Then she heard it: a soft tapping at the front door.
The tapping turned into a frantic pounding. Lara glanced at the clock and saw that it was after one. Thinking of calling the police, she reached over and put her hand on the phone. Then she heard a familiar voice calling her name through the bedroom window. It was a hot summer night, and she’d left the window open to get some fresh air.
“Lara, it’s me. It’s Ivory. Let me in.”
Grabbing her robe, she padded barefoot to the door and listened to make certain she wasn’t imagining the whole thing.
“Lara, open the door. Please open the door. It’s Ivory.”
She punched in the alarm code, and after releasing the double dead-bolt locks, she found herself face to face with her younger sister.
“Honey,” she said, taking her in her arms as she walked through the door, “what’s happened now?” She brushed a strand of dark curly hair off Ivory’s face and looked for bruises. “Did Sam hit you?”
Ivory kept glancing over her shoulder at the street, her chest rising and falling, gasping for breath as if she’d been running. “No, no…it’s not Sam. Someone’s following me, Lara. Shut the door. Quick.”
Lara slammed the door and slid the dead bolts back into place, quickly resetting the alarm, her own heart pounding now. “Who’s following you? Where’s Sam?”
Ivory was agitated, her dark eyes darting around the room. “Listen, I can’t explain. I need to call Sam. I just need to use your phone.”
“Stop right here, okay?” Lara said, placing her hands on her sister’s arms and holding her. “Tell me exactly what’s going on. If someone is following you or trying to hurt you, we’ll call the police. Maybe he’s still out there and they can pick him up. What kind of car was he driving? Give me his description.” Lara started across the room to the phone.
“Forget it,” Ivory said. “I’m not calling the stupid cops.” Flopping down on the sofa, she grabbed the phone from her sister’s hand.
Lara stared at her, thinking how beautiful she was, even now when she was frightened and upset. She was a striking brunette, with shoulder-length curly hair that framed her almost perfect face. Whereas Lara’s eyes were gray, Ivory’s were a brilliant blue. But it was her skin that was her finest feature. Her skin was absolutely flawless.
“Sam,” Ivory spoke rapidly into the phone, “I’m at Lara’s. Please, come and get me. Something’s happened. Someone’s following me.” She paused and then her voice rose another octave. “I said I’m not leaving until you come and get me. No, I’m not driving home by myself. I don’t care what time it is.” Then she slammed the phone back on the hook.
Lara turned on the lights in the living room and sat on the sofa across from her sister. “Now,” she said, her voice firm, “tell me what’s going on. Is this about money?”
“Sam’s coming,” Ivory said, avoiding her sister’s eyes. “He’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”
Lara felt her anger and frustration growing with each passing minute. She’d always been the one who protected Ivory, made certain no one hurt her. Ever since they were children, only a few years apart in age, Lara had been the one she always turned to when she had a problem. But since she’d married Sam Perkins, everything had changed.
“Ivory, you must tell me what’s going on with your life. Don’t you understand that I’m concerned about you? You can’t just bang on my door at this hour and tell me someone’s following you and then refuse to tell me what’s going on.”
Ivory stood and started pacing. “I can’t,” she said emphatically, tossing her long mane of hair, jerking her head around to look at her sister. “Don’t worry, okay?” she snapped. “I won’t come over here and bother you anymore. I won’t even call you anymore. You can just forget you have a sister.”
Lara put her head in her hands, and then peered up at Ivory through her fingers. “I never said I didn’t want you to call me or come over here when you need something. You’re not being fair, Ivory. I love you. It’s Sam. isn’t it? All of this has something to do with Sam.”
“Leave Sam out of this. All you ever do is bash him. tell me what an asshole he is. He’s my husband. Lara.” She suddenly started tossing her arms around wildly. “Look at you. your whole life. You want me to end up like you. alone, with no one. living for nothing but a job. a career? Sam and I are going to make it ? and we’re going to make it big time. Then we’re going to move away from here, start all over.”
