July 13, 1981
Monday Afternoon
McFadden was livid.
‘I told you to forget it, and now you tell me you’ve been flying all over the country following some cockamamy hunch! I hope you don’t think these expenses are coming out of the Trib budget. You were working on your own time, kid.’ He puffed furiously on his cigar, sending out thick clouds of smoke.
‘Harmon, will you just hear me out?’
McFadden sat on the edge of his desk. ‘I’m all ears,’ he said sarcastically.
Victor filled him in on the details of his trip to Atlanta, then pulled Mrs. Hill’s crumpled note from his pocket.
‘Where’s the other note?’ the editor asked after a quick examination. ‘You were going to match them up. Wasn’t that the purpose of your wild-goose chase?’
‘True...’ Victor hesitated. He didn’t want to lose McFadden just when he had his ear. ‘But... well, after my father died, my mother returned the note to Mr. Evans.’
‘So? Did you ask Mr. Evans for a copy?’
‘He destroyed the note,’ Victor muttered, avoiding McFadden’s disdainful glance.
‘He what?’
‘Wait, here’s the clincher.’ The words rushed out, tumbling over one another. ‘I went to see Mrs. Evans. She’s a patient at the L. A. U. Psychiatric Institute. After her baby was kidnapped, she sort of went mad and—’
‘And how did you get into the Institute? Visitors usually need special clearance.’ McFadden broke in.
Victor shrugged sheepishly. ‘I just sort of walked onto the word.’
‘Oh, great. Now you’re breaking into hospitals. What next, Larsen?’
‘Uh, well, I showed her Mrs. Hill’s note and she recognized the handwriting.’
‘You mean she actually said it was the same?’ McFadden was suspicious.
‘Well, not exactly.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She didn’t actually say anything. She took one look at this note and started screaming as if she’d seen a ghost.’
McFadden looked incredulous. He lowered his necktie to half-staff and began to sputter. ‘I must be hearing things. Now, let me get this straight. Some crazy woman in an insane asylum has a screaming fit, and you’re saying it proves that the person who wrote this note in Atlanta last week is the same one who wrote the note in Houston three years ago? I think you’re the one who ought to be locked up. Tell me I’m dreaming, God. This guy’s not serious.’
‘I am serious,’ Victor said defiantly.
McFadden took a long, slow puff on his Havana. He lowered his voice. ‘I’m gonna tell it to you like it is just one more time, kid. You need facts to be a good newspaperman. Cold, hard facts. Not whims or hunches and certainly not hysterical testimonials from insane people. And definitely not feelings,’ he added.
‘You’re right, Chief, but just the same, I have a feeling about this case. What do you suggest I do?’
‘Now you’re asking my advice?’ The editor used his most derisive tone. ‘I already told you what to do: Give it up. Unless of course you’ve got any good leads?’
Victor did have one idea, but it was a long shot. Better not say anything right now. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then do me a favor, son. As I told you the other day, leave it alone. Now, if you don’t mind, some of us have work to do.’
Victor strode away from the editor’s desk without mentioning the plans for a Beverly Hills demonstration. This probably wasn’t the proper time. He’d tell McFadden about it later.
***
July 13, 1981
Monday Evening
Anne didn’t notice the young man standing just outside the Institute as she emerged that evening; she was too absorbed in her own thoughts.
‘May I talk with you?’
Startled, she looked up, staring directly into Victor’s violet eyes. They held hers for a moment before she recovered. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m Victor Larsen. I saw you today on the ward.’ He offered his most appealing smile.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, surprised that he remembered her.
‘You’re the nurse working with Janet Evans.’
Anne nodded.
‘Guess I caused a bit of an uproar. I didn’t mean to upset her. Hope she’s okay now.’
‘She finally calmed down.’ Anne spoke more sharply than she intended.
‘Do you think Dr. Westbourne will ever forgive me?
‘I don’t know.’
Victor suddenly laughed. ‘Are you always so serious, Miss...?’
‘Midlands.’
‘Well, Miss Midlands, do you have a first name?’
A warning stab of fear shot through her.
What did this man want?
Sensing her shyness, Victor tried to reassure her. ‘I don’t mean to
be pushy, but I’m new in Los Angeles. It’s so hard to meet people
in this town. I guess I sometimes come on too strong.’ He
grinned.
Anne took a good look at him. The fact that he was handsome didn’t impress her, but his eyes were kind, she thought, and his smile was warm.
‘My name is Anne Midlands,’ she stated formally.
‘Pleased to meet you, Anne Midlands,’ Victor replied, equally formally. ‘Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?’
‘Now?’ Her heart fluttered in panic at the question. Part of her wanted to, but she wasn’t sure. Mama would never approve. She’d just met this man.
‘There’s a nice place just down the street. They serve great burgers if you’re hungry.’
Anne shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t think I should.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you don’t like me?’
‘That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know you.’ Anne was uncomfortable in the face of his self-confidence.
‘There? You see? You haven’t even given me a chance.’
Just a shadow of a smile crossed her face as she realized he was teasing.
