Things were shaping up, he thought. Knowing the man who killed Ethel Owen was back on the streets had made him want to load the wife and kids in the car last night and drive straight out of this godforsaken town and back to Omaha. But this case had him hooked big-time. Two young kids were dead. They’d been butchered like two sides of beef. And chunky Patricia Barnes with the warm smile and the two little kids was getting dissected right now at the morgue, old Charlie poking through the contents of her stomach while he sat here munching down Doritos and Snickers. “Not on your diet, kid,” he said to her. “Beverly Hills, remember? Next life you’re gonna be as skinny as little Melissa.”
He called the lab and made certain they had entered Hernandez’s prints on their fancy computer, informing them that he would drive the purse over himself and wait for the fingerprint analysis.
Hanging up the phone, he took out the snapshots given to him by Barnes’s sister and lined them up on his desk, wanting to commit her face to memory. “We’re rolling, kid. And if the man who killed you is the man I think he is, we won’t have to worry about some judge kicking him out on the streets. Looks like he already met his just reward. See, there is some justice left out there, Patty. There just ain’t too damn much.”
CHAPTER 27
Shana rode the school bus home and got off two blocks from her house, her arms full of books. After walking a short distance, she felt exhausted and sat down on the curb. Every morning she woke up at four or five o’clock, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She slept during study hall, her head in her arms on the desk, and many times she nodded off in class and didn’t wake until the bell rang.
The sun was bright and warm, and she lifted her face and let it wash over her. A car passed and she inhaled exhaust fumes while several ten-year-old boys passed, laughing and punching one another.
“You want to see a picture of my mom’s tits?” one boy said.
“You don’t have a picture of your mom’s tits. You’re lying.”
“Yeah, I do,” the boy said. “See, she had them made bigger and the doctor took pictures of them before and after, and I found them in her room. Wanta see?”
Shana turned around to glare at the boys, and they started running down the street. They were toads, she thought, disgusting little toads. The entire school she went to was full of skinny, stupid-looking little boys and dumb girls. She was sick of them all. She stood and dusted off the seat of her pants and picked up her books. Suddenly she focused on the yard in front of her and saw an entire flower bed planted in tulips. Breaking one off, she held it to her nose and then tossed it into the gutter. The only thing she hated worse than her school was her house. She hated her room facing the street, where anyone could simply climb through her window, hated the disgusting yard, hated the ugly brown tile in the kitchen, and she hated the fighting between her parents. But what she hated the most was what she saw in her mothers face.
She’d been so stupid before the rape, so immature, she told herself, so selfish and spoiled. That was probably why it had happened—to punish her. She should have told her mother about her father’s girlfriend from the beginning, should have told her she would live with her. But she was going to make it right now, whatever it took.
Seeing her house, she found her key and went inside, going straight to her room for little Di. Although light was streaming in from the windows, she went from room to room and flipped on every light switch in the house, the puppy following. Then she turned on the television in the den and her stereo in her room. She checked the dead bolt on the front door and all the other doors to make certain they were locked. Every day she went through the same routine. It’s not like I’m scared or anything, she thought, because I’m not. She’d never been scared of anything in her whole life. She was just being safe, that’s all.
The phone rang and it was Sally. “You coming to practice?” she asked in her high-pitched voice.
“Yeah,” Shana replied, kicking off her shoes. “I always come to practice. My dad’s the coach, remember?”
“Did you hear what happened to Heather Stanfield? David Smith asked her out and then broke up with her an hour later, right after she told everyone. Isn’t that pathetic? You should have seen her, she was crying and…”
Shana placed the receiver on its side on the bed and started taking off her clothes. David Smith was probably one of those boys who had pictures of his mother’s tits or maybe his sister’s. If she strained really hard, she could hear little sounds coming out of the phone. She imagined that Sally was inside there, shrunk. It was as though all the kids she knew had gone through a shrinking machine and she was this clumsy giant. Seizing the receiver, she listened.
“…and then she bought me that outfit we saw in the mall and a new pair of shoes, but they pinch my toes…”
“Oh, really,” Shana said and then tossed the phone back on the bed. She went to the bathroom and turned on the faucets in the tub. Picking the phone off the bed, she said, “Have to go. Bye.” Then she reached over and pulled the plug out.
In the tub, she submerged herself until only her nose protruded from the hot water. She listened to the rushing of her breath and the sound of her heart. If she could get her mother out of the house, just the two of them, then she could make her smile again, laugh again. It would be as her mother had said, like a dorm or something. The house would be clean and neat, and all they would eat would be health food. There would be no ashtrays overflowing with her father’s disgusting cigarettes and no more stupid, silly girls like Sally, thinking a new dress or a new pair of shoes was the most important thing in the world.
