“Oh, right, Mother. Now you think you’re an expert on child-rearing? If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would be funny. You think Charley should talk to the woman with the mutilated face. That’s rich. Like that’s not going to dredge up memories of the last sight of her mother.”
“That might be just what she needs. I could call the detective in the morning.”
“No! Just stop getting involved, Mother. You’re not exactly good at the child-rearing thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t, Evan.”
Charley’s breath caught in her throat. Now Gramma’s voice was angry, too.
“Well, you’re not exactly reliable in a crisis, are you, Mother? Dad’s not around. He was dying and you traipsed off to Italy with your friends.”
“Evan, let’s not twist reality.”
“Twist reality? You’re a fine one to talk. Were you there when he died, Mother? Were you?”
“No, but—”
“He was dying and you weren’t exactly the dutiful wife by his side, were you?”
“Evan, this is ridiculous,” she shouted.
On the stairs, Charley cringed.
“Your dad was not dying when I left for Italy,” she continued. “He had a massive coronary and died instantly. You’re a doctor. You should understand that.”
“But you weren’t there, were you, Mother? Just like you weren’t there when I nearly lost my life.”
“I’m not spending the night after all, Evan. Please tell the girls I’m sorry.”
“And just what reason can I give them for your absence?”
“You’ll think of something, I’m sure. Just tell them your mother is a witch. And smile while you do it.”
“Cut it out, mother. It’s too late for you to be driving back to Lynchburg.”
“Maybe so but I can’t stay here any longer. Goodnight, Evan.”
The front door slammed. Charley threw her hands to her mouth to stifle the sounds of her sobs as she stumbled back to her bedroom. She threw herself under the covers and cried herself to sleep.
Evan leaned his forehead against the pane of frosted glass beside the front door. What have I done? He watched the blurry red lights of her car fade away. His anger faded with them until all that remained was despair.
Seventeen
In the office the next morning, Lucinda made an appointment to visit the Leesville detectives for the following day. The department hadn’t released the crime scene yet and she had other leads to follow up. She called the other four jurisdictions and talked to the detective in charge of each case. After each conversation, they exchanged JPEG files of the crime-scene photos. The chaotic jumble on her desk grew with every minute – just the sight of it made Lucinda grin, but she knew she would need to spread it all out in a bigger space to work more effectively.
Looking at the photos from the scenes, all of them appeared consistent with Kathleen’s murder. No fingerprints or any stranger DNA at a single murder. All committed inside the victims’ homes. The cause of death in each case was ligature strangulation with the item used not present at the scene.
At the oldest homicide, in Waverly, the victim, a twenty-six-year-old court reporter, had a Sarah Coventry daisy pin attached to her shirt. All the rage in costume jewelry decades ago, Lucinda hadn’t seen one in years. Its presence hinted at an echo from the past. On the victim’s left ring finger, a whiter band of skin indicated the presence of a wedding ring in the recent past. Beside her body, a wrought iron floor lamp was discarded on its side, its base used to mutilate her facial features.
The next murder in chronological order happened in Smythport. A too tight wedding band squeezed on to the left ring finger of a school teacher. Missing from around her neck was a diamond solitaire necklace her fiancé had given her before he left to fight in Operation Gulf Storm in the early nineties. He’d returned home in a body bag. Family members said the victim had not taken the necklace off since the day he died. Her face was smashed by a thick coffee table book containing photographs from the Serengeti.
The trail led back to Waverley for the next murder where a grocery store clerk sported that same necklace around her throat. A concrete block pulled from a makeshift board-and-block bookcase obliterated the features of her face. One of the investigators made much of the fact that most of the books on the disrupted shelf were paperback true crime stories but, to Lucinda, it did not appear to have any relevance at all. She thought the detective was grabbing at any hint that made sense of a homicide that, until this morning, he believed to be an isolated incident. Like the woman murdered in Riverton, this one wore only one earring – a silver owl.
