A Beautiful Child
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
EPILOGUE
AFTERWORD
SOURCES
Acknowledgements
RESOURCES
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A BEAUTIFUL CHILD
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
Copyright © 2004 by Matt Birkbeck.
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“Suffer little children, and forbid them not,
to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
MATTHEW 19:14
PROLOGUE
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
April 1990
The thunderstorms that swept through the southern Plains left the region damp and misty, the spring moisture adding a heaviness to the air and to the darkness of the early morning hours, which made driving somewhat more difficult for Delbert Ray Collins and his two companions.
They had just exited Interstate 35 and were driving slowly along the poorly lit service road toward the Motel 6, which beckoned just a few hundred feet ahead. It was late, and the men were tired.
After passing a truck stop, one of the passengers, Shawn Peters, saw a small object in the middle of the road. His friend Roy Kibble saw it too. As the car passed it by, the two men turned around to look out the back window, straining to keep their eyes on the object. It was blue—with a high heel.
“Looks like someone lost a shoe,” said Shawn.
As the two men stared out the rear of the car, Delbert Ray drove two hundred feet down the road and then called out, “Is that a body?”
Roy and Shawn quickly turned around and saw Delbert Ray pointing toward the right as he eased on the brake, slowing the car. There, on the edge of the road, was what looked like a young woman lying facedown in the gutter, her body convulsing, her arms and legs twitching in different directions.
Delbert Ray pressed his foot firmly on the gas pedal and sped into the Motel 6 parking lot. He jumped out of his car and ran into the building, telling the night watchman to call the police.
The 911 emergency call came into the Oklahoma City Police Department at 12:55 A.M.: A pedestrian was lying on the side of the east service road of I-35, just south of the northeast 122nd Street exit.
The I-35 highway is a major artery that cuts through the heart of Oklahoma and the capital city that bears the state name. Take the interstate north and end up in Kansas. Keep going south and face the flatlands of northern Texas.
Along its length through Oklahoma City, other highways intersect with I-35. Interstate 40 slices through on an east-west route, directing motorists toward either Arkansas or the Texas Panhandle. A northeast passage, I-44 leads to Tulsa and southern Missouri.
By the time Oklahoma City police arrived on the scene, paramedics had already taken the woman downtown to Presbyterian Hospital. She was still alive, though unconscious, and was apparently the victim of a hit-and-run accident. She was young, probably in her early twenties, but had no identification. Found on the road near where she lay were a loaf of bread, two containers of milk, a package of cookies, and two bottles of Dr Pepper. Scattered among the groceries were a broken radio antenna, a windshield wiper, and flecks of red paint, believed to be from the suspect vehicle, along with a pair of headphones and a portable radio, which apparently belonged to the victim.
While the ground and grass off either side of the road were still moist from the day’s rains, the road was relatively dry, and there were skid marks forty feet before and after the presumed point of impact, which was determined by a shoe scuff on the road. The victim apparently had her headphones on, was listening to music, and couldn’t hear the vehicle coming from behind.
Police interviewed several people at the truck stop, which was a few hundred feet north of the accident. A clerk at a mini-market there said the woman had come into the store to purchase groceries around 12:30 A.M. It appeared that she was walking toward the Motel 6 when she was struck.
Employees and the few patrons at the Kettle restaurant, which was across the street between the accident scene and the truck stop, said they didn’t see or hear anything, not even the sound of a car screeching to a stop. The eatery was close to where the victim was found, about fifty feet away.
When the victim arrived at Presbyterian Hospital she was moaning, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy!” Her extremities continued to move uncontrollably and her eyelids opened and closed, though not on command. The paramedics had tried to talk to her during the ride to the hospital, but she was unresponsive, with the exception of rubbing her forehead and grimacing on occasion.
At the hospital, she
was given medication and the jerking motions stopped almost immediately. Soon she was resting quietly, and doctors removed her clothing and began their examination.
