Buried Evidence (2 page)

“You’re probably right,” Kingsley decided. “That’s a Valentino he’s wearing. I know, because I almost bought the same suit. What’s his name, by the way? I think I might have seen him on
Rivera Live
the other day.”

“Richard Fowler,” Lily said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she ducked into the rest room.

L
ily splashed cold water on her face, then finally managed to get through to Dr. Logan at the hospital. After she explained that the Middleton girl’s father was about to be arraigned for attempted murder, the physician asked if he could speak to her in person. “I’m really on a tight schedule today,” she told him. “Can’t you give me an update of her condition over the phone?”

“Please, Ms. Forrester,” Logan said. “Betsy’s condition has deteriorated. We’ve been talking to her parents about removing her from life support.”

“I’ll be over as soon as possible,” Lily told him, deciding she would have to postpone the arraignment. As soon as she disconnected, her daughter called.

“You left a message on my machine.”

“Shana,” she said, “I can’t talk right now, sweetheart. Will you be home this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” the girl mumbled. “Dad forwards the calls to his cell phone, though, so you probably won’t be able to reach me. What’s going on?”

Shana was generally a positive, charismatic young lady. Most of their conversations were filled with gossip and laughter. Not only did she sound as if she were speaking through a pillow, there was something else that Lily couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Are you okay?”

“I was up until three o’clock last night.”

“Studying?”

“Of course,” Shana said, sighing, “what else would I be doing on a Monday night? I certainly wasn’t out partying. I was sick last week. I missed three days of classes.”

“Did you see a doctor?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” she told her. “I must have had a touch of the flu. What do you want to talk to me about? The message you left on my answering machine made it sound like it was something important.”

Common sense told Lily to let it slide. She stared up at the overhead light fixture, a graveyard of dead flies. A public rest room wasn’t a place to conduct a serious conversation, and running into Richard Fowler had left her unnerved. Had he even seen her? “I’ll catch you later this evening.”

“Tell me now,” the girl insisted. “I won’t be able to concentrate on my school work. You can’t just dangle something in front of me, then make me wait. You know I’m curious by nature. You’re the same way, Mom.”

Lily poked her head out the door to the rest room. Kingsley was still standing in front of the judge’s chambers. Damn Orso, she thought. They’d be lucky if he showed up for the hearing. “Is your father home?”

“I think he went out to get something to eat,” Shana told her. “The car was gone when I woke up this morning.”

“I know you can’t transfer now,” Lily said, deciding to speak her mind while her ex-husband was out of the house, “but I’d like you to reconsider attending the university here in Santa Barbara.”

“Not this again,” her daughter whined. “The fall semester just started. Why would you even mention me switching schools? I thought you were happy for me, that you weren’t going to rag on me anymore.”

“I
am
happy for you,” Lily told her, leaning back against the sink. “Something’s come up, that’s all. If you were living in the dorm there wouldn’t be a problem. Even sharing an apartment with a couple of girls might be an option. The rent on the duplex is almost two thousand a month.”

“Why do you care?” Shana asked. “Dad pays for it.”

“Not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He called me yesterday,” Lily explained. “I promised I wouldn’t tell you—”

“Tell me what?”

“Your father’s behind on the rent. He claims he hasn’t sold a house in four months. I’m already paying for your tuition, food, clothing, even your car insurance.”

“You’re making this up,” Shana said. “Dad sold a house last week. He has all kinds of big deals in the fire.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Lily said, her chest constricting. John always managed to make her the bearer of bad news. He knew she would refuse to foot the bill for the duplex. He’d
had
to give it a stab, though, just like a gambler
had
to toss his last chip down on the table. “You know your father doesn’t always tell the truth,” she continued. “Even if he closed a deal tomorrow, Shana, it could be up to three months before he received a commission check.”

“You’re just saying these things because you’re jealous,” the girl argued. “You’ve always been jealous over my relationship with Dad. That’s why you put him down all the time.”

