by Diane Capri
“If you’d asked me about the incident thirty or forty years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to discuss it. It was so grisly. I’m still not comfortable talking about it.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Jason said.
“I was a student nurse in the ward next to the ward in question. What do you want to know?”
“Judith Avidon, was she a nurse here at that time?” Piper asked.
“Avidon? That’s familiar. Avidon. Yes, I remember the name, but you’re mistaken. I’m pretty certain that was the name of the guard who stopped the attack. Not the nurse’s name.”
Jason and Piper exchanged a look.
“Sorry, I don’t recall the nurse’s name.”
“She would have been about nineteen or twenty. Brown hair, brown eyes.”
“There was a young nurse on duty that day, in that ward. She was new to the hospital. Like me, a student nurse. She was the first person to come upon the attack and the one to alert the guard.” Mrs. Langacino stared off into a corner of the room; she massaged the loose skin under her chin. “I vaguely remember her being a mousy thing. Quiet and shy. I didn’t think she’d last one day in that ward, but she stuck it out. That is until that awful morning.”
“What happened to her? Do you know where she is now?”
“Oh, goodness, I have no idea. She quit that very day. I almost quit myself. It was horrific. All that blood. Only a completely deranged person could do that to another human being.”
“Who killed the inmate?” Jason asked. Piper was surprised by his question, surprised that he hadn’t heard the story until she realized he hadn’t been born when it happened. And not being obsessed with Sybil Squire like she was, he wouldn’t know the minute details of her life.
“Another inmate. Wanda Berganstoff. The woman had had previous episodes of violence, but nothing like what happened that day. She and Norma seemed to get along just fine. Norma Knoller was Sybil Squire’s daughter, you know? Sybil Squire, the actress.”
“Yes, we know,” Piper said.
“It was such a shock to everyone. It happened so fast. Norma’d had an awful cough, a bronchial ailment of some kind. It was getting on everyone’s nerves. We think the chronic coughing sent Wanda over the edge. She was sensitive to loud or repetitive noises. Anyway, the nurse, the one you asked about, was bringing some cough medication to her, but it was too late, Wanda had already initiated the attack. The nurse was attacked too, but managed to sound the alarm. When I rushed in to help, it was all over. The guard was standing over Wanda, who was in the corner of Norma’s room curled into a ball like a roly-poly bug, covered in blood and shaking like a leaf. Norma was scarcely breathing. Poor thing, we did everything we could but … it was, well, too late.”
“What did the inmate use to kill the victim?” Jason asked.
“Her hands, her head, the floor and walls and commode, whatever was handy. It looked like someone had thrown buckets of red paint around the room.”
“What happened to her? To Wanda?” Piper said.
“She was transferred to the ward for the criminally insane. She died four days later. She choked to death on her uniform dress. Tore it into pieces and shoved it down her throat.”
“Is that possible?” Piper asked.
“Anything is possible with the insane, Mrs. Lundberg. You wouldn’t believe what they can do to themselves. The objects we find in their stomachs, and … well, every orifice for that matter.” She added, “We can’t keep them restrained twenty-four hours a day.”
Outside, a man from the circle broke hand contact with his partners, jumped up and raised his fists into the air. He turned and ran away. The circle closed again, hand in hand.
“Are there any records from that day that might give us a name for the nurse and the guard?” Jason asked.
“Goodness, I wouldn’t know where to begin to look for something like that. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in the newspaper accounts. The police took a report. The press was all over it, being that Norma was the daughter of a famous actress.”
They thanked her. When they left the building and descended the main steps, Piper saw a large man in yellow charge around the side of the building, rushing at them. The man grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him, holding her in a suffocating bear hug. Too shocked to scream, she pushed at him. In an instant, Jason had the man in a headlock, twisted him around, and pushed him to his knees on the concrete walk. Several attendants appeared and attempted to restrain him.
Jason wrapped his arms around Piper, shielding her from another attack.
It was the man from the group circle. He struggled with his aides. Crying now. Calling out for Candice.
When they had calmed him down, one aide said, “His name is George. He thinks you’re his daughter. He won’t hurt you. He just wants to go home.”
“Are you all right?” Jason asked.
She nodded. “He’s very strong.”
“You’re not Candice,” the man accused, as if she had tried to deceive him.
The aides led the man away. He shouted, “You’re not Candice. You can’t fool me.”
Jason looked into her eyes, still holding onto her. “Do you want to file a complaint?”
“No. God no, I’m fine. He might file a complaint against me for impersonating his daughter. There’s a lot of that going around these days.”
He smiled, let go of her, picked up her purse and handed it to her. His touch still warm and tingly on her skin.
#
They drove to a branch of the county library in Los Feliz. Jason took over, asking the clerk in the newspaper morgue for articles on the case. Within minutes, they were viewing microfiche through the machine.
“Can’t you find these reports at your precinct on a computer or a database or whatever it’s called?”
“I could if I wanted to do this without you. You know the history. I need you.”
Piper nodded, feeling pleased.
He found the article and they scanned it for names. Inmate Norma Watson Knoller—victim. Inmate Wanda Berganstoff—assailant. Nurse Judith Neely—eyewitness. And security guard Elliot M. Avidon—eyewitness.
