Resuscitation (11 page)

On one particular day, right after school, Julian had just walked in the front door of his home, and was stunned to see a living room crowded with family members—including Rebecca and Marianne. Just seeing them made his temples pulse. As he stood in the foyer taking a head count, he noticed that everyone in the room was staring at him. They gawked at him as if he had stolen money from their church. His mother’s eyes were red and puffy. Julian feared that a family member had died.

“What’s going on?” Julian asked.

His father stood and walked toward him. “I’m disgusted with you, Julian.
Totally
disgusted.”

Julian made eye contact with Rebecca and could see her lips curled ever-so-slightly to a smile.

“What did I do, Dad?”

“Tell us about the incident in the shed,” his mother ordered.

Julian fixed his stare on Marianne and saw the same smile he’d seen on Rebecca. His palms felt moist and he found it hard to swallow.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Julian said.

“If you lie, Julian,” his father warned, “you’re only going to make it tougher on yourself.”

Julian had no idea what was happening. Why would Rebecca and Marianne tell his parents about their little game? Why would they confess? Shouldn’t
they
be the ones getting grilled? Wouldn’t
their
little asses be in trouble?

“Well, um, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Get on your knees and say you’re sorry, you little shit,” his father said. “You’re lucky that Rebecca isn’t going to file criminal charges.”

“
What
?” At first, Julian didn’t get it. “
Criminal
charges?” Then, like a tsunami crashing over him, he realized that his cousins had kept their promise.

“It’s a good thing Marianne heard Rebecca’s scream before you had a chance to…” His mother couldn’t finish her sentence.

Julian’s Uncle Sam, Rebecca’s father, stood and wagged his fist at Julian. “If you
ever
go near my daughter again, I’m going to forget that you’re my nephew.”

For a fleeting moment, Julian thought about pleading his case, telling the real story. But who would believe him? His cousins had woven a web from which he could not break free. He wanted to scream and stamp his feet and proclaim his innocence. Swear on the Holy Book. Anything to exonerate himself. He wanted everyone to know that Rebecca and Marianne were the criminals. But Julian knew it was a losing battle.

“Apologize to Rebecca,” his father ordered.

Julian stood silently, unable to utter a sound. His gut welled with anger. At this particular point in time, he felt as if he could actually kill his cousins. Painfully and with great angst, Julian whispered, “I’m sorry.” They were, perhaps, the most insincere words he would ever speak.

“For the next three months,” his father said, “your ass is grounded. You go to school. You come home. You do your homework. No TV. No music. No going outside. No nothing. When you’re home, you stay in your room. I want you to feel what it’s like to be locked up like the animal you are.”

From this day forward, Julian’s entire family would think of him as dirt beneath their feet. Even his parents. Prior to this momentous day, he had to deal with a mother and father incapable of showing love or affection. But now things would be worse. He would be an outcast and reach a new depth of insignificance. It was a stigma from which he could never escape. If there had ever been a chance for Julian to break through the barrier his parents had built around their hearts, it was now hopeless. After all, his family had tried, convicted, and sentenced him as an attempted rapist. It wasn’t like shoplifting or smoking pot. He now regretted not taking advantage of his cousins in that little shed. He wanted one more afternoon with them, one more chance to teach them a lesson, but he knew that would never happen. All eyes were on him now; he was an insect sitting under a microscope. Somehow, he’d find a way to get even.

“I’ll be up to bed in a few minutes, Sami,” Al said. “I just have to make one more phone call.”

“Talk about burning the candle at both ends,” she said. “How long can you keep up this pace?”

“Until I collapse.”

“I won’t lecture you, ’cause I’ve tried that before.”

“I’ll just be a minute or two.”

This was not a telephone call Al wanted to make. But part of his responsibility as a detective was to deliver the results of autopsy reports to the family of a homicide victim. It was difficult enough dealing with the average family, but faced with calling a Supreme Court judge in the state of California, and especially considering the strange cause of death, he wished he could delegate the task to someone else. But who? Ramirez?

He picked up the cell phone and dialed the judge’s home number.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Voice mail.

“Judge Foster, this is Detective Diaz—”

“Detective? Sorry about the voice mail, but for obvious reasons, I always screen my calls.”

“No problem, Judge. I totally understand. Sorry to call so late.”

“Do you have the results of the autopsy report?”

Obviously, the judge was a get-down-to-business man. “I do. I’d like to set up an appointment with Mrs. Foster and you—”

“Appointment? No need for that, Detective. Just give me all the details over the telephone.”

“With all due respect, Judge, normal protocol requires that we meet face to face. I’m sure you can understand the sensitivity of the situation. I can come to your home whenever it’s convenient.”

“It’s
never
going to be convenient, Detective Diaz. My daughter was brutally murdered. As you might imagine, our lives have been turned upside down. I do appreciate your gesture for this personal service, but please indulge me. You can send me a complete copy of the medical examiner’s report, but for the moment, I just want to find out how Genevieve died.”

He thought about debating the issue further, but Judge Foster seemed rigid on his position. Rigid enough to get him off the hook.

“Your daughter’s cause of death was a massive stroke.” As soon as the words rolled off his tongue, Al wished he could retract them. They seemed so cold and without diplomacy. But was there really a tactful way to deliver this information?

Silence.

“Judge Foster?”

“I heard you, Detective. I’m just trying to understand how a healthy twenty-three-year-old woman died of a stroke.”

“It’s complicated. In fact, even the medical examiner is puzzled. Blood tests confirmed your daughter had several very potent prescription drugs in her system. Why, we don’t know. Two of these drugs have an effect on heart function and it’s possible that an erratic heartbeat formed a blood clot that traveled to her brain.”

