by M. J. Labeff
Sparrow had slithered off his lap. She scooted down the couch away from him. She read the journal entry and then turned to meet his glossy eyes filled with sorrow and anger. Her sadness mirrored his, and behind her anguished eyes he saw her guilt. She opened her mouth to speak, but Derrick shook his head. He didn’t want to hear her tell him she was sorry for what her father had done.
“Don’t. Just don’t say anything.”
She pulled her lips together into a tight line and looked away from him.
The ping-pong game raging war in his gut stopped. All at once, nothingness overtook him. Empty. Purged. Spent. Information overload. He dried his eyes. Denial tried to creep in. Katie was dead. His anger returned. Vengeance came next. Both made him happy.
Sparrow sat reading another Psychology Today magazine. He admired her perseverance. This couldn’t be easy for her, knowing her father had done such hideous things. Her tenacity impressed him now. And, when the time came, she would testify against her father. He’d make sure of it.
The ruffling of pages broke the silence. She softly whispered, “I’m sorry. My vision was wrong. She must’ve gotten out of the water after we left. All I know is I never saw her again after that day.”
Derrick couldn’t breathe. The thought of retaliation had his heart pounding, and her statement pushed him over the edge. He got up from the couch and went to the front door and pulled it open. The salty ocean breeze quelled him. Helped him think.
How much evidence would he need to force a search and seizure of the Von Langley estate? If Dr. Von Langley kept records of his research, and Derrick was certain he would have, it was possible they could link him to his sister’s death. His gut told him they would find CT scans at Our Lady of Sorrow ordered by Dr. Von Langley, and other records, because Dr. Von Langley would have presumed the mental institution the perfect hiding place for his work. He never counted on one of his patients leaving an evidence trail, or for his daughter to recover her memory.
Chapter 29
Detective Tony Sargent’s cell phone vibrated inside his pants pocket. Assistant District Attorney Belinda Henriquez shot him a scathing look when he reached for it. He ignored the jumping phone, focusing his attention back on Judge Justin Thaylor’s serious-looking face. The trickle of sunlight behind the judge cast a halo glow around the top of his shiny head. His round brown eyes darkened and then narrowed at Belinda. He tilted his rotund head down and looked up at her from under the eaves of his winged brows in a lame attempt at intimidation.
Not much roused Henriquez. She had taken some licks as ADA but earned the respect of cops and judges alike. Tony appreciated the hard look she cast back at the judge, made all the more severe by the tight schoolmarm bun she forced her sleek black hair into daily. She wasn’t about to back down. He wondered, who would crack first? Henriquez or Thaylor?
Every so often Tony had caught her working late, clawing at her scalp. Her hair had fallen wildly around the delicate angles of her slender face. He had to admit. She looked pretty and friendly. He understood why she had cultivated a severe look and worked hard at maintaining her stern appearance: hair pulled back, little makeup, business suit, and smart shoes.
“Ms. Henriquez, let me get this straight,” Judge Thaylor said. “You’re asking me for a search warrant for Dr. Theodore Von Langley’s estate based on what?”
Henriquez had gotten to him. Tony was proud of her.
The wooden chair creaked. She leaned forward and handed him the search warrant application. He unfolded the document and then picked up his reading glasses from the desk. When he finished reading, he looked above the narrow oblong glasses perched at the end of his slender nose. His dark eyes shifted from Henriquez to Tony.
“No.” He yanked his glasses off and dropped them onto the desk, rubbing at his eyes. “Bring me more evidence.”
Tony relaxed his stiff posture and placed his forearms on the edge of Judge Thaylor’s cherry wood desk. Perhaps he’d sung her praises too soon. Belinda’s hazel eyes zoomed in on him, cautioning him.
“My brother is dead. How much more evidence do you need to tie him to Dr. Von Langley’s unorthodox practices?”
