Birthdays of a Princess (28 page)

“Oh yeah? You entered Canada illegally by using the name Inez
Alvares.”

“So what? I had to protect myself. Melissa’s a mean bitch. There’s
no saying what lies she’d spread to stop me getting my niece back.”

“So you admit you tried to kidnap her.”

“Not against her will. Whatever she says is a lie. She was quite
willing at first.”

Macintosh took a deep breath. He felt the burden of a lifetime lift
off his shoulders. “But then you said something that aggravated her, and she
lost it.”

“The stupid bitch! She’s a snake, a lying, two-faced snake. I had no
idea she’d trick me like this.”

“You got what you deserved.”

With that he turned around and left, followed by Harding.

They were slowly walking down the hallway of the hospital, still a
bit stunned by the latest developments.

“What did she mean with, ‘I had no idea she’d trick me like this’?”
Harding asked.

Macintosh hesitated for a second, then he smiled.

“You didn’t hear that right. She said: ‘I had no idea she’d treat me
like this’.”

“Yeah.” Harding frowned back at the door, then looked at his
partner. “That makes a lot more sense.”

Back at MCS, they got busy. Harding called Josh and briefed him on
the astonishing new twist. The Texan promised to have the warrant changed to
Graciella Rodriguez’ name as soon as he got hold of a judge. With the original
warrant they had forcefully entered Inez Alvares’ apartment and had discovered
more damaging material than they had ever seen in one of their raids. Several
computers were full of explicit pedophile pictures and video clips, there were
actual prints of girls as young as four or five in erotic poses. Best of all,
Josh told Harding with a pained voice, hating to have to use the word ‘best’ in
such a context, there was a small book with a long list of names and telephone
numbers. Incredibly careless, but Inez/Graciella must have felt immune to
discovery. This started to make more sense to Josh now, with Graciella
shielding herself behind the identity of a dead woman, she must have felt
invincible and invulnerable.

Josh and Harding breathed a sigh of relief. With the evidence
collected at the apartment, the VPD would be able to arrest Graciella still on
her hospital bed.

Harding wrote the final report, conveniently forgetting his
objection to interrogate the patient without a doctor present—after all, he had
her consent on tape—to complete the Princess file. A copy of it would go to the
Sexual Offense Squad. Within the hour, their detectives would be on the way to
St Paul’s Hospital. He then got two coffees, wandered over to Macintosh, placed
the cups on his desk and sat down.

“This feels better, doesn’t it?”

Macintosh looked up. He leaned back, scratching his neck. Time to
shave.

“Yeah, for once the baddies are either dead or arrested. And with a
bit of luck, the innocent one gets a new chance in life.”

“I wonder what will happen to Tiara.”

Macintosh shrugged. “Somebody’s got to tell her that the victim of
the attack was her aunt and that she’s still alive. I don’t think Tiara will be
overjoyed, but then again, until now, she hasn’t even been aware of who she’s
attacked.”

“Are you absolutely sure about that? Is it really possible that she
remembers so much of what happened to her, but nothing about the attack?”

Macintosh took a long time to answer.

“That’s what Dr. Eaton said. His report explains that Tiara is
unable to understand her behavior, and if it’s in that report, it’s good enough
for me. As far as I’m concerned, Tiara can’t be criminally responsible for her
action, period!”

“Then call Dr. Eaton. He can break it to her gently.”

Macintosh scratched again.

“You know what. I think I’ll call it a day. Didn’t get much sleep
lately. I might just drop by the Center on my way home and tell her myself.
It’s only a short detour.”

Chapter
58

Tiara was immediately brought to the visitor’s room. She wasn’t as
composed as on his previous visits. Her fingers kept pulling on her lower lip,
exposing her teeth. And as soon as she sat down, her left leg, balanced on her
toes, quivered uncontrollably. When she noticed that he noticed, she stopped
working on her lip, placed her hand on her knee and pressed her heel down.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he said. “Remember when I
told you your aunt had died in that house fire?”

Tiara didn’t move.

“We had that wrong. It wasn’t your aunt.”

“I agree, that is bad news.”

“What I’m saying is, your aunt is alive, which means, well, this is
quite complicated. The person they found in the burnt ruins is now identified.
It was Tony Alvares’ sister, Inez, the one we know to be the Purple Shadow.”

Tiara cocked her head very slightly, turning her ear toward him as
if she needed to concentrate on what he was explaining.

“Which means, the one in hospital, that’s not Inez. It’s your aunt.
She has been acting as Inez Alvares, taking over her illegal business in the
past three years—” he halted, not sure how to proceed without hurting her. “But
she’s being arrested as we speak.”

