by Diane Capri
“If it will make you happy, then take whatever is needed. My toothbrush, hairbrush, I have nothing to hide.”
“If you have nothing to hide, let these policemen search through the house.”
“Looking for what?”
“For the man who attacked me tonight and the real Sybil Squire.”
She smiled. “If I allowed that then I’d be encouraging your paranoia, Mrs. Lundberg. The answer is no.”
Piper realized then that they had thought of everything. All that belonged to Sybil, anything personal, would have been right here in this house. In the past forty years, Sybil had rarely left her home. Anything that might contain her DNA had long ago been substituted with that of the imposter. No wait, there was the autograph she gave Piper the last time she visited her. It would have her fingerprints on it. Or skin cells for DNA analysis.
“I have something of Sybil’s. An autographed photo.”
“Would you like a handwriting sample?” the woman said.
“She’s wearing a wig and contact lenses.”
With her gloved fingers, the woman tugged at her hair above her forehead. “It’s mine. All mine,” she said. “See for yourself.”
Both officers leaned in and nodded.
The woman turned to Officer Lovett. “Mrs. Lundberg, sadly, is stalking me. I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but I may be forced to press charges against her. A restraining order, at the very least.”
Piper’s stomach dropped. She was turning everything around on her. Piper was the guilty party now. “I can prove this is not Sybil Squire. Sybil has scars on the backs of her hands. Ask this woman to remove her gloves.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous,” the imposter said.
“Please,” Piper said, pleading with the two police officers. “She can’t make scars go away.”
“Mrs. Squire?” Detective Bower spoke up for the first time since entering the house.
The woman looked from the detective, to Piper, to Mr. Moto and back to Piper again. Her brow furrowed and her cheeks seemed to redden. They had her now. She can’t get away with this. Scars are forever.
“Do you need help?” Piper said, stepping forward. The short cop put an arm out to block her.
“Mrs. Squire, it’s a reasonable request,” Detective Bower spoke again. “If you will, please.”
The woman looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. She sighed deeply, then began by tugging at the fingertips, inching the material down slowly. Piper wanted to grab her hand and yank them off, exposing her for the imposter she was. With her palm facing upward, the glove slid down and fell into her lap. She turned her hand over. The scars were red and angry. The other glove came off more quickly. The scars on that hand were not as severe, but without a doubt, they too were burn scars. Even her fingertips were scarred. Glittering on the ring finger of the left hand was the beautiful diamond ring belonging to the real Sybil Squire.
Piper felt numb inside. To what lengths would these people go to pull this off? How much money could there possibly be? Millions?
It was all slipping away. Piper’s chance to save Sybil, gone. Unless Detective Bower believed her and was willing to help, there was nothing more she could do.
#
They returned to the guesthouse. Before driving off in the squad car, Officer Lovett had reminded her that the stalker laws in California were taken very seriously, especially where a celebrity was involved.
Piper sat on a tall stool at the kitchen counter. “So it must be the contents of the safe-deposit box and the missing key that’s keeping them around this long.”
“Keeping Sybil alive, you mean.”
“Is she still alive?” she asked.
“As far as Lieutenant Stroller at the FCD is concerned, Sybil Squire is picking up roots and moving east. I’d say by now they’ve managed to clean out her bank account and sell off most of her assets. Instead of trying to sell the house, which would take too long, they could simply mortgage it to the hilt. My first assumption was that one of the caregivers had gotten a power of attorney, but now I realize they don’t need one, not if they can become Sybil.” He paced the room. “I wonder if, after tonight, they’ll think the contents of the safe-deposit box still worth risking their necks for.”
“Risking their necks?” Piper’s laugh was dry and humorless. “Oh, the last thing they’re worried about is their necks. They have no fear. You saw them tonight. Mr. Moto looking so frigging innocent and cooperative. And the phony lady Squire, she … she’s so damn good at convincing not only the Hollywood police, and the FCD, but even Sybil’s doctor. She burned her own hands.” When Piper saw the burns on that imposter’s hands, she actually doubted herself. “If we could just find Sybil,” she said. “We have to find her. Only she can expose them.”
“If Mrs. Squire turns up alive, she’d have to prove she’s the real McCoy. Can she? You said it yourself, these people are determined, they’ve thought of everything. As of right now, they have the upper hand, and they know it.”
“Maybe … for now.” Then it hit her. “Blood,” she said, her voice rising. “The private hospital where she went for her burns must have a sample of her blood. There’s our DNA.”
“It’s a possibility, but only if they slipped up. Don’t forget that the nurse took care of her in that hospital too. She had access to all the files and what went into them. She could have easily substituted blood samples, X-rays, tests, whatever, or even destroyed them.”
Piper slumped down on the stool. “How will Sybil get her life back? That she might have to prove who she is never occurred to me. They’ve covered all the bases. Rescuing Sybil may not be enough, especially if she’s given up and no longer wants to live.”
“Mrs. Lundberg—”
“Could you call me Piper? I never did like that name.”
He nodded. “Piper it is. I’ll see if I can get the Wade case reopened. At least that’ll open some doors for us, investigation-wise.”
