The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “Hey, Lieutenant! What did happen to your face?” Tammy hollered out.

  Lucinda just kept walking.

  Lucinda drove back to the station, her mind in an uproar. Every time she tried to shut off her frustration at the implications raised by the faulty ID, thoughts about her face and what, if anything, she should do about it, rose up and increased her agitation.

  District Attorney Reed rushed to her side as she entered the work area, calling for Ted as he did. “What did she say?” he asked.

  Talking over his words Lucinda asked, “Is Spencer still here?”

  “Yes. They’re still here, but Theismann’s been pacing for the last thirty minutes. Spencer’s just looking miserable. I think Theismann is getting on his nerves. What did Tammy Johnson say?”

  “She ID’d Evan Spencer.”

  “Damn! I hate eyewitnesses. I’ve got to cut Spencer loose.”

  “Why?” Lucinda asked. “Why can’t you hold him overnight?”

  “Because he couldn’t have attacked Johnson since we had him in custody at the time. If he didn’t do her, we have no solid evidence he did the triple. Without the triple, we’ve got no motive for his wife.”

  “What about the computers seized from his home?”

  “They haven’t had time to clone the hard drives yet. Right now, it doesn’t look like Spencer’s anything more than a victim. And we look like we’re victimizing him more. The media’s gonna love that. TV news is already reporting an arrest but Spencer’s name has not leaked out yet. It’s time for damage control, Lieutenant. I’m dropping the charges.”

  “Reed, you can’t let him leave the country until the DNA test results are in. We have to be sure he’s not responsible. With a positive ID from the triple, we can’t let him walk away until we can eliminate him without a doubt.”

  “Okay, Pierce, let’s go in and see if we can have it both ways.”

  As they entered the interrogation room, Lucinda noticed that all the photos were piled in one upside-down stack and shoved to the far corner of the table.

  Theismann immediately launched an offensive. “It’s about time you returned. I am outraged, Reed. Outraged. Leaving us to sit in here all this time is a totally unprofessional disregard for another attorney and demonstrates a lack of respect for my client’s standing in this community. I demand that you lock him up and we go talk to a magistrate about bail right now or you let him go and let him get back to his life.”

  “Can it, Theismann,” Reed said. “You love racking up these billable hours, and we both know it.”

  “That was uncalled for, Reed. I’ve half a mind to file a complaint with the Bar.”

  Lucinda squirmed. The urge to snap back with an insult about his half mind almost got the better of her.

  Reed turned to Evan. “Dr Spencer, if we let you go home tonight, what would you do?”

  “Get some sleep – as much as I can anyway. I’ve got an early flight in the morning,” Evan said.

  “So, despite the mess you’re in right now, you’re still planning on leaving the country in the morning?”

  “There are people in Rwanda who need me, who need the services I can provide. Their problems are serious. Their needs are important. My problems are secondary.”

  “Doctor, this puts us in a real quandary. We’d like to drop the charges―”

  “Reed, if you have no reason to hold my client―” Theismann began.

  “As I was saying,” Reed continued, “I’d like to drop the charges on a temporary basis only, and let you go home to your children. They need you more than we need to raise the occupancy rate in the jail. But if you’re determined to leave the country . . .?”

  “I made a commitment, and I always keep my commitments,” Evan said.

  “Fine. Lieutenant, do you have your handcuffs?”

  “Sure do, sir,” she said whipping them out and dangling them in the air.

  “Wait!” Theismann said. “Can I have a few minutes alone with my client?”

  Lucinda and Reed exchanged a glance. “Five minutes, Theismann,” Reed said. “We’re tired. We want to go home. Five minutes. No more.”

  Lucinda pulled the door to the interrogation room shut behind them. “You wouldn’t really have let me cuff him, would you?”

  “I’ll never tell,” Reed said with a grin.

  Reed and Lucinda waited side by side, arms folded across their chests, eyes focused on the floor. At exactly the five-minute mark, the door opened.

  “Dr Spencer will not leave the country tomorrow morning,” Theismann said.

  “Doctor?” Reed asked.

  “I am not at all happy about this, Mr. Reed. But I will cancel my flight.”

  Reed turned to Theismann. “Can you offer me assurance your client will not leave the country unless it’s cleared by me?”

  “Yes, Reed. I can guarantee my client will not leave the United States without your express approval.”

  “I’d be even happier if you’d keep him in town, Counselor.”

  “He may wish to visit his mother, Mr. Reed.”

  “That’s fine. Just make sure he stays this side of the state line.”

  Theismann looked at Spencer who nodded in agreement. “There you have it, Mr. Reed. Is my client free to go now?”

  “Yes, no problem.”