The room suddenly went black and Shana sprang from the tub, sloshing water onto the floor, trying to brace herself by grabbing the shower curtain. Only a sliver of light shone through the blinds in the small bathroom window. Her heart was beating like an enormous drum. He was here, in the house. Just like in the movies, he had turned off the electricity. There was a deathly silence and she lunged at the bathroom door, her fingers checking the lock. This time he wouldn’t take her without a fight, she thought, desperately flinging open the cabinets and reaching in the dark for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. She heard a clunk and a whine and music. Her image appeared through the steam in the mirror as the lights came back on. She was standing there holding a plunger. It had just been a power failure, a stupid power failure. She stabbed the plunger against the mirror, growling at her reflection; it stuck there. The fear dissolved into hysterical laughter. Sitting on the toilet seat, she bent over and held her stomach as she laughed. Tears started rolling down her cheeks, and she couldn’t stop laughing. Everyone was so serious—looked at her with such funny eyes—her dad, her mom, the shrink, all her friends. They were the ones making her crazy. They were all just waiting for her to do something weird, as though they thought her head was going to explode or something.
The spasms of laughter subsided, and she started rubbing her temples as she recalled the man’s face from the photo lineup. Something inside her head seemed to expand and contract. She knew it was him; she could never forget. Her mother just couldn’t see without her glasses. The detective had told her that they’d find him, bring him in for a real lineup, and then her mother would know too. She stood and pulled the plunger off the mirror, and imagined him in front of her naked with his stupid thing standing straight out between his legs. Her mother and Margie would hold him while she stabbed the plunger there, and when she pulled it off, his thing would be stuck there. Tossing the plunger against the wall, where it bounced and rolled to the tile floor, she unlocked the bathroom door and opened it, peering down the hall. She ran to her room and got her Softball uniform and locked herself back in the bathroom.
Shana wasn’t ready when her father got home. She was still locked in the bathroom, blow-drying her hair, and John had to knock three times to get her out. “We’re going to be late,” he said when she opened the door. “Shake a leg. You know I like to get there on
time.”
At practice, she was sullen and distracted. When the girls crowded around her, she merely walked away, leaving them all standing there with puzzled looks on their faces.
John told her to line up to bat. “I don’t want to practice batting today,” she insisted. Her entire body ached from exhaustion, and she felt like curling up in a ball on the ground and sleeping. “I just want to work on my pitching.”
Noticing several girls standing nearby, John took her arm and led her a few feet away. “This is a team sport, Shana. I can’t let you and only you pitch. The other girls need practice too. You know how we do it.”
She jerked away and took her place in line. Ever since the rape, he had treated her differently, had avoided her like she had a disease and he would catch it. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pat one of the other girls on the back and smile at her. Just because she didn’t want him pawing her and kissing her all the time like she was still a baby didn’t mean she didn’t want his love. Her eyes narrowed, thinking that he smiled at his girlfriend like that, smiled at everyone but her. Before, he always had let her have her way, no matter what. But now that she really needed him, when she could barely get through school, he was paying attention to everyone but her.
When she came up to bat the first time, she hit the ball into center field and ran to first. The next rotation, she slammed the ball with tremendous power and it went flying outside the diamond. With the same amount of force she threw the bat, and it struck one of the girls warming up in the leg with a loud crack. John started running toward the girl, while Shana stood and watched.
Screaming in pain and holding her leg, the girl fell to the ground. The bottom of her jeans were so tight that John had to run to the Jeep and get his pocket knife, kept in the glove compartment, and cut her jeans to look at the damage. All the girls gathered around. She yelled at Shana: “You did this on purpose. I know you did. Call my mom, my leg is broken. I know it.”
There was a large knot and a darkening bruise. “Thank God it’s not broken,” John said. He sent one of the girls to the pay phone to call the child’s mother, then turned to Shana in anger. “You never throw the bat. You know that. Never,” he screamed.
Shana slammed her batting helmet on the ground, stood right over the girl, looking at the injury, her face twisted in disgust. “You’re just a spoiled little crybaby. What do you know about anything? What would you do if someone really hurt you, die or something?” She stomped off the field, turning and yelling over her back. “I quit. Take your stupid team and shove it.”
Shana waited in the car. Once the injured girl’s mother arrived, John told the other girls to practice throwing to one another until their parents arrived. Charlotte walked up to him as he was leaving. “You want me to take the equipment home?”
“Sure, thanks, honey,” he said.
“What’s wrong with Shana? Is she really going to quit?” the girl asked, shaking her head. “She doesn’t even eat lunch with us anymore.’
John turned and glanced at the Jeep and then back at Charlotte. “Who does she eat lunch with, then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think she even eats lunch anymore.”
John tried to talk to his daughter as he drove to a local restaurant. “Shana, what got into you out there? Those girls are your friends. How could you scream at that girl when she was hurt?”
“She just had a little bump on her leg, and she accused me of doing it on purpose, like I really planned it or something. What a stupid crybaby. That’s what they all are. Just a bunch of babies.”
“But they’ve been friends of yours for years. They all love you.”
Shana glared at her father. “What do you know? Everyone hates me now. I’m not Miss Perfect anymore. All they do is hound me all the time and drive me crazy. Everyone comes up to me and keeps asking me the same lame questions. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? You’re mad at me.’ I just can’t take it anymore. Why can’t they just leave me alone?”
