He rubbed a hand across his chin. “Damn. Forgot to shave again.” He kneeled down by the woman on the floor. “Where’s all the blood?”
“My question exactly, Doc. Any ideas?”
“I’d guess that block smashed into her face after she was already dead.” He put a finger under the remains of her chin and raised it up. “Look,” he said pointing to her throat. A red line stretched across swollen, irritated skin. “Ligature mark.”
“Interesting. Did she die of strangulation?” Lucinda asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll know after I’ve done the autopsy.” He pushed himself off the floor, grunting with effort. Lucinda offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet. He winced as he rose.
“Did I pull too hard?” she asked.
“No. It wasn’t you. My knees just don’t like concrete floors any more. Yours won’t either in a few short years. It’s all yours, Lieutenant. Move the body when you’re ready.”
“When will you do the autopsy?”
“First thing in the morning.”
“Not tonight?”
He glared at her. “8 a.m. tomorrow morning, Lieutenant.”
Lucinda’s lips parted forming a protest.
“No, Lieutenant,” Dr. Sam said before she could speak, “tomorrow morning. I’m too old to stay up all night. She ain’t going anywhere.” He shambled up the stairs mumbling about the demands of the young and of the dead.
Three
Lucinda went back to the first floor and unleashed the team of forensic technicians. In blue Tyvec suits and booties and latex gloves, they entered the home. The first one carried a video camera filming every step of his passage. Behind him, another tech took an endless series of still shots with a digital camera.
Lucinda roamed through the house with Ted by her side. In the sitting room, she plucked a frame off the mantle. Four faces peered out – the image of a happy family. The two little girls exuded innocence. The mother’s face was warm and lovely before today’s trauma. Even in this two-dimensional state, she appeared to be in motion: energetic, optimistic and self-assured. The man in the portrait looked more stiff and wooden – either he was uncomfortable posing or uneasy in his own skin. He was a handsome man, though, with dark hair and deep blue eyes – but he seemed edgy as if the idea of relaxation was an alien concept.
Lucinda pointed at his face as she turned to Ted. “Where’s the husband?”
“Don’t know yet. A couple of the neighbors said he traveled a lot.”
“What do we know about him?”
“He’s an orthopedic surgeon. One of the neighbors said that he does surgery all over the world.”
“Hmm. Where in the world is he now?”
“Sergeant Creger is on his way over to the doctor’s office to find out.”
Lucinda set the frame back on the mantelpiece. “It’s easy to read more than you should into a photograph when you’ve got a dead body on your hands and a spouse who’s AWOL. For the girls’ sake, I hope he has a solid alibi. They’ve got enough to deal with already. What about the victim?”
“Stay-at-home mom. But she has a PhD in mathematics. She taught over at the University of Virginia before Charley was born.”
“Interesting. Any neighbors notice problems in the marriage?”
“Not yet. No loud voices heard. No arguments witnessed. Even called them a perfect family more than once.”
“Perfect? That word always makes me suspicious.”
Lucinda and Ted continued to wander through the Spencer home seeking the telltale signs of disharmony, dysfunction or denial. No red flags popped into view.
Ted answered the bleat of his phone. His face formed a scowl as he listened. “Hold on a sec,” he said into the cell. “Lieutenant, the team looking for the girls has covered a two-block radius. None of the neighbors have seen them. Should we organize a full-blown search? Call in a canine team?”
“Somebody should have seen them,” Lucinda said. “Even if they just ran down the street, someone should have seen something. Tell them to make the calls but don’t put anything into motion until we make one last search of the house.”
Lucinda and Ted ran through the house, checking under beds and peering into all the closets. In the kitchen, where forgotten cookies cooled and hardened and unbaked blobs of dough crusted where they sat beside the stove, the two officers opened every cabinet door. In the basement, they looked in the washer and dryer and moved into the dirt-floor cellar. They probed every corner and cranny with bright flashlight beams. No children anywhere. They stepped out on to the front porch. In every yard, neighbors stood on the grass staring in their direction.
