Buried Evidence (43 page)

“You have every right to be happy,” Richard insisted. “And I deserve to spend my life with the woman I love, the woman I’ve wanted since the first day I saw her. Shana has a right to have a family, people who care about her. Hernandez has no rights whatsoever, do you hear me? None. Zilch. Nothing. He forfeited his rights when he murdered those people.”

Lily shook her head. “We’ve gone through all this—”

Richard started the car, then opened and shut both of his fists to release the tension, like a fighter about to slip his hands in his gloves before he entered the ring. “If there is such a thing as Hell,” he said, “Hernandez has no rights there, either.”

W
HEN RICHARD
and Lily finally gave up and returned to his house, the Corvette was parked in the driveway. “Thank God,” Lily exclaimed, about to leap out of the car.

“Wait,” Richard said, flashing his high beams to illuminate the interior of the car. As soon as they confirmed it was Shana, her mother exited the car and they rushed into each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Shana said, sobbing. “I wanted to help you.”

“You didn’t help me by running off with Richard’s car,” Lily said, glancing back at him. “We’ve been worried sick about you. The most important thing is that you’re okay.”

A
N HOUR
later, Richard carried an empty pizza box to the trash can, then poured himself another gin and tonic. Although he’d been famished by the time they reached the house, after listening to Shana explain what had transpired at the D.A.’s office, he had almost lost his appetite. He knew the girl’s intentions had been good, but he feared the end results might be disastrous. Shana had gone upstairs to the guest room, and Lily was waiting for him in the library. He started to bring the bottle of gin with him, then changed his mind and placed it back in the liquor cabinet. It had been years since he’d felt the need to numb himself with alcohol. The most memorable had been the night at the Elephant Bar over six years ago, the first time he had slept with Lily. Although they had both sobered up before he had taken her to his house, he had been drinking heavily that night in an attempt to accept the fact that Butler had demoted him.

“Of all people,” Richard said, striding back into the library, “Shana had to go straight to Paul Butler. Don’t forget, Lily. You
got my job as supervisor over the sex crimes division because Butler refused to stand up for me when I walked in and caught Judge Fisher snorting cocaine.” He stopped and took another sip of his drink. “You can rule out any attempt to settle this thing outside of the courtroom now that your kid has practically handed them your head on a platter.”

“You’re overreacting,” Lily said, seated on the floor near the fireplace.

“The press will go wild over this story,” he continued, wearing out the carpet in front of her. “Your daughter practically reenacted the crime. She not only dressed up to resemble the composite drawing, she even told him she shot the wrong man. Why in holy hell would she think she could get away with something like this?”

Lily rubbed her hand back and forth on the carpet. “The truth was going to come out eventually. This is my problem. I’ve told you ten times how I’m going to handle it. All Shana did was make it more difficult for me to negotiate a settlement. Whatever the D.A. offers me, I’ll accept.”

Richard marched over and slammed the door to the library. He jabbed his thumb toward his chest. “I pushed the car over the cliff, remember? For six years I willfully suppressed evidence in a homicide. It’s fine and dandy that you want to bare your soul and redeem yourself. What about me, huh? I could be disbarred, and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. What if they decide to prosecute me as well? What about Greg? This is the kind of recklessness that got you into this mess.”

“I thought you wanted to marry me,” Lily said. “Why would you want to marry the kind of reckless, uncaring idiot you just described?”

“Forgive me,” he said, squatting on the floor beside her. “I’m frustrated and angry, that’s all. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Under the circumstances, I would have probably gone over there and shot Hernandez myself.”

“Don’t worry,” she told him, “I’ll tell them I’m the one who disposed of the Honda. The car may not even come up once I
enter a guilty plea. And Shana is the only one who knows I confessed to you. Even Cunningham doesn’t know.”

He captured her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “Who’s going to look after your daughter if you go to prison? Why won’t you let me take this to a jury and see if I can get you acquitted?”

“Shana’s an adult,” Lily said, knocking his hands away. “She’ll be okay. I refuse to allow her to perjure herself.”

