Authors: Rebecca Forster
“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Liz commiserated.
“Then I wish he’d tell me about it. You know what I mean?” She took a minute to catch her breath and look at Liz. She wasn’t going to cry, but there was hurt behind her eyes. “He was so cool for a while. You’d think I’d know by now.”
“Know what?” Liz asked.
“That all men are psycho. All they do is think about themselves.”
Liz had never been good at girl talk, and couldn’t exactly discuss the psycho assertion with any real authority so she didn’t try. Psycho was relative, but Liz could sort of see why Gay – she finally had a name – put the label on Daniel Young. It was never a good idea to sleep with your boss, but to sleep with a guy as anal as Daniel was really stupid. Liz had a hard time having him around in the last couple of days; to have him follow her home at night would be too much.
Liz left Gay to her phone calls and checked out Daniel’s office. The man might as well have installed a spotlight over his desk. She took a look at the desk, but didn’t touch anything. There really wasn’t anything to touch, anyway. No pictures. Then she turned around and saw the vanity wall.
The framed magazine covers were all old, but Daniel had been quite the darling of the media for a while. There were pictures at formal events. Liz admired the way he wore a tux. There were luncheon photos: Daniel with Mayor Riordon, Daniel on a movie set, a headshot of a well-known actress on which she had scrawled ‘thanks for saving me from myself’. Then she saw the picture of Daniel surrounded by women in evening gowns. This was what Archer wanted her to see: Daniel and Erika Gardener. His arm was around her instead of reaching out to encompass all the women. Erika did not look happy. Liz knew a relationship when she saw it and this was a relationship. Daniel should have told them.
She took the picture from the wall and walked back to the reception room. Gay was on the phone, her voice sweet and concerned as she cancelled an appointment and thanked Mr. Bond for understanding that even doctors have sick days. She looked at Liz, fingers poised to dial again.
“Do you know her?” Liz held out the picture. She didn’t even have to point at Erika Gardener because Gay’s eyes went right to her. She grimaced. She looked at Liz.
“Yeah, I know who that is. Daniel’s fiancé.”
Chambers of Judge Leisinger, Edleman Courthouse,
Monterey Park
“And you’ve spoken to Mrs. Crane? She agrees with this?”
“Given all that has happened, given that the man who you thought should take custody of Hannah Sheraton is no longer able to, given that her birth mother is in jail and her guardian, Josie Bates, is still missing, yes, Mrs. Crane agrees a placement is the only course of action.”
Leisinger didn’t bother to look at Mrs. Rice when he said: “A simple yes would have sufficed.”
He picked up a pen and hesitated. Leisinger was a man who expedited that which had to be expedited, but this time it felt like a criminal action. Pity that in this case chronology put Hannah in harm’s way via an intractable system. He would rather have ten Hannah’s running around than Mrs. Rice and Mrs. Crane partnering up. Still, there was no choice now. He put his signature on the order remanding Hannah Sheraton to the care of the state.
“When will Mrs. Crane be picking her up?” Leisinger asked.
“She’s already called Hannah to let her know she’ll be coming as soon as she has the paperwork.”
“That’s kind of her,” Leisinger said.
“She wanted to make sure Hannah would be ready. You can’t waste time in these matters,” Mrs. Rice answered.
“Pity that,” Leisinger noted. “Good day, Mrs. Rice.”
The Home of Cory Cartwright, Westminster
Detective
Arnson sat in Cory Cartwright’s home on a small chair covered in a fabric stamped with big, pink roses. The place screamed old maid, and yet Cory Cartwright was far from it. Old, sure. She was probably in her sixties, but the woman knew how to take care of herself. She had a bod that just wouldn’t quit and, for a married man like Arnson, just thinking about it made him feel like he owed his wife an apology. It didn’t help that she was wearing some kind of yoga stuff that made her look like she was forty.
“You know,” she said as she walked back into the room after taking a little powder break, “there was no reason you should have come all this way. You could have just asked me about Xavier over the phone. Not that I don’t love company, you understand.”
She reclined on a sofa that looked none too comfortable and smiled at him. Caps, he decided. Nobody had teeth that perfect.
“We like to do things in person when possible,” Arnson answered.
“So you can look a body in the eye and know if they’re lying? That is so CSI.”
“Actually, yes.” Arnson colored under her scrutiny. “I understand you ran the literacy program at the prison. I was hoping you could tell me if Xavier Hernandez’s work ever referenced his trial for the murder of Janey Wilson. I’m specifically interested to find out if he mentioned Josie Bates or Erika Gardener.”
“I don’t follow,” Cory answered. “He read a lot. In fact, I remember him because he was a voracious reader. He wasn’t really one to discuss the things he read. I never engaged the inmates in discussions of their crimes even if they wanted to. That wasn’t my job.”
“No, I’m not talking about his reading habits. I wondered if you might still have some of the stuff he wrote. You know, did he write stories or a journal or what?”
Cory Cartwright
threw back her head and laughed.
“What he wrote? Xavier had a learning disability. He couldn’t write if his life depended on it.”
A Rental House, San Fernando Valley
“Come on. Hurry it up. I gotta get to work!”
The girl’s boyfriend hollered at her through the closed and locked bathroom door. Sometimes she thought she should get rid of him, get out of the house, and change her life around a little. There just had to be a better way to live. Her, him, his friends and one bathroom just didn’t add up to a really fine situation. But this morning, he was just going have to wait to take his ten o’clock dump because she finally decided what she had to do and she was going to do it – as soon as she remembered the number.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO:
Josie Bates’ House, Hermosa Beach
Daniel Young knocked on the door and was surprised not to hear the dog bark. He hated that dog and the dog hated him, but he was ready to face the animal. So when Hannah opened the door and the dog didn’t appear, Daniel figured his luck was turning.
