L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (35 page)

Moving to leave, Rico clapped Luke on the shoulder. “We’re doin’ a meet at the bar later. You coming?”

“Sure. If I can make it.”

With that, they went separate directions, Rico to the parking garage and Luke into the bull pen. Reaching the department-issue sedan he’d picked up from the shop earlier that morning, Rico realized he only had a couple hours before state offices closed for the day and decided to call ahead, first the department of licensure and second, Vital stats. After telling the clerks what he needed and when he’d be there, he climbed into the vehicle and shoved the key into the ignition.

About to turn the key, he saw a package wrapped in brown paper on the floor on the passenger’s side.

“Fuck,” he gasped out and simultaneously  rocketed from the car and dove for cover — far enough away to be safe if it blew, but close enough to see if anyone else came by so he could warn them. His heart pounded wildly. His breath came in short gasps. Hands shaking, he punched dispatch. “Adam five, code 10 in the house garage…headquarters, second level.”

The package hadn’t been in the vehicle when he’d brought it back from meeting with Macy. Someone must’ve placed it during the past hour.

Less than three minutes passed before the bomb squad swarmed the place. Tension filled the air as the lead officer, Danny Chilton, directed the job using a new SAPBER robot, which could safely dismantle the bomb while still retaining the forensics necessary to track down its maker.

Normally Rico would be fascinated by the machine and the process, completed in what seemed like record time, but this was personal, and any fascination he might’ve had was eclipsed by myriad emotions. He clenched his hands into fists.

Coming over to Rico after the bomb was dismantled, Chilton said, “Got yourself a pipe bomb. Not a lethal one, but meant to hurt someone.”

Two threats, one directed at Macy and the other at him. Warnings?

Rico went through the usual Q and A with Officer Chilton and gave him a list of recent arrests in which the suspects had threatened him. He rarely took those threats seriously because incarceration was usually in the suspect’s future.

After the reports were filed, he went back inside to report in with Captain Carlyle.

“What aren’t you telling me, Santini?”

An imposing black man who hovered at about six-four, the captain ruled his crew with an iron hand. Not much got by him.

“I wish I knew.”

“Some husband after you?”

“I don’t go with married women. Hell, I don’t even date. Not since that… not since Angelica.”

“You think it was her?”

“No. She moved away after her arrest for stalking the other guy on her list.”

“She could’ve come back. She didn’t like you testifying against her.”

“Yeah. It’s worth checking out.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know.” The Ray case wasn’t priority to anyone but Rico. “But if I’m ruffling feathers, that’s good. It means I’m getting close to something.”

A phone call interrupted them. “Make sure those guys get that stuff down to CSU,” Carlyle said before answering. “And watch your back.”

“It’s done.” Rico was relieved the captain hadn’t pressed him any further.

Before he was out the door, though, Carlyle stopped him again. With his hand over the phone he said, “If you get anything on the Ray case, let me know.”

Rico grinned. Smart guy.

CHAPTER NINE

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Macy heard the tenseness in Rico’s voice when he’d called this morning and said he had to talk to her. She pulled into the public parking at the LAPD headquarters where the Detective Bureau was located. Twice she’d gone to see him now. Visiting Rico was becoming a habit.

When she walked into the room Rico looked up and called her over.

“This better be good,” she said as she reached his desk. “I have to be in court in an hour.” A couple officers sitting nearby were gawking at her. Maybe she should have hung a shroud over the red dress she’d worn to impress the jurors.

“Follow me,” Rico said, giving the other detectives the evil eye. “So we can have a little privacy.”

She followed him toward one of the interrogation rooms, liking his confident gait, his broad shoulders. He looked good today, his black shirt and jacket dressier than normal. “I know I didn’t break the law, so this has to be about something else.” The small room reeked of stale tobacco that clogged in the back of her throat, making it hard to talk.

“Sit. Please.”

She did as he requested, her anticipation building. It had to be something important for him to ask her to come in rather than telling her over the phone, or wait until evening when she was done with work.

“I went through the public birth and death records for the dates you mentioned.”

“And you found—”

He held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

Like her, he apparently didn’t like being interrupted. She smiled. “Okay.”

“Have you ever seen your son’s death certificate?”

A strange question. “My parents took care of all that. My father.”

He looked puzzled, shoved his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, as if unsure what to say next.

“There was no death certificate on file for your son.”

She blinked. Then blinked again. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not saying anything except that I didn’t find a death certificate for the date you gave me. All deaths are registered with vital stats. Maybe it was never entered into the computer, or someone failed to file the record properly….” Rico shrugged. “Bottom line, it’s just not there.”