  Lucinda and Reed watched as they exited the department. They listened to the elevator doors open and close without a word. Lucinda broke the silence. “What are the odds he’ll stick around?”

  “Pretty good, I think. But part of me would love for him to run – not only would his flight trump the mistaken eyewitness IDs, it would also put Theismann’s ass in a sling. And I can’t say that would bother me one little bit.”

  Forty-Two

  He sat upright on his bed. His back pushed against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them holding them tight. Calling the girl had made him feel a little better but it wasn’t the solution to the problem.

  I’m losing control. Why? he wondered. What am I doing wrong? Everything was perfect until these last three. No flaws. No screw ups. No surprises. He knew his future success was tied to his ability to make an objective analysis of his failure. He focused on the two incidents and re-ran the mental images through his head.

  Thinking about the last three botched executions, he realized his mistake in the first one. He’d spent too much time savoring the anticipation of the moment. That was careless and indulgent. He should’ve taken her in the shower. If he had, he would’ve been gone by the time the others returned. He rubbed at the scratch on the back of his hand. Did they have my DNA now? I should have scraped her fingernails before I left. Sloppy. Sloppy. Sloppy.

  He knew who to blame for the second screw up – Lieutenant Pierce. Damn her. I’ll frighten her. I’ll scare her so she can’t think straight. She won’t be able to keep up with me then.

  But where did I go wrong tonight? How did that woman get the better of me? Why wasn’t she scared – too frightened to think? The answers to that night’s mistakes eluded him.

  He walked into the bathroom and looked at the puffy redness of his face. He gingerly touched it and winced. He curled back his lips and saw a chipped tooth. He put a finger on it and it wiggled. It was loose. I can’t lose my tooth.

  Anger rose hot and fierce, swallowing all the remnants of self-pity and doubt. First, I’ll pay back Pierce. Then I’ll go out again, he thought. And this time, I will do it right.

  Forty-Three

  On the ride home, Lucinda tried to convince herself that her instincts were off, that she’d misread Evan Spencer from the beginning. She mentally reviewed all of her interactions with him since the first time they met. She couldn’t shake it. Evan Spencer was – and still is – hiding something from me. But what?

  When she opened her apartment door and flipped on the light, Chester raced to her feet making high-pitched meows she’d never heard from him before. He rubbed his face on her leg and col
lapsed belly up. He wriggled his back, moving a yard across the floor. He sprang to his feet and raced down the hall with bizarre little chirps issuing from his throat.

  She listened but heard no sound for long enough to develop concern about what he was doing. Then, the pounding of his four feet raced back down the hall. Chester flopped on his back again and rubbed the side of his face on the floor right next to the explanation for his behavior. His catnip-filled mouse lay in tatters on the living-room rug. He rolled in the pile of dried leaves and threw Lucinda an endearing glance, then bounced to his feet again.

  “No wonder you’ve lost all your dignity, Chester, you’re stoned.” He wove in and out of her legs as she opened a can of food and put two spoonfuls in his bowl. He attacked it making happy little snarls as he chewed.

  “If a roll in the catnip did that for me, Chester, I’d be rolling on the floor with you right now.”

  She pulled a chicken pot pie out of the freezer, opened the container and punched a couple of holes into the crust with a fork. She set the oven temperature, plopped it on a cookie sheet and slid the sheet inside the oven. After setting the timer on the stove, she stretched out on the sofa in the living room to think.

  There are two options, she thought. Either Evan Spencer is responsible for his wife’s murder or not. He was out of the country when his wife died: not responsible. He could have hired someone to kill his wife at the time when he had an ironclad alibi: responsible. I’m chasing my tail and getting nowhere with that one. What about the other homicides?

  She knew Spencer had only vague, not very convincing, alibis for all the other murders prior to Kathleen’s death. The same went for all the homicides since then, except for the attempt earlier today. She had an eyewitness who placed Spencer at the scene of the triple homicide but then again, she had another eyewitness, who she knew was wrong, placing him at this most recent attack. Just because one eyewitness was mistaken that doesn’t automatically mean the other one is, too, does it? No. What points to the same perp in the triple homicide and the attack tonight?

  She formed the list in her head starting with the rope. She knew that was a common ligature item and therefore possibly irrelevant.

  The skillet? She realized that was unique. But the victim introduced the skillet to the scene tonight – not the perp. Maybe they are not connected But if Evan Spencer is not involved in any of these murders then what is he hiding from me and why is he hiding it?

  Chester, his catnip-high now mellowed by his tuna-filled tummy, chose that moment to land on Lucinda’s stomach and press one paw after another into her chest in a kneading motion. All the while a deep rumbling purr as loud as an old dishwasher vibrated his body from head to toe.

