Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (20 page)

The next morning I woke up and slowly opened my eyes. I was hoping that things would be back to normal. I so desperately wanted this to just be a nightmare. In my reality world something like this would never happen. I noticed that I had a voicemail from the detective. He wanted me to come in again for a second interview. He said that he had spoken with Derrick and that Derrick had not been very cooperative through the glass window of the jail. I called him back immediately and asked him what time I should be there. “Just come in around four o'clock,” he said. I got up out of bed feeling just as tired as I had the night before. The grief was completely wearing me out. I had no energy, and decided that I should stay distracted until it was time to meet with the detective. I started to clean my house. Usually, when I feel stressed, I clean. I also wanted every little speck of anything that reminded me of Derrick to be gone. I was ashamed of myself and in complete disbelief that I had allowed such a person to be in my life and around my children. In the back of my mind I was hoping that the person responsible for what happened to Zoe was one of the other people that had been in my home that night. In reality, I knew that Derrick was the person who was most likely responsible.

I would ask the detective if it would be okay to scrub my house when I went to see him. I was surprised that my house hadn't been raided and they hadn't tried to take more evidence. I assumed that they would certainly be back later. When I went into my bathroom, I noticed that the trashcan had a lot of garbage in it, and it was unusually heavy. I investigated further because I always took the trash out at least every other day, and I was wondering what could be in there. I found items that were wrapped up, along with some foil and other paraphernalia. I was afraid of what I would find. I never put this kind of trash in that specific trash can. I always put it in the trashcan in the kitchen. My heart started racing, and I became very anxious. The items in the trashcan supported the possibility of an assault. This gave me a horrible visual of what was brought upon my daughter, and hot tears were quickly running down my cheeks.

I firmly believed that this trashcan held the key to the crime and would be what helped to solve this horrible crime. I put the items back into the trashcan and raced out my back door. Driving down the highway and trying not to speed, I called the detective from my cell phone. I told him what I had found in my bathroom and said that I was bringing it over to him. He told me to drop it off at the front desk of the police department.

As I walked up and rang the bell to unlock the front doors, he poked his head out and grabbed the can from me. He rolled his eyes, and I was surprised that he wasn't taking this more seriously. I was highly disappointed and I started to lose faith that he even cared about solving the case. A few days passed, and I was astonished to learn that the police would not be further searching my house for more evidence.

Looking back, I wish that someone had told me not to talk to the detective without my Attorney. I thought nothing of it, though, since I had done nothing wrong to Zoe. All I wanted to do was help get this horrible crime solved. I was willing to talk to anyone that I needed to in order for this to happen. I went back to the police station at 4:00 p.m., and walked through the hallway following the detective. He took me into the same room as before. At that time I didn't know that it was an interrogation room. I thought it was weird how he would periodically get up and ask me if I wanted something to drink. He said he was thirsty and was going to get something anyway. I always declined; I really could care less about anything to drink. I just cared about getting this crime solved. Every time I talked to him he always played the good cop first - probably trying to get me to trust him. Of course it worked because I was eighteen, very naive, and confused.

“I spoke with Derrick yesterday. It took me about five times of questioning him before he started to cooperate, but once he did, he gave me all the information that I needed, and I'm really good at reading people.” “Okay,” I said, a little unsure of where he was going with this. “I think that he's innocent. I think that he is being truthful with me. Unlike you, he immediately admitted to using drugs.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked. I was starting to get upset with what he was implying. I already offered all of the information that I possible. For him to think that I knew more felt extremely betraying. “Come on Elizabeth, I know that you know more than you’re telling me. You were on drugs and you were binging and something happened. Just tell me what happened.” “Excuse me? You're kidding right?” I was stunned. I began to cry out of frustration. “I have no idea what happened! That's why I'm sitting here. You can search my car, you can search my house, you can get all of the evidence necessary, and I actually would prefer that you did. Give me a lie detector test right now!” I demanded. “I have a guy coming up from Placerville, and I'm going to have you both take a voice-analysis test.” “Good, I’m eager to take this test since you think that I know more than I do,” I said, steaming mad. The interview was over.

I was too upset to talk to him anymore and he knew it. Before I left, he asked me to take a drug test. I agreed. I hadn’t used anything since that horrible day anyway. A female officer escorted me to the restroom and stood there while I peed in a cup. At least she let me close the stall door. After the drug test, the detective told me that he would call me with a time to come in for the voice-analysis stress test. I had never even heard of that before. I was hoping to take the traditional polygraph, but I was willing to do whatever it took. I called my Public Defender after the interview and told her about the way he was treating me. She told me not to speak with him unless she was present. I told her about the voice-analysis, and she asked me, “Well, do you want to take it?” “Yes! I have nothing to hide, and if this proves that then I’m all for it.” I answered, firmly. “Okay, then I suggest you definitely take it.”

I went home and tried to call Megan. She hadn’t answered her phone for a few days now. Normally, she would call me right back. I assumed that she either wanted to stay away from me to cover her own ass and keep her drug use discreet, or she had sided with Derrick because she was dating his brother. I told myself that it would be my last attempt to contact her. If she was going to ditch me when I needed her the most, she was never really my friend in the first place. My mom lived three hours away so I was basically alone.