‘Do you have something else to do?’ he persisted.
‘Well, no.’ She regretted the words as soon as they escaped her lips. She wished she had said that she was busy, that she had an appointment, that she was expected somewhere.
‘Terrific, then let’s go.’ He took her gently by the arm and led her down Westwood Boulevard.
At six o’clock the sun was still bright in the summer sky. It was the best part of the day for Victor. As they walked, he furtively appraised her slender figure, lovely skin, pretty mouth. She was a very attractive young woman, though it was obvious from the way she dressed and carried herself that she didn’t think so. She was hiding behind prim spectacles and a reserved pose. He wondered how she’d look with some makeup, perhaps a new hairdo.
Still, there was a certain vulnerability about her now that made him want to reach out and protect her. She looked so fragile, like a china doll. He couldn’t explain the effect she had on him. They’d just met, but already he felt a stirring within him unlike anything he had felt before. This is silly, he thought, to feel so attracted to a wisp of a girl like Anne Midlands.
The waitress at the Old World Restaurant seated them at a corner table in the No Smoking section.
‘You see, we already have something in common,’ Victor commented.
Confused, Anne wrinkled her brow.
‘Neither of us smokes,’ Victor explained.
She looked at him thoughtfully, offering no reply. There was an awkward silence, and Anne wished she hadn’t come. Victor wondered what he could say next that wouldn’t upset her. The waitress, returning to take their order, saved him for the moment.
‘Try the peasant burger. It’s one of their specials.’
‘I’m not really very hungry,’ Anne protested.
‘Please, I insist.’ To the waitress he said, ‘Make that two peasant burgers.’ When they were alone again, he turned to Anne. ‘I hope you won’t be offended, but your accent — it’s delightful. There’s a touch of Texas in it, right?’
Her face flushed. ‘East Texas.’
‘I don’t think anyone is native born out here. I’m from Houston myself.’
‘That’s nice.’
She answered his questions woodenly asking none in return. Was she always so quiet? Victor wondered. Maybe she was just shy, the type who took a while to warm up. He intended to give her every chance. ‘East Texas. The only place I know in that area is Longview. You aren’t from Longview, are you?’
Surprised that he had guessed correctly, Anne nodded.
‘I bet your father was in oil,’ Victor surmised.
‘Yes.’
‘A lot of men made their fortune in those
oil fields. I used to hear stories about Texans striking oil I hope
your dad was one of the fortunate men.’
‘Until his luck ran out.’ Luck, luck. She didn’t want to remember,
not any of it. She wanted to forget Luke Midlands, always saying
how lucky he was. ‘Anything will do for brains,’ he’d told Mama,
‘if you’ve got luck.’ Poor mama...
‘Did you stay in Longview after his luck ran out?’ Victor interrupted her reminiscence.
‘No, we moved around a lot.’ Before she was eleven, Anne had lived in every godforsaken town between San Antonio and Laredo.
‘What kind of work did your dad do?’
‘He was a rancher.’ She wanted to laugh at the sound of it. A rancher! He was more like a field hand. Oh, God, don’t make me remember...
‘That must have been nice, growing up on a ranch. Wide open spaces, clean air. Not like the city.’
‘No, that’s true.’ Even now, after all these years, Anne could still smell the stench in their ‘home’ in Catulla — the unpainted one-room shanty — no heat and no plumbing.
The waitress brought their food. Anne wasn’t hungry. Instead of hamburger, she saw cabrito, potatoes, corn, and greens being ladled out of a filthy pot.
‘Did you keep moving all your life?’
Why was he asking all these questions? Anne’s head began to ache. ‘No, we finally settled in San Antonio. I was thirteen.’ Don’t make me remember, please...
‘San Antonio — the pearl city of our great state.’ Victor smiled at her.
Anne could think of nothing to smile about. She’d lived on the poor side of town in a house made of scrap lumber — four tiny rooms, walls warped and splintered, tar-paper roof held in place with stones, privy in the back. Why was she remembering this now? What was the point? Besides, it was all so muddled in her head.
‘Anne?’ Victor startled her from her memories.
She looked up, distracted. ‘What? I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.’
Such sad eyes. What was she thinking? Somehow Victor had the feeling she was more than she seemed. Her cool veneer was just a facade, a kind of protection. She was not worldly. No, quite the opposite, and for some reason, he assumed her that her life had not been happy. Suddenly he wanted to know everything about her.
‘Tell me, why did a little East Texas girl come all the way to Los Angeles? I’ll be your father didn’t want to let you go.’
Anne’s face clouded over. ‘My father’s dead,’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He’d blown it again.
‘That’s all right. You didn’t know.’
‘Just the same, I shouldn’t be so nosy, especially when I first meet people. It’s the reporter in me. Sometimes I can’t help myself.’
Anne said nothing.
Victor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He changed the subject. ‘You were amazing today.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I saw you handle Janet Evans. It was fantastic the way you quieted her down. I could tell that even Dr. Westbourne was impressed.’
Perking up for the first time, Anne said, ‘Really? Do you think so?’