Lily suspected there was some degree of truth in her daughter’s statement. She wouldn’t call it jealousy, however. All the checks she sent to Shana were cashed by her ex-husband. With the exception of the rent, she had been supporting them both for over a year. “Your father made it sound like he doesn’t anticipate being able to pay the rent for quite some time,” she went on. “I suggested he get a regular job, something that paid him an hourly wage. He hung upon me.”

“But my friends are here,” Shana cried. “I’ll have to start over if you make me change schools. And you know Santa Barbara isn’t ranked as high as UCLA. I want to go to a first-rate law school.”

With her free hand, Lily opened the door to the rest room. She could already taste defeat. Her daughter had an emotional stranglehold on her. If she continued the discussion, she would be sucked dry. “I’ll agree to allow you to continue at UCLA,” she said, “but you’ll have to move into the dorm by next semester. Otherwise, I might not be able to afford to send you to law school.”

“Now you’re threatening me!”

“I’m attempting to explain the facts of life to you,” Lily said. “I earn a modest living, Shana. The price of education is astronomical. I’ve been saving for your future since the day you were born. I’d work a second job if necessary. I simply cannot support your father.”

The line was silent.

“I love you,” Lily told her, wishing such a negative discussion hadn’t been necessary. “Everything will work out. It won’t be so bad living in the dorm. You’ll have fun, get to spend more time with your friends. Who knows? Maybe you won’t need the added expense of keeping a car.”

“Great,” Shana snapped. “Thanks a lot, Mom. This is just what I needed to start my day. First I have to move. Now I have to give up my car. Everyone has a car in L.A. How will I get around?”

“You’ll be living on campus.” Lily paused. She should have never mentioned the car. The car was a sore spot. “Your father doesn’t have a car, and he seems to be making out just fine.”

Shana knew she was busted. When her mother had tapped into her savings to buy her a brand-new Mustang convertible for a high school graduation gift, she had made her promise that she wouldn’t allow anyone else to drive it. “What am I supposed to do? Dad needs a car to sell real estate. Either he drives me where I want to go, or I catch a ride with one of my friends. What’s the big deal?”

Negotiate, Lily told herself, taking in a deep breath. Her daughter was a formidable young woman. Already she argued like an attorney. When given the chance, however, she could be as manipulative as her father. “I might be able to increase your allowance so you’ll have more money to spend on entertainment and clothes.”

A small voice said, “I have to go.”

“Family problems?” Kingsley asked, overhearing the tail end of Lily’s conversation.

She slipped her cell phone back into her purse, giving him a look that said he should mind his own business. No matter how attractive he was, the attorney annoyed her. Maybe he annoyed
her because he was so good-looking. Just to prove her point, a couple walked by. The man glanced at Lily and immediately looked away. The woman smiled flirtatiously at Kingsley. He was used to women drooling over him. He loved it, encouraged it. “No sign of Orso yet?”

“Nope.”

“As soon as he shows, ask him to postpone the arraignment until three o’clock this afternoon,” Lily told him, her face locked in a grimace. “I need to go to the hospital.”

The young prosecutor was bewildered. “Why can’t we go ahead with the arraignment at ten like we planned? I got here at six o’clock this morning to work on the complaint. I even had Brennan go over it with me last night to make certain everything was perfect.”

Lily struck her forehead with the back of her hand. “Think,” she shot out. “Attempted murder is not first-degree murder. We can plead special circumstances and ask for the death penalty if Betsy died during the night. Then Middleton might be looking at something far more frightening than a prison sentence.”

L
ily steered her black Audi into the parking lot of Saint Francis Hospital. She was thankful that the hospital was only a five-minute drive from the courthouse. Part of the luxury of living in a small city like Santa Barbara was the fact that everything was close, and, in most instances, a person didn’t have to worry about getting stuck in traffic. Weekends were occasionally a problem, but most of the traffic snarled on the 101 Freeway or on State Street, the city’s main drag. People from Los Angeles and the surrounding communities headed north during the summer months to escape the heat and enjoy the lovely beaches. When the mercury inched its way past eighty in Santa Barbara and people started perspiring and complaining, the temperature in Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley generally rose over the hundred mark. On her drive to the office that morning, Lily had heard that it was supposed to hit 105 in downtown L.A.

