My Lost Daughter (26 page)

“I hear he's fantastic.”

“I hate it when you lie.”

Mary quickly filled him in on the circumstances in Ventura. “This is a perfect fit to the cases I've been investigating. I even found a new will sewn inside the lining of the victim's jacket. I'm certain this wasn't a run-of-the-mill homicide, chief. The victim went up there knowing he was going to die.”

Adams let out a long sigh. “I still don't understand what this has to do with this unit. What makes you think this homicide is connected to the others?”

“The victim was a paraplegic,” Mary said, her voice louder than she had intended. “I can't believe you don't see the connection. I'm certain there are scores of people who would rather die than live the rest of their lives in a wheelchair hooked up to a catheter. That means we have a possible motive for suicide in a crime that occurred not far from the most recent killings. The victim also had a—”

Adams interrupted her. “You'll be in Ventura in a week. You'll have plenty of time to work on the ‘Suicide Killer' case once you get there.” He stopped and glanced at the wall of horror, as Mary called it, where crime scene photos of ongoing investigations were tacked up. “Our UNSUB in Chicago killed another child, a six-year-old boy. He grabbed him in a grocery store. The boy wandered over to the candy aisle without his mother noticing. It wasn't her fault. Her other kid, a four-year-old autistic, pitched a major tantrum.”

Now she knew why he was in such a foul mood. He'd called her UNSUB the “Suicide Killer.” She wanted to ask him if he'd given the case a name without realizing it or if the media had been responsible, but she knew this wasn't the time. “Is Chicago anywhere close to capturing this monster?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, chief, I know you're busy but I need you to make the sheriff see how important it is for him to cooperate with us in this investigation. The most recent crimes occurred in the San Francisco area. My guess is the UNSUB is working his way to Los Angeles. Once he gets there, we may never catch him. L.A. is not only heavily populated, it's spread out all over the place.”

“What makes you think the UNSUB is still in the Ventura area?”

“Because he loves what he's doing,” Mary said. “He'll kill again in the same general area. He likes to walk among the people, feel their fear and listen to them talking about the murders. This is the kind of killer that we'll end up arresting in a shopping mall or a grocery store. He probably drives a Volvo with a car seat in the back.”

Adams's eyes came alive. “Does he steal it, do the murder, and then ditch it?”

“No, he owns it. He buys his cars on Craigslist and probably sells them when he's through with them.”

“Interesting,” Adams said, one corner of his mouth curling. “Get the sheriff on the phone and I'll talk to him. What's the name of the victim?”

“James Washburn.” Mary stood to leave, wanting to get the ball rolling.

“Are you certain you love this guy? You know, Brooks.”

“Of course,” she said. “Why are you asking?”

“I had to jump through some pretty big hoops to get you assigned to this unit. You were born for this job, Stevens. This homicide in Ventura may turn out to have no connection whatsoever to the other crimes. You're excited now, but it isn't going to last. Someone with your talent doesn't belong in a field office, especially in a town like Ventura.”

“We've already gone over this,” she told him. “I know what I'm giving up. I love my husband very much. I waited a hell of a long time to marry the wrong man.”

“Once I fill your position, you can't come back. You understand that, don't you?”

“Completely,” Mary said, sad that she was leaving but eager to push ahead. She'd had a good life in Ventura before she had come to Quantico and she'd have an even better life with Brooks. “The sheriff's name is Earl Mathis.”

“Don't leave,” Adams said. “I'll see if I can get him on the line right now.”

“Your daughter is very ill,” Dr. Morrow told Lily. “If she refuses to speak to you, there's nothing I can do. That's a problem the two of you will have to resolve when she's released.”

Lily was in her office during the afternoon break. She'd stayed awake all night, wondering if she had done the right thing by taking Shana to Whitehall. And Chris had made things worse, insisting that she move Shana to a hospital in the Ventura area where she could visit her and make certain she was receiving the right treatment.

As soon as she'd returned to her office that afternoon, she'd called Whitehall and asked to speak to her daughter, only to be told that Shana refused to take her call. She then demanded to speak to Shana's psychiatrist.

“I don't feel right having her so far away,” she said. “I'm sure you take wonderful care of your patients but I'm in the process of checking out some local treatment facilities. As soon as I find something suitable, I intend to transfer my daughter.”

“You're making a serious mistake,” Morrow said, only a hint of annoyance in his voice. “I'm sorry if what I'm about to tell you seems rude, but you're jeopardizing your daughter's health for selfish reasons. When you should have spent time with Shana was before she developed an addiction to methamphetamine.”

His words stung so deep, Lily momentarily stopped breathing. Of course she was at fault. Everything that had gone wrong in Shana's life was her fault. It had all begun that night at the Elephant Bar when she'd gone home with Richard Fowler. After that, it was like a stack of dominos collapsing. John found out and forced her to move out. He'd prepared for that day for years, turning Shana against her so that she would want to live with him instead of Lily. If John got custody, he knew he had a good chance of getting the house, and since Lily's income far surpassed his, she would also have to pay him child support.

When John refused to move out of the house, Lily had tried to rent a nice house, a place where she and Shana could begin a new life together.

“Ms. Forrester . . .”

Lily was holding the phone to her ear but she'd momentarily forgotten that Dr. Morrow was still on the line. “You don't understand. I have a demanding job and Shana doesn't feel safe in Ventura.”

“Then why would you want to transfer her, particularly in her present condition?”