Victor nodded. ‘Absolutely. Have you worked with her long?’
‘Just a few days.’
‘Psychiatric nursing must be difficult. I can’t imagine dealing with so many depressed people.’
Anne shook her head. ‘Actually, it’s very interesting.’
‘I guess patients tell you things... I mean about their personal lives.’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Has Janet Evans ever said anything to you about her baby’s kidnapper?’
‘Like what?’ Anne asked wanly, afraid of the answer he might give.
‘Well, I understand she got a pretty good look at the woman who did it, and since Mrs. Evans seems to feel most at ease around you, I thought maybe she’d told you about that night.’
So that was it, Anne thought bitterly. He only wanted to use her. Just like all men. Anne gave him a piercing look. ‘Is that the real reason you invited me here tonight? To get a story?’ she snapped.
Her response took Victor by surprise. ‘No, I — uh, well, really, Anne, it doesn’t matter anymore. Yes, that was my intention at first, but not now. I want to be here because of you, not some story.’ Victor hoped she believed him; he really meant what he’d said. When she didn’t say anything, Victor looked at her intently. ‘You’ve hardly touched your food,’ he commented in a low voice.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’ve got a headache,’ she whispered. A thousand tiny ice picks were chipping away at her temples.
‘That’s not necessary. I can take the bus. I don’t live far from the bus stop.’
‘That’s ridiculous. I insist.’
‘Please, Mr. Larsen, don’t press me.’
‘I’d hoped you’d be calling Victor by now.’
She pushed back her chair. ‘Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ Victor gently touched her shoulder. ‘I’d like to take you out for a real dinner sometime soon. Next week, maybe?’
Anne panicked. ‘No,’ she replied, too quickly.
‘Don’t you like me even a little bit?’
‘You seem nice enough.’ What else could she say?
‘Well, then, why can’t we have dinner sometime?’
‘I don’t want to date anybody right now,’ she answered firmly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to be up early tomorrow. Good night.’
Victor watched helplessly as Anne escaped from the crowded restaurant. He began to feel like the prince who’d just lost Cinderella as the clock struck midnight. There was one different, though: He didn’t need to worry about a glass slipper. He knew exactly where to find his mystery woman again.
***
July 13, 1981
Monday Evening
As soon as Juanita closed the door to her apartment, she collapsed in a heap on the floor, hands to her face, crying. Her whole body shook with sobs, and the hiccups that followed. Never had she felt so dreadfully alone, and while the tears eventually subsided, the feeling of desperate loneliness did not.
As she sat on the floor, miserable, it occurred to Juanita that there was one place that had always offered her solace throughout her whole life: the church. She got to her feet, retrieved her gold crucifix from its special place in a drawer of her dresser, and put it around her neck. Although she hadn’t been to church since she left home, Juanita now felt compelled to pray. She hoped that somehow she could find comfort in the house of God.
Impulsively, she rose to her feet, straightened her wrinkled dress and started out the door. There was an old chapel two blocks from the apartment. She had seen it on the walk back from Gusty’s the other night. Thank God it was still light outside. No one would bother her at this hour on a busy street — at least she hoped not. Still, she walked quickly, looking over her shoulder now and then.
Pushing open the squeaking front door of the Church of Our Holy Mother, Juanita entered the vestibule. To the left was a marble font half filled with holy water; above was a statue of the Virgin Mary.
‘Hail Mary, full of grace,’ she murmured, staring at the cracked statue. ‘The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.’ The words came easily, even after all these months. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.’
Trembling, she dipped two fingers into the holy water, crossed herself, and walked on into the chapel.
***
July 13, 1981
Monday Evening
After Anne departed, Victor paid the check and left the restaurant. He drove aimlessly through the city for a while. Although he was not given to romantic fancies, he could not deny that Anne’s effect on him was unlike that of any other woman he’d known.
Later, in his apartment he tried to read, but his mind wandered back to Anne. The way he was feeling — it was really extraordinary, he thought, getting up to pour himself some brandy.
Was it love at first sight? Come on, Larsen, he chided himself. That happened in the movies, but not in real life — not to him. But if not that, then what was happening here? He stared into his drink, looking for answers. How did she do it? She was a total stranger. Really, what did he know about her? He knew her name and a few facts about her childhood — not much. Still, there was no denying it. She had touched a place in him — a place he had not known existed. From out of nowhere Anne Midlands had suddenly entered his life.
He tried to picture her now as he sat alone. She wasn’t a knockout — at least not like Suzanne. But she had a natural kind of beauty. Besides, her appeal went beyond looks. Something in Anne’s manner attracted him; she seemed remote, preoccupied. And he was more than a little intrigued by her elaborate defenses. What was she protecting herself from?
He finished his brandy. One thing was certain: He’d be damned if he’d let her slip away from him. Tonight he’d almost scared her off; he’d just have to go more slowly next time.
It hadn’t occurred to Victor that Anne might not like him. Self-confidence was one of Victor Larsen’s salient characteristics. And he had every intention of seeing Anne Midlands again — soon.