“What was the name of the kid that called?” Lucinda asked Ted.
“Charley.”
“Charley. Charley, where are you? You’re safe now.”
Charley heard her but could not urge her limbs into movement. Her mouth was too dry to speak. She sat in the dirt clutching her baby sister. Rocking back and forth. All she wanted to do was go to sleep. But every time she closed her eyes, the vision of her mother’s crushed face sent her lids flying back open.
Lucinda and Ted came down the steps. Lucinda went left; Ted went right. Both called out Charley’s name as they started a circle of the house. Lucinda spotted the small door under the porch. She pulled it open and shone the flashlight inside. The harsh light landed on two pairs of big brown eyes. She jerked the light downward, focusing the beam on the ground. “Charley, is that you?”
Charley nodded her head.
“You’re safe now, Charley. It’s that your little sister?”
She nodded again.
“What’s her name, Charley?”
Charley forced her tongue from the roof of her mouth and rasped, “Ruby.”
“Okay, Charley, Ruby, we need to get you out of here.”
She shouted out for Ted and walked on her knees into the cubbyhole. “Hand Ruby to me, Charley.”
Slowly she stretched her arms forward. As Lucinda’s arms wrapped around Ruby, the little one erupted in noisy protest. She kicked Lucinda’s chest, she bit her hand. Lucinda held her tight and handed her out to Ted. He grabbed the screaming burden and walked away. Ruby’s arms windmilled back in the direction of her sister as she squealed. Ted dropped to the grass under a shady tree. He stroked Ruby’s hair and whispered reassurances in her ear. Ruby stuck her thumb back in her mouth and curled up in the officer’s arms.
Lucinda backed out of the confined space and coaxed Charley to join her.
The thought of leaving the security of her hiding place made Charley cry. Her tiny body wracked with sobs as she remained rooted to the spot. Then she remembered Ruby. Ruby needed her now more than ever before. She wiped her nose on the sleeve of her shirt and moved toward Lucinda.
Once she was out, Lucinda swung her up in her arms and carried her down to the patrol car at the curb. Ted rose and, cradling the now quieted Ruby, joined her there.
Lucinda slid into the front seat behind the steering wheel, her undamaged profile facing into the back seat. Ted sat in the back between the two girls, an arm around each of their shoulders. Their sweet little girl smell was overpowered by the earthy aroma of the dirt where they’d sat and by the salty tang of their fresh-spilled tears.
Lucinda closed her eye and breathed in with force. The thought of these small children seeing that scene in the basement struck a deep nerve of adolescent pain. No time to think about her own mother now. She pushed those thoughts away and opened her eye.
With a gentle voice and indirect questions, Ted coaxed information out of the traumatized sisters. Charley gave jerky responses, one syllable at a time. Ruby remained wide-eyed and mute.
“Yes,” Charley told him, she had locked the door to the basement. “No,” she said when asked if she saw anyone else in the house.
A pair of social workers arrived on the scene to take charge of the girls. Before stepping out of the car, Charley turned to Lucinda and stared. The intensity of her gaze
and the wounded look in her eyes hit Lucinda like a scream for help. The mantle of responsibility to this child grew heavy, almost oppressive. “I’ll do everything I can,” Lucinda whispered.
Charley bobbed her head as she walked off holding a state employee’s hand. For a moment, Lucinda felt pinned in her seat by the burden of Charley’s unspoken expectations. She followed Ted back into the home. As soon as they were inside, Lucinda’s cellphone chirped. “This is Lieutenant Pierce.”
“Hey Loot! Think you oughta come over and talk to this woman – she has some interesting insight on Dr. Spencer. We’re across the street, down one house to the right – the burgundy bungalow.”
“Which Dr. Spencer?”
“The lady’s a doctor, too?”
“PhD.”
“Ms. Craddick didn’t mention that. She’s concerned about the husband.”
“You with her right now or can you talk?”