“Thank you, Detective Bower.”
“Jason.”
She looked up at him.
“Less formal. I may be working this case off the clock, Piper. With the backlog of homicides in all of L.A. County, I won’t be able to devote a lot of time to it on the clock, unless I get more evidence. Something substantial.”
“I understand.” She paused. “Jason, I can’t tell you how much it means to have someone believe me.”
“Sorry it took me so long. I promised you I’d do a thorough investigation and I dropped the ball.” Jason stepped to the door. He opened and closed it several times. “This door was jimmied. Is there a security alarm?”
She shook her head.
“Do you have somewhere else you can stay tonight? The main house?”
“Luke has the keys.”
“You can’t stay here until the place is secure.”
Where could she go? Gordon had alienated most of her friends during their marriage. Lee was the only person she would dare to impose on this late at night. Despite what happened there earlier, Lee would welcome her with open arms. Piper wished now she had stayed and worked it out.
She called Lee on both lines. No answer. Not even voicemail. Lee had gone into shutdown mode. That was her way of handling a crisis.
Piper hung up and shook her head.
Emotionally exhausted after her adrenaline high, she felt completely drained. The thought of checking into in a motel room appealed to her even less than staying where she was, alone.
“I don’t think he’ll come back tonight. The door has a safety bolt in the floor. I’ll be okay here.”
“How’d I know you’d say that?” Jason Bower said. “All right, sit tight, I’ll be right back. Bolt it as soon as I go out.”
He left the house. Piper engaged the bolt.
In under three minutes he was back, winded from the run. He handed her a black gadget. “It’s a 2-way radio. I’ll be in my car around the corner. If you hear something or just get jumpy, press thi
s button and start yelling. I’ll be right here.”
He placed a canister of mace on the counter and left.
She slid the safety bolt into place and then watched him walking down the driveway. He kept close to the wall, away from any prying eyes from the house next door. When he was out of sight the radio in her hand crackled. His voice came through loud and clear, “Are you there? Come in.”
She pressed the button. “I’m here.”
“Sleep tight. Over and out.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On January 12th, 1968, Norma Watson Knoller was murdered in her private room at The Triple Oaks Sanatorium by fellow inmate, Wanda Berganstoff. No reason or motive for the crime was given. The press flocked to the Hollywood hills house for comments regarding the murder of Sybil Squire’s daughter. They were turned away by the housekeeper with the words. “No comment. Not now, not ever.”
—Excerpt from the biography of Sybil Squire: The Platinum Widow
by Russell Cassevantes
Piper did not sleep. The radio Jason Bower left with her beeped and blinked. She stuffed it under a pillow at the side of the Murphy bed, but still she couldn’t sleep. Her mind ran on and on, playing the events of the past weeks in a continuous loop.
These people were not typical in-and-out amateur scam artists. They were hard players prepared to go all the way, no matter how long it took or what extremes were necessary. She sensed the break-in was a warning to scare her, to get her to back off. How far would they go?
At six that morning, Jason called on the radio to check on her. He told he was going home to change and then to the precinct. They arranged to get together later in the day at the main house. Piper suggested he use the front entrance, which faced away from the Squire property.
The locksmith had changed the locks at the guesthouse and the main house and left by the time Jason arrived. He wore a charcoal-gray suit over a button-down shirt and a black tie. A butterfly bandage covered the cut above his eye. They sat in the living room.
“I ran a check on the two caregivers. Before nurse Avidon went to work at the clinic where Squire was treated for her burns, she was a registered nurse for an elderly man in Hancock Park. When he died, guess who was named beneficiary?”
“Avidon. Was there anything suspicious about his death?”
“No more suspicious than the housekeeper’s death. Her son has a rap sheet—assault and battery, drunk and disorderly—but has managed to stay out of prison. Arrests, but no convictions. He has at least half a dozen aliases. I suspect one or both of them are pretty savvy about computers, and good at forgery and falsifying whatever papers or certificates that they need. Shields too.”
“What about the other man? Ling? Where does he fit in?”
“Nothing on him.”
Jason paced. “I want to pay a visit to the clinic where Ms. Squire and Avidon were introduced. Avidon doesn’t have a criminal past—but she may have had problems on the job.”
He headed for the front door, paused, then turned. “Are you coming?”
#
At noon, in West Hollywood, they climbed the concrete steps of the main entrance of the hospital. At the nurse’s station, Jason showed his credentials to the doctor’s head nurse and asked about Judith Avidon. The nurse was reluctant to discuss Avidon’s records until she learned that someone she had recommended might soon be up on criminal charges. She motioned for them to join her at the end of the counter.
In a hushed tone, she said, “Nurse Avidon was only here a couple months before she went to work for Mrs. Squire. She was efficient, reliable, with a good bedside manner. When she heard that Dr. Lowdell was asking about a live-in nurse for the actress, she stepped right up. The doctor asked for recommendations and I gave him Judy’s name. Like I said, she was a stellar nurse. The patients seemed to like her.”
“Did she work in a clinic or hospital prior to coming here?” Jason asked.