Lara tried to let her sister’s words roll off her back. Every time they were together, they ended up fighting like this. What Lara wanted was to repair the relationship, help her sister put her life back on track. “What about your child. Ivory? What about Josh? You shouldn’t uproot him, make him move. He’s lived in that house all his life. He lost his father. And what about the pawnshop? You said if I loaned you and Sam the money for the pawnshop, you could make it. Not only that, but you haven’t made one payment. You know. Ivory, I have financial obligations too.”
“Josh is fine…just fine. What do you care, anyway? You haven’t seen him in years.”
It had been a long day. Lara was exhausted and couldn’t handle a screaming match. But the issue of Josh was a sensitive one. and with each second her control was slipping. “And why haven’t I seen Josh in years. Ivory?” she shot back, flopping back against the sofa and crossing her arms over her chest, locking them together and digging her nails into her skin. “Because you won’t allow me to see my own nephew. You’ve poisoned him against me for absolutely no reason.” She inhaled and her chest swelled, her gray eyes blazed. “I thought the deal was that I loan you the money for the pawnshop and we put the past to bed. What happened to that promise?”
“You.” Ivory spat, still pacing, still frantic. “You tried to take my kid away from me. My own fucking sister tried to steal my kid. You know what Sam said? He said you were just bribing me with that money so you could get your hands on Josh and take him away because you don’t have any kids of your own.” She went to the window and peeked through the blinds and then returned to the center of the room.
Lara slumped on the sofa. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get beyond this. “We’ve been over this a million times. After Charley got killed, you were drinking, using cocaine, bringing one man after another into the house. I never tried to take him away. I was only concerned for him. And I was concerned for you.”
Lara had been so concerned about her nephew that she’d threatened to call Social Services if Ivory didn’t get her act together. She’d only wanted to shock her, get her attention, make her realize what she was risking with her reckless behavior, but Ivory had never forgiven her.
Suddenly she noticed how Ivory was dressed. Was this the latest fashion? She looked like a tramp, a streetwalker. Once she had married Sam, Lara had thought the bar-hopping was over. When her first husband had been alive, Ivory had been a contented wife and mother. Lara knew that grief could destroy people, even strong people, and Ivory was far from strong, but her descent had been radical. Lara had arrived at the opinion that life had finally caught up with her sister and then simply passed her. Ivory was a child in a woman’s body. She had been classified as learning disabled as a child, and had an emotional and mental age far below her chronological age. Within a closely structured and protected setting, she could survive. But alone, or with a negative influence like Sam, Ivory was in serious trouble. Then when alcohol and drugs were mixed in, the arrows all pointed to disaster.
Lara then noticed her sister’s breasts, and her eyes expanded. Ivory had always been shapely, far more shapely than Lara, but not like this. Now her sister looked like Dolly Parton. Lara hadn’t seen Ivory in two or three months. She must have had breast implants. It was complete absurdity. Sam and Ivory were always calling for money, claiming they needed it to meet the mortgage and survive, and now Ivory was sporting silicone breasts.
“If you won’t tell me anything else, at least tell me why you’re dressed like
this,” Lara said, her eyes narrowing. “And when did you get your breasts enlarged?”
“Fuck you, Lara. How do you want me to dress? Like you? You’ve never known how to dress. And look at your stupid hair. No wonder you can’t get a man. You’re jealous. That’s what Sam says. He says you’ve always been jealous of me.”
Now Lara was really angry, about to explode. Ivory was immature and ignorant, but this time she had gone too far. She simply couldn’t take it anymore. “You’ve taken money from me,” she screamed, her body trembling, “refused to let me see Josh, and you—you’ve pissed it away on cosmetic surgery and God knows what else.”
“You’re a bitch, Lara. You’re cold now. You’re not the same person you used to be…You’re heartless. You’ve turned to stone.” Ivory walked over until she was only inches from her sister’s face, her breath foul with beer and cigarettes. “I don’t give a shit if I ever see you again,” she said. “How do you feel about that? Why don’t you stick that up your judicial rear?”
