Buried Evidence (9 page)

He decided he would tell Joyce their relationship was over at the restaurant. “I don’t feel well,” he said, more truth than fiction.

“It’s probably because you didn’t eat enough protein,” she
told him. “Why don’t I heat up the takeout for you? Then after you eat, you can jump in the shower.”

“I can’t,” he told her, holding his stomach. “My stomach’s upset.”

“We have some Tums,” she offered. “Do you want me to get you one?”

His skin felt clammy. He brought his hand to his forehead, feeling the moisture. Was he on the verge of suffering a panic attack? He’d never had a panic attack in his life. Telling Joyce they were finished was not something he was looking forward to, but finding himself in the eye of the hurricane again with Lily was downright frightening.

“Please,” he said, waving Joyce away. “It’s nothing. I’m tired … just let me get some sleep.”

“Whatever,” she said, wandering out of the room.

S
hana was curled up on the sofa watching television. Just as she was about to doze off, she heard what sounded like a pebble striking the window. Peering out through a crack in the drapes, she saw a man standing on the sidewalk, his face bathed in shadow. Hunching down on the sofa, she hit the redial button on the phone, listening to the series of mechanical clicks. A recording answered, stating that the cellular customer she was calling was not available.

“Damn,” she exclaimed, kicking a throw pillow off the sofa. Her father must have turned his phone off accidentally after she spoke to him. How could he take over an hour to drive only a few blocks down the street? She decided her suspicions that he had been drinking earlier that evening had been accurate. He probably got lost. Now she had to feel responsible for sending him out in the car.

Dropping to the floor, she crawled around the sofa to the window, not wanting the man to see her through the curtains. They weren’t even drapes, just cheap sheers left over from the previous tenants. Her eyes widened as she strained to make out his features. He was the same height and build as Marco Curazon. The week before, she’d lingered around the UCLA campus after an evening class, visiting with some of her friends. While she was walking to her car in the parking lot, a dark-skinned man wearing a red parka had followed her. He had looked almost identical to the man who had raped her. Instead of going directly to her car and taking a chance that he might follow her home, she’d been lucky enough to flag down a campus police officer. By the time she’d climbed inside his patrol car, however, the man had darted between two of the buildings and disappeared.

Shana kept her gaze pinned on the sidewalk as she frantically dialed her mother’s number. “Are you asleep?”

“I was,” Lily said, bolting upright in the bed. “What’s wrong? You sound—”

“There’s a man outside!” Shana said, cupping her hand over the phone. “I think it’s him, Mom! He tried to follow me home last week.”

“When you say him, who are you referring to?”

“You know,” the girl answered, “Marco Curazon. He’s been out of prison for six months. Didn’t I tell you he’d come looking for me? I should have told Dad to buy me a gun. What am I going to use to protect myself?”

“You know how I feel about guns, Shana,” Lily said. “The majority of people who buy firearms either shoot themselves or one of their family members. And when someone does break into their home, nine times out of ten the perpetrator uses the gun against them.”

“Please, Mom,” the girl said, “don’t lecture me now. I’m really scared. I wish I still had Princess. At least she barked when people came around.”

“I know, sweetheart,” her mother answered, realizing she was referring to the Italian greyhound dog she had given to her just after the rape. Sadly, the delicate little dog had died the same year Shana had graduated from high school. Her daughter had been so devastated, she had refused to let her mother buy her another pet. “I’m going to call the police from the other line,” Lily told her. “Don’t hang up.”

“Hurry,” her daughter pleaded.

Lily rushed to the kitchen, where she had a separate phone line installed. As soon as she got the dispatcher on the speaker phone, she reported a suspicious individual lurking around her daughter’s residence. “Did you hear, Shana?” she said into the portable phone. “The police are on the way.”

“What if they don’t get here in time?”

“We’ve been through all of this before,” her mother said. “You’re getting hysterical.”

“How could they release him after what he did to us?” Shana
said, incensed. “Explain that to me, okay? What’s he going to have to do before they lock him up for good? Kill me or something?”