Richard stood, seeing a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. “Well,” he said, smiling briefly, “I guess one good thing came out of this fiasco.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t have to worry about Shana perjuring herself,” he said. “After today, she’s the last person they’ll want to put on the witness stand.”

Lily’s face brightened. “They’ll think she’s going to say she did it again, right? They’ll be afraid that she’ll plant enough doubt in the jurors’ minds that they’ll either deadlock or acquit.”

“Exactly,” he said, extending his hand to help her up. “This time you’re going to do things the right way. The D.A. can file any charges he wants. The court will have no justification for holding you without bail, and I have ample funds to get you out. You’re going to plead not guilty just like every other defendant who walks into a courtroom.”

She remained on the floor, sorting through her thoughts, weighing her options. For years she had worked in the criminal justice system. Her sojourn to the other side of the law had consisted of only a few minutes, the time it took to depress the trigger on her father’s shotgun. With John dead, she was beginning to think Richard was right. Could she finally free herself of the past by placing her fate in the hands of a jury? As the accused party, she was protected by the Fifth Amendment from being forced to testify and incriminate herself. Therefore, she wouldn’t be committing another crime by getting up on the stand and lying. “Can we win?”

“Of course,” Richard said, kissing her on the forehead. “You have a great attorney.”

•  •  •

L
ILY RECEIVED
the call from Matt Kingsley regarding Betsy Middleton’s death at approximately ten o’clock Tuesday morning. She had just gotten off the phone with a funeral home, attempting to make the preliminary arrangements for John’s burial, even though they would not be allowed to set a date and time for the services until the L.A. authorities released his body. After notifying Richard at the office, she called Dr. Christopher Logan at Saint Francis Hospital, wanting to get the details from him directly since he’d walked in and found Carolyn injecting the strychnine into Betsy’s IV.

Shana was still sleeping upstairs, and Richard’s large home seemed as if it were filled with a dozen lost souls, her own included. She might have been estranged from John at the time he was killed, but the night before she had lain awake in Richard’s guest room, mourning the death of the man she had married. Now she had to come to terms with another death. At least she had some comfort in knowing that Betsy was no longer suffering.

“I don’t understand,” Lily said when Logan came on the phone. “Was this a case of Munchausen by proxy? Do you think Carolyn Middleton had been poisoning her all along?”

“No,” Dr. Logan explained. “From what I ascertained from talking to Henry and other family members, Carolyn had a cousin who suffered from Aicardi syndrome. The disease wasn’t identified until the mid 1960s, so they probably treated her cousin for some other type of seizure disorder.”

“But you think Carolyn has been poisoning her for some time?”

“Just since the Halloween incident,” he replied. “Then when the poison failed to kill her, Carolyn continued to dose her without our knowledge. I feel partly responsible, as I didn’t continue checking her blood and tissue for strychnine, particularly not near the end.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lily told him. “I was certain it was Henry.”

“Well,” Logan continued, “I’m not a police officer or a prosecutor.
All I can do is make an educated guess, and it seems likely that Henry knew Carolyn had poisoned her. I don’t believe he assisted her in any way, nor do I believe that he did anything other than buy the candy without advance knowledge of what she intended. And I also feel fairly certain he wasn’t aware that Carolyn was continuing to give her doses of strychnine. This is supported by the fact that Betsy seldom had a seizure when her father was in the room.”

“You never mentioned this before now,” Lily said, still unable to accept that Henry was innocent. “Also, where did Carolyn buy the strychnine? We have a witness who saw Henry carrying a Coke bottle filled with a strange liquid after paying a visit to the exterminating company next door to one of his warehouses only a few days before the crime. And don’t forget the woman who saw Henry buying the candy.”

“Regarding your witness and the Coke bottle,” Logan responded, “it was probably just what it appeared to be. And Carolyn might not have even bought the strychnine. For all we know, she found it in the gardening shed. Their gardener could have easily kept a supply on hand to kill gophers, mice, or some other type of pest. I’m certain they locked up any chemicals on the property, but Carolyn would have had a key.”

“Henry was acting strange, though,” Lily protested. “And don’t forget his business was in trouble. Maybe he only conspired with her?”