Lara stood there with her hands at her sides. She was beyond anger. The whole day rose up to meet her. Everything she did. everywhere she turned, she met hostility and rage. But this was her home and this was her flesh and blood. “Ivory, let’s stop this…” Lara paused. Someone was knocking on the door.
Ivory’s face became animated. She raced over and released the dead bolts, waiting for Lara to turn off the alarm. After Lara had done so, she flung the door open and leaped into her husband’s arms. “Oh, Sam,” she said. Then she took his hand and led him outside to the doorstep, where she started whispering and gesturing.
Lara strained to hear, but it was impossible. She walked over to close the door, hoping she could go back to bed and get at least a few hours’ sleep before the sun came up.
Sam Perkins stepped over the threshold. Lara back-stepped into the house.
He had dark, unkempt hair that fell over his collar and forehead and a thick black mustache. Even though he was only in his thirties, his face was heavily lined from hard living and years of drinking. He was dressed in a wrinkled red polo shirt and faded Levis, with about fifteen keys dangling from a metal clamp attached to his belt. He could have been handsome in a rugged, masculine way. To Ivory, he was handsome. But the only way anyone would agree with her was to see him in the dim light of a bar with about five drinks under their belt. To Lara, he was the scum of the earth. Even though she was several feet away, she could smell the alcohol. He put his hands together and cracked his knuckles, causing his biceps to bulge and his tattoo to appear from under the sleeve of his shirt. It said EASY RIDER. There was nothing easy about this man.
“I don’t want you upsetting my wife anymore,” he said, the words hissing between clenched teeth, stained from tobacco. “We’ve had about all we want of you. You may be a big-shot judge, but you ain’t a fucking thing as far as we’re concerned. Here,” he said, throwing a handful of bills on the floor. ‘There’s your payment. You happy now?”
“Get out of my house,” Lara said. “And don’t ever ask me to cover for you again, Sam, because I won’t.” She glanced at the bills on the carpet. Most of them were ones. He owed her over a hundred thousand dollars, and he had just paid her back maybe ten—she was counting—no, twelve dollars of it.
Ivory was standing right next to him now, one arm flung around his shoulder, her silicone breasts spilling over the cut of the tank top. “We don’t need your money,” she said proudly. “We’re going to have plenty of our own. Soon too, real soon.”
Lara blinked back tears. She couldn’t possibly let this man see what he had done to her family, to her sister. Before her mother had died, Lara had promised she would look after Ivory, make certain that she and Josh were taken care of. But they were out of her hands now.
“Get out of my house,” she said again, her voice firm.
“Come on, baby,” Sam said to Ivory. “Let’s let the old maid get her beauty sleep. Way she looks, she sure as hell needs it.”
He yanked on Ivory’s arm and she followed him to the door. Then she glanced back over her shoulder at Lara. For a moment their eyes met and the clock stopped ticking. Lara glimpsed the sadness in her sister’s eyes. She saw Ivory’s lips move, but no words came out. It was as if she could see the past projected on her sister’s face, both of them fresh-faced little girls walking home from school together. Sam’s laughter was time-delayed; it burst through the silence and the clock was ticking again, faster than before. Then the door slammed shut and they were gone.
Chapter 3
Three weeks had passed since Thomas Henderson had walked out of the Orange County Jail a few hours after Lara’s ruling. But he hadn’t been on the streets long, thank God, she thought now, heading briskly down the corridor to her chambers during morning recess, and as far as they knew, he hadn’t raped or killed anyone. This morning Russ Mitchell had called to tell her that Henderson had been institutionalized at Camarillo State Hospital, a state-operated psychiatric facility. Maybe tonight she could sleep instead of thrashing about until one or two o’clock in the morning and then waking at four.
The prosecution’s case was still in limbo. They’d dredged up one good lead, a service station attendant who thought he’d seen the victim and Henderson together. But the twenty-year-old man was an extremely poor witness. He couldn’t recall the date, the time—was such a stoner that he hardly remembered his own name. They would keep at it; eventually something would surface.