“Is she awake? Have you spoken to her?”

“We did interview her and she has admitted to trying to lure you
back.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Lots of accusations, but we know she’s lying through her teeth, so
it’s of no importance to us. We’ve heard enough to be able to deport of her to
Texas. They’ll deal with her there.”

“You won’t talk to her again?”

“We got all we needed.”

He waited for more questions, but none came. Tiara was absorbed in a
world of her own. He had to ask his next question though.

“Did you know it was your aunt? Did you recognize her?” He sounded
like a sulking child.
Why didn’t you tell me?
But it did bug him. In
front of Harding, he had presented Dr. Eaton’s assessment far more definite
than it really was. How could she not have known? Why hadn’t she told him that
it had been her scumbag of an aunt? It could have saved them all a lot of work.

She sucked in her lower lip and sunk her teeth into it while slowly
shaking her heard.

“You really don’t remember?”

No reaction. She still couldn’t deal with it. She must have seen her
aunt, recognized her and lost it. Shock does that to people. Dr. Eaton would be
able to analyze this. Macintosh made a mental note to ask the psychiatrist to
modify his report to the judge and include the latest information; it should
make Tiara’s action and her memory loss a lot more explainable.

“What about my mom?” Tiara suddenly interrupted his thinking.

That’s when it hit him. Tiara hadn’t paid attention to anything he
had said. All she could think of was the threat of having to go back to
Texas—and that was entirely his fault. He had left her in a terrible state
yesterday. The poor girl must have gone through hell, imagining that the
authorities would send her back to the place of her ignominious childhood.

 “Dr. Eaton was quite specific about the condition of your release.
Taking your history into account, he didn’t find it appropriate to have you
returned to your mother. I’m sure the judge will take his recommendation into
account.”

“What’s the alternative?”

Yes, what? Until now he hadn’t wasted any thought on it. But now
that Tiara had a motive for the attack, and that it could be considered
spontaneous and not premeditated, she would most likely get out on probation.

“A foster home, maybe. You need to discuss this with your lawyer.”

Her worried expression changed to abhorrence.

“A strange family?”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions. Why don’t we wait for the trial,” he
said.

“When will that be?”

“It’s nearly Christmas now, the courts go into recess until mid
January, after that it’ll take a few weeks before your case can be scheduled.
Spring, maybe?”

Her face crumbled. “I have to stay in here, with the other girls,
until then?”

God, that didn’t help. He didn’t know what to say.

So he said the first thing that came into his mind.

“I’ll visit you as often as I can and keep you informed of what’s
going on out there. If you want me to.”

“If it makes you happy.”

Chapter
59

Birthday balloon bursting

I’m standing on my cell window, size two by two feet, and am looking
out. Nothing to see but grey sky. It hasn’t changed much in the past three
months. Vancouver in winter is either dark grey or light grey.

Today I would have liked the sun to shine, but no such luck. Today
is what Macintosh calls the big day. True to his promise, he’s been coming to
see me nearly every week, feeding me information and playing it cool. It’s not
that I don’t appreciate it, honestly, I do, but I can feel the effort it costs
him to act cheerful and optimistic while doubts crawl underneath his skin like
parasites. Like the mere thought of the upcoming trial is the mother insect
that constantly places her disgusting eggs into his system. Yet on the outside,
he pretends all is well.

I let him act. I have enough problems coping with the daily life in
a confined space, surrounded by chatterboxes with an attitude. At least I got
rid of purple. I’m now surrounded by the color red. After they dropped the
manslaughter charges and changed them to aggravated assault, thanks to
Macintosh’s insistence, and after Stanley verified that I posed no risk to my
resident-inmates, I was moved to a different Living Unit. Red sweat suits
instead of purple, I’m moving up in this world. The girls in red—there are five
of them in here—are just as touchy, forever trying to draw me into their
closeness, but if I want to keep my red status, I can’t just shove them away.

Macintosh has given me instructions on how to behave. So did
Stanley, who still drops by occasionally. He has other cases to worry about now.
The psychologist-in-residence keeps pestering me to work with him, but I hold
my non-committal position. What is there to treat? I remember everything, and
what I pretend not to remember, other people have figured out for themselves.  They
have filled in all the holes and are pleased with their efforts.

Stanley’s report has been revised, just like the police report. The
Purple Shadow is no more, the sponsor is no more; both of them have morphed
into one. It’s Inez Alvares, they tell me, and as I have never seen her face or
heard her voice when she was my handler, I’m not asked to elaborate on this.
And she’s dead, murdered by my aunt, so we can close the Purple Shadow chapter,
which suits me just fine.