“Nobody’s here,” Hannah said when she saw him.
“I know. I heard what happened to Archer and Xavier,” Daniel said. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.” Hannah held open the door. “I’m not going to be here very long.”
“Where are you going?” Daniel asked, noting the suitcase by the door.
“Everyone heard about Archer. I’m being placed.” Hannah followed Daniel into the living room. “Don’t make yourself comfortable. They’ll probably be here soon.”
“I am sorry, Hannah. I had no idea the disappearance of one person could create such misery for so many. It’s rather like a house of cards, don’t you think? The way we are all interlocked.” Daniel laced his fingers together to illustrate his point.
Hannah sighed. She was getting pissed. “What do you want?”
“I want to help you.”
Daniel dropped his hands. Irritation flickered under his smile. She wasn’t fooled There was no reason he should want to help her when he hated Josie. He was just looking for attention.
“You want to take care of me?” Hannah smirked. “I don’t think the judge would go for that. Besides, I don’t think we’d get along.”
“No, nothing like that.” Daniel shook his head. “I wanted to offer my professional services. Given everything that’s happened, I doubt Ms. Bates will be coming home. I thought you might want to prepare yourself for that. I thought I would reach out to you. Someone needs to now.”
“She’ll get back,” Hannah snapped. “And she’ll find me. And if she doesn’t Archer will. He’ll come get me.”
Hannah walked back to the door and put her hand on the knob. The house was too quiet and she didn’t like Daniel sharing the silence, but Daniel had an agenda. He wasn’t going anywhere until he met it.
“Neither of those things will happen, Hannah,” Daniel said gently. “It would be better to face the facts now. I read your history. I know how you clung to the notion that your mother would love you and care for you. I know the danger you put yourself in because of that delusion. Don’t put yourself through it again. I know. . .”
“Just shut up. You don’t know anything about Archer and Josie,” Hannah said angrily. She didn’t have to be nice to him, and she didn’t want him spoiling her last minutes in this house.
“I do know about Josie Bates, and you know, too. Look at your hand. You can’t help yourself. Your anxiety is reflected in your compulsiveness. You may say you believe she’s coming back, but you’re already grieving. Let me be the one to help. Please, Hannah.”
Daniel Young walked toward her, but Hannah barely noticed. She was looking at her hand, and she was fighting the numbers running through her head. It wasn’t until the tips of his shoes came into view that she realized how close he was. Her head snapped up. He looked bigger and broader than he had when she first met him; he was frightening and threatening because he seemed to be looking through her.
“I could save you, Hannah.”
“I don’t need saving.” She backed off and pulled open the door.
“You will,” he insisted.
“No, I won’t. And you better go now.”
Hannah wished Max was there or Archer or anyone. Where was Billy when she needed him? She didn’t want to be alone with Daniel Young, but he wasn’t listening to her. He looked at her as if trying to decide whether he should do what she wanted or what he wanted. Before he could make that decision, a phone started to ring. They looked at each other and then they looked toward the dining room.
LAPD, Detective Levinksy’s Desk, Los Angeles
“Yep. Yep. Sure. Thanks. Okay.” Levinsky made a few notes, hung up on the caller and immediately dialed Arnson. “We got the fiber content back on the strands found in Bates’ car. White/black/blue. Consistent with sportswear microfibre. Yeah. You know, all that fancy stuff that breathes.”
He listened for a minute.
“Could be Bates’. I’ll call and have the kid check her closet. Yeah. Yeah. Maybe not. It’s all in the file.”
Levinsky was about to hang up when Arnson told him that Hernandez couldn’t write. Levinsky was surprised. That definitely meant someone else was in the mix.
“Think those broads are still alive?” Levinsky asked. He listened for Arnson’s answer then said: “Naw, me neither.”
He hung up and thought it was a damn shame they’d probably be finding a couple bodies one of these days. What a waste. Both those women were lookers.
Liz Driscoll’s Car, Hermosa Beach
Liz knew she should go home, but home was a long way away from Hermosa Beach, and she just wasn’t ready to let go.
She had done what Archer asked and found the picture of Daniel and Erika Gardener, faxed the info of their engagement to Arnson and asked him to check in Erika Gardener’s house for anything that might connect the two currently. She suggested he also check the long ago restraining order that had been granted to Erika Gardener. It would be interesting to see if Daniel Young was named. Liz called the hospital on her way back from Manhattan Beach. Archer was doing better, but there was no change in Hernandez. Now she was sitting opposite Josie Bates’ house wondering if she should stop in and see Hannah. There were a zillion reasons not to – the first being that Liz would eventually have to admit that she was off the investigation. There was only one good reason to knock on that door and the reason was that Hannah was a kid.
“Aw, hell,” Liz muttered. She didn’t have anything else to do. She’d go and sit with Hannah until they came to get her, but first there was one more call she had to make.
“Morgan?” Liz said when her contact at the city clerk’s office picked up. “It’s me, Driscoll. Got anything on the parking garage? Excellent. Hold on.” Liz pulled her notepad out and got ready to copy. “Okay, shoot.”
“Ten in the time frame you gave me,” came the answer. “I already ran the names on the cards through DMV. I came up with four red ones: two Toyotas, a Cadillac and a Mountaineer.”
“Don’t care about the Cadillac. Give me the Mountaineer and the Toyotas.”
Liz started to write. The mountaineer was registered in Santa Ana so Liz discarded it. The first Toyota was to a man named Forest Kempmeir and the second was registered to a Gaylene Sheff, one resided in Manhattan Beach and one resided in Orange County.”