Her mother took hold of Lily’s shoulders and turned her in the direction of the bathroom, giving her a little push to get her moving, the conversation over. “He’s just old, Lily. You have to feel sorry for him. He just wants to love you. You’re his little angel. Besides, you don’t hate him when he buys you all those pretty dresses and dolls and ponies. Go now. Get dressed.”
Every year when the suitcases came out, Lily regarded them in horror. She saw herself inside those bags, like a puppet case being handed over to the old puppeteer who would stick his hands inside and make the puppet do whatever he wanted and the puppet had no choice, no voice, because no one would listen. When the old puppeteer put the puppets away and shut the lid on the case, Lily knew the poor puppets cried.
The next time she spoke disrespectfully of her grandfather, her mother spanked her with the belt until angry welts rose on her spindly legs. She never spoke badly of him again. He died of a massive heart attack the year Lily turned thirteen. At the funeral she wore her best dress, one she had earned in his hands, and she curled and combed her hair as she would for a birthday party. Walking by his open casket behind her sobbing and hysterical mother, her solemn and downcast father, Lily held her body erect and tossed her silken curls. She looked down at his waxy face, lingering with fingers locked on the edge of the coffin, a tragic and touching picture to those in the church watching, the hundreds who had come to honor the great man. “Now you’re in the case,” she whispered and smiled. “And I bet you’re going to cry when they close the lid.”
A few days later, when she was alone in the house, she removed every single item he had ever given her and carried it to the big trash can in the alley. There were so many dresses with crisp petticoats that she had to jump inside the can itself and stomp them down. Then she came back with handfuls of shoes, hair ornaments, old dolls, beads, and bracelets, tossing them in and slamming the tin lid down with a loud, satisfying clang of finality.
She could hear the metal ring of that lid now as she sat on the kitchen floor. Then she realized the doorbell was ringing: the crime-scene unit had arrived. It was four o’clock. She’d been waiting over an hour. Once they gathered their evidence and left, the urge was overwhelming to call the Oxnard police or local hospitals to see if the rapist was dead, but she dared not. In two hours she would watch the local news.
Her thoughts turned to cases she had handled in the past and the Judicial Council rules regarding circumstances in aggravation and mitigation that were used to determine the severity of sentences. Lily thought of the rule: Did the defendant show remorse for his or her actions? Remembering days in courtrooms when she had argued fiercely for maximum terms, citing callousness and lack of remorse, pointing to the blank, emotionless faces of defendants with an angry, accusing finger, she realized that a lack of remorse was a primary emotional defense against guilt. Lily had to believe in what she had done. The knife had been at her throat, the blade against her skin. In his eyes was the ability to end both her life and Shana’s. She knew the look. She’d seen it in her own eyes in the rearview mirror on the way to Oxnard.
When she called Butler’s office, his secretary informed her that he was in a meeting due to end any second.
“Buzz him for me, please, it’s important.”
Soon Butler came on: “Lily, hold on a minute.” There were male voices in the background on the open line. “That will be fine. Tomorrow at ten, then.” His deep voice was consoling from the onset. “I am shocked, Lily, quite simply shocked…deeply sorry. Your daughter? How is she?”
“As good as can be expected.” Taking a deep, raspy breath, she continued, “I’d rather speak to you in person, Paul. I can be there in forty-five minutes if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Take your time. I’ll wait.”
The shower was steaming when she stepped in; it hit the back of her carpet-burned calves and she jumped, almost losing her footing. The water cascaded over her head and ran off the tip of her nose. Her entire body ached; she felt battered. Placing both her palms against the still cool tile, she realized that she was crying, but the tears ran off with the water.
“Why? Why? Why?” she cried. With each utterance of the word, she slapped her palms against the tiles until they were stinging and red. “What have I done to deserve this?” She kept hitting the tile until the sharp pain in her wrists stopped her.
She carefully painted her face with makeup. It was her mask. She wanted to face Butler looking exactly the same as she always did. Nothing has changed, she said to herself. Nothing at all has changed.
