Buried Evidence (3 page)

Once they passed through the doors to the nursing facility, a
middle-aged nun swished by wearing a white cotton habit. Lily glanced in a room and spotted another nun working over an elderly patient. The facility must be staffed by a specific religious order, she decided, probably one dedicated to the care of the terminally ill. No phones jangled, no televisions blasted, no orderlies pushed metal carts down the tiled corridors. The silence alone was ominous. The sisters seemed to drift from room to room on a cushion of air, their movements completely soundless. Patients were not moved to this transitional unit simply because their insurance would no longer pick up the tab.

Betsy Middleton had reached the last stop on the train.

The building was long and narrow, with the majority of the rooms on the ocean side. Even from the hallway Lily could see the entire coastline through one of the patients’ windows. She had seen pictures of monasteries in Tibet perched on the edge of windswept cliffs. This particular facility might not be as removed from civilization, but she imagined there was a similar feeling of stillness and isolation. She felt as if she were floating just slightly below the clouds.

Dr. Logan reached over the counter and retrieved Betsy’s chart, then motioned for Lily to follow him. “We don’t usually admit children over here,” he told her, stopping in front of a room. “In this instance our administrator made an exception.”

Lily stared through the window at Betsy Middleton. The girl was in a crib, tubes and wires snaking out between the bars. A hard ball of rage formed in her stomach. Because of the pending criminal charges, Henry Middleton would never allow his daughter to be removed from life support. He wasn’t a stupid man. He knew they could charge him with murder. Far more was at stake than merely convicting a criminal. While the wheels of justice slowly turned, a precious soul was trapped in limbo.

The small mound beneath the covers no longer looked like an eight-year-old girl. Even though they were feeding her through a shunt in her abdomen, Betsy’s body was wasted and her limbs had atrophied. She was curled up in the fetal position and couldn’t weigh more than a large infant. Her hair was blonde with reddish highlights, almost the same color Shana’s had been at that age.

“One of the saddest things about this case,” Logan said, their shoulders touching, “is Betsy was only mildly impaired. I concur with the diagnosis of Aicardi syndrome, yet from all appearances, her corpus callosum is almost completely intact. The last test they gave her at the special school she attended listed her IQ in the mid-sixties.”

“What you’re saying, then,” Lily said, acid bubbling back in her throat, “is she had a chance to live a fairly normal life?”

“More or less,” he replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying she could have graduated from college. Before she developed the lesion on her right eye, however, her vision problems were minimal.”

“I thought she had a hole in her retina.”

“Left eye,” he said, pointing at his own. “A person can manage fairly well with one eye.”

When Lily faced the glass partition again, she saw a well-groomed woman in her late thirties leaning over the bed, tenderly stroking the girl’s forehead. She must have been in the bathroom before. “You didn’t tell me Mrs. Middleton was here.”

“I didn’t know,” Logan said, shrugging.

Lily understood the sense of helplessness Betsy’s mother
must be experiencing. Six years ago she had stood over Shana,
holding her hand and stroking her forehead. A mother’s concern
for her child was one of the most powerful forces in the universe.
“You said her brain function was only moderately impaired….”

“A lot of people have IQs in the sixties,” he explained. “Many marry and have families. Since Betsy has a genetically inherited disorder, though, I doubt if I would have recommended that she have a child.”

Just then Betsy began convulsing. Her mother shrieked, then frantically depressed the call button. Lily heard something drop on the floor, then realized it was the metal chart. Logan rushed inside the room, along with two nuns who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Never in her life had she seen people move that fast. One of the nuns handed the doctor a syringe. He instantly injected the medication into the intravenous tube already inserted into the girl’s arm. As Carolyn Middleton cowered in the
corner, the sisters fastened leather straps around the child’s arms, legs, and torso. The seizure was so severe, the crib shook as if the building were collapsing. After five agonizing minutes, the girl’s tortured body finally became still.

Dr. Logan found Lily with her hands pressed against the window, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s over,” he said, peeling off his rubber gloves and tossing them into a trash can.

“You mean she’s dead?”

