My Lost Daughter (49 page)

The next thing she found was a torn and yellowed newspaper clipping that had been folded into a small square. Shana put everything back except the receipt and the clipping, and quickly returned the wallet to the drawer where she'd found it. She was about to leave when she saw him.

Alex was standing there watching her.

Shana gasped. A moment later, she collected herself and managed to smile. “I'm sorry, Alex,” she said. “You must think I'm terrible to be going through your things. I wanted to call my mother and I remembered you had a calling card, so I thought you wouldn't mind if I borrowed it.”

Alex had closed the door while she was speaking and now placed his hands behind his back and leaned against it. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Shana heard him but she couldn't speak. His eyes were burning through her and she felt as if she were naked. “No, I-I wasn't . . .” she stammered. “I didn't . . .”

“No?” he said, tilting his head. “That's strange.”

Shana swallowed hard. Never had Alex looked at her this way. What she saw was sheer insanity. His face had transformed into rigid lines and a strange light emanated from his eyes. She started
walking toward the door, and then stopped inches away as if he had thrown up an invisible force field. “Why is that strange?”

“It was right there in my wallet.”

Alex's eyes said it all. He must have been standing there the entire time. Then she played it over in her mind. She remembered glancing at the door while she was going through his wallet and no one was there. He was bluffing. “No, I didn't find your wallet. I thought it might be on top of your chest, but I didn't see it. I was about to leave when you walked in.”

He continued to glare at her for several moments and then pushed himself off the door. Going to his dresser, he removed his wallet and handed her the calling card. “They're not going to let you leave, you know,” he said. “You're deluding yourself if you think otherwise. Homicide investigations take time, and from what I understand, you're the prime suspect.”

“We'll see,” Shana said, her blood boiling. He knew how much she wanted to get out of the hospital. If he had set out to push her buttons, he had succeeded. What riled her most was that if Alex was one of the owners of the hospital, he could have arranged her release. How could he have stood by and watched when they tossed her in a padded cell and pumped her system full of dangerous drugs? And he had to be aware of the patient snatching. Even if he wasn't a killer, he had turned out to be a fake. The way it looked now, he was also a rapist. “I have to call my mother,” she said, pushing past him.

Walking in the direction of the pay phone, Shana darted inside her old room and found Michaela's bed empty. Had she been murdered as well? If so, why didn't the police mention it? Since she was her roommate, if something had happened to her, Shana would be the most likely suspect. Of course, Michaela could have been released, although she seriously doubted it. The woman was almost catatonic. She closed the door and started walking rapidly toward the isolation ward.

“Your mother hired a guard to watch over you,” Lee told her, unlocking the door to the isolation wing when Shana appeared. A
fresh-faced young man in a brown security uniform was seated in a chair in front of her room. He stood when he saw Shana. “Are you the lady I'm supposed to protect?”

“Shana Forrester,” she said, extending her free hand.

“Will Andrews,” he responded. “I've never worked in a place like this before. Is there anyone in particular you want me to look out for?”

“Everyone,” Shana said, rushing inside her room. She went to the bathroom and shut the door, sitting down on the commode and pulling out the two pieces of paper she had taken from Alex's wallet. She placed the credit card receipt and the calling card on the counter by the sink and unfolded the newspaper article.

The girl in the picture was a young blonde, more than likely in her late teens. It was funny but she faintly resembled Shana. Her hair was a different color, but it was the same length and appeared to be naturally curly. The girl had fair skin like Shana and green eyes. The photo looked as if it had been taken from a driver's license or identification card. She read the caption above the article.

MURDER VICTIM DEAD BABY'S MOTHER
.

Newspapers and their headlines, she thought. They'd sure captured her attention. They had everything working in this story, not only a dead woman but a dead baby as well. “Death sells,” she said, turning her eyes to the article and eagerly reading the text.

“Police authorities advise Jennifer Rondini, the eighteen-year-old female shot and killed yesterday in what apparently started out as a suicide pact, was the woman described by several passengers in the Greyhound bus terminal where the body of a newborn infant was found dead in the women's restroom . . .”

The rest of the article was missing. The newspaper was the
San Francisco Chronicle
and the date was January 15, 1992. Alex had told her he was thirty-five, so that would make him eighteen at the time.

She stared at the receipt and tried to recall why she had taken it. It was just an old credit card receipt for gas. She started to wad it up and toss it into the trash can when she noticed the date was only two days ago and Alex had signed it. Lee's statements had
been true. Alex not only had carte blanche inside the hospital, he could come and go whenever he wanted.

Thank God her mother was coming. As soon as she got home, she would insist that Lily cancel the mental health benefits that were part of her policy. She had to make certain something like this didn't happen again.

Halfway to the door, Shana suddenly halted. If she was right and she hadn't lost track of time, today was January 15th, the same date the article on Jennifer Rondini was written. It was just a coincidence, she told herself, and she'd never put much stock in coincidences. On the other hand, the young girl in the article had been murdered and Alex had carried that piece of paper in his wallet for almost twenty years. Right this minute, Shana didn't care what crimes Alex had committed. All she wanted was to get out of Whitehall alive.

When she got the nerve to go to the great room, she glanced around at the patients. The stories they told could all be lies. “Consider the source,” her father used to tell her. She saw the man Alex had said was a priest and wondered if he had killed Norman. He might not even be a priest. What caused her to believe Alex was sane when he lived in a mental hospital? The drugs Morrow had given her had robbed her of her common sense.

Everything about Whitehall was not what it seemed. Looking back at the nursing station, she saw Lee wearing the exact same dress she had been wearing since Shana was admitted. No one wore the same dress every day of the week unless it was a uniform and the dress didn't look at all like a uniform. The only explanation had to be a contrived plan. Since they snatched people off the street and shot them full of drugs, seeing the staff in the same clothes could cause the patients to lose track of time and reality. The way she saw it, the goal at Whitehall was to drive the patients crazy. The hospital didn't profit from restoring their sanity.