“I don’t believe so,” Logan said. “I think Carolyn told him to buy the candy because she wanted to make certain that she had something to hold over his head. After she placed the strychnine inside the straw candy and Betsy ate it, Henry must have figured out what Carolyn had done. By then he decided it was too late to help his daughter. Carolyn probably threatened to tell the police he was responsible, convincing him that the problems with the business would be viewed as a motive since the girl had a large life insurance policy.”

Lily said, “I feel awful.”

“I know,” Logan said, sighing. “I only began studying her case file again a few days before I walked in and found Carolyn
with the syringe in her hands. I wish I had been more alert. The fact that the symptoms of her illness were similar to strychnine poisoning is what threw me for a loop.” He paused, catching his breath. “I’ve learned a lesson I won’t ever forget. Like a lot of people here at the hospital, I became very attached to Betsy.”

“I guess we’ve all learned a lesson,” Lily said, knowing that by focusing so intently on Henry, she might have overlooked signs that would have pointed toward the child’s mother. She was grateful that the prosecution hadn’t continued, or Henry might have been convicted. “If he knew, why didn’t he come forward? It’s hard to believe he would be willing to go to prison for something he didn’t do.”

“She was his wife,” Logan told her. “He must have loved her. It isn’t easy having a disabled child. Many times both parents feel responsible, as if by bringing the child into the world, they’re to blame for setting them up for a lifetime of hardship. The other Middleton children are well cared for and appear normal in every respect. You should know this from your investigation. Friends and family members have only glowing things to say about how dedicated Carolyn was in caring for Betsy. I think her husband’s need to reward her was what drove Henry to become such a successful businessman.”

“All the goodies still weren’t enough,” Lily said. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I believe these types of situations reach a much deeper level,” Logan explained, his soft voice reassuring and analytical. “A person could have all the riches in the world, and it wouldn’t compensate them for the helplessness and despair that’s inherent in caring for a child with an incurable illness. I think Carolyn had difficulty enjoying anything, let alone her wealth.”

“But you said Betsy could have lived a somewhat normal life.”

“I’m a physician,” he said. “What I consider normal is not what the average person considers normal. Betsy required constant assistance, medication, schooling, surveillance. You witnessed one of her seizures. They’re frightening. If severe enough
or if the child is unattended at the time of a seizure, they can cause death.”

“I’m certain Betsy appreciates all you’ve done,” Lily told him, slowly replacing the phone in the cradle. She asked herself why she’d spoken of the child in the present tense. But what did she know, what did anyone really know until they stepped over the line and passed into the dimension beyond life? Maybe the little girl did appreciate what Logan had done—that the truth had finally been revealed. Betsy’s frail body had struggled against her mother’s repeated attempts to end her life. Had her spirit lingered on earth for the specific purpose of telling her story?

Lily’s eyes filled with tears. John’s life seemed like the leather-bound book sitting on the corner of Richard’s desk, a collection of pages, now only memories. Her former husband hadn’t been an evil, worthless man, just a weak man. In comparison, Betsy Middleton had been a brave and courageous warrior. She might have lived only eight short years. Nonetheless, Lily felt certain that her book would be much larger, the cover not made out of leather but of gold.

G
asping for breath in an intense state of excitement, he rapidly thumbed through the pictures, his chest rising and falling. He had not showered in over a week, but the stench of his body didn’t bother him. After years in the joint, he was immune to just about everything. He touched the edge of a photo album, his eyes zeroing in on a particular image. His head fell back, his mouth opened, and a look of pleasure spread across his face. “There’s my girl,” he said. “That’s the one I remember, not that other redheaded bitch.”

Yanking the photo out from behind its plastic casing, he placed it in his duffel bag with the other souvenirs he had collected. Rummaging through another drawer, he pulled out a pair of white panties and added them to his growing collection. The next thing he pulled out was a china doll, its frilly dress torn in several places. Around the doll’s neck was a red ribbon and a small heart-shaped pendant. He could imagine her tiny fingers reaching out to touch the pendant, the smile on her face, how happy she must have been when her mother gave it to her. She’d been a pretty girl, a smart girl, a girl whose parents had given her everything she had ever wanted
.