The elevator was crowded with people leaving, and Lily smiled and exchanged a few words mechanically. The receptionist buzzed her through the security doors. “How’re you feeling?” the girl asked politely. Lily’s head jerked and she wondered how many people in the office knew. In the next moment, though, she realized that the girl probably just thought she had been ill. They had to tell people some reason why she hadn’t been in the office all day.
“Must be a twenty-four-hour virus or something,” she said, placing her hand on her stomach. Stopping at records, the clerk already gone for the day, she dropped the Hernandez file and several others in the basket. She had Xeroxed the copy of the report on the way over.
Butler’s secretary was also gone, and she walked directly into his large office. The room was not lit by fluorescent lighting like all the others. Butler had real lamps, making it appear more like a well-appointed library in a stately home.
He stood and walked around the desk, extending both his hands. “My dear,” he said, pulling her to him in a brief embrace. “Sit. Sit. Tell me all about it.” He waved his hand at one of the high-backed leather chairs. Not returning behind his desk, he took a seat in the chair next to Lily’s and turned, facing her, waiting for her to speak.
“There’s not a lot to tell, Paul,” she said softly, controlled. “I guess I left the back door open, and he came in and threw my robe over my face, like putting a blanket over me. He had a knife. He then got us both on the bed and forced me to orally copulate him and raped Shana.” Lily inhaled deeply when she mentioned Shana’s name, pressing her body back into the seat. “He was scared off by some sirens in the neighborhood.”
“But where was your husband during all this?”
“We just separated a week ago. I was renting a house in Ventura, not far from here.”
Butler’s brows were knitted and his mouth tense. “Had you ever seen this man? Was he someone you prosecuted?”
“No, I never saw him before. Shana was waiting earlier on the porch when I came home. Maybe he saw her and decided to come back later. Who knows? He was a rapist, though. I don’t think his intentions were to rob us. No, not at all.”
“Your daughter? How is she handling this? How old is she, Lily?” Butler’s demeanor was calm and soothing.
“She’s thirteen.” Lily’s voice cracked. She hated the sound of compassion in his voice, as though she were a child. “She’s resting now, sedated.”
“You know you can take some time off,” he said, but flicked a glance out the window and she sensed the lack of sincerity in that statement. It would create mammoth problems.
Unable to remain seated in the chair, she stood and started pacing. “I’m coming back to work tomorrow. I’ll probably even send my daughter back to school.” She had just arrived at this decision as she spoke. “The more we let this disrupt our lives, the larger it will become.” She stopped and faced him. “The appointment. Richard told me. Has it been filled?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning away, refusing to meet her gaze. “Carol Abrams was appointed and accepted a few hours ago. It was a tough situation. Attenberg had to be replaced at once. You were considered—”
“Was the deciding factor my rape? Tell me, Paul. I have to know.”
“It was a factor. I wont lie and say it wasn’t, but the deciding factor? They wanted a female. It was between you and Abrams, and you were both highly qualified. There’ll b
e other situations. Although nothing like this has ever come up, I’m confident the bench can accommodate you in the future.” Seeing the conversation had returned to business, Butler moved to the large chair behind his desk. Lily continued to pace.
“Who’s going to prosecute Lopez-McDonald now?” she retorted, her disappointment almost at the verge of anger. “Shit, I’m up to my eyeballs in cases now. I have no one with the experience to handle a case as complex as this one.”
“Lily, if you’ll relax a little and just listen, I’ll tell you how we’re going to handle it. I realize you’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Perhaps this should wait?”
She had picked up a pen and was twirling it between her fingers. “Go ahead. I want to know where I stand.”
“You and Richard Fowler are going to handle the unit and the case. I’m moving Silverstein back to cover Richard’s unit temporarily. You’ll split the workload right down the middle.”
At the mention of working with Richard, Lily’s muscles contracted and the pen flew through the air like a rubber band, barely missing Butler’s head. “Shit,” she said. Then quickly: “I mean, about the pen. If that’s what you want…”
“Can you handle a case like this?” he asked.