“That is medically possible?”

“One of the drugs in your daughter’s blood can cause what they call fibrillation, where the heart flutters instead of pumping blood normally. This fluttering causes the blood to pool and form clots that can travel anywhere in your body.”

“What would motivate anyone to give her these drugs?”

“That’s the question we need to answer.”

“Tell me, Detective.” The judge hesitated for a few moments. “Was she…sexually assaulted?”

Al didn’t think his answer would give the judge much comfort, but this was the only piece of information that let Al breathe easy. “No, Judge. We found no evidence that Genevieve was sexually harmed in any way.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

Al didn’t want to push it, but the judge seemed like he was in a cooperative mood. “You can help us tremendously by answering a few questions.”

“Like what?”

“First off, was Genevieve taking any prescription medication?

“None. She didn’t even take vitamins.”

“Did she have any allergies that would require she keep an EPI pen handy?”

“Absolutely not. Other than a few sniffles in the fall during hay fever season, to the best of my knowledge, she wasn’t allergic to anything.”

“One last question, Judge. Did your daughter have any medical condition that required a doctor’s care?”

“She was healthy since the day she was born.”

“Thank you, Judge. That’s it for now. I’ll be sure to get you a complete copy of the autopsy report.”

“I have one more question, Detective Diaz. Unfortunately, I’m aware of what goes on during these gruesome autopsies. That’s why I was so dead set against it. What I want to know is this. Can we have an open casket at her wake, or will we never see her beautiful face again?”

Al knew exactly what he was asking:
Did the ME fillet my daughter like a dead fish and crack her skull open like a coconut? Will she be presentable lying in that casket, or will she be a collection of body parts?

“When you see her, Judge, there will be no evidence that she ever even had a mosquito bite.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” The phone went silent again. “You deal with this sort of thing every day. And as a judge, I’ve seen my fair share of violent criminals and acts of brutality that make me question the civility of mankind. But no matter what you’re exposed to each and every day, nothing, I mean nothing can prepare you for a loss like this.” The judge’s voice was a little unsteady. “But how do you deal with not knowing? How do you sleep at night wondering what that monster did to our daughter? What she felt the last few minutes of her life. How do you go on when you try to imagine how much she suffered?”

Al searched his mind, but could not find one comforting word. All he could say was, “I’m really sorry, Judge Foster. I promise you that I won’t rest until I find Genevieve’s murderer.”

Sami lay on her side, facing Al. It was one of those moments she loved when their eyes and body language did most of the talking. He seemed a bit restless and distant tonight, but she hoped she could improve his mood. “This might be the last time you get to jump my bones without having to stifle yourself, Cowboy. Wanna make whoopee?”

“Sounds inviting, but I’m completely out of gas.”

“Well, maybe I can fill up your tank,” Sami said playfully. She kissed him softly on the lips. “When have you
ever
refused a roll in the hay?”

“Will you give me a rain check?”

Something didn’t feel right. He never refused an opportunity for sex. Okay, so their sex life had tapered off. With his schedule and her hurried life, they found it nearly impossible to carve out any time for themselves. But wouldn’t that make her invitation even more appealing?

Al kissed Sami on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Sami. It was just one of those days.”

She felt a knot in the back of her throat. “Are we okay?”

He nodded. “Of course we are.”

She wasn’t convinced. Sami’s romance with Al had taken a turn she never expected. Early in their relationship, the passion between them was so intense that she felt certain it would fade quickly. Yes, the frequency of their lovemaking had diminished; their hurried lives often distracted them. But she thought that the fire still burned hot. Was she wrong? Had he really turned down sex? She’d never expected to fall in love with him. He’d always seemed like a rogue, a heartbreaker. But since their love affair began, Al had shed his protective armor and exposed a kind and sensitive man. A man worthy of her love. Perhaps they had reached a crossroads, and Al and she were headed in different directions.

Before Sami could complete her thoughts, the telephone rang.

“Let the answering machine pick up,” Al said.

She reached for the telephone before the second ring. “It could be the hospital calling about my mom.”

“Hello. Yes. Yes. And your name is?” Sami covered the mouthpiece. “It’s Ricardo Menendez?”

“Who?” He grabbed the phone.

As Al silently listened, Sami watched the color drain from his face. His hand began to shake and he nearly dropped the telephone. “What hospital?” Al asked. “Give me your cell phone number.” Al reached past Sami and grabbed a pen and pad sitting on the nightstand. He scribbled hastily. “Thank you, Ricardo. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

Al dropped the cordless telephone on the bed. “That was my sister’s boyfriend calling from Rio.” He couldn’t find his voice. “Aleta was in a head-on collision. She’s in an intensive care unit in Rio.” Al’s eyes filled with tears. “She’s in a coma and they don’t think she’s going to make it.”

Sami sprang out of bed and put her arms around Al. “I’m so, so sorry.” There were no words that would comfort him.

“I have to get there as soon as I can.”

“Let me fire up the computer and search for tickets,” she offered.

“Make a pot of coffee,” Al said. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

Julian’s destination this evening required that he dress down. He slipped on a pair of stylishly worn-out blue jeans and a pink polo shirt. He completed the ensemble with black Converse sneakers and he clasped a thick gold chain around his neck. He’d never been to Henry’s Hideaway before—why would he patronize a gay bar? But tonight he had a purpose and felt certain the crowd would fulfill his expectations. Located in the heart of Hillcrest, an area of San Diego famous for its trendy eateries, chic boutiques, and being a hot spot for the gay community, Henry’s was the hottest new pub and bistro in the area.