They gently pulled back each eyelid. Her pupils were dilated but unresponsive to light. She had several thin scratches and older, faded bruises on her torso. Similar contusions were found on her legs, arms, and head. Injuries from the accident were relegated to three spots, with fresh bruises on the back of each leg, about twenty inches high and just below the buttocks. A much larger hematoma was found at the vertex of the head. Judging by their conversation with the paramedics and where she was found on the street, the doctors surmised the car apparently hit her from behind, the bumper striking her legs and the impact forcing her to roll backward over the hood, tumbling onto the windshield and up and over the rear of the car. At some point, the back of her head was severely bruised.
Remarkably, she had no broken bones, major skin cuts, or any noticeable blood, a rare occurrence in a motor vehicle accident of this type.
She was listed in stable, but serious, condition.
The following morning, Clarence Marcus Hughes arrived at the hospital.
Clarence was the husband of the victim, whom he identified as Tonya Hughes, twenty-three years old. He was forty-one. He was of medium height, wore blue jeans and faded sneakers, and when he spoke he appeared to have a southern accent. Clarence told police that he, his wife, and their two-year-old son had traveled down I-44 from their home in Tulsa to Oklahoma City on Wednesday afternoon so Tonya could keep an appointment to see a gynecologist. They checked into the Motel 6 around 3 P.M.
Sometime after midnight Tonya decided to leave their room and walk down the road to the truck stop convenience store to pick up some groceries. She called fifteen minutes later from a pay phone in the store to say she couldn’t find any baby food and would be returning with some milk and other items. Clarence said he then fell asleep and didn’t learn of the accident until the morning when he drove down to the truck stop, inquired about his wife, and was told by a clerk that a woman fitting her description was found on the side of the road early in the morning and taken to the hospital. Clarence called the police, who met him at the motel. He told them that his wife was a professional stripper who danced at a club in Tulsa called Passions. He said she liked to meet men, and he was used to her being gone most of the night, so it didn’t concern him that she hadn’t returned to their motel room, even in a strange city.
Before leaving the hotel, police examined Clarence’s dark blue Oldsmobile 88. The car had no damage and the radio antenna was intact.
The police brought Clarence to the hospital and into Tonya’s room. He appeared unmoved at the sight of his young wife, who was lying still but breathing easily. Wires and thin tubes protruded from her body. Her blood pressure was still high, 155/105, but her other vital signs were stable.
She appeared to be in a very deep sleep but in fact was in a coma and unresponsive to any spoken commands, though she did mumble a few words, particularly “Daddy.”
The major concern, said the doctor, was the hematoma on the back of her head. Her brain had been severely bruised and all anyone could do right then was wait. Given that her vital signs were stable, doctors expressed cautious optimism that she would, in fact, pull through over the next day or two.
Clarence stood still as the doctor delivered his report. He displayed little emotion, nor did he try to comfort his wife by touching her body or whispering something soothing and heartfelt into her ear. Instead, following the update on his wife’s condition, Clarence politely asked the nurse for a pen, a notebook-sized piece of paper, and some clear tape. The nurse, somewhat puzzled, left the room but quickly returned with the items.
Clarence asked the doctor and nurse to leave, saying he wanted a moment or two alone with his wife.
When they returned several minutes later, Clarence was gone, but he had left a sign taped to the outside of the door.
It read, NO VISITORS.
CHAPTER 1
Forest Park, Georgia
November 1983
The wide halls of Forest Park High School were crammed with teenagers, all moving in slow motion as they bumped and grinded their way to class. It was late morning and, despite the sluggish pace, a buzz was in the air. The Thanksgiving holiday was fast approaching, and the impending week off gave the students something to look forward to after three straight months of school.
Teacher Terry Magaro tried to navigate through the human mass, politely calling out to students ahead that she was “coming through.” Magaro was rushing to a scheduled 11 A.M. meeting in the guidance office and had but thirty seconds to find her way through the crowded hall, down a staircase to the first floor, and into the school’s main office. Magaro had twenty years’ experience and moved like a football halfback, darting back and forth through the congestion, finally making it to a stairwell. From there it was one flight down and into the guidance office.
Waiting for her were Warren Marshall and his fifteen-year-old daughter, Sharon. The Marshalls requested the meeting with Magaro following a recommendation from Linda Harris, a teacher at nearby Riverdale High School. Sharon had completed the first semester of her sophomore year at Riverdale, but was now considering a transfer to Forest Park. The Marshalls were eager to see the school and learn more about the advanced programs.