“Take a few deep breaths,” her mother said. “Is the man still there?”

Shana jerked her head around. “I can’t tell,” she said. “Someone just pulled up in front of the house across the street. He must be hiding behind the car now.”

“A sidewalk is a public place,” Lily told her. “Of course you’re going to see people walking around outside at night, especially in an area as heavily populated as North Hollywood. You can’t let your imagination run wild. Where’s your father?”

“I don’t know.”

Lily was pacing back and forth in the living room of her cottage. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“He went out for ice cream,” the girl said, yanking the rubber band out of her hair. “He never came back. For all I know he’s sitting in a bar somewhere.”

Lily was more disturbed by the fact that her ex-husband was drinking than her daughter’s belief that someone was going to harm her. This wasn’t the first time the girl had panicked since she’d learned Curazon had been released on parole. According to his parole agent, the man didn’t even own a car. Time was the key. Shana would eventually feel safe again, but it wasn’t going to happen overnight. Lily only wished she’d been able to convince her to attend school in Santa Barbara. How could she protect her child from such a great distance? “Wasn’t your father ordered to attend A.A. meetings after the DWI conviction?”

“I guess.” Shana turned her attention back to the window. “I see him…I’m certain it’s Curazon! He just walked under a streetlight. His head is shaped the same, even his nose. He’s not wearing the same jacket as he was the other day. Still, I’m certain it’s him.”

“The police will be there any minute.” Lily knew she had to keep her daughter talking. “How could he possibly know where you live? Try to be rational, Shana.”

“Maybe he found me through the Internet or something,” she said. “They say you can find anyone these days.”

“That’s ludicrous,” her mother told her. “Don’t you see how childish you sound?”

“Now you’re calling me childish!” Shana shouted, ready to hang up the phone.

“Curazon could never afford a computer,” Lily continued, “let alone learn how to use the Internet. Your address isn’t listed, anyway.”

“How do you know?” she countered. “I bought all my textbooks over the Internet. I buy CDs all the time. Once you order something, your address is stored in some big computer where everyone can get their hands on it. Dad says prisoners have access to all kinds of things, even computers.”

Lily wondered if what her daughter was telling her was true. Law enforcement agencies were only beginning to expose the opportunities for criminal activity in cyberspace. Locating a victim’s address was an area she’d never considered. If what her daughter said was possible, victims all over the country could be in danger. “When you order something with your credit card,” she asked, “don’t you use a secure site?”

“Yeah,” her daughter said, “but one of my friends told me they sell your name and address to various businesses for their mailing lists. How would a person know if these other companies had secured sites? I mean, maybe they don’t give out your credit card information, but I still think people can find out where you live. And a person doesn’t have to know how to use the Internet,” she added. “You can pay someone to get information for you. Kids at school pay people all the time.”

“You’re a smart girl,” Lily said. “Perhaps by the time you get out of school, people will specialize in this particular type of law.”

Shana saw the man walking down the opposite side of the street now. “He’s going to break into someone’s house,” she told her mother. “He’s walking up to their door right now.”

“Can you make out the address?”

“No,” Shana said, panting. “It’s too dark.”

“Describe the house.”

“White with blue shutters,” she said. “And there’s a white Jeep in the driveway.”

Lily called the police again on the other line, alerting them that they might be walking into a burglary in progress. The dispatcher advised her that the officers were already in the area. “Do you see a police car?”

“Yes,” she said. “They just showed up.”

A police unit squealed to a stop in front of the residence she had described. A spotlight illuminated the area. Shana watched as two uniformed officers leapt out with their guns drawn. She looked for the man, but all she saw was a large brown dog. After a short time, the officers holstered their weapons, then began walking in the direction of Shana’s duplex.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” Shana said, stepping outside onto the porch. “Dad’s here now. The man must have been visiting one of my neighbors or something.”

John had just pulled into the driveway. People were standing outside on their lawns. Shana felt like an imbecile. Without saying goodbye, she hit the off button on the portable phone, rushing down the sidewalk to speak to the police officers.