“Detective, I am truly sorry for your loss, but as Assistant District Attorney Henriquez knows, we can’t issue a warrant on a dead man’s word. However, before I go on, there’s something I need to tell you.” He folded his hands in prayer and drummed his long fingers together. Obviously, he was weighing his words, and then continued, “Your brother attacked my daughter, many years ago. She never quite got over that trauma. Dana was someone she liked and trusted. If it weren’t for Dr. Von Langley, she might have never overcome her fear of people. Do you have any idea how difficult it was for her trust anyone again?”
It was a rhetorical question. Tony didn’t respond, thinking offering an apology on behalf of his brother was futile.
“What about the evidence in my brother’s house?” he asked.
“Dr. Von Langley is an upstanding member of our community. I can’t authorize a search warrant based on a secret room in your brother’s house and nude photos of women that he took. As for the ‘rice’ treatment, therapists use all sorts of positive and negative reinforcement techniques. Was Dr. Von Langley approved for some such study? He mentions things in the article you brought me that lead me to believe it was accepted by his peers and their governing board.”
“Sir, what about the blog they found on Dana’s computer?” Henriquez interjected.
“Everyone’s a celebrity today, Ms. Henriquez, you know that. It’s a matter of a dead man’s written opinion against Dr. Von Langley’s, whom he never mentions in the blog,” Judge Thaylor said, then directed his attention to Tony. “Find me another blogger who states Dr. Von Langley mistreated him, detective, and who will come forward and testify, or a patient who can substantiate some sort of abuse. I need more than this. It’s all circumstantial.”
Henriquez pushed her chair back and got up. She offered Judge Thaylor her hand. “Thank you, sir. Have a good day.”
All five feet two inches of her hovered next to Tony, but he didn’t vacate the chair. He looked from her to the floor and at her sensible low-heeled shoes that click-clacked every time she entered the squad room.
She nudged his shoulder, then said, “Come on, we’ve taken up enough of Judge Thaylor’s time.”
Judge Thaylor leaned forward, drawing Tony’s attention back to him. Their at-odds eyes met.
“Bring me more evidence, detective.” He paused, turning his eyes to ADA Henriquez. “And then I’ll give you your search warrant.”
“Can I interview your daughter?” Tony asked in a gruff voice, unhappy with the judge’s decision not to grant them the search warrant.
Judge Thaylor retrieved a small square piece of paper from an open metal box on top of his desk then reached for his fountain pen. He scribbled her address on it and handed the slip of paper to him. Tony noted the address and the judge’s initials embossed in gold foil at the top of the paper. Ooh-la-la, fancy. Tony didn’t bother to thank him, and started to rise from the chair.
“I don’t think she’ll help your case. She and Dr. Von Langley got on just fine.”
“You never know, sir. You never know.”
When the door closed behind them, Tony said, “I didn’t know he knew about the night Dana forced himself on Jessica, or that she had been a patient of Dr. Von Langley’s. Do you think he gave up that information because he’s worried Dr. Von Langley might be at fault?”
“Only one way to find out—go ask her.”
Tony nodded and decided to take the stairs. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and listened to the message waiting for him. He raced down the stairs, thinking he needed to talk to Jessica Thaylor first, and Sparrow Von Langley second.
Tony joined the parade of cars on the freeway and headed for Laguna Beach. He hadn’t seen Jessica in years, but according to his smart phone, she’d had a stint on some of the Law & Order TV shows and small roles in
lesser-known movies. Funny; he seemed to recall Dana telling him she had plans to go to law school. Tony had never seen her on TV or in a movie, not that he got out much. And if he watched TV, he steered clear of cop shows. He lived the real thing.
Big surprise. She lived in a studio apartment on the beach. He raised his fist to rap his knuckles against the door, but before he could, the door swung open and a lanky blonde with glossy, exaggerated lips, a smile as big as a crescent moon, and blinding stars for teeth greeted him. She was wearing skintight jeans, an equally tight white V-neck t-shirt that strained across her double—make that triple—D-sized breasts and curved over her narrow hips. An orange sweater with large black buttons fastened underneath her balloons held on for dear life. The photo his smart phone had brought up of her hadn’t done her justice. She looked like a smarter version of Hollywood’s latest blonde bombshell.