“Ms. Craddick is right here, Lieutenant, and just dying to talk to the person in charge.”
Lucinda strode out of the house. Reporters dogged her before she could open the gate.
“Lieutenant?”
“Lieutenant?”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“Who’s the victim?”
“Lieutenant, over here.”
She turned her back on them and addressed the officer responsible for logging law enforcement members in and out of the house. “Kirby, get someone to barricade this damn block. ASAP. I want these shit-eating jackals out of here.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said as he keyed in on his radio and shouted instructions. A mass of blue materialized in a flash pushing back reporters and cameramen. White sawhorses appeared like magic.
Lucinda headed across the street. She didn’t notice the lone reporter who evaded the round-up until a microphone was pushed to her mouth. “Lieutenant Pierce, I see you’ve got a gun in your holster. Did they let you have bullets to go with it?”
She looked down at the reporter. Her nostrils flared. Her jaw throbbed. She wanted to pistol-whip his smirking face but she just stared.
He flinched under her gaze but did not back away. “Well, Lieutenant, did they let you load your gun or did they make you keep your bullet in your pocket?”
She spread out the fingers of one hand enveloping the fuzzy head of the microphone and pushed it down toward the ground. “I could tell you, yes, my gun is loaded, but you wouldn’t really know unless I showed you, would you?”
His Adam’s apple took a deep bob. “No, Lieutenant. I suppose I wouldn’t.”
“I never pull my gun out unless I intend to use it. Do you want me to pull it out right here, right now? Do you want to look down the barrel of my gun?”
“No, Lieutenant. I suppose I don’t.”
“Fine. Take your smart mouth and your dumb ass to the other side of the barricade. Now.” She lifted her hand off the microphone, turned her back on the rattled reporter and headed to the burgundy bungalow. The tape of the shooting incident that resulted in her recent suspension was downloaded and ready to roll in her head. She had no time to relive the should-haves and would-haves of the worst moment of her life as a cop. She blinked her eye and tried to force the vision away.
But a freeze-frame of that tiny dead body on the lawn remained displayed in vivid color in her mind as she finished crossing the street from the Spencer home. She opened the gate, went up the sidewalk and on to the porch of the burgundy bungalow. She shook her head to dislodge the image. It receded but would not go away. The sight of the little lifeless body was burned permanently on the back of her retina.
Four
Before Lucinda could knock, the door flew open. A short intense woman with dyed blonde hair and gray roots looked straight at Lucinda’s chest and slowly raised her head. “My! You’re a tall one, aren’t you?”
“Are you Ms. Craddick?”
“Just call me Rose. Come in, come in,” she said, turning her back and waving her arm over her head.
Lucinda followed the woman down a hallway, sidling through the stacked boxes that lined both walls. They went past a spacious kitchen where foot after foot of counter surface was piled high with books, bills, newspapers, magazines, cooking utensils and other miscellaneous debris. If she ever tried to cook in here, Lucinda thought, the whole place would go up like a bonfire.
“Have a seat, have a seat.” Rose gestured to the chairs at a table in the adjacent dining room. The room was small and packed with furniture: an oversized china cabinet, an enormous buffet, eight ponderous carved chairs and a long table covered with piles of paper and periodicals. Rose shoved a couple of stacks out of the way as she sat across from Lucinda. “Did you catch that no-goodnik yet?”
“Catch who, Ms. Craddick?”
“Rose. Call me Rose.” She peered at Lucinda showing no inclination to continue the conversation until her visitor complied.
“Yes, Rose. Rose it is.”
“Speaking of roses, officer, did you notice those big bushes on the side of the Spencer house?”
“Yes, Rose, I did. But who do you think we need to catch?”
“That nasty Dr. Spencer, that’s who. He planted those roses.”
“Dr. Spencer?”
“Yes. He planted those roses and he killed his wife. I know he did it.”
“You do?”
“Yes, ma’am, officer. I saw him plant those roses.”
“The roses?”
