, “I work with these guys all the time.”