Macy launched to her feet, then paced as far as she could in the tiny room that was bereft of anything except the gray metal table, the two chairs and a dirty ashtray.

“I found the death certificate for the stillborn baby of the day before. Haven’s Gate was listed as the place of death and Dr. Dixon was the attending physician who signed the certificate.”

“Carla’s baby.” She glanced at him quickly.

“It’s probably a simple clerical error, but I thought you should know.”

“And how will we find out if it was?”

“More research.”

“What if it wasn’t a clerical error, but something else?”

“Like?”

“Like maybe the shelter didn’t file the death certificate because…they did something wrong.” She stopped. Took a deep breath. The thought that negligence might have been responsible for her son’s death was horrible. Anything else was even worse.

Rico nodded. “I’ve learned not to speculate. If your father took care of things, he should have a copy of the death certificate.”

“Right.” But would he even talk to her? “We’re not exactly on good speaking terms.”

“Are you going to look at the shelter’s records to see if they filed the death report?”

“You know the answer to that. I’d have to get a warrant to look at their records from that time, and I’d have to have probable cause and rule out any administrative errors before that. Considering the amount of paperwork that department processes, the likelihood of a mistake is overwhelming.”

He was right, of course. Probably clerical error. But that didn’t make her feel any better. “You could say it’s about the Ray case and get a warrant to look at their files.”

He stood there for a moment, silent, his brows forming a deep V. “No, I can’t. Because it isn’t about the Ray case.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. That’s what she thought. “Okay. So what’s next?”

“Rule out error. That’s all I can do right now.”

Macy squared her shoulders. “Okay. But it’s not all I can do.”

Rico’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” She went to the door and yanked it open. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“If it involves the law, it concerns me.” He paused, shoved both hands in his pockets, then looked at her, his brown eyes softening. “If it involves you, it concerns me.”

Macy’s heart tripped a little. Concerned about her? Or did he mean he was concerned about what she might do? Whatever, it was obvious if she wanted an answer soon, she’d have to get it herself. “I—I’m sorry,” she said, turned and rushed from the room.

Rico cursed as he watched Macy leave. Dammit. He wanted to help her, but he couldn’t—not the way she wanted him to. Apparently she was used to barreling ahead, all guns blazing, but that wasn’t how things worked at the department. If he didn’t follow procedure, any evidence he collected would be worth squat. Macy should know that as well as he did. She could screw up everything.

The more he looked into Haven’s Gate, the more he believed there was a cover-up of some kind. Only the justice system didn’t run on gut feelings and he’d have to have a damned good reason to look at records from so long ago. A missing death certificate didn’t cut it.

Five years ago, the clinic had threatened to file a lawsuit against the department for harassment because he’d been so dogged on the Ray investigation. He’d been thrown off the case and was a hair’s breath from demotion. He wasn’t going to do that again. If there was something to find now, they’d go through the right channels to find it.

And the truth would come out.

***

MACY SWUNG HER CAR into the parking lot at Haven’s Gate, myriad memories playing like a B movie in her head. If the death of her child was caused by negligence, she couldn’t let it go. Not even twelve years later. Not even if the information exposed her past.

Hundreds of children had been born at Haven’s Gate. How many of them had been at risk? How many had met the same fate as her son?

The one-level building looked much the same as when she’d stayed there. The exterior had been freshly painted in adobe brown, a drab color for a sad place. Most parents looked forward to the birth of a child, but here it was different. With the exception of a few girls who couldn’t wait to have the ordeal over with, most she’d met had mixed emotions about giving up their child. The nurses doled out cheery platitudes and counseled the girls on how their choice was the noble thing to do and because of their unselfishness, their child would have a wonderful life with loving people financially able to care for them.

In theory, it was probably true, but when she thought about it now, she remembered how persuasive those counseling sessions were—how some girls felt pressured to give up their babies since they’d received help from the center. They believed they had no other choice. A knot twisted in her stomach. Damn. She’d tried to put all of that in the past because it seemed the only way she could live with it. But there wasn’t a day that went by that something didn’t remind her of the child she’d so desperately wanted to keep.

Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, she gathered her things, exited the car, slung her briefcase over one shoulder and put on her court face.

Inside the institutional looking building, the overwhelming sadness and feeling of loss returned with a vengeance.

She’d forgotten how tacky the place was. The pale green-gray walls devoid of decoration, the gray tile floor and sterile hallways. A young woman, barely eighteen if she was a day, sat at the reception desk. Probably a former resident.

“May I help you?”

Macy handed the receptionist her business card. “Yes, you can. I’m here on behalf of a client who was a resident at one time, and I’d like to speak with Dr. Dixon.”