“They don’t understand because they don’t know what happened. You can’t blame them for that.”
“Well, nothing happened to them, did it? And nothing happened to you either. It happened to me and Mom. That’s what. And let me tell you something, Mom isn’t all right.”
John pulled into the parking lot of the cafeteria and started to get out. “Your mom is a strong woman. She’s going to be fine.”
“You bet she is. She’s gonna be fine because I’m not going to let her be anything else. I want to change schools and move in with Mom.”
He shut the door to the car, leaned back in the seat, and turned to face his daughter. “Shana, I just can’t allow that. Look what happened when you just went to visit. Besides, your mother is too busy with her career to care for you.”
She leaned over in his face and opened her eyes wide. “And you’re not all tied up with your girlfriend, right?” She slapped back in the seat, and her face got redder and redder with anger. “All you’ve ever told me is that Mom is too busy and doesn’t care about me. She just has an important job, Dad. I’m busy with my school work too. Does that make me a lousy kid? I love you, but I don’t want to hear any more shit about Mom.” With that, Shana got out of the car and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 28
Richard had asked Lily to meet him at Amechis restaurant at six, and as she pulled into the parking lot, she saw his white BMW. When she walked in, he stood and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “Like the restaurant?” he asked.
She looked at him with piercing blue eyes, her face more ethereal now than ever, her cheekbones high and pronounced. “I like you, Richard,” she said.
The waiter placed a caesar salad in front of her and poured her a glass of wine. The little restaurant was more authentic than elegant, with red-and-white-checked tablecloths, voices chanting in Italian from the kitchen, the odorous scent of garlic filling the air and stimulating the appetite, while the tenor voice of Luciano Pavarotti serenaded them from the sound system. It was early and they were the only customers; at one table a few waiters were eating their dinner before the rush.
He held up his wineglass, and Lily held up hers, tapping her glass lightly against his with a ting. “To us,” he said.
“I’m only going to tell you this one thing, and then we’re not going to talk shop for the rest of the evening,” she said, leaning over the table, her eyes wide with excitement. “They lifted a print off the purse and matched it to Bobby Hernandez. Cunningham called me from the lab right after you left.” This was one of the reasons Lily felt she could finally eat. Right after the detective had told her, she had wanted to stand up and scream at the top of her lungs. She had killed a murderer, not just a rapist but a murderer. Now there was no doubt whatsoever.
“Bravo,” Richard answered. “We’re rolling now.”
“Nothing yet on Manny. They have a surveillance team on him as of today, but I don’t think we have enough for an arrest warrant.” In between mouthfuls of salad, which she was shoveling down unladylike, ravenous, she added, “Cunningham also found out that Manny visited Navarro in jail recently, after his brother died.”
“Is Cunningham going to use this to put more heat on him, maybe let him think we have something linking him to the Barnes murder?”
“I don’t know,” Lily said, signaling the waiter to refill her empty wineglass. “What we want Manny to do is lead us to the gun they used to shoot Carmen Lopez. That gun’s around somewhere, hidden, stashed. His kind would never put it out of reach forever, like in the ocean or something, not a perfectly good gun they could use again. Waste not, want not. That would be like flushing a pound of heroin.”
She sat back in the chair with the menu open in front of her. Seeing the words were blurry, she recalled that she had brought her glasses, but still refused to put them on. “You order for me, okay? No more office talk. Let’s eat.”
Richard ordered for both himself and Lily veal cooked in white wine and capers, and
linguini in a superb marinara sauce with clams and mussels. She leaned close to the plate and inhaled the rich aroma, let each mouthful move over her taste buds before swallowing. It seemed like years since she had smelled anything, tasted anything. By now the restaurant was filled almost to capacity. Dishes were rattling, voices of other diners filled the air, and the sounds surrounded her. Everything was brighter, louder, larger. She felt she had traveled down a dark tunnel to a room blazing in light and warmth. Lily ate everything on her plate, along with several pieces of bread. She placed her hand on her stomach and felt a round bulge and thought she must look like a bloated Ethiopian child.
When they left the restaurant, he took her hand to lead her to his car in the parking lot. “I can’t, Richard. Please don’t tempt me. I want to be there when Shana gets home.”
“But it’s only seven-thirty and you said her appointment at the psychologist wasn’t until eight.” He continued pulling on her hand like a spoiled child and forced her to move a few steps closer to his car. “I even picked this place because it’s only a few miles to my house.”
He turned and took her other hand, pulling her into his arms right in the middle of the parking lot. “Claire agreed to the property settlement. That means in less than six months, I’ll be free. Tonight is a celebration,” he said, pushing her hair away from her face tenderly. “I need you.”
Through the thin fabric of her dress, she felt his large hands on her back, warm, strong, pressing her into him. She caught a hint of his lime scent, and while he kissed her, she tasted the garlic and wine inside his mouth.
A couple passed them heading into the restaurant, the woman talking fast and with a distinct cadence to her voice. Lily opened her eyes wide and stiffened in Richards arms.
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