At the next scene, in Spring City, a nurse without pierced ears wore the missing silver owl in a bloodied lobe. The perpetrator had forced the earring post through the fleshy part of her ear. Her right ring finger showed the whiteness of a missing oft-worn ring. A search of her home did not find the emerald ring her husband bought for her on a cruise stop at St Thomas in the Virgin Islands. Her face was beaten flat with the receiver component of an older stereo system. Ripped wires hung from its back.
The last case before Kathleen’s murder happened in Plankerton and the missing emerald ring was found on a finger on the victim’s right hand. She was an unemployed recent college graduate. Newspapers with pink-highlighted “help wanted” ads sprawled across the floor. The weapon used to pound her face added a surreal quality to the scene. Once again, a block was removed from an impromptu bookcase. This time, though, it was a thick decorative glass block, the kind often used for walls in luxury master baths. Through the block, distorted glimpses of the victim’s ravaged face were visible as if seen through a fun-glass mirror underwater.
Nothing – no valuables, no jewelry – appeared to be missing from the young woman’s apartment according to police reports. On her ears, though, Lucinda saw the aqua blue of a pair of turquoise earrings. Did she have a matching necklace around her neck before she died? Lucinda wondered. If she did, we have an unbroken chain of homicide and my theory stands solid. But what about the Sarah Coventry daisy pin in Waverley? Where did that come from? Is there a murder before that one?
She picked up the phone and called the Plankerton detective. “Did anyone mention the possibility that your vic owned a necklace with a turquoise cross?”
“No, why?” he asked.
“Our vic was wearing one that didn’t belong to her.”
“Do I have a shot of that necklace in the photos you sent?”
“Yes. The fifth or sixth photo shows a clear image of it.” Lucinda waited while the detective pulled up the emailed photos.
“Got it. You want me to see if I can get an ID on it at this end?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Lucinda said.
“Back atcha soon as I hear anything.”
Now if that pans out, Lucinda thought, all I have to do is figure out who owned the daisy pin. She pulled up that series of crime-scene photos on her computer again. The daisy hung crooked on the woman’s blouse. The fabric was lumped under the clasp. The pinning appeared careless. The pin had to belong to an older woman who still wore it for sentimental reasons – not to this young one who wasn’t even born before Sarah Coventry’s hey day. That pin has to lead somewhere. But where?
Lucinda made a list of dates and locations for all the homicides starting with the first one in Waverly and moving through to Kathleen Spencer, then on to the Haver homicide and to the most recent death in Leesville. The span between the first and second murders was a little better than six months. The span shortened as the list progressed. The last three happened in less than one week.
The next one will be soon, Lucinda thought. Where was Evan Spencer when all these murders went down?
She picked up the phone and called Evan’s office. As the phone rang, she realized she really didn’t want to talk to him but she did want to talk to his staff when he wasn’t there. She tried to sound as
unofficial as possible. “Hey, is Doc Spencer in?”
“No, he’s not. May I take a message?”
“When do you ‘spect him in?”
“He has surgery scheduled all day today. He’ll probably drop in after that but I doubt he’ll return any calls. Unless this is an emergency?”
“Aw, no. I’ll just buzz him tomorrow.”
This is my lucky day, Lucinda thought as she punched in the numbers to Ted’s cellphone. “Are you busy? Do you have some time to spare?”
“It’s my day off. I’ve got all the time you need. What’s up?”
“Spencer’s in surgery all day today. I want to compare the dates of all of these homicides with his calendar. See if he was out of town on a mercy mission or right here available to kill.”
“Lucinda, you know he was in Afghanistan when his wife was killed, right?”
“Yeah, but what if she’d gotten suspicious? What if she thought he was up to no good? What if she confronted him?”
“Nobody else tied these murders together until you did. I know Kathleen was a mathematical whiz, but that doesn’t explain how she would figure this out.”