  “Chester,” she said, “you have a devious mind. Why don’t you help me out here? What do you think is going on in Dr Spencer’s head now, hmmm? Just give me a little hint.” Chester stared at her with glazed eyes – his purr at full throttle.

  Epiphany struck and Lucinda bolted upright, catapulting Chester to the floor. He gave her a squinted look of displeasure then jumped up behind her back to claim the warm spot on the sofa she had just vacated.

  Lucinda grabbed her phone and stabbed in Ted’s cellphone number. “What if Spencer had a partner in crime?”

  “Well, hello, Lucinda. How are you this evening?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. A partner, Ted. What about a partner?”

  “It’s rare for serial killers.”

  “Rare, but not unheard of.”

  “It’s happened but―”

  “What if the partner freelanced Kathleen’s murder?”

  “On his own? Not prompted by Spencer?”

  “Yeah, remember our first interview with Spencer? Remember his anger over the turquoise cross?”

  “Yes. But what does that have to do with―”

  “He seemed personally affronted by it, didn’t he?”

  “He did, Lucinda, but grieving family members are―”

  “And what if tonight’s attack was another freelance job?”

  “That would explain why the perp botched it after perfectly executing the others.”

  “What if it was intentional to draw suspicion from Spencer?” Lucinda suggested.

  “What about the positive identification of Spencer by the victim?”

  “Damn!” Lucinda exhaled as her excitement deflated like a failed soufflé.

  “What do you think we have then? The good doctor and his evil twin on a murder spree?” Ted asked.

  Lucinda shook her head.

  “You’ve run a long line of a lot of what ifs here, Lucinda, only you missed one.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What if Evan Spencer is innocent?” Ted asked.

  “But if he is, what is he hiding from me and why?”

  “I don’t know, Lucinda. But it’s possible it has nothing to do with Kathleen’s death or with the other murders.”

  “Rita?”

  “Maybe. But even if he’s having an affair, it could be nothing more than a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidence, Ted.”

  “I’m skeptical of them, too, but sometimes they really do happen.”

  Lucinda sighed in response.

  “Hey, it’s getting late, but I’ll see ya in the morning and we can chew this over some more.”

  “Yeah. The morning,” Lucinda said and disconnected the call. That night, she tossed and turned for hours, question after question running through her mind in pursuit of answers that were playing hard to get.

  Forty-Four

  He followed her car from the police station to her apartment. He saw no indication that she knew he was there. When she pulled into the garage, he drove beyond the building and parked. He hurried around to the side of the apartment block that faced the water.

  He stood by the riverbank and scanned the side of the building. Lamps or the blue glow of television sets lit up most of the windows, but black holes indicating the unoccupied apartments scattered like vacant eyes across the expanse. One of them turned bright as he watched. One, two, three, four, five, sixth floor. It was the tenth window from the end, but without knowing the building’s layout he couldn’t guess which apartment was hers. I’ll find out in the morning, he thought and headed up the bank to his parked car on the side of the road.

  He returned before dawn and took the elevator to the sixth floor. He walked the length of the hall to the end then, with measured steps, walked off the distance he’d estimated from the outside of the building the night before. He stopped in front of the door to apartment 6D. He knew that had to be where she lived. He sighed as he saw the deadbolt. He wouldn’t be able to break in with the ease and speed necessary to avoid being observed. But he had time to figure that out. He had to wait until she left for work.

  He took the elevator down to the parking garage and hid in the shadows where he had a clear view of Lucinda’s car. He pondered how he could get inside her apartment and discarded the possibility of entering through a window just as he’d already eliminated the door. He’d have to con the manager. But how? He knew he couldn’t count on him being stupid because the first approach to the manager had to work. And what if the manager is a woman? What difference would that make?

  Lost in thought, he started at the sound of footsteps walking in his direction. He ducked back between the front of a car and the wall. He peered under the car and saw a woman’s feet. They stopped at Lucinda’s car. The tiny beep that signaled the unlocking of the doors echoed in the underground garage.

  He smiled as she drove away. He could leave now, find a cup of coffee and make a plan.

  Forty-Five

  She woke up resolved to see Evan Spencer before he left for work. She knew there were a lot of reasons why she shouldn’t, but she did it anyway. The possibility of a serial killing duo no longer felt quite right in her mind, but it didn’t feel all wrong either.

  Evan answered the door. “Do I need to call my attorney?”


  “Doctor, I’m trying to solve your wife’s murder. Why do you treat me like the enemy?”

  Evan looked over his shoulder and then turned back to Lucinda. “The girls are having breakfast in the kitchen. Let’s talk out on the porch.” He stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him. “Lieutenant, if you’re questioning me as a suspect