“Yes. I can see that side of the house real good from my bedroom window and I saw him do it.”
“Do what, Rose?”
“Plant those roses,” she said staring at Lucinda as if she were dense. “It’s what they call one of those ‘previous bad acts’ on TV.”
“Oh, on TV.”
“Yep. I watch all those shows. You can learn a lot from them, you know. I bet you watch them all, too. Anyway, that Dr. Spencer, he dug those holes after dark one night. When he finished, I went to watch one of my shows. The next morning – at the butt crack of dawn – he was out there again. He was planting those rose bushes. They were really small then. But you see them now. They’ve grown like crazy. You saw them, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, Rose. They are quite large.”
Rose leaned forward, her chin nearly on the table. “Unnaturally large, officer. I think while I was watching my show, that’s when he snuck back and put the dead bodies in the holes.”
“Dead bodies?” Lucinda said and looked over the woman’s head to the patrolman leaning against the wall. He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, dead bodies. Bodies are natural fertilizer. Made those bushes grow so fast. I’m sure of it.”
“Whose bodies, Rose?”
“Don’t know. But he’s a doctor. I’m sure he killed a patient or two. They all do. Only he didn’t want no law suit.”
“So because of the bodies under the rose bushes, you think Dr. Spencer killed his wife?” Lucinda asked as she rose to her feet.
“Well, yeah. But that’s not all. I haven’t told you the rest. You want a cup of coffee? I can make a fresh pot in just a minute.”
“No thanks, Rose. We really need to get going. What haven’t you told us yet?”
“I haven’t gotten to the time he pulled a gun on me.”
“Dr. Spencer pulled a gun on you, Rose?” Lucinda asked as she sank back down on her chair.
“Yep. He sure did. And he called me a nosy old biddy and told me I needed to get a life.”
“He did?”
“Yes. Can you imagine? I’m just a concerned neighbor who tries to watch out for her neighbors – keep the neighborhood safe – and he threatens me with a gun. I could be one of the bodies buried under the rose bushes right now.”
“Rose, when did this happen?”
“Just before last Christmas.”
“Did you report it to the police?”
“No ma’am. I’m a good neighbor. A good neighbor doesn’t rat on her fellow neighbors.”
Lucinda raised h
er eyebrows. The patrolman covered his mouth to hide his grin. “Did it happen here at your house?” Lucinda asked.
“Oh, heavens, no. It was over at their house.”
“In the house?”
“No. On the front porch.”
“You were on their front porch?”
“Yes. I wanted to get a better look at their Christmas tree. Charley told me they strung real cranberries and popcorn for the tree. So that night, I went over to look.”
“And what happened?”
“I was looking in the window, minding my own business, when that Dr. Spencer came roaring out of the front door waving a gun.”
“You were on their front porch, peeping in their window, in the dark?”
“Well, the lights just don’t look the same in the daytime. Everybody knows that. And that crazy man came out waving a gun in the air.”
“Okay, Rose. Thank you so much for your time.” Lucinda stood and exchanged a knowing glance with the patrolman.
“Wait. Wait, officer. I haven’t told you the best part yet. I saw him running from the house just a little bit before I heard the sirens.” Rose folded her arms across her chest and beamed at Lucinda.
The lieutenant sat back down again. “You saw Dr. Spencer leaving the house this afternoon?”
“Yes I did. And, let me tell you, he was in a hurry.”
“Are you sure it was Dr. Spencer?”
“Yes, ma’am. You don’t live across the street from someone all these years without knowing what they look like.”
“So you got a good look at him?”
“Good enough to know it was him.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Not real good. He had this hooded sweatshirt on. That’s pretty suspicious, isn’t it? I thought about that when I saw him. I wondered what he was doing wearing a sweatshirt. Still a little warm to have the hood pulled up over your head.”
“The hood was up but you still saw his face?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“Not exactly? What did you see?”
“He had that drawstring cinched up so tight, his eyes barely poked through. But I knew it was him.”
The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 2
