Self-Defence

13

I left the hospital parking lot and got onto the freeway. I agreed with Embrey: Lucy really believed she hadn't tried to kill herself.

Had the walk to the oven occurred during sleepwalking?

Not impossible, I supposed. For some people, slumber could be a shadow life. Some sleepwalkers denied walking; lots of snorers claimed they were silent. I'd seen patients experience shrieking night terrors only to wake up the next morning claiming they'd had sweet dreams. The man who'd tried to strangle his wife in his sleep refused to believe it until confronted by videotape.

And Lucy did have a history of fractured sleep.

So maybe it all boiled down to a physiological quirk.

But what of her newly expressed belief that someone had stolen her underwear?

The hang-up calls… delusional thinking?

Embrey had found no psychosis or major personality disorder, and neither had I.

Both of us wanting to believe the best?

Even Milo had put aside his cop cynicism and gotten more involved with her than anyone he'd met on the job before.

I remembered his guilt as he aired his doubts about her credibility.

My quick response that she was needy, rather than manipulative.

I thought about the way she'd just gotten me to promise not to collude in locking her up.

My gut was telling me she was sincere, but was that worth as much as I wanted to believe?

Should I have tried to convince her to stick with Embrey?

Maybe Embrey could handle that on her own.

"Who knows, maybe I don't even need a therapist."

Had I let that go by too easily?

Should haves, could haves…

Tomorrow night she'd sleep in her own bed.

I hoped I hadn't made a terrible call.

I hoped freedom wouldn't kill her.

Milo phoned the next day, just after noon, and I recounted my visit to Woodbridge and Lucy's feelings about Wendy Embrey.

"What's Embrey like?"

"Personable, bright, motivated."

"But she ain't you."

"I'm not sure Lucy'll want me either. Last night she made noises about dropping out of therapy completely. A moment later, she's telling me she's scared someone's out to get her."

I told him about the underwear.

"All of a sudden, she remembers this?"

"She passed it off as absentmindedness, same way she dismissed the phone calls as technical problems. Like I said, she's not one to play victim. Has a hard time being dependent. She talks about her brother, Peter, as being her sole protector, but he's not exactly coming through. Out of town on urgent business, even though he hasn't worked for years. And he took the time to phone Ken and Embrey but not Lucy."

"Avoiding her?"

"Looks like it. Lucy insists they're close, but he's an odd one. I met him once when he came with her to a session. Refused to come in and sat in the car the whole time. Kind of withdrawn."

"Withdrawn as in schizo?"

"It was only a brief encounter and I didn't pick up anything bizarre- more like intensely shy. He was protective enough to shield her from meeting Ken right away, but when I asked Lucy what he did for a living she got very defensive and started making excuses for his being unemployed. As if she's used to protecting him. Now that she's in crisis, his failing to come through for her could be traumatic. Another abandonment's the last thing she needs."

"Should I visit her?"

"Embrey suggested you take a low profile for now, and I agree."

"Meaning?"

"You don't volunteer, but if she approaches you, don't turn her away."

"When's she getting out?"

"Tomorrow."

"All right, you're the doctors… Anyway, what I was calling about is I talked to Malibu Sheriffs and they faxed me- if you're still interested in the dream."

"One way or the other, it's relevant to Lucy's mental state."

"Well, nothing juicy. No homicides or attempted homicides of females in the entire beach area from June to November of that year. And of the eight rapes they've got, seven were up in Oxnard, no victim matches to the long-haired girl. Two of them were probable domestics- middle-aged women- two were little kids, and the other three were Mexican bar scenes with hookers, all charges dropped. The eighth one was Malibu, but nowhere near Topanga. Ranch up in Decker Canyon, some cowboys getting drunk and assaulting a lady horse groom."

"Did the lady have long hair?"

"The lady was fifty-five, two hundred pounds and gray-haired. No Topanga missing females, either, during that time span. They did send me paper on four missing persons cases in the area that never got closed, but once again they were all north, Oxnard and Malibu. Given the flavor of the times- flower children hitchhiking- four doesn't seem like a lot."

"Do any of the four match the girl in the dream?"

"I didn't really study them, Alex. Hold on, let me pull them out… Number one is Jessica Martina Gallegos, Oxnard. Sixteen years old, high school sophomore, black hair, brown eyes, five one, hundred and fifty- doesn't sound long and leggy to me- last seen waiting for a bus at ten P.M. in front of the Teatro Carnival on Oxnard Boulevard. The pictures came through the fax pretty grainy, but I can see enough to tell you she doesn't have long flowing hair. Short and curly and light with dark roots.

"Number two, Iris Mae Jenrette, thirty-two, five-four, one-ten, blond and green, last seen at the Beachrider Motel, Point Dume… Apparently this one was out from Idaho on a honeymoon, had a fight with hubby, took the car, and split, didn't come home… Long hair, but it's ultra-platinum and teased. Want the other two?"

"Why not."