“Looks like the nurse took the guard’s name,” Jason said. “An alias?”
“Or she married him. If Luke is Judith’s son, he’d be about the right age. Early forties.”
“There’s something off about all this. The nurse and the guard were the only eyewitnesses to the actual attack. The inmate responsible for the killing, dies shortly thereafter. No confession. No denials. Case closed. And—”
“Then this same nurse takes a caregiver position forty years down the road to the mother of the murdered woman,” she finished for him. “Why? A coincidence? A vendetta? What if—now indulge me here—what if the nurse had been the one to murder Sybil’s daughter? The nurse, with the help of the guard? Easy enough to stage the killing and blame it on another inmate, especially an inmate with a history of violence. Judith Neely got a few lumps in the process. Lumps from the victim trying to defend herself?”
“But why? Why kill Sybil’s daughter? And who is this nurse?”
“Whoever she is,” Piper said, “death seems to follow her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jason dropped Piper off at the Vogt’s house and said he’d be back at six. At six sharp, he called her on her cell phone.
“Sorry, Piper, something unexpected came up. I’ll be tied up for at least two hours.”
“That’s okay. I’m going to get a bite and turn in early. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Where will you be, the guesthouse or the main house?”
“Main house.”
“Call my cell if you need me, okay? Oh, by the way, I think I found our guard, Elliot Muney Avidon. He’s living at the Tropical Palms on Broadway. I’ll try to hook up with him ASAP.”
“I want to be there when you meet with him.”
“Pick you up in the morning.”
She emaile
d Belle from the house computer and informed her she would be staying in the main house for a while. Belle called an hour later.
“Piper, what’s going on? What’s happened?”
“Someone broke into the guesthouse last night.” She told her about the detective coming to her rescue.
“This is getting too bizarre, Piper. I knew you were getting in over your head. I told you so.”
“I’m sorry, Belle, I don’t know what to say.”
“Maybe you should go somewhere safe. I don’t like you being there alone.”
“I’m not alone. Jason is on the case. He knows what he’s doing. I trust him.”
“Who’s Jason?”
“Detective Bower. He’s with the LA police and he has a gun and everything.”
“Is he there now?”
“Yes,” she lied.
“Well, okay, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Don’t try to be a hero and protect the home front. It’s only stuff. It can be replaced. Except for Dr. J, that is. If anything else happens, if you don’t feel safe, take my feathered baby and get the hell out of there.”
“I will. I had the locks and the security alarm code changed this morning here in the main house. The man who was impersonating your handyman had a key.”
“Good lord, the man’s got balls. What if Luke would’ve popped in at the house while this cheeky bastard was pretending to be him?”
Piper wondered that too. With his smooth easy lies and cool bravado, she suspected he would have managed to play it out to his advantage.
“What I’d like to know is what happened to our handyman?” Belle said, breaking into her thoughts. “The real one is this little pipsqueak of a man. Very professional. Wears a blue uniform with his name on the shirt pocket.”
“Nothing like the man I dealt with.”
Before signing off, Belle added, “Good news and bad news. The shoot has turned around and things are going better between Mick and Zimmerman. Good for the movie, bad for you.”
A week ago, Piper would have been disappointed to learn they wouldn’t be calling in a new director and film editor. It now seemed inconsequential, like something from another time and place.
“VanRaven may have something for me. He said he’d call this week. In the meantime, I have feelers out at the studios.”
“Fabulous. It doesn’t hurt to have Lee there to champion for you.”
The mention of Lee made Piper’s stomach twist. She would call her the first chance she got. But not tonight. Tonight she would eat and go to bed.
“Gotta go, Piper. I’m off to Angkor Wat for a brief holiday. The temples, y’know?”
The Vogt’s fridge had little to offer. She cooked pasta and red sauce from a jar she found in the cupboard. She ate in the kitchen to be near Dr. J. He was thrilled by the attention, and she was happy to have his company. He did all the talking, which was fine by her.
As twilight approached, the wind came up. Santa Anas, hot and dry. Piper went upstairs, sat at the window, and reached for the binoculars. As in the past, that part of the house remained dark, but she could hope for another sighting, another sign that Sybil was still alive. The wind rustled the trees and blew leaves into the air. She focused on the window where she had caught a glimpse of the burned hand, in the room where she thought Sybil was being kept. Something there caught her attention. She leaned in closer, wishing she had the more powerful telescope instead of the binoculars. She made out bright red letters on the glass, letters that looked like they’d been written with lipstick. The tightly shut white blinds made the crooked letters more visible. W A L ____, the last letter disjointed and trailing off to the side, as if the writer had been interrupted or lost control. It had to be a message from Sybil. It just had to be.
Wal… ? Was it part of a name, or just what it sounded like, a wall? Was that it, the word WALL?
Piper scanned the entire side of the mansion. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she tilted the binoculars down to the stone wall that ran between the two houses. The wall was covered with English ivy. The wind lifted large sections of it, flopping it back and forth against the stones. She panned along the top of the wall several times. Halfway through the third pass, what she initially thought to be ivy rustling in the wind, turned out, on closer inspection, to be something fluttering beneath the leaves—fluttering like pages in a book. She tightened the focus. It was a book, tucked neatly into the thick mass of ivy leaves and vines. The strong winds had freed it somewhat, allowing the top pages to flap lightly against the cover.