The nurse excused herself and crossed the hall to an office. Minutes later she was back with a manila file folder. She opened it on the counter top. “Let’s see, her last two positions were in private practice. Patients now both deceased.”
“May we have their names?”
“I’m sorry. Because they were private positions, I’m afraid I can’t give you that information without a court order. I can only tell you she worked at County General and another private clinic.” She started to close the file.
“What other clinic?” Jason said.
She flipped the file open again. “It’s probably irrelevant. It was forty-odd years ago.”
Both Jason and Piper leaned in to get a better look.
“Triple Oaks. It was a sanitarium in Los Feliz,” the nurse said.
“She was a nurse there?” Piper asked, hardly able to get the words out. Her chest felt constricted.
“I believe so.”
They thanked her and left. When they reached the parking lot, Piper grabbed Jason’s arm and blurted out, “Triple Oaks is the sanitarium where Sybil Squire’s daughter was murdered. She’s left a trail that we can follow.”
“Let’s go,” Jason said.
On the way to Los Feliz and the Triple Oaks Clinic, no longer called a Sanitarium, they went over details of the case. Within the last five years, Judith Avidon had cared for two separate patients on a live-in basis. Both had died in her care. Were estates involved in both? It wasn’t a coincidence that Avidon and her cohorts had found Sybil Squire at a very vulnerable time in her life.
“I don’t think this nurse just happened to be working at the very hospital where they took Sybil Squire after the fire,” she said.
“What are you getting at?”
“I bet Avidon knew beforehand which hospital Sybil would be taken to, the one where her doctor practiced. Even if the paramedics had taken Sybil to another hospital, she more than likely would have transferred to the private clinic. That fire was no accident.”
“How do you know that?”
“While Sybil was in the hospital she told her housekeeper that someone had been in her house the night of the fire, a man. The morning of the fire she had visitors. I was there having coffee with her by the pool. I saw them come and go. Sybil was really shook up. That same day she went from bank to bank.”
“You saw the visitor?”
“I saw the car and someone was sitting in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see his or her face. There were two of them.”
“Interesting.”
“Also interesting is that this particular nurse was employed at two separate hospitals, where first the daughter, then the mother, happened to be patients.”
“You’d make a good investigator,” Jason said.
“It’s all those mystery stories. Who says you can’t learn from movies and TV?”
They pulled up to the rusty gates of Triple Oaks Clinic at 2:00 p.m. Although she’d never been here, Piper suspected it hadn’t changed much in the past forty years. A mission-style structure sitting on acres of rolling hills. She spotted only two oaks, one on each side of the sandstone gateposts. Jason spoke into the intercom and the gates opened. They drove through to the main building.
The grounds looked deserted. They parked in the visitor’s parking lot and entered through a side door. No patients or hospital staff loitered around. Walking down the musty corridor of the old building to the administrator’s office, she expected to see mental patients wandering aimlessly or sitting in a catatonic state, like in The Snake Pit. The scene where Olivia De Havilland sits on the cold brick floor in the psycho ward, inmates all around her. In a dazed stupor she looks upward, out of the chaos, the walls become round like a tunnel, the dark, dank tunnel of a snake pit. Up, up it rises until she is a mere speck at the bottom.
Piper rubbed her arms.
The corridor at Triple Oaks was empty and quiet.
In the administrator’s office, Jason informed an assistant they’d like to speak to the chief administrator.
“What does it pertai
n to?” the obese woman behind the desk asked.
“A homicide.”
“What homicide?” Her eyes widened in alarm.
“Norma Knoller.”
“My gawd, that happened ages ago.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Langacino would know about it. She was here back then.”
“Would you please tell her we’d like to talk with her about it?”
She rose with effort, using the arms of the chair to assist her, and walked into the room behind her. Moments later, she was back.
“I’m sorry, but Mrs. Langacino refuses to discuss the incident.” She sank into the chair. “She suggested you get what you need elsewhere.”
Jason took Piper’s arm and led her around the desk to the administrator’s office. Without knocking, he opened the door and strode inside.
The woman behind the desk looked up in surprise.
“Mrs. Langacino, this is official business.” He held up his shield. “I’m Homicide Special Detective Jason Bower. This is Piper Lundberg. We were told that you were employed here at the time of the Knoller homicide.”
She came to her feet. “I told my assistant—”
“Your help in this matter is essential. Lives are in danger. Can we count on your cooperation? If not, I can get a subpoena.”
“Detective Bower, how on earth can the details of a forty-three-year-old incident possibly be useful to the police now?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.”
She looked toward the door. When it was apparent no one was going to rush in and remove them, she rolled her eyes and waved a hand to the two chairs in front of her desk.
“Close the door, please.”
Jason closed it and took a seat next to Piper.
“Yes, I remember it. You don’t forget something that extreme. Creates an emotional scar for anyone even remotely close to something that horrific.”
They sat on wooden chairs facing her desk, an uncluttered desk with a large green blotter and matching pen and pencil set. Through the window behind Mrs. Langacino, Piper saw about a dozen men and women in yellow cotton tops and pants sitting in a circle on the lawn, holding hands.