A week after the horrible tragedy my twin sister was coming to town. She had graduated from her Advanced Individual Training from the Air Force and had orders to go to Germany for the next three years. I was so happy that she was coming. I was also sad and afraid of what she would think and if she would be disappointed in me. Lilah and Merri met me at a local Thai restaurant. She immediately hugged me, and of course, I started to cry. She was crying too. She felt my pain. Although we’re fraternal twins and look nothing alike, we still had that twin connection.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed having her around. She was certainly a different person. She was mature and responsible. I was so proud of her for getting through all of that difficult training. She decided to stay with me for the remainder of her stay, which was only another few days. My older sister, Lilah, came over to see Merri. After they hugged each other, she wanted to know how I was doing. I was not doing well. The thought of my girls being away from me, possibly forever, was killing me. “If I don’t get Chloe and Zoe back home, I WILL kill myself. I will have no reason to live, end of story. I don’t want to do this,” I said, crying. “I can’t handle it all, and I just don’t understand why something so sad had to happen to my family, especially my little baby!” I said, sobbing more.

My sisters both began to cry, and Lilah began to panic. She was truly worried that I would hurt myself. I didn’t mean to scare them. It was just a clear fact in my mind. If I didn’t get my girls back, I would no longer have a reason for living. Trying to survive would just be too much of a struggle.

After lunch, Lilah drove me to the mental health facility down the street to talk to a crisis counselor. She was an older lady. She was nice but didn’t really say much. I think that she was expecting me to do most of the talking. What was there to say? I was shattered and in a deep, dark, evil hole. I was in the darkest place that life has to offer, and it had brought me down fast. I didn’t have the energy to pull myself out. I just wanted to lie down and sleep and only wake up when my babies were back in my arms. Nothing that any person said or did made it better. Nothing took the pain away. The counselor pulled out a piece of paper for me to sign. She called it a “no-suicide contract.” I almost laughed. I was shocked that such a document existed.

That night Ally came over with her friend and all of the girls helped me get rid of Derrick’s belongings that were still in my closet. We all started laughing when Ally jumped and screamed as I threw his vest down the staircase and it landed on her. We were treating his things as if they were toxic waste. That night of support has always stuck with me. During the worst moments of my life, I found out whom I could count on through the good the bad. The next night, the night before Merri had to leave for the airport, I came down with a horrible sore throat. I didn’t know if it was from chain smoking or crying so much or what. I was also devastated that my twin sister had to leave. I wanted her to stay with me forever. She made me feel as secure as I could feel at that time. I lost my whole family and now I had to say goodbye to her too. I broke down on the bathroom floor, sobbing. “Liz? What’s wrong?” She rushed over. “I just can’t…take…this!” I said between sniffles. “I know. I love you. I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.” She hugged me. She drove me to the hospital later that night for some antibiotics. The next morning at 4:00 a.m., I woke up and drove her through another blizzard to the casino so she could get on the shuttle headed to the airport. I hugged her and told her I loved her. I cried on my way home. I got back into my clean bed and went back to sleep.

I woke up a few hours later to a phone call from CPS. They told me that I could schedule a visit that day with the girls. They finally found a foster home in Tahoe where the girls could stay together. I was so incredibly happy that they were together and would be staying close to me. They were born to be best friends and to always stay together and keep each other safe and happy. My visit was at 3:00 o’clock. I was so anxious to see them but sad at the same time because I knew I couldn’t take them home with me. I got dressed, put on makeup for the first time in a week, and headed down the highway.

Walking into the office, there were three Social Workers. One was holding Zoe. Chloe was in the corner playing with toys. I immediately grabbed Zoe, hugged her, and rubbed her head, so grateful to be holding her tiny body in my arms. I was so grateful that she was alive and seemed happy. “I love you so much little girl. Mommy has missed you!” I said, after kissing her forehead. Chloe ran up to me. “Mommy!” I knelt down with Zoe in my arm and put my other arm out as Chloe ran in for a hug. I was finally holding my babies again. It was natural for them to be in my arms - not in the arms of strangers. The visit was only an hour long but it felt like ten minutes. The Social Workers stepped out but they were watching me through a glass window. This made me timid, and I felt like they were just waiting for me to say or do something wrong. I talked to the girls, and asked them how they were. Chloe asked, “Where’s Derrick?” Ugh, I was hoping she wouldn’t bring him up. “I don’t know honey. Show mommy how you color!” I said, changing the subject.

The female Social Workers walked in, all three of them, and the one with long red hair announced that the visit was over. “Okay,” I said, trying with all my soul to fight back tears. I picked up my handbag and tried to move slowly so the girls wouldn’t notice that I was leaving. Chloe immediately knew what was going on. She rushed over to her puffy, light blue coat and hurried to put it on. ”Mommy!” I want to go in your car!” She begged. I knelt down to her. “Can mommy have a hug?” I asked, with tears running down my face, landing on her soft head of light brown hair. “But I want to go in your car!” She cried. This time, she was crying out of pain. She didn’t want me to leave her there with those strange people. We were both crying and hugging each other tightly. She wasn’t even three years old but we had such a strong and loving bond. She felt my pain, and I felt hers. Zoe toddled up, confused. She began to cry. I hugged both of them. Chloe continued to beg to go home with me. “I’m so sorry honey, but they won’t let me take you home right now. I promise, I am going to do everything I can to get you home very soon…okay?” I sniffled.

The woman with red hair came up to us. “It’s time for you to leave now. You’re just making it worse for them.” she said. “I’m not allowed to cry because they can’t be with me?” I almost yelled. “You are the most inhumane person I have ever met!” My voice rose even louder. She shrugged. I had to go, but I felt like I couldn’t physically let go of my daughters - my flesh and blood, my perfect angels. I was forced to walk out of that room without my babies, and it was one of the saddest, most heartbreaking moments I’ve ever experienced.

I walked out of the building crying. I felt pain shooting through my body. My heart ached as if it were begging me to go back and get my girls. I was not whole without them. I called my father. I was hysterically crying. He listened and told me to pray. I knew then that my dad really did love me. I realized that he had always loved me.