Grabbing the phone to dial Jason’s cell, she looked back through the glasses at the ivy wall. The strength of the wind was picking up. The book inched toward the edge of the wall, the edge closest to the Squire property. She chewed on her lip. There wasn’t much time.
She rushed downstairs, out the kitchen door and crossed the driveway to the wall. She ran up the length of it to where she thought the book would be, all the while praying she wasn’t being observed from next door. By imagining an invisible plumb line from the Vogt’s upstairs window, she reached up on her tiptoes and started patting the ivy at the top of the wall. She went ten feet in one direction before reversing direction and going fifteen feet in the other direction. The wind whipped at her clothes and hair, stinging her skin and eyes. Maybe the book had blown over the wall into enemy territory. She touched something not leafy. Filled with excitement, she snatched at it, breaking off several fingernails, and dragged the book off the wall, leaves and all.
Without looking at it, she clutched it to her chest. Like a fullback clutching the pigskin, she ran full-out back to the house. Inside, she locked the door and set the alarm. Her knees went weak. With her back against the door, she sank to the floor, her breath coming in heaving rasps, and opened the journal. The ink had run along the edges, but most of the writing was still intact and legible. The cloth cover of the journal was so grimy she couldn’t determine its color or whether there had once been a design in the fabric. Crusted with dirt and grit, as if it had been buried in the ground or exposed to the elements for some time. The last hard rain had been the night the housekeeper died. There were no identifying details. No name signed the pages. Piper didn’t need a name. Without a doubt, the journal belonged to Sybil Squire. The handwriting was unmistakably Sybil’s. At first, she merely scanned the pages, catching bits and pieces, too impatient to read every word. There were no dates to indicate the year. Her mind flashed back to that period in Sybil’s past, to the most monumentally tragic time in her life. Not one or two, but three tragedies to be precise. The deaths of two loved ones and the incarceration of her teenage daughter, Norma. When she spotted Norma’s name, she read each word.
October 8. Today, on her fifteenth birthday, Norma arrived home in America to live with Sam and me. Although Sam and I tried to make her feel welcome, she locked herself in her room and refused to attend her own party. What did I expect? After five years at boarding school in England, my little girl returns home to a new father and a new baby brother. Sam’s such a happy go lucky person, always optimistic. His favorite saying, ‘love and kindness conquers all.’ He’s sure she’ll come around in time. He wants to make it work between them, especially since his relationship with his own daughter became shaky when Sam left Marlene’s mother to marry me.
December 22. It’s official. Norma Watson is now Norma Knoller! Sam adopted Norma. We all flew to Switzerland for the Christmas holidays. Norma was moody throughout the long flight. When we arrived at our chateau in the Alps, magical under the fresh white snow and clear blue sky, my spirits rose. It was perfect. Just the thing to bring her around.
December 26.
On Christmas Eve, Norma exploded at the dinner table, calling us horrible names, scaring the servants and young Sammy, and screaming out that I had abandoned her and she wasn’t his daughter. Sam was devastated. We returned to the States today.
April 12. Little Sammy’s first birthday. We tried to
have a quiet family party, but Norma’s difficult moods have the household in a constant state of tension and anxiety. Sam’s optimism is wearing thin. For the first time since she returned home last fall, he’s hinting at sending her away. He wanted so much to love Norma and win her over. This is extremely hard for me. I’m not sure what to do.
October 8. Norma’s sessions with Dr. Saunders are going quite well. She’s begun to open up to us, little things like her presence at the table at mealtime. She’s also taking an interest in her appearance, spending hours applying her makeup and styling her hair. Norma wants to be a film makeup artist.
Today for her sixteenth birthday, we treated her to a day of beauty at Vidal Sasson’s salon. Norma has never looked lovelier. At lunch at Chasen’s, Norma even blushed when a young man at a nearby table complimented her on her stunning eyes and glowing skin. This gives me hope she may accept us again.
December 26. Christmas this year was filled with joy and good cheer. Norma has taken to Sammy like a genuine big sister. Oh how he loves Norma, clinging to her, calling her Noma. He always runs to her first, no matter what. I might be jealous of their close relationship if I hadn’t wanted this for so long. We’re a family. I am truly blessed.
Piper quickly rifled through to the end of the journal. The pages following the December 26 entry were blank. A yellowed newspaper clipping was taped to the inside back cover. She read the brief newspaper article.
The twenty-month-old son of screen idol Sybil Squire and her husband, Samuel Knoller, died in an accidental drowning at the couple’s Hollywood Hills estate Monday afternoon. The child’s mother discovered his lifeless body in an upstairs bathtub of their twelve room home. The half sister, Norma, collapsed and was admitted to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. “It’s all my fault,” the tearful sixteen-year-old later told police. “I was running bath water. I left the room to answer the phone. I didn’t know he had gone in there. I heard my mother screaming. It’s my fault. Please, I just want to die.”