John placed his forehead on the steering wheel of the Mustang. His first response when he’d turned onto his street and saw the police cars was to continue driving. But he was weary, and without his wallet, where would he go? It’s probably better this way, he thought, knowing he could never live with himself after what he had done. He only wished that he’d reported the accident. Hitting the boy was bad enough, but leaving the scene had compounded the crime. Shana was talking to the police officers. Every few moments she would look over her shoulder toward the car. The police were going to arrest him and handcuff him, all while his daughter stood by and watched.

“Dad,” Shana yelled, beating on the closed window with her fist. “Can’t you hear me? Open the door.”

Her father slowly raised his head. The two officers who had been standing in his front yard were now walking toward their
police cruisers. He hit the automatic button for the window, having no idea what was happening.

“I feel like the jerk of the month,” Shana said, hanging onto the car door.

“Wh-what do you mean?” John stammered. “Why were the police here?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I saw this man lurking outside my window. I freaked and called the police. Well, actually, Mom called the police for me. They even dispatched the helicopter. Didn’t you see it?”

John shook his head. He positioned his hand over his mouth, fearful she would be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the police car as it pulled into a driveway, then backed out and took off in the opposite direction. “Did the police arrest the man?”

“No.” Shana searched the shadows again. “I guess it could have been a neighbor. The police tried to convince me it was only a dog.” She laughed, an involuntary release of tension. “Cops can be real dickheads. I’m not so stupid I can’t tell the difference between a dog and a human being.”

Shana reached for the car door, leaving John no choice but to get out. “Why didn’t you call me instead of your mother?”

“I did,” she said. “You must have turned your cell phone off.”

“Are you certain you’re okay?” John said, crushing her to his chest. “Could you see the man’s face? Did he try to get into the house? Did the police ask about me?”

“You’re hurting me,” she said, prying his arms off. “Why would the police ask about you?”

“You know,” he said, “maybe they wanted to know who you lived with.”

“I’m an adult, Dad,” she said, noting the circles of perspiration under his arms. “Mom was probably right. I haven’t been getting enough sleep. When you don’t sleep, your mind plays tricks on you. Let’s go inside and eat our ice cream.”

John stared at her with vacant eyes.

“Duh,” she said. “The ice cream, remember?”

Acting more on reflex than conscious thought, her father reached into the backseat and pulled out a soggy brown sack. Before he could hand it to her, the carton of ice cream broke through the paper, the contents splattering onto the sidewalk. He stared down at the dark stain, thinking it resembled a spreading puddle of blood. Was the young boy still lying there suffering, alone in the dark night, waiting for someone to come and rescue him?

“You
have
been drinking,” Shana said, pointing an accusing finger at him. “How can I count on you for anything?”

John stumbled backward as if she had slapped him, then watched as she stomped into the house and slammed the door. He no longer cared if she went running back to Lily. All the love and concern he’d showered on her since childhood would mean nothing if he was apprehended. The lights went out in the house across the street; classical music played somewhere in the distance. He had to protect himself now, shift into a survival mode.

Opening the trunk of the car, he removed a flashlight. At least by striking a pedestrian, he had eliminated any possibility of a paint transfer from the other person’s vehicle. He had to make certain, however, that there were no other incriminating marks or evidence. After checking the body of the car, all he spotted was a small dent on the left side above the wheel. He was certain he could knock it out with a rubber hammer. The last thing he wanted was to have to take the car to a garage for repairs. Tossing the flashlight into the front seat, he plodded up the walkway.

Seated on the edge of the couch, John turned on the television, flicking through the channels until he found the local news. Afraid he would fall asleep, he made a cup of instant coffee in the microwave, then rushed back to the living room, anxious to see if there was any report of the accident. After listening to a report of a fire in the downtown area near Grand Avenue, a private plane crash near the Burbank airport, and a baby rescued from a trash bin, a pretty blonde reporter smiled into the camera as the words
Breaking News
flashed across the bottom of the screen.