“I’m here to see Dr. Logan,” she told an elderly volunteer working the front desk.

“Is he expecting you?”

“Yes,” Lily said, giving the woman her name.

When she stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, a handsome man in a white coat rushed over to greet her. “Christopher Logan,” he said, shaking her hand. “You could have waited for me in the lobby. Didn’t Mrs. McKinley tell you?”

“No,” Lily said, her face flushing. They had talked on the phone at least a dozen times. His voice was familiar, yet she had not anticipated him being so small. Wearing a blue shirt under his starched white jacket, Dr. Logan had neatly trimmed dark hair, perfectly shaped facial features, and he possessed the kind of squeaky-clean look that one would expect for a person in his profession. Lily found herself checking her fingernails, fearful
there might be a speck of dirt under them. When the doctor gazed up at her, he blinked several times. She wasn’t the only one doing a double take. She doubted if the diminutive Dr. Logan had envisioned himself talking to a freckle-faced giraffe during their numerous phone conversations.

“Betsy isn’t here,” he told her. “She’s been moved to the transitional care unit.”

Middleton’s arraignment had been postponed until three o’clock that afternoon, but Lily had two additional court appearances to make, one at ten-thirty and another at one. Her watch read nine forty-five. Logan motioned toward an unoccupied waiting room a few feet away, then waited until Lily dropped down on the edge of a chair.

“Before we go over there,” Logan said, sitting across from her, “there’s been a new development. Mr. Middleton’s attorney called me ten minutes ago. He instructed me that Betsy was not to be removed from life support under any circumstances. I found this peculiar, as we’ve been working closely with the parents since the child was admitted last October. Only a few days ago Henry and Carolyn Middleton agreed that Betsy should be removed from the respirator. That’s why I thought you should come here, since we were about to proceed with their request.”

Lily’s first assumption was that Logan and the hospital were eager to harvest the girl’s organs. Then she changed her mind, doubting if a child whose body had been flooded with strychnine would have anything worth salvaging. “Can she breathe without the respirator?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“What about brain activity?”

“Slight,” Logan said, clearing his throat.

They were staring directly into each other’s eyes. Lily felt an urge to look away, but the nature of their conversation demanded a degree of intimacy. “How slight?”

“Almost nonexistent.”

Logan was kind, intelligent, and, from Lily’s previous contacts with him, highly cooperative. Extracting information from
doctors, however, was never easy. She considered it along the lines of pulling teeth. “Is the child in pain?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered.

Generally when a patient was in the terminal stages of an illness, physicians attempted to comfort the family by convincing them their loved one could no longer experience pain. “How can you make such a vague statement?” Lily blurted out. “I’m not a family member, someone you have to placate. Is she in pain or not?”

Logan was a calm man, accustomed to dealing with difficult situations. His body language remained the same: his palms rested lightly on his knees, his forehead was unfurrowed, his voice low and steady. “I’d give you a definitive answer if I could,” he said. “Betsy is in what we classify as a level six coma. She doesn’t respond to external stimuli, so there’s no reason to believe she’s in pain.”

Lily stood. “May I see her now?”

“Of course,” Logan said, following her out of the waiting room.

They walked along a path to the rear of the hospital. Lily noticed several small ceramic statues of various animals positioned along the trail. Then they began climbing a steep series of concrete steps. Several times she had to stop and catch her breath. When they reached the top, she saw another structure located between the hospital and the extended-care facility. “What’s in that building?”

“The nuns stay there.”

“Is it a convent?”

“No,” Logan replied. “It’s just a place for them to rest.” A question mark appeared on his face. “I guess a few of them might reside there.”

Lily realized she was letting herself become sidetracked, possibly due to the hectic pace of the morning. “Is there any chance Betsy could recover?”

“Outside of a miracle,” Logan answered, “I don’t think it’s possible.”