There are no secrets left—well, none except that one teeny, weeny
all-important one I keep from Macintosh and from Stanley and from the rest of
the world. That will stay with me, it’s nobody’s business but mine. The way
things have shaped up, there’s a good chance it might stay undetected forever.

Today, I don’t have to clean my cell for inspection. When I’m gone,
they will clear it out, disinfect it, I guess, and get it ready for a new
arrival. Should things go wrong at the trial and they send me back to the
Center—Macintosh told me that’s impossible, but his voice was raspy with dread
when he said it—I will be allocated a new cell. But I might not come back. We
both don’t know.

They usher me through the corridors, into the changing area, reverse
arrival mode. Off with the sweat suit, on with the prison orange, the shackles
and the cuffs. Into the prison truck in the loading zone, and finally, after
five months in BSYC, I see the sky and the road and the trees all in one
picture and not cut into neat iron-bar-squares.

I’m driven along roads I have never been on. Southern Burnaby wasn’t
my area. It’s beautiful, not too many houses, not many cars. I can’t get enough
of looking. Even when it changes into serious suburbia, one detached home next
to another, with a towel wide space in between, more cars, more noise, people
on the road side, and then high-rise buildings, and even more cars and buses
and trucks and honking and screeching and blinking and bleeping. My ears hurt.
But I still can’t stop looking. I’m a turtle, peeking out under a thick protective
shell, ready to retract.

We arrive at the Court House, I’m unloaded like a parcel and deposited
into a holding cell close to the courtroom, where a judge will preside and
decide over my immediate future. I am to stay there until ten am when the
circus begins.

It’s very uncomfortable. The chair is small and hard, and I realize
for the first time that the furniture in BSYC was a lot more accommodating.
Comfortable, even. As a whole, the Center wouldn’t be a bad place for a little
while longer. Staff was always courteous, the food was eatable, the building
was clean and modern, and there were hordes of volunteers offering different
programs for us misguided adolescents. If it wouldn’t have been for my
animosity of groups and group activities I might have quite enjoyed my stay
there. At this precise moment, I wish I could go back. The idea of being the
center of attention in a court room is close to a horror scenario. My mother
will be there. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since a few weeks before the
Starbucks incident, as Macintosh prefers to paraphrase it, and I have no desire
to do so now.

The key turns in the door, my heart rate increases. They wouldn’t
allow my mother a visit against my will?

It’s Macintosh.

“Hi there,” he says, overly exuberant, and grabs a chair.

“Big day, today, uh?”

As if we both hadn’t known for weeks.

“So, how’re you feeling?”

As if he wouldn’t know. But I do him the favor.

“Nervous. Confused. Scared.”

He nods furiously. “Yeah, yeah, I can imagine. Just came to wish you
good luck. I mean, I’m sure you don’t need luck, it’ll all be fine. Judge Carr
has a rep for being fair. It’s all good … you’ll do fine … just fine.”

“Stop being such a fuddy-duddy, you’re making me even more nervous.”

He coughs. “No need for nerves, I’m telling you, the judge—”

I just glare at him.

“Okay, okay, but one more thing. I just heard. In case you’re thinking
your mom might be in there—”

I hold my breath.

“She won’t,” he says.

I exhale, slowly, carefully, so he won’t know the extent of my
relief. But by now he knows me well enough to read my face.

“You’re glad about that? You are! Well, good for you. She decided to
stay away and, to tell you the truth, that pisses me off quite a bit.”

Suddenly, a considerable weight is lifted off my lungs and my mind,
and that makes me giggle.

“Don’t be mad on my account. I just can’t face her yet; I’m just not
ready, maybe never will be, and her staying away today is the first act of
consideration and kindness I can remember in ages.”

“Don’t be too sure about that,” he says. “I only just heard, so I
need to confirm this, but apparently she flew to Texas a week ago already.
Louise told Harding yesterday, so this throws a new twist into the case.”

“How so?” I giggle again, realizing that I’m really fond of him.

“Harding told your mother last January or February about the money
Louise stole. Apparently she was livid when she heard about it and went
straight to your grandmother’s place. Louise confessed to Harding that she had
only wanted to safe-keep the money, in case there was an emergency—”

“Oh yeah, I can imagine how Mom reacted to that. She, having to go
to work, while Louise sits on a small fortune.”

