Buried Evidence (22 page)

“Didn’t you mention something sensational?”

Jameson was blown away. He didn’t recall making such a statement. He knew he had
thought
about how much publicity they would generate if they prosecuted Lily Forrester on murder charges. The words must have simply slipped out of his mouth. It was an eerie sensation to discover yourself making statements you had no intention of making. A number of years back he’d worked with a cop who possessed a rare talent for making people confess. Some of the old-timers had told him that this was one of Cunningham’s primary claims to fame, that even the hardest criminals would break down and spill their guts to him. When a man possessed that kind of power, a person had to be extremely cautious. “Surely you must realize,” he continued, intentionally
pausing before each word, “that department regulations preclude me from releasing any details related to a criminal investigation.”

“I have to take care of a customer,” Cunningham said curtly. “Have a nice day, Fred.”

When Jameson heard the dial tone, he tossed the receiver up in the air, then watched it fall onto the top of his desk with a loud thud. “That sneaky son of a bitch,” he exclaimed, standing and turning in circles inside his cubicle.

“Stop talking to yourself, for heaven’s sake,” one of the female detectives said as she walked past.

“Wait, Sandy,” he said, stepping outside into the hallway. “Are you headed in the direction of the kitchen? Grab a cup of coffee for me, will you?” Another boost of caffeine, he decided, might be what he needed to clear out the morning cobwebs and help him figure out how to get Cunningham into cooperating with him without the man ending up knowing more about his business than he did. He’d already consumed five cups, though, and everyone at the office insisted he was a caffeine junkie. Everyone had their demons. He’d rather drink coffee all day than slug down a case of beer every night.

Sandy Weinberg was a statuesque brunette, not what a man might consider pretty. After ten years on the job, she was highly respected. “Get it yourself, Fred.”

“Thanks,” he yelled, wanting everyone in the room to hear him. “What is this, anyway? Pick-on-Fred day?”

Grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair, Jameson decided it was time to hit the street. He had a fresh stiff in the morgue, and two additional homicides only weeks away from the trial date. For the time being, Lily Forrester and any connection she might have to the Hernandez killing would have to wait.

A
little after three o’clock Shana went to the guest bedroom to take a nap. John called just as Lily was about to carry her portable computer outside to the porch to see if she could get some work done. She walked over and shut the door to her bedroom.

“Where’s Shana?” John asked, beside himself with concern. “I thought she spent last night with one of her friends, then went to school today. I’ve called everywhere. No one has seen her. That girl Jennifer, the one she hangs out with all the time…she says Shana didn’t even show up for her morning classes.”

“She’s with me.”

“You bitch!” he shouted, furious. “You took her to Santa Barbara? You couldn’t even call me—”

Lily started to hang up, then decided he would only call back. “You not only killed that kid, John, you killed him in your daughter’s car.”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“When are you going to stop lying?”

“And you don’t lie?” he shot back. “Right, Lily. Tell me you haven’t been lying about shooting that Hernandez guy. At least I don’t put other people behind bars for doing the same thing I did. You’re a hypocrite, Lily, a damn hypocrite.”

“The crime lab found pieces of the victim’s flesh trapped in the undercarriage of Shana’s Mustang,” she told him. “We spent hours at the police department last night. Since the car is registered in Shana’s name and she was alone at the time of the accident, they have to consider her a valid suspect. They think she might have even known the boy because they both went to UCLA.”

“Flesh? Did you say flesh?” John was mortified, unable to
believe his ears. She was trying to torture him, punish him. “Why are you saying these things? Because I made you leave your precious job to post my bail? You couldn’t even wait until they released me to give me a ride home. I had to use what little money I had on cab fare. Stop playing fucking mind games with me, Lily!” He paused and sucked in a breath. “The police don’t have enough evidence to convict anyone, let alone Shana. They didn’t say anything to me about finding pieces of flesh.”

“It takes time for the lab to go over the car,” Lily told him. “I’m telling you the truth. The police know whoever killed that boy was driving the Mustang. They just don’t know if it was you or Shana.”