He reached in his pocket to hand her a tissue. “I was referring to the seizure.”

“Bad choice of words,” she told him, dabbing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, bending over to pick up the girl’s chart.

Mrs. Middleton lovingly rearranged her daughter’s head on the pillow, then stepped out of the room. She was wearing black slacks and a white turtleneck sweater, and her brown hair was styled in soft curls around her face. Before the tragedy Lily would have pegged her as a superficial woman, the kind who spent her days shopping or playing tennis at the country club. One look in her eyes made it clear that those days were over.

Lily touched Logan’s arm to let him know she was leaving. He must have misread her, however, thinking she wanted to speak to Betsy’s mother. “This is Lily Forrester, Carolyn,” he said. “She’s the district attorney handling Henry’s case.”

Mrs. Middleton was stunned. “I have nothing to say to you,” she said through gritted teeth. She took a step inside Betsy’s room, then returned to where Lily and Logan were standing. “How could you possibly arrest my husband? Henry’s a decent, God-fearing man. He adores Betsy, just like he does all of our children.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Middleton,” Lily said. “I understand how difficult this must be for you. My daughter was the victim of a violent crime several years back.”

Carolyn Middleton refused to be consoled. “You don’t understand anything,” she said, her once lovely face twisted in a grimace. “What you just saw isn’t new to me.” She stopped and
sucked in a breath. “I’ve had eight years of this hell. Betsy’s been sick all her life.”

Dr. Logan opened Betsy’s chart to make the necessary notations. Lily shifted her weight but kept her eyes on Carolyn. “Why did you change your mind?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the other woman said, fingering her pearl necklace.

“Dr. Logan indicated that both you and your husband were prepared to have Betsy removed from the respirator,” Lily told her. “Then a few hours ago, your attorney called and rescinded that order. Was this a mutual decision?”

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Mrs. Middleton said, dropping her hands to her sides. “Henry told me not to talk to anyone unless Mr. Fowler was present.”

Lily thought she was hearing things. “Did you say Fowler? Richard Fowler?”

“Yes,” she said, digging in her purse and handing her a business card.

How could Richard have agreed to represent someone as contemptible as Henry Middleton? Now she knew why she had seen him at the courthouse that morning.

Carolyn said, “Henry didn’t do it.”

“I appreciate how you must feel,” Lily told her. “I’m only the prosecutor, Mrs. Middleton. Your husband’s guilt or innocence will be determined by a jury.” It was obvious that Carolyn Middleton needed Henry and was prepared to defend him. Without her husband the woman would disintegrate. The nice clothes, the carefully applied makeup, the regal way she carried herself. Henry had manufactured her just like he manufactured furniture.

Lily waited until she shuffled off down the corridor, then turned back to Logan. “How long can Betsy last this way?”

“She’s been in a coma for almost a year. I’ve heard of patients who’ve survived for as long as ten years, even longer.” He disappeared into the room, checking the flow on the IV, then quickly returned to conclude his conversation. “If there’s anything I can do, please feel free to call me.”

“Anything?” she asked, saying more with her eyes than she
could with words. She watched as Logan’s face paled, the meaning behind her statement striking home. “Do you have children, Dr. Logan?”

“Call me Chris,” he said. “And to answer your question, I’m not married.”

“Let’s say you did have a child,” Lily continued. “Would you want her to continue in this state? My office can file the necessary paperwork tomorrow, but for all I know, the court could take up to a year to render a ruling. Without the parents’ cooperation, we may never get the authorities to step in and give us approval to remove her from life support.”

Tearing off a piece of paper from Betsy’s medical chart, the doctor scribbled something and then pressed it into Lily’s hand. “This is my home phone number,” he told her. “From now on, I think it might be better if we discussed Betsy’s situation outside of the hospital. If you can’t reach me at home, have the hospital page me.”