“Maybe she didn’t think he was killing anyone. Maybe she thought all these absences from the home and office meant he was having an affair? What if Evan Spencer worried that she might look more closely at just where he was going and what he was doing?”
“A lot of what-ifs, Lucinda.”
“Yeah, but what if I’m right. What if he hired someone to kill his wife while he was conveniently out of the country? It would end Kathleen’s questions and if anyone else got suspicious about a connection to the other murders, they’d be looking for the person who murdered his wife when he had a solid alibi.”
“It’s really a stretch.”
“Say I’m wrong, Ted. What will it hurt to come with me? Let’s check it out together. If Spencer was out of the country when another death occurred, I’ll shit-can my theory.”
“Okay, you’re right. You do need to check it out for no other reason than to scratch Spencer off your list and not waste any more time on it. Meet you at his office in twenty minutes.” After hanging up, Ted went to his bedroom and slipped on his holster and gun. Ellen stepped into the doorway with her arms folded across her chest.
“Ellen, I’ve got to go to work.”
“It’s your day off, Ted.”
“I know, hon, but duty calls.”
“Duty, my ass. It was that woman on the phone.”
Ted sighed. “If you mean Lieutenant Pierce, yes, she did call.”
“And you’re chasing after her, aren’t you?”
“Ellen, this is work.” He walked up to the doorway where she blocked his egress with a rigid body and a downturned mouth. “Can I get by, Ellen, please?”
“You promised to go furniture shopping with me today.”
“We can go Saturday.”
“We wanted to go on a school day so we wouldn’t have to drag the kids along. Or did you forget about the kids, too, in all the excitement of hearing your girlfriend’s voice?”
Ted shook his head. He placed one hand on the top of each of Ellen’s arms and gently shifted her out of the doorway. “I gotta run, Ellen.” He slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.
Ellen followed. “You can’t run out on me again, Ted.”
“I’m not running out on you, Ellen. I’ve got to follow a lead in a murder investigation.”
“You’ve got to follow the scent of that woman, you mean.”
“Ellen, this is really getting old. We’ll talk when I get home, if you want, but I’ve got to go now.” He pulled open the back door.
“It’s me or her, Ted. Make up your mind right now.”
He looked at his wife. Snapshots of their early years flashed in his memory. The way her eyes used to twinkle when she looked at him. He had not seen that sparkle in such a long time. The way she used to kiss him goodbye every time he walked out the door as if a trip to the corner store was an absence too long to bear. A smile of longing flitted across his lips – and was gone as quickly as it came. Nothing’s been the same since the baby died. His shoulders slumped. He shook his head. “Later, Ellen,” he said as he stepped across the threshold.
“If you leave now, don’t ever plan on coming back.”
“Aw, jeez, Ellen! Don’t be an ass.” He pulled the door shut and walked to his car.
Eighteen
Ted and Lucinda entered into the medical office of Dr. Spencer. The decor displayed the sophistication of a highly regarded, highly paid surgeon; no cheap plastic chairs in this waiting room. The wooden-armed chairs housed thick red cushions. They backed up to the white wainscoting of the bottom half of the wall. Above, the painted wood, red-flowered wallpaper with the look of an antique design, coordinated with the chairs. Even the selection of magazines was more upscale than the traditional selection found in a typical general practitioner’s office. Instead of People, Sports Illustrated, and Newsweek, the glass-topped tables between the chairs offered up Architectural Digest, Gourmet and Sailing.
They approached the front desk. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Lucinda said flashing her badge. “I’m Lieutenant Pierce. And this is Sergeant Branson. We’d like to ask a few questions.”
“Dr. Spencer is not in the office today.”
“Are you the one who handles the scheduling of appointments?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Then you’re the one we want to talk to.”
“Me? You want an appointment?” Her eyes roamed over Lucinda’s face. She furrowed her brow and bit her bottom lip. “I’m very sorry but I’m afraid Dr. Spencer doesn’t do plastic surgery.”