“You’re going to make me lose my mind,” John said. “God, tell me this isn’t true.”

Lily was standing over the bathroom sink now, staring at herself in the mirror. A fiery rage was building inside her. Seeing it on her face was terrifying. It was leaping from her eyes, a muscle in her forehead was twitching, her lips had compressed into an angry, narrow line. “You’ve already lost your mind,” she lashed out. “Not only that, you’ve lost your daughter.”

“Put her on the phone.”

“She refuses to speak to you.”

“You did this,” John snarled. “This is just what you wanted, to drive us apart.”

Lily remained silent, her back rigid.

“We used to have everything,” he continued. “We had a nice house. I had a good job with the government. Shana was a cheerleader, the most popular girl at her school. You’re the one who destroyed our lives. Why do you think I started drinking? Why do you think Shana didn’t want to live with you?”

“You killed that boy,” Lily said, her energy depleted to the point where she could barely speak. “He was a student at UCLA, John. I may have to hire an attorney now to represent Shana. She’s afraid to go back to her classes because people are going to know what’s going on.”

“You’re the cold-blooded killer,” John said. “When you make a mistake, everyone is supposed to look the other way. Not with
old John, huh? No, I lose everything. I go down for the big count. I’m the scum of the earth. Isn’t that what you’re telling Shana? You’ve been waiting for something like this so you could turn her against me.”

“I want you out of the duplex,” Lily told him, hissing the words out. “I’m not giving you another penny. You have three days to move out.”

“I don’t have any money,” he pleaded. “I don’t even have a car now. How can I find another place to live? You have to help me.”

“You’re on your own, John,” she told him. “The only person I’m concerned about is Shana.”

“I’m not going to let you get away with this,” he shouted again. “You want to play dirty? Fine with me. See how you feel when you find your ass in the hot seat. You’re going to be sorry.”

“I’m already sorry,” Lily said, sinking back against the bathroom wall.

W
AS SOMEONE
here?” Shana asked, walking out of the guest bedroom not long after Lily had received the phone call from John. “I was sleeping when I thought I heard someone arguing.”

“No one was here.” She headed to the living room, her daughter trailing behind her. Lily had to use every ounce of strength she possessed to regain her composure. “Richard will be up later this evening. We lucked out because he has a court appearance scheduled here tomorrow. He said he had already made reservations in a local hotel. This way, he won’t have to rush home.”

Dressed in a pair of her mother’s tapered beige slacks and a brown sweater, Shana acted as if she hadn’t heard a word Lily had said. “That was Dad on the phone, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t want to lie to you,” her mother answered, shrugging. “You told me you didn’t want to talk to him. All I did was deliver your message, adding a few words of my own.”

Shana shook her head. “Have the police contacted him again?”

“No, darling,” Lily told her, patting a spot on the floral print sofa. “Come, sit down with me. I doubt if anything will happen for a few days. That’s the way most criminal investigations unfold. They wait for the forensic work to be completed, contact whatever witnesses they can find. Basically, they build their case the way a carpenter builds a house.” She wondered how much Shana remembered about the months following the rape. Lily glanced over at her furtively. Did she recall the day they had gone to the Ventura police station to view a photo lineup of possible suspects?

Lily picked up a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, praying her daughter had forgotten that day. Because of the blowup with John, the likelihood of him making good on his threats regarding her involvement in the Hernandez homicide had grown even stronger. Shana was occupying herself by reading an article from a recent journal published by the American Bar Association that she had picked up off the coffee table. As her mother stared at her profile, Shana’s features became those of the thirteen-year-old girl she had been at the time of the rape. Before she knew it, Lily had dived back into time.