Even though the defendant had signed himself in as a voluntary admission and could walk out anytime he wanted, just knowing he was behind locked doors right now and heavily medicated made them all breathe a sigh of relief.
The press had been horrendous. In the local papers, the officers had been raked over the coals and had taken the brunt of the responsibility. They were both under suspension from the force and facing prosecution. In years past, the case might have folded, but the officers would’ve never been held to answer for their actions. Things were different today. This incident had fallen on the heels of the Rodney King fiasco, a notorious case of police brutality that had ignited riots in south central Los Angeles—angry crowds burning down one building after another, random and senseless acts of violence. Some speculated the area would never be rebuilt.
Lara looked up and saw Irene Murdock headed in her direction. “Are you coming to see me?” she said.
“Lara,” Irene said, trying to contain a chuckle, “I’m going to give this to you, but only if you take it with a grain of salt and have a nice laugh over it.”
Lara looked at the other woman’s hands. She was holding a thin newspaper. Lara looked closer and saw it was the National Tattler. “What is it?” Lara reached out, but Irene pulled the paper away.
“Promise me you won’t get all worked up over this, okay?”
“I promise. Let me see it, Irene.” She did. The headline was a story about a horse with a human head. It was the strangest-looking thing Lara had ever seen. “Pretty funny. Is this what you want me to see?”
“Page three, Lara,” Irene said, the smile disappearing.
On the third page was Lara’s picture with the caption: “JUDGE RELEASES VIOLENT RAPIST AND MURDERER ON TECHNICALITY.”
“Gee,” Lara said facetiously, “I’m a star. I’ll go home and put this right in my scrapbook.” But it wasn’t really funny. This was a national publication. Even if it was made up of sensationalism and ridiculous stories, everyone read it at one time or another.
Irene pushed a strand of hair off her forehead and touched her friend on the shoulder. “I guess I shouldn’t have even brought this to your attention, honey. I don’t know why, but I thought it was funny. I mean, the whole paper is ridiculous. Look at the cover story. Who would believe anything these people say?”
Lara looked up into those deep green eyes. “Well, it is true, Irene. I did release him on a technicality.”
“Hey,” Irene said, stepping close and draping an arm around Lara, “we all release people
on technicalities at one time or the other. You’re not still agonizing over this case, are you?”
“No, no,” Lara said softly, smiling at her friend. “Thanks for showing the paper to me, Irene. It’s better than having people gang up on me at the grocery store.”
Lara stood with the smile glued on her face until Irene had turned and headed back down the corridor. Then the smile evaporated and she too headed back to her office.
She was in between trials, something that seldom occurred. With the dismissal of the Henderson case, her calendar had been left wide open, and the presiding judge, sixty-seven-year-old Leo Evergreen, had zapped her into the felony arraignment calendar for vacation relief. Everyone called it the zoo.
Walking by Phillip, she gave him a nod. He had earphones on his head and was typing on his word processor. At least she thought he was typing. She took a few steps back and glanced at the screen. Once she had found him playing video games. But no, he was typing something. What, she didn’t know. Probably his homework from law school.
Once she was inside, she slammed her door. It was a satisfying feeling. Besides, Phillip couldn’t even hear it. Collapsing in her chair, she felt her buttocks slide into the hole. The least the county could do for me would be to buy me a cushion, she thought. Then she let the frustration go. It was counterproductive. So she wouldn’t go to the grocery store for a few weeks until the newspaper article was cold. Irene was right. The article wasn’t something to get upset about. All she ever bought anyway at the store were TV dinners and things that could be heated in the microwave. She didn’t cook. She’d never learned how and simply didn’t have the inclination. She ate simply to survive. She could live on hamburgers and nachos without a second thought and never gain a pound. Maybe that was why her ex-husband had divorced her, she thought now, because he had wanted a home-cooked meal.
Interest of Justice Page 3