Lily was indignant. “Of course I can. How could you even ask?”
He fixed his eyes on her, looking down his nose. “I mean emotionally, uh, after what you’ve been through.”
Picking up her briefcase and purse, she said firmly, “I’m a prosecutor, a mad dog. You know, after the kill. Guess I’ll have even more reason to win, don’t you think?” After the kill, she thought, how appropriate. The more real and horrible her life became, the more absurdity she saw in the entire charade. Little words, little gestures, little feelings, all marching in one big line to the finish.
“Exactly my own thoughts.” Butler stood. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
When the phone rang, Richard was at home sorting through the days mail at his desk in the spare bedroom he had made into a study.
“Can you talk? It’s me.” She was at a service station only a few blocks from the house. It was drizzling again and she was standing outside. The traffic from the freeway was deafening. “Hold on. A semi just went by. I cant hear.”
He yelled, “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m at a service station. I just left Butlers office and he told me. I’m on my way home to see if Shana’s awake. I don’t know why I called, but I said I would.”
“Did he tell you about the appointment?”
“Yes, and he told me about your moving back to the unit to work with me, about us prosecuting McDonald-Lopez together.”
“How do you feel about that?” He was still yelling even though she could hear him fine now.
“I can hear you, don’t yell. I’m numb about everything now. You know, no sleep and all.” She paused, noting the rain had stopped.
“I guess it will work out. I need a friend and I’m going to need a lot of help. Better go now. I plan to come to work tomorrow. If I can’t, I’ll call.”
“Take care of yourself, Lily. If you’re worried about me pushing myself on you, don’t.”
Her last comment was an understatement, to say the least. “That’s not one of my big concerns right now. Tomorrow, huh?”
On the way home, she stopped at a pet store and bought Shana a precious puppy. Life seemed to be going in circles. Puppies, ponies. They were all about the same.
CHAPTER 14
Lily was driving Johns Jeep and pulled it alongside her Honda in the garage. She carried the tiny Italian greyhound puppy in her arms and grabbed some towels from the clothes drier, which she placed in an empty cardboard box, and then bent down to put the little animal inside. When she stood up, vertigo momentarily engulfed her and she thought she was going to black out. Right in front of her eyes was a blank spot in the garage where her father’s shotgun had leaned for years before she moved out. If John had not forced her to take it with her along with the rest of her things when she’d moved, she would not be a murderer. The garage door was open and she looked outside, walking to the edge of the garage and searching the street for any cars she didn’t recognize. The police could be watching her. Satisfied no one was there, she hurried past the Honda into the house.
John was in the kitchen, about to place a chicken in the oven to roast. He leaned back against the counter, facing Lily. His light blue cotton shirt was wrinkled, and dried rings of perspiration stained the armpits. “She’s still asleep,” he said.
Lily felt his gaze follow her as she headed to the den and fell onto the sofa. The local news was in progress.
“Did you hear me, Lily? Can you at least answer me?”
“I heard you. I want to watch the news.”
She sat upright, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes glued to the screen. John opened the oven door and slammed it shut, took out a smaller pot and banged it on top of the range. She could hear the flick of his lighter. They were showing footage of the riot in L.A. At present they were reporting at least eleven major fires, numerous injuries, and two firemen injured, one shot. Nothing registered. Lily stared, waiting.
“Should I wake her for dinner?”
The female newscaster was speaking, returning to the regular broadcast. “Another senseless act of violence claimed the life of a twenty-eight-year-old Oxnard man early this morning in what police are calling a gang-related drive-by shooting. As the mans brother looked on in horror…”
“Lily.”
She screamed, “Shut up, John.”
“…unknown assailant opened fire, killing the man in front of his residence in the Colonia section of Oxnard.”
The newscaster turned with a plastic smile to the weatherman. “So, it looks like the rain has stopped, Stu. We could certainly use a little more with those fires burning.” Lily pressed the off button on the remote control and got up, walking to the kitchen bar.