“Okay, this is what we’re going to do today,” said Margie Thomas, a detective with the Ventura police. “I’ve prepared some pictures of men who resemble the man you and your mother described and have backgrounds that make them possible suspects. I’m going to let you sit at my desk, Shana, and look at half the pictures. Your mom will sit in the other room and look at the other half, and then you’ll exchange. If you see someone that resembles the man who attacked you, write down the number by his name. You may see several faces and not be certain, but that’s okay. Just be sure to write down all the numbers.” She paused and focused on Shana only, aware that Lily was all too familiar with the routine. “If you do see someone, then we can try to get this man in for a real lineup so you can be absolutely certain.” She stopped and stood, adding, “Any question and I will be right across the room.”

Lily started thumbing through the photos, seeing a number of photos of men she’d prosecuted through the years, sometimes
amazed that they were back on the street and trying to recall the exact particulars of each case. Looking at the photos the way they were presented made her think of the proofs professional photographers give their clients to make a selection, and she realized that it had been over a year since Shana’s last portrait. She glanced through the glass and saw her daughter intently staring at each face on each page at Margie’s desk
.

If Hernandez had murdered Patricia Barnes in order to prevent her from testifying against him, merely fulfilling that first mission that Lily had suspected all along—to kill her—then he might have followed the same pattern with her and her daughter. Perhaps God had intervened and it was His hand that guided her that night
.

Deep in thought, Lily jumped when the door to the small office opened. Shana was ashen and wide-eyed, her hands by her side, an excited expression on her face. Margie Thomas opened her mouth to speak, but Shana blurted out, “I found him. I know it’s him. I’m certain. Show her,” she urged. “She’ll know it’s him too.”

Lily felt perspiration oozing from every pore in her body and knew that she would be drenched in seconds. Waiting for the heavy pressure in her chest signaling a heart attack, she felt blood rush from her face
.

Margie saw her distress. “My God, you look ill,” she said, turning to Shana with a degree of urgency. “Go and get your mother some cold water from the cooler—right at the back of the room you were in. And bring some paper towels from the bathroom and soak them in cold water. Hurry, now.”

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?” the detective asked Lily, seeing the moisture darkening the pale green blouse she was wearing, watching as beads of sweat dropped from her forehead over her nose and down her chin. “Are you having chest pains?”

Lily tried to monitor her breathing and calm herself. She felt like there was a tight band around her chest. She must be having a panic attack. Shana had seen a photo of someone who resembled Hernandez, and she would realize it was the wrong man as
soon as she saw him in person. “I’m okay. Just too much pressure, I guess.”

Shana returned, her mouth tight with concern, carrying the wet towels and a cup of ice water. She handed them to her mother and stood back, watching while Lily wiped her face and the back of her neck while she sipped water from the Styrofoam cup. “I’m fine,” she said, reassuring Shana. “Just give me a minute and I’ll look at the photo.”

“Relax,” Margie said. “You can even go home and come back in the morning. One more day—”

“No,” Shana said, her voice louder than normal, insistent, “let her see it now. Then you can put him in jail.”

The detective turned and took Shana’s hand. “Just give your mom a minute, honey. This has been real hard on her too. Even if your mom agrees that this man resembles the man who attacked you, we can’t just go out and arrest him. You’ll have to see him in a real lineup, and we’ll have to get an order from a judge to arrest him.”

Shana stared impatiently at Lily, impervious to whatever was wrong with her, wanting her to confirm her selection. Lily could see her chest rise and fall visibly with each breath
.

“Okay,” Lily said. “Let’s see the photo.”

Asking Shana to return to the desk she had been at previously, the detective handed Lily a stack of pages with photos just like the ones she had been looking at before they entered
.

“Go through each one slowly and don’t respond just because she has told you she saw someone. I told her to remain outside, Lily, but she followed me in here. If you do select someone, it should be completely independent.” Seeing that Lily appeared in control, she told them, “I’m going to step outside. Come out when you’re through.”

As she searched each page, Lily now was really looking, wanting to see the man Shana had seen, certain that he resembled Hernandez but knowing that half of Oxnard resembled Hernandez. She occasionally glanced out the window of the office, looking for her daughter. She was out of visual range. Margie had more than likely taken her to the vending machines for a soda or
to the rest room. On about the twentieth page of photos, she saw him
.