She knew she should tell him about the rapes, but something held her back. It wasn't just Morrow's remark about her spending time with Shana, which he'd said intentionally to hurt her and make her feel guilty. His tone of voice was condescending, and she was convinced that he was both manipulative and cunning. Even if he was sincerely concerned about Shana's well-being, she was nonetheless a commodity. Lily had no idea how much the hospital charged, yet she assumed it was a minimum of a thousand dollars per day. She reminded herself to call her insurance company as soon as she got off the phone.

“Your daughter has only been here since Friday, Ms. Forrester,” Morrow told her. “She's not even fully detoxed yet. Withdrawal symptoms differ depending on how much and how often the drug was used. Users experience a wide range of problems . . . fatigue, disturbed periods of sleep, mental confusion, irritability, intense hunger, as well as moderate to severe depression.”

He had changed his manner of speech, speaking slowly and softly. An intimate quality had seeped into their conversation, as if they had known each other for years. Lily began to relax.

“Psychotic reactions such as Shana experienced happen frequently. Many times users develop symptoms similar to paranoid schizophrenia. May I call you Lily?”

“Okay.”

“Don't worry, Lily, these symptoms and behavior will go away once Shana completes our program. At the moment, I'm treating her with an antidepressant called Norpramin which affects serotonin, the neurotransmitter in the brain that deals with both depression and drug cravings, along with a sedative called Dalmane. We're also hydrating her with intravenous fluids. She's responding quite well, but we have a long way to go.”

Lily realized it was time to return to the courtroom. “I guess you're right. Shana shouldn't be moved right now. I'd feel a lot better, though, if I could speak to her.”

“Just give her some time.” He started to conclude the call and then quickly added, “Please feel free to call me whenever you want to talk, or if you have any questions regarding Shana's care. Rest assured, I want your daughter to get well as much as you do. It breaks my heart to see the life of a young, intelligent woman like Shana torn apart by illicit drugs.”

Lily eyes moistened with tears. “Thank you, Dr. Morrow.”

“Call me Charles,” he said. “Shana will be fine, Lily. Once she becomes more rational, I'll do my best to get her to call you.”

Once she disconnected, Lily headed back to the courtroom, Morrow's conversation playing over in her mind. He was right. If she had spent more time with Shana, she might not have become involved with drugs. And Morrow sounded like an informed and caring professional. She wasn't certain why Chris had developed such a negative opinion of psychiatric hospitals, but she had to do what was best for Shana. For the time being, leaving her at Whitehall until she became stabilized on the medication seemed to be the most reasonable way to proceed.

MONDAY, JANUARY 18
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Back in the great room, Shana followed Alex and his entourage to the round table designated for smokers. She asked to borrow a quarter, and he pulled several out of his pocket and handed them to her.

“Thanks,” she said, rushing over to the pay phone. She deposited her quarter and dialed Brett's number. A female answered and she quickly hung up. Damn him. She'd thought the Berkeley bimbo would be history by now.

Whatever drugs Dr. Morrow was feeding her had eradicated her memory. Desperate to talk to someone, she couldn't recall a single number. All her contacts were stored in her iPhone. No one memorized phone numbers anymore, she thought in an attempt to console herself. She placed her forehead against the wall, trying to bring forth her former roommate's cell number. Feeding another quarter into the phone, she punched in what she thought was her number and a Hispanic woman answered.

Shana returned to where Alex and the others were seated, feeling depressed and isolated. The dryness in her mouth from the drugs, along with the proximity to so many smokers, made her long for a cigarette. Alex didn't sit at the table. His modus operandi
was to stand the way she had first seen him. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he would rock back and forth as people came up to him, chatting or asking questions.

“Can I have a puff?” Shana was standing next to Alex. He reeked of cigarette smoke, and instead of repulsing her, it made her long for a cigarette. For some reason, being near Alex gave her a sense of well-being, as if she could do whatever she wanted and nothing bad would come of it.

Alex reached inside his jeans and pulled out a pack of Marlboros, handing it to her. “Go ahead,” he said. “I have a whole carton in my room.”

“No,” Shana said. “I just want a puff. I quit years ago.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, passing his cigarette to her. “Don't worry. I haven't had a herpes outbreak since last week.”

“You're kidding, I hope.”

“Yeah, I'm just messing with you.”

As she drew in the smoke, she decided if they let people smoke, they should allow her to have her cell phone. She handed Alex the cigarette and headed for the nursing station, shuffling across the floor as fast as she could in her rubber thongs. Peggy was going over some paperwork. Shana waited until she looked up.

“I need my cell phone,” she said, her voice shrill. “I can't remember my friends' numbers. I demand you return my property this minute. You had no right to take it from me.”

“Well,” the woman said, placing her hands on her ample hips, “I'm sure it's been taken care of properly. More than likely, we released your property to your next of kin for safekeeping.”

“I don't have any next of kin,” Shana said without thinking, covering her mouth in shame when she realized the implications of her statement. Even if she was furious with Lily for committing her, she was still her mother. “I demand to know where my property is, Peggy.”

Peggy leaned forward, causing her balloon-sized breasts to squash against the counter. Shana thought any minute she would hear them hiss and pop from the strain. “We don't demand here,
Miss Fancy Pants. And we have plenty to do, so you can go right back where you came from and wait quietly until I have time to check your file.” She ran her tongue over her lips and smiled. “It's almost medication time.”

“Well, excuse me,” Shana said, sucking in a deep breath. “I didn't realize medication time was the big event of the day. Does administering drugs require such a concerted effort that you can't glance at my chart and take maybe three minutes to tell me what happened to my property?”