The receptionist looked from the card to Macy. “Oh, he’s not here right now.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back or where I can get in touch with him?”

“No, I don’t. But I can ask the director, Mrs. Brighton.”

Macy remembered the name—and the woman. Twelve years ago Sally Brighton, referred to as Mrs. B by the girls, had been sitting right here at the desk answering the phones. She’d been over thirty then, which put her in her mid-forties now. Apparently Sally had climbed the administrative ladder as she said she would. “I’d appreciate it very much if you’d do that.”

“I’m Danielle,” the receptionist said with a smile, then pressed a button and spoke softly into the phone.

When finished, Danielle said, “She’ll be out in a minute. You can sit over there to wait.”

“Thanks, but I’ve been sitting all day.” And she wanted to ask the girl a couple of questions.

“Is someone in trouble?” Danielle suddenly said.

The wariness in her eyes put Macy on alert. “No, why do you ask?”

She shrugged, then looked down. “The only time anyone comes here is when somebody’s in trouble.”

“Who comes here?”

Just then a woman’s sharp voice interrupted them. “What can I do for you, Ms—”

“Capshaw.” Macy held out her hand and continued talking, hoping the woman didn’t recognize the name. “I’m representing a former resident at Haven’s Gate, and I’m here to speak to Dr. Dixon.”

“Dr. Dixon isn’t available, but perhaps I can help. What is it you need?”

“Information on my client.”

Mrs. Brighton frowned. “Our client records are confidential.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m also aware that a patient has a right to see her own records.”

“Do you have a signed and notarized consent form from your client? If so, I can send her copies of the medical record, but the adoption records are off-limits. No matter what.”

Macy knew that, but her blood pressure spiked anyway. She planned to request her own records if she didn’t get the answers she wanted from Dr. Dixon today. “This isn’t something you and I need to discuss. I came to see Dr. Dixon. Can you tell me when he might be available?”

“He’s not available. You’ll need to call for an appointment.”

Macy stepped closer and, maintaining eye contact with Mrs. Brighton, she said, “Okay, make me an appointment.”

“Sure,” the girl at the desk spoke up. “I can do it.”

Mrs. B pursed her lips. Her face flushed and she snatched the pen from the girl’s hand. “That will take some time to research, Danielle. The doctor is booked for most of the month.”

“That’s okay. Make me an appointment anyway.”

The older woman shook her head. “We’ll have to check the schedule and discuss it with the doctor. But we’ll get back to you.”

Yeah, right.

Folding her arms across her chest and in a tone that brooked no argument, Mrs. B stated, “I think you’d better leave now.”

Macy remembered Sally Brighton’s little Hitler attitude. She’d liked power then and seemed to revel in it now.

“Okay. But please give Dr. Dixon a message for me.” She pulled out another card and handed it to the woman. “Tell him Macy Capshaw wants to talk to him. Wesley Capshaw’s daughter. And tell him it’s very important.”

Recognition flickered in the woman’s eyes. She didn’t take the card, so Macy laid it on the desk with the one she’d given the receptionist. “And tell him I have some grave concerns.”

The glare Mrs. B gave Macy could’ve melted steel.

“Thank you for your time,” Macy said, and strode out the door, her blood rushing. She hadn’t intended to give her name. She hadn’t intended to let them know she was looking into the shelter. Damn.

Later that evening, Macy settled on the couch and flipped on the television set. After her visit to Haven’s Gate, she’d had another court appearance before visiting Cody. The boy had been sullen and wasn’t about to enjoy himself, ice cream or no ice cream. Today had been a day of failures. But the one that wrenched her heart was her inability to help Cody.

She scoffed. What did she think? That a trip to Baskin-Robbins was going to be a magical cure-all? The boy had problems that needed a therapist—not an ice-cream cone. She’d been happy to hear his foster mother had made an appointment with one of the psychiatrists Macy had recommended and that after Cody had come out of the bathroom, the rest of his first day in foster care had been better.

“Except for a fight with one of the other boys, he’s getting along okay,” Nancy Appleton had said. “I’ve done this before. Believe me, he’ll come around.”

Macy wasn’t so sure. How could a boy who didn’t remember anything about himself come around? And if he did remember, would that be worse? But she had to hope the woman was right—for Cody’s sake. Still, when she’d taken him back to his new home, she knew he didn’t want to stay. He didn’t say anything, but his big, dark eyes pleaded with her.

She’d seen eyes filled with pain like his so many times in children of families she’d worked with, that when she’d first been assigned to work as a court-appointed child attorney, she’d vowed never to let down a child she represented.