“No, not an appointment for me. I want to know about Dr. Spencer’s schedule.”
“I’m sorry, that is confidential information.”
“We just want to take a look at his calendar, not at any personal records.”
“I can’t do that without his express permission. I have to protect the privacy of our patients.”
“We don’t care about the patients’ names, records or anything about them. We just care about Dr. Spencer’s whereabouts.”
The eyes of the receptionist squinted tight. “Does this have something to do with the murder of Dr Spencer’s wife?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.” Lucinda rested her elbow on the counter. “And you do want us to find out who killed Mrs. Spencer, don’t you?”
The receptionist’s lips pursed. She leaned back in her chair. “That’s outrageous! Dr. Spencer loved his wife. He is a wonderful man. He’s a great doctor. Why don’t you leave him alone?”
Lucinda sighed. She whispered into Ted’s ear, “Sweet talk time, Ted. Work your magic.” She turned away and headed for the door. “I’m outta here, Ted. This is just a waste of time. I’ll meet you back at the station.”
Ted and the receptionist watched her leave. When the door shut, Ted turned around to face the woman behind the counter. He rested loosely folded arms on the counter, smiled, and donned his best puppy-face expression and a weak, apologetic smile. He looked into her her eyes with warmth, then shifted his gaze down to her mouth. “Sorry ’bout that. She hasn’t been right since the accident.”
Without conscious thought, the tip of her tongue slipped out and moistened her lips. “I’m sorry, too, but I can’t help you without talking to Dr Spencer.” She let a tight smile cross her face as she stretched out her arm to shake Ted’s hand. “I’m Jen,” she said. “What happened to her face?”
“Line of duty injury, Jen. It’s pretty sad.”
“Can’t they do anything for her?”
“Probably could but she’s too impatient to deal with the surgery. Probably scared, too.”
“We see a lot of that,” the receptionist empathized.
“I’ll bet you do. You strike me as a very understanding and perceptive woman.”
“Lieutenant Pierce thinks Dr Spencer killed his wife, doesn’t she?”<
br />
He sighed deeply and allowed his eyes to roam across her face. Her pulse quickened as she waited for his response.
“I won’t lie to you, Jen. Yes, she thinks it’s possible,” Ted admitted with a shake of his head.
“That’s crazy. Dr. Spencer was in Afghanistan when that happened . . .”
“I know, Jen. But what can I do? I’m a sergeant, she’s a lieutenant.”
“What’s wrong with her? Why can’t she accept his alibi?”
“Well, she’s been a little edgy and bitter since she got shot in the face. It happened when she was protecting a woman from her husband. She’s not real keen on men these days. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Sure, but she’s crazy if she thinks Dr Spencer killed anyone.”
“Yeah, I know.” Ted shook his head slowly. “But she’s got this list of dates she wants to check out to see if Dr Spencer was in the country. She figures that it will help her build a case against him.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I know, Jen, I know. But you see, the way I figured it is that we’d come here, we’d check out those dates she’s interested in, and we’d find out he wasn’t around at any of those times and she’d have to scratch him off her list of suspects.”
“Oh, I see.”
“But I do understand your position and respect you for it. We’ll just have to keep him on the suspect list. Can’t see any way around it, Jen. I hope Dr Spencer has a good combo of verifiable alibis for those days. If not . . .” He shrugged.
“You mean he could be charged with murder?”
Ted reached across the counter and patted her forearm. He spoke softly, almost in a whisper, “You know, Jen, I don’t know what to tell you.”
Jen’s brow furrowed, relaxed and furrowed again. She bit her bottom lip and exhaled with force. “I hope I’m not making a big mistake here,” Jen said, “but I think it’s in Dr Spencer’s best interests if I help you eliminate him as a suspect.”
“I think you’re right, Jen.”
“I can’t let you look at the calendar itself . . .”
The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 9