"Karen Denise Best, nineteen, five-seven, one-seventeen, blond and blue… Waitress at The Sand Dollar Restaurant in Paradise Cove, last seen working the dinner shift… reported missing by parents from New Bedford, Mass.; they didn't get their weekly phone call…

And number four, Christine no-middle-name Faylen, also nineteen, five-five, one-twenty, brown and brown, freshman at Colorado State… another tourist, traveling with two friends, staying at a rented place in Venice. Says here she went for a Coke on the beach at Zuma and didn't return to her buddies. Both of those have long straight hair, but only Faylen's is dark."

"Five-five, one-twenty," I said. "Slender. She could be leggy. And the circumstances are interesting. Going for a drink in broad daylight and not coming back?"

"And what? She ends up in Topanga, ten, fifteen miles away, at a party? For all we know, she showed up the next day and the friends never bothered to let the sheriff know. Missing persons cases are like that. And no red flags on any of these. My vote is Lucy never witnessed any crime, Alex. Either she saw people having sex, and misconstrued it, or Daddy and/or Scumbag Trafficant did something to her. Or the whole thing's total fantasy."

"I'm sure you're right."

"But?"

"But what?"

"There's a "but' in your voice."

"Would you mind if I did a little follow-up?"

"What kind of follow-up?"

"Calling the families of the four missing girls. Especially Faylen."

"Why, Alex?"

"To eliminate as many variables as possible for whoever ends up doing therapy with Lucy. For Lucy herself. She's sounding more and more confused. The clearer the information we have, the more likely we are to get close to the truth."

"What if no one ends up doing therapy with Lucy? You said she wanted to drop out."

"Then I wasted a few phone calls. Let's say she ends up on your doorstep. Wouldn't you want to know as much as possible if she starts convincing herself she witnessed a murder?"

"Guess so… Okay, here're the numbers, I hope for your sake all of them did show up. Twenty-one years of grief ain't a pleasant thing to dig up."

I'd copied down:

Jessica Gallegos. Last Seen: 7/2. Parents, M/M Ernesto Gallegos.

Iris Jenrette. 7/29. Husband, James Jenrette.

Karen Best. 8/14. Parents, M/M Sherrell Best.

Christine Faylen. 8/21. Shelley Anne Daniels, Lisa Joanne Constantino. Parents, M/M David Faylen.

I sat for a long time trying to figure out how to cushion the shock of each call.

Then I punched buttons.

The Gallegos home number was now Our Lady of Mercy Thrift Shop. The Ventura/Oxnard directory listed a couple of dozen Gallegoses, none of them Ernesto or Jessica. The high school student would be close to forty now, maybe married, maybe with kids of her own…

I turned to the next number. Iris Jenrette. Boise. A woman answered.

"Is James Jenrette there?"

"He's at work. Who's this?"

"I'm calling about some information he requested on homeowner's insurance."

"He never mentioned anything about that. We're already insured up the hilt."

"Is this Mrs. Jenrette?"

"Iris," she said impatiently. "I don't know what he's up to now. You'll have to call him back after nine. He's working late at the store."

"Sure," I said.

Dial tone.

The Best family's number in Massachusetts was busy, and at the Faylen household I got a recorded message: an older woman's voice softened by an undertone of laughter.

"Hi, you've reached the home of Cynthia and Dave, we're not in or maybe we are and are just too darn lazy to get off our butts and come to the phone. So if you're one of those persistent types, wait for the proverbial beep and speak your proverbial piece."

I tried Denver Information for a listing on Christine Faylen and got one immediately.

"Law offices."

"Christine Faylen, please."

"The office is closed, this is the exchange."

"I'd like to reach Ms. Faylen. It's important."

"One moment."

A few minutes later a woman came on.

"Chris Faylen."

"Ms. Faylen, I'm calling from the Records Department at the City of Malibu. We're going through our old files, and your name came up as the subject of a missing persons report twenty-one years ago."

"What?"

I gave her the exact date and time. "A Christine Faylen was reported missing from the Zuma Beach by Shelley Anne Daniels and Lisa Joanne Constan-"

"Shelley and Lisa, sure, sure, what a hoot. You're kidding, that's still on the books?"

"I'm afraid so."

She broke into loud, hearty laughter. "Unbelievable. Well, I can assure you I'm not missing- maybe a little mentally, but the bod's right here, safe and sound. Ha-ha."

"That's good to hear."

"All this time… no one's been looking for me, have they? God, this is so-" Guffaws.

"Not recently, it's just a matter of-"

"Unbelievable," she repeated. "What a scream. Do I have to fill out any forms or anything?"

"No, your verbal assurance is-"

"You're sure, now? Because I'm an attorney, it wouldn't do to be a nonentity. And I've seen all sorts of screw-ups when the paperwork's not complete- for all I know I haven't been accruing my Social Security all this time… unbelievable."

"None of our records are sent to the federal government."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

Giggles. "Missing persons. Ha ha ha. I was only gone for three days, met a- ha ha, no need to get into that. Anyway, thanks for calling."