A
t three o’clock Lily stood outside the dark wood doors of the courtroom, intentionally staging her entry. She had been late to her ten-thirty hearing. Knowing she wouldn’t have the strength to face Richard Fowler on an empty stomach, she’d managed to choke down half of a tuna sandwich. Her eyes were swollen and irritated, her lipstick was gone, and her formerly crisp linen jacket hung limply on her shoulders. She anxiously checked her watch, wishing she had time to make herself look presentable. The corridors were empty, so she assumed Richard and his client were already inside. Finally she thrust her shoulders back, shoved open the doors, and strode straight to the counsel table.

Once she was seated, she retrieved Middleton’s file from her briefcase, keeping her eyes trained on the front of the room. A distinctive scent drifted past her nostrils, a hint of lime. Even Richard’s cologne was the same. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his profile. Being in the same room with him made it difficult to concentrate, let alone the fact that he was Middleton’s attorney.

At forty-eight, Henry Middleton reminded Lily of a toad. She estimated his height at five-six, maybe an inch or two taller, but unlike the perfectly proportioned Dr. Logan, Middleton was almost as wide as he was tall. His hair was slicked back off his forehead, his neck almost nonexistent, his face small in comparison to his bulky torso, and his skin was oily and blotched. She signaled the bailiff so he could notify Judge Orso that she was ready to proceed.

Richard suddenly appeared beside her. “I didn’t know until you walked in that you were assigned to this case.”

“Bullshit,” she said, refusing to look at him. “I’ve been involved since the onset.”

Richard shook his head. “But I haven’t,” he told her. “Middleton hired me yesterday. That’s why you saw me at such an ungodly hour this morning. I read about the crime in the papers, but since no arrests were ever made, I’d forgotten most of the particulars. I drove down here at five this morning to review the police reports and interview my client. I was hurt when you didn’t stop and talk to me.”

Lily started to mention his phone call to the hospital, then heard the bailiff calling the court to order. “All rise,” he said. “Division Fourteen of the Superior Court is now in session, Judge William Orso presiding.”

The judge swept into the room in a swirl of black robes. At seventy-three, Orso had beady black eyes, a hawkish nose, and a receding hairline. Seeing him glaring at them over the top of his bifocals, Richard returned to his position on the opposite side of the room.

The arraignment went swiftly. As soon as both parties agreed on a date for the preliminary hearing, Richard asked the judge to render a ruling regarding bail.

“The state’s position, Ms. Forrester,” Orso said, stifling a yawn.

“Your Honor,” she said, “the defendant is charged with poisoning his daughter for monetary reward. Surely such a heinous crime merits that he be held without bail. Although the child is presently at Saint Francis Hospital, the court has an obligation to protect her from another attempt on her life.”

“There’s nothing to justify Ms. Forrester’s position,” Richard said, his words carefully enunciated. “My client is a highly respected member of the community. He has no prior criminal history. In addition, the crime occurred almost a year ago. Mr. Middleton would have absconded by now if he possessed such intentions.” He paused, then added, “For these reasons we respectfully ask the court to release the defendant on his own recognizance.”

Lily rose to her feet, her voice booming out over the courtroom.
“The defendant didn’t flee immediately after the crime because he had no reason to flee,” she said, gesturing toward Middleton. “Even though Mr. Fowler made it a point to emphasize that his client doesn’t have a criminal record, this is not an ordinary crime and Mr. Middleton is far from the average offender.”

Judge Orso addressed Lily directly. “Can you substantiate that the defendant poses a threat to the victim, Counselor?”

Richard had caused her to become so addled that she’d already tripped over her own feet. Any argument she made to convince the judge that Middleton might harm Betsy would be refuted by his phone call that morning insisting that she be kept on life support. All Middleton had to do was instruct the hospital to pull the plug if he wanted his daughter dead. “Can you answer the question, Ms. Forrester?”

“No, Your Honor,” she said.

“Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars,” the judge said, tapping his gavel and disappearing from the bench.

Once the courtroom had cleared, an attractive, large-boned woman with rich mahogany skin and shoulder-length black hair slipped into the empty chair next to Lily. “How did it go?”

“Don’t ask,” Lily said, scowling. “Middleton’s probably writing a check right now.”

“You didn’t think Orso was really going to hold him without bail, did you?”