“Right. Your mom made her hand over what was left. Louise said it
was close to eighty thousand. And with that, according to your grandmother, she
immediately checked herself into a clinic for a major overhaul, getting rid of
some fat and skin and what have you before she flew to Phoenix last week. She
must have gone to the airport still wrapped in bandages—again, according to
your grandmother.”

Interesting. My mind is racing. So is his.

“It’s blood money, no question about that. She won’t enjoy whatever
is left of it for long.” With that, he changes the subject, I guess he wants to
spare me further thoughts of my mom living in blissful happiness ever after
with money I and other pretty little princesses have earned for her.

“It’s nearly ten. Time to get you in there and out again on
probation.”

For a few minutes he has let me forget what I dread most.

“Into foster care.”

“Maybe your grandmother?”

“I’d rather go back to prison.”

“I thought so,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “Maybe the judge will
appoint a legal guardian. How would that sit with you?”

He looks so miserable when he suggests that, I have to laugh again.
“I don’t care as long as they leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but you are not even sixteen yet. There is no way
they’ll let you out unsupervised.”

My heart sinks again, right down to my nervously twiddling toes.

The judge is a woman. Can you believe this? My luck, another woman
will rule over me. It makes me very nervous to watch her, in her black robe,
sitting high above us, a raven ready to sink her beak into my quivering flesh.

The morning goes by like a flash. I distance myself from the
progression of my exposure by numbing my auditory reception to a point where
only muffled sounds penetrate my ears, and thereby, to a large extent, lose
their meaning. It just doesn’t seem right to listen to them talk about me,
about the perils of my childhood, about the short-comings of my family. My
court-appointed lawyer, who knows his shoelaces better than me, does a good job
reading out different parts of various statements with the sole purpose of
making the judge understand how harmless I am when I’m not confronted with a
member of my family who has subjected me to sexual exploitation, has sedated me
and auctioned me off to be raped by the highest bidder.

Stanley and Macintosh are asked on the witness stand to substantiate
those claims. Judge Carr is scribbling down some notes when they speak.

However, just before noon, she stops writing and listening, looks
directly at me and makes a surprise announcement.

“We needn’t waste any more time on this trial. I’ve heard enough,
and I’ve seen enough. With the statements of the expert witnesses and the video
clip I had to watch in my chambers this morning, I’m just about ready to rule.”

Macintosh and Stanley sit slightly behind me, nearly out of my
vision, but I can feel them stiffening.

Judge Carr keeps looking at me.

“I don’t want to subject the accused to any further unnecessary and
painful disclosures. I will not be part of exposing more intimate details of
her horrendous childhood than absolutely necessary. As I said, I’ve heard and
seen enough, but I’d like to ask you—” and with that she smiles at me, “if you
are willing to answer a few of my questions. Do you mind?”

I do mind, but I don’t have a choice. So I nod.

“Then please step up to the witness box.”

I do. It’s a bench as hard as the chair this morning. My heart races
while I’m asked if I would be willing to swear on the bible. I nod again, place
my hand on the book and swear to tell the truth.

Judge Carr keeps smiling, keeps her voice soft, keeps talking
slowly, as if I’m mentally challenged.

“Do you remember anything about the attack on your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“What do you remember?”

“I walked into Starbucks to get a coffee. I saw her sitting in a
corner. I remember it all in flashes. Walking closer, making sure this is
really her. Realizing it is. Reaching for my knife. The next thing I remember
is somebody on top of me, lots of noise, sirens, people touching me, holding
me, me trying to get them off me. That’s it.”

“Where did you get the knife from you used for the attack?”

“I bought it when I planned to kill myself.”

“But you had given up on this plan?”

“Yes.”

“So why did you carry a knife on that day?”

“I always do, I mean, did. I always carried it on me.”

“Why. Did you ever feel the need to defend yourself?”

I look straight at her. “Every single day.”

Her smile fades. “And now?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I understand my aunt Gracie is in custody and will be deported very
soon. And my mom is gone too. I guess I don’t need to be afraid of my
grandmother.”

With that she chuckles. “No, I guess not—which brings me to my final
point. If I order you released on probation, would you be willing to live under
the supervision of your grandmother—”

“No way.” I practically bark at her. It doesn’t matter if she gets
mad at me. I glare at her to underline my deep resentment of this ludicrous
idea. “I’d rather go back to prison. Send me back to the Center.”

She sighs deeply. “That’s what I was told. Calm down, I just needed
to make sure. I have an application here for a legal guardian—”

“No foster home either!”

She frowns. “You are not to interrupt me, young lady. This is my
court room, and you will keep your mouth shut and listen when I speak.”