She started counting heads and came up with forty-three patients milling around inside the great room. As far as she could tell, Lee was the only attendant on duty today. She wasn't up on the
licensing standards for psychiatric institutions, but anyone with half a brain would know Whitehall was dangerously understaffed. Norman's family would win a lawsuit for negligence and wrongful death hands down. With this in mind, her eyes found Alex, seated at the smoking table as he chatted and laughed with Karen and May. If he was, in fact, one of the principal owners of the hospital, he certainly didn't appear concerned. But of course, Alex had moved on to larger stakes. He was playing with human lives now instead of a portfolio of investments. She headed to the pay phone to call her mother with Alex's calling card, wanting to make certain she was on the way.

“Mom,” she said, “what time does your plane leave? I thought you'd be in the air by now.”

“I'm at the airport. My plane is about to take off. It's not easy to book a flight on the spur of the moment. I got one, though, and the flight gets in at six-thirty.” Her voice was momentarily drowned out by interference. “Did something else happen? I hired a private security guard to look after you until I get there. Has he shown up yet?”

“Yes, thank you. So if your plane gets in at six-thirty, you should be here by seven-thirty at the latest. Is that right?”

“Are you really that frightened, Shana?”

“Yes, I am, Mother. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in prison. The man who died had burns on ninety percent of his body. I really liked him. I would never do anything to hurt him. When the nurse saw me straddling him, I was trying to give him CPR. Remember, I took that class and got my certification the summer I worked as a lifeguard.”

“Just stay in your room and let the guard do his job. I bet you're not in your room right now.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“Listen to me, Shana. I know you're anxious and stir crazy, but the guard can't protect you if you don't stay in your room. I instructed the security company to tell the guard to call the police if anything even slightly suspicious happens. I love you. I promise I'll make everything right when I get there. Try to stay calm, and for
God's sake, don't go out of your room until I get there. What if there's another murder? I'm trying to make sure you have an alibi. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mother, I understand. I'm going back to my room as soon as I finish talking to you.”

“Go now,” Lily told her. “They're calling my flight.”

Shana hung up and started walking back to her room. She wanted to call the police and report what she'd found out about Alex, but she knew she couldn't. Detective Lindstrom thought Alex was a figment of her imagination. Besides, the patients and the staff, outside of Lee perhaps, believed she was enamored of Alex. Even her suspicions about him and the mysterious newspaper article wouldn't carry any weight with the authorities. The police would think she was trying to implicate Alex to clear herself. How could she recount the complexities of her relationship with Alex to a courtroom of strangers?

Only one thing remained. She still had to get out of Whitehall. Shana had learned an important lesson, though. Money was important, something she'd never thought about until now. And Alex must have plenty if he had purchased his own hospital.

Nodding at the guard, she entered her room and flopped down on the bed. No matter how much money Alex had, he could never go up against her mother. She wasn't rich but she had power, and power might be the only thing that could clear her. She also reminded herself that her mother was an esteemed superior court judge. When Marco Curazon had raped her, Lily had put her life and her future on the line to make certain he would never hurt her again. It didn't matter that she'd killed the wrong man. What mattered was that she did it to protect her.

Shana didn't expect her mother to kill Alex or anyone else, but she knew she would fight for her with every ounce of strength she possessed. The cavalry was on the way. All she had to do was wait.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 22
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

“Shana, your mother is here.”

No better words had ever been spoken. “Thanks, Lee,” Shana yelled through the closed door. “Tell her I'll be right out.”

She started to change into one of the other cashmere sweaters Alex had bought her and then threw it aside like a snake. Dropping to her knees, she reached under the bed for the green pajamas. Once they were on, she ran out of the room. In her excitement, she forgot to put on her shoes. Lily was standing at the counter waiting for her.

“Mom!” Shana yelled across the room. Before Lily was able to take two steps toward her, Shana sprinted across the room and engulfed her. A moment later, her shoulders shook and tears gushed from her eyes. It was strange how a person didn't appreciate someone until they lost them.

Lily pulled her daughter's wet face to her chest. “Don't cry, honey. Everything's going to be all right. I'm here now and we're together. That's all that matters.”

Shana relished the warmth of her mother's body and the unique smell of her skin. She had worn the same cologne, Chanel No. 5, for as long as she could remember. Several pleasant moments
passed before her frustrations erupted. “Why didn't you come before now? Why did you leave me here, in this place, with these horrible people?”

“You have to believe me, I called every day,” Lily told her. “They kept telling me you wouldn't speak to me.”

Lee came over and directed them to an empty room, not wanting the patients to bother them. Lily took a seat on the side of the bed and Shana remained standing. “I assumed you were mad at me. Then when Dr. Morrow told me you were doing so well in your treatment, I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away. He called me yesterday, and I was shocked at what he told me.”

“Morrow,” Shana said, spitting his name out like piece of rotten food. “That lying piece of shit. I never refused your calls. Lee, the nurse who let us use this room, told me Morrow left a standing order with the receptionist not to put any of my calls through. He was afraid you'd wise up if you talked to me. What did Morrow tell you that you were shocked about?”

“That you'd fallen in love with a male patient.”

“You're shocked about me hooking up with one of the patients, but you're not concerned that I'm the prime suspect in a murder?”

Lily's face drained of color. “I didn't mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did,” her daughter argued. “If I told you I'd met a nice guy at Stanford, you'd be ecstatic. You're prejudiced, Mother. I guess you look down on me, too. I've spent time in a mental hospital thanks to you, and not once, but twice.”