“I’m sorry, John.” Their eyes met and Lily swam there, searching. An eyewitness, the man’s own brother, had watched her kill him. I’m sorry, she said to the dead man’s brother. I’m sorry, she said to John.
I’m sorry, sorry, sorry. The words kept playing like a mantra in her head as the images washed in blood played red before her eyes. She wanted to say the words, tell him what she’d done, have him run to her and comfort her, but he could not offer comfort. His eyes bore into her, burned through her, but she couldn’t speak. He was too weak, too unpredictable. In the beginning, she’d seen him as a safe haven in the storm, but he had been only a lean-to.
John pulled hard on his cigarette. The smoke swirled from his mouth; twin streams exited his nostrils. The puppy began whining in the garage and John looked toward the noise, puzzled.
“I bought Shana a puppy. It was the only thing I knew to do right now. Tomorrow I’ll get a referral from Social Services for a good psychologist.” Lily fetched the tiny greyhound from the garage, and as she headed to Shana’s room, she stopped and looked back at John. “I’m going to wake her. That way she can sleep tonight and go to school in the morning.”
A look of astonishment swept over John’s face. He stabbed the cigarette out in the already overflowing ashtray. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re going to insist that the child goes to school tomorrow after what she’s been through? You’re incredible, Lillian.”
“Don’t call me that. You only do it to annoy me.” She inhaled, puffing her chest out. “Yes, she’s going to school. If you baby her and give in and stay home from work and sit around all day with her, she’ll end up afraid of her own shadow. Let her go back to her friends and her school work, things that are normal. Please listen to me on this.”
“Whatever you say. Whatever you say.” He turned and started taking plates from the cabinet.
Walking down the dark hall to Shana’s room, Lily imagined them coming to arrest her. She saw the police cars pull up in front, the neighbors gathered watching, Shana crying as they led he
r away, her hands cuffed behind her back. She was holding the little dog so tightly that it whined in pain and tried to jump out of her arms.
She crept into the room and tapped Shana gently on the shoulder. With the covers pulled up around her, her soft face on the pillow, she looked so young, so fragile, so untouched. Rolling over onto her back, she opened her eyes to her mother, pushing herself up in the bed. Lily placed the puppy in her lap. “This is your new pal. What do you think?”
“Oh, how precious. What breed is it? It’s so tiny.” She picked up the puppy and held it to her face, nose to nose. “I love it. Oh, I love it. Is it a girl or a boy?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lily answered, “It’s an Italian greyhound and a girl just like you. And you must name her. But first, throw on some clothes and come in for dinner. Dad’s got it all ready and it smells great.”
Both Lily and Shana ate everything on their plates, taking seconds, leaving very little to John, who said he had eaten lunch and didn’t mind. The puppy jumped around on the floor, squatting and making a puddle.
“I brought all your new clothes over here from my house. They’re in the car,” Lily said after dinner as she carried the dinner dishes from the table and John planted himself in front of the television. “You can wear one of the new things to school tomorrow if you want.” When she turned to see Shana’s response, she was shocked to see the child picking up the dishes off the table and walking to the sink. Shana never cleaned up of her own accord. Not without a fight.
“Okay,” Shana said, looking at the puppy at her feet. “Let’s call her Princess Di, no, Lady Di. You know, like Lady and the Tramp and Princess Di? Hey, Di. Come here, Di. Come to your mummy. Come here, little princess.”
The dishes done, Lily and Shana went to her room for the remainder of the evening. After Lily helped her select an outfit for the next day, she sat behind her on the small bed and brushed her long hair. She tried to sense what her daughter was feeling. Finally, Lily dropped the brush and wrapped her arms around her. Shana’s head fell back into the crook of her mother’s neck. Lily lightly trailed her fingers over her brows, her eyelids, let them trace the slope of her slightly upturned nose. “When you were little,” she whispered, “I used to put you to sleep this way. Do you remember?”
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