“Ms. Thaylor?” Tony asked.
“Yes, Detective Sargent, I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” She sounded smarter and less bubbly too. She stepped back from the door, and Tony entered the small entryway into her place.
He glanced around at the open floor plan, vaulted ceilings with skylights, and simple décor. On the wall next to him hung a pair of masks, comedy and tragedy. “Laugh now, cry later,” he said, looking at the hand-painted faces.
“That’s right. Can I get you something to drink? Sparkling water, iced tea…pick your poison.” She flashed her pearly whites.
“Iced tea.”
He followed her into the dining room area, admiring a corner curio cabinet filled with masquerade masks.
“Nice home. You like to travel?” he asked, curious about the collection.
He turned his attention back to her.
“I call that collection ‘masks from around the world.’” She talked to him from the open kitchen, filling glasses with ice and pouring iced tea from a glass pitcher with sliced lemons and limes floating on top. There was a long pause, and he waited for her to continue. “I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you look so much like Dana. I’m sorry about your loss. I always liked your brother.”
He nodded in acknowledgment then turned around to look at the masks again.
“Detective?”
She held out a glass filled with iced tea. He took the beverage from her.
“Thank you. Please call me Tony.” He took a drink. His eyes drifted back to the curio cabinet and the black and white mask with cat eyes. An elaborate array of black feathers fanned across the top and purple ribbons streamed down the sides of the empty mask’s face, but he remembered seeing a pair of striking emerald-green eyes filling it. Next to it stood a more masculine-looking version, with purple feathers minus any ribbons. “This is quite a collection.”
“I’ve collected masks from Mexico, Italy, and Carnival in Costa Rica and Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Everywhere I go, I look for a mask to add to my collection.”
“Interesting. I gather you’ve talked to your father, so I’ll get straight to the point. How long were you a patient of Dr. Von Langley’s, and did he ever mistreat you?”
“About a year, after the incident, but it was no big deal. I mean, everyone my age at that time had a therapist. You know how it was? Parents.”
“Well, your dad seemed to think you had trust issues.” He watched her face closely, looking for a reaction to his questions.
“Dana and I liked to play games. That night, things went too far. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him I was a virgin. He got really angry with me and told me I was a dick-tease. How would you feel if someone you thought was a friend freaked out on you?”
He didn’t respond to her question. “You’re an actress now, right?”
She smiled, nearly blinding him with her white teeth. “Did you recognize me?”
“Funny thing, not from your work on film but from some still photos.”
The smile wilted from her face, and she followed his eyes to the curio cabinet. He pointed to the pair of matching masks.
“I know my brother was a photographer, but not that day, because you’re both in the picture.”
“I thought you wanted to talk to me about Dr. Von Langley.”
Her friendly attitude had turned a sharp corner.
“Was he the photographer?”
“How’d you get those photos?” She spoke between her gritted teeth. Her smiling green eyes glowed with angry heat. “I was young and stupid. Those photos could ruin my career if they got leaked to the media. Not to mention the embarrassment it would cause my family.”
“How old were you when they were taken?”
Her tall frame slouched. She leaned against a dining room chair. “Sixteen.”
“Who was the photographer?”
She stalled, jingling the ice cubes in the glass. “How do you know that’s Dana in the picture and not someone else?”
“Dana always wore his class ring. It’s in the photo. Who was the photographer?”
She crunched down on a piece of ice, making Tony cringe at the cold pain his teeth would have felt.
“Dr. Von Langley.”
“This is child pornography. You were under the age of eighteen.”
Tony reached for the steno pad and pen in his shirt pocket and then took a seat next to her.
“I need your full statement. I’ll see that you can testify in a judge’s private chambers so this doesn’t ruin your career. We’ll keep your name and family’s name out of the press.”