Sharon came into the meeting sporting an impressive IQ of 132 and a report card that featured mostly A’s and a few B’s. A math whiz, Sharon had scored perfect marks in geometry at Riverdale and in math classes at Baldwin High School the year before. Baldwin was in Milledgeville, about one hundred miles east of Atlanta, and served as Sharon’s school for the spring semester after she transferred from Northside High School, which was on the northern fringes of Atlanta.
Magaro entered the office and offered an awkward apology to the Marshalls. Warren extended his hand and Magaro grabbed it and shook, continuing to apologize, blaming the long walk from the other side of the building for her tardiness. Magaro invited them to sit in two chairs directly in front of a wooden desk, behind which Magaro took her seat. She smiled as she scanned the father and daughter.
Warren was of medium height and build, with a pleasant but nondescript face. He looked to be fortyish. His hair was thin and scarce near the dome, but full and neatly trimmed around the ears and back of the neck. He wore a blue sport jacket over a white shirt and blue slacks. Across the front of his waist was a large silver belt buckle with the word Painter.
Sharon appeared to be just a couple of inches over five feet tall, with shoulder-length blond hair that curled inward toward the neck. Her magnetic blue eyes lured Magaro, who stared just a second or two longer than was comfortable. Sharon was dressed impeccably with a white sweater buttoned to the neck and dark blue skirt that fell just below the knees. Sharon smiled and only nodded when Magaro said hello during introductions. Sharon remained quiet, sitting with her back straight and hands folded neatly on her lap as her father thanked Magaro for the meeting and explained that he and his daughter wanted to see the school and meet some of the teachers before enrolling Sharon at Forest Park.
Warren’s voice was distinctly southern, clear, and succinct. He voiced his displeasure with the quality of education at Riverdale, particularly the classes for advanced students.
“Sharon is a special student, very bright, and we want to make sure the quality of the advanced and gifted classes here at Forest Park are up to our standards,” said Warren.
Magaro was pleased to tell Warren that Forest Park offered advanced classes in many subjects and also offered a variety of extracurricular activities that Sharon would find attractive. Warren was less interested in the after-school programs than he was in the advanced classes, which were offered in nearly every major subject at Forest Park.
As Magaro boasted of the benefits of Forest Park, Warren seemed pleased and his already friendly demeanor became downright giddy. He even pulled out one of his business cards.
>
“You ever need a painter, you give me a call,” he said.
Magaro changed the subject, politely asking about Sharon’s family life.
“Her mother died when Sharon was a child. I’ve raised her myself and I’ve done the best I could as a single dad. I think I’ve done a pretty good job,” said Warren, leaning toward his daughter and smiling. “She’s a good girl. We go to church on Sunday, she studies hard in school, and she takes care of her daddy.”
Magaro was impressed with Warren’s commitment to his daughter. She was sadly familiar with far too many fathers who were either absent in body or in mind, or both.
It was plainly clear that Mr. Marshall was different.
Sharon was quiet through the meeting and remained that way when Magaro turned and asked what questions she had. Sharon didn’t reply. Instead she focused her pretty blue eyes on her father, who laughed loudly, saying he had already asked the important questions and he liked what he was hearing.
“This school seems like a good fit for Sharon!” he bellowed. “I believe she’ll do very well here!”
Magaro agreed, acknowledging that Sharon’s previous semester at Riverdale was indeed impressive, given her high marks. Magaro failed to notice that Sharon was about to register into her fourth high school in twelve months.
“Forest Park is a fine school, Mr. Marshall, and I’m certain that both you and especially your daughter will be happy with what we have to offer,” said Magaro.
Warren rose from his seat, and Sharon followed.
“I believe we will be very happy here,” said Warren, looking down at his daughter. “Don’t you agree?”
Sharon looked up, smiled, and nodded.
They walked toward the door, and Warren thanked Magaro for the meeting.
“We’ll be making our decision on the transfer in a day or so,” he said.
Magaro said good-bye to Sharon, who smiled in return, but left the room without saying a single word.