"Pleasure, Ms. Faylen."

"Back from the Land of the Missing. Ha ha ha."

I tried Karen Best's number again. This time the phone rang three times before a woman said, "Hello."

"Mrs. Best?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Sherrell Best?"

"No, this is Taffy. Who is this?"

"I'm calling from California, trying to locate Karen Best."

Silence.

"Who is this?"

Her voice had ratcheted tight. A phony story wouldn't work.

"My name is Dr. Alex Delaware. I'm a psychologist who sometimes works with the Los Angeles police. Karen's name came up in a review of missing persons cases that I've been following up."

"Following them up how?"

"Checking whether or not the person ever showed up."

"Why?" More tension. My gut was tight, too.

"Because they may relate to a current case. I'm sorry, but I can't say any more, Mrs.-"

"What'd you say your name was?"

"Delaware. You can call Detective Milo Sturgis at the West Los Angeles Substation for verification."

I started to recite Milo's number.

She broke in. "Hold on."

The phone clanged down.

Moments later, a man said, "This is Craig Best. Karen was my sister. What's going on?"

I repeated what I'd told his wife.

"No, she was never found. What is this, some sort of a research project?"

"Your sister's name came up in relationship to another case."

"What kind of case?"

"An individual here in L.A.'s having memories of seeing a young woman abducted at a certain time and place. We've been reviewing missing persons cases that might be related."

"Memories? What, some kind of psychic? 'Cause we went through all that."

"No. This is a possible witness, but I have to emphasize it's very tenta-"

"What time and place are you talking about?"

"The Malibu area. Mid-August. Your sister was working as a waitress at a place called-"

"The Sand Dollar. Before that she worked in Beverly Hills."

"Waitressing?"

"Yeah, a Chinese place, Ah Loo. She got jobs in the fancy neighborhoods because she wanted to be an actress and thought she'd run into movie stars. God knows who she did run into. What makes you think it was Karen this witness saw?"

"We don't think anything of the sort, Mr. Best. The investigation's still at a very early stage, and I'm sorry if this-"

"Investigation?" he said. "We could never get Malibu Sheriffs to do a serious one. So what are you investigating?"

"Would you mind verifying a few things for me?" I read off Karen's height and weight.

He said, "Yeah, that's right."

"Blond hair-"

"Jesus," he said. "I can't believe that's still on there. We told them she dyed it brunette that summer. Brilliant!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd she go from blond to brunette? It's usually the other way around."

"That was her point. Everyone in L.A. was blond. She wanted to stand out. Her natural hair was gorgeous; my parents thought it was- what color hair did this supposed witness see?"

"It's by no means a clear memory, but the girl's described as having long dark hair and long legs."

Silence.

"Karen had really long legs; everyone said she should model- Lord Jesus, are you telling me we might finally get something here?"

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "Everything's very tentative."

"Yeah," he said. "Of course. Sure. No reason to start hoping now. Nothing to hope for anyway. She's dead. I accepted that years ago, haven't thought of her as alive in a long time. But my father… it was him you were calling, wasn't it? He'll freak out."

"He still thinks she's alive?"

"At this point, I don't know what he thinks. Let's just say he's not the type to let go. Looking for Karen wiped him out financially. We bought the house from him as a favor, after my mother died and he moved to California."

"He lives out here?"

"Highland Park."

An hour and a half drive from Malibu. I said, "Did he move in order to look for Karen?"

"That was the official reason, but he's… what can I say? He's my dad. Speak to him, see for yourself."

"I don't want to upset him."

"Don't worry- you couldn't. Here's the address and number."

I thanked him.

He said, "Now what do you mean by abducted? Kidnapped, something worse?"

"The witness remembers seeing a girl being carried off by some men, but the witness was very young at the time, so the details may not be accurate. It may not even have been Karen. I'm sorry for having to make this call without giving you something more concrete. We're a long way from hard evidence."

"Very young. You mean a kid?"

"Yes."

"Oh. So this really is pretty weak. Are there other girls involved, too? Because I can't believe you'd go to the trouble just for Karen. Is this some sort of serial killer thing?"

"There's no reason to believe that, Mr. Best. I promise to let you know if anything comes up."

"I hope you mean that. Karen was my only sibling. I've got six kids of my own… don't know what that has to do with anything."

I did. Replacement.

"Is there anything else," I said, "that you want to tell me about her?"

"What's to tell? She was beautiful, sweet, a real good kid. She'd be forty next month. I thought about that when I turned thirty-eight. She's dead, isn't she?"

"I'm not in any-"

"Bottom line," he said sadly. "She has to be. I knew something bad happened when she stopped calling- she always called, at least once a week on Sunday, usually other days too. She'd never have let us dangle all these years. If she was alive, we'd have heard from her. She got involved with something terrible out there. If you find out what, no matter how bad it is, call me. Don't rely on my dad to tell me. Give me your number."

I did, along with Milo's.

Before I hung up, he thanked me, and that made me feel low.