“I’d appreciate that. As crazy as this might sound, I didn’t think he was doing anything wrong, and I’ve just tried to forget about it after all these years. He said it would help me rebuild my trust, you know, being close to Dana. Dr. Von Langley told me he could sell the photos to magazines. That it was art.” She paused and took a breath. “I’ve always wanted to be an actress. I thought he was trying to help. By then I was desperate to land a role, something, anything. I never wanted to go to law school. I never wanted to go to college. But my dad, he hated the idea of me becoming a cliché. Kids from Crystal Cove weren’t supposed to turn out to be trust fund kids pursuing dreams.”
“Okay, Jessica, I’ll need you to tell me exactly what happened that day. How did he arrange this meeting between you and Dana? And where were you when he took the photos?”
Shame and anger glistened in her eyes. She violently crunched another ice cube.
“I believed him. I thought he was going to help me launch my career first as a model and then an actress. It makes me sick to think he might have sold the photos to some perverts who get off on young kids.”
“Hooray for Hollyweird.”
She glared at him and slammed her glass down on top of the table. “He lied. At least my identity was hidden, until now.”
“I understand. But you can stop him from hurting anyone else. He brainwashed you.”
Chapter 30
It was late afternoon by the time they finished analyzing Dana’s cryptic notes correlating to the articles in Psychology Today, featuring interviews with Dr. Theodore Von Langley. Aside from the interviews, her father had had the audacity to contribute numerous editorials. She was surprised he hadn’t approached the publisher about having his own column. Even with what they had uncovered, she clung to hope that when she and Derrick arrived at Our Lady of Sorrow, an institution for the criminally insane, and retrieved Dana’s and Katie’s brain scans, the doctor who ordered them would not be her father. Maybe her father had an accomplice and hadn’t masterminded the brain surgery treatments alone.
Sickness filled her belly and roiled with every turn Derrick took. She was sick over Dana’s heinous actions. Sick she had dated him. Sick her father might have treated this violent and deviant man and didn’t even try to caution her away from him. Would her father have put her at risk to save himself from crimes he had committed? The sickness swirling deep in the pit of her stomach slowly winded its way up and up. Her stomach twisted, urging her to let go of hope for her father.
&nbs
p; Derrick reached across the car’s console and rested his hand on her thigh. He had lost his sister. Her heart ached for him. The fractured memories of her mind locked into place with the puzzle pieces Dana had left far behind.
The hospital doors squealed open. She smelled the heavy antiseptic pine scent trying to project the image of a sterile, healthy environment. Death and illness would not mask itself no matter how many nurses, candy stripers, or custodians scrubbed and sprayed at it. No, the sickness always prevailed.
She and Derrick both wore white lab coats. She posed as a medical student, assisting Dr. Derrick Sloan. They made it past the big-busted redheaded woman at the front desk. She had menacing brown eyes that Sparrow didn’t trust. Derrick flashed his credentials. The woman nodded them through with narrowed eyes. Her teased and stacked hair bobbed on top of her head. The scrunched look on her face had questioned Derrick’s story about coming to visit a patient of Dr. Von Langley’s, but she didn’t deny he had a patient or patients here. This was the living evidence they needed to prove the sins of her father.
The redheaded woman reached under her desk and pushed a button, unlocking the door. They stepped inside the corridor. Sparrow fought back the nausea threatening to christen the scent of lemony freshness oozing from floor to ceiling. She gulped at the smell, thinking she might hurl. Bright lights reflected off the pristine white walls, but she knew the darkness hidden under the paint. The walls held the sounds of the cries now spilling under the locked doors.
Sparrow likened the mental ward to prison. The exterior of the building had high block walls with razor-wire fence, and the interior had individual rooms about the size of a prison cell with locked doors. The armed guards added to the prison-like charm. Once they locked you in, you had no chance of escape.
That had been the fear Dana lived with if he had revealed the therapist who had mistreated him. Even his final journal entry remained cryptic. Perhaps he thought that if he had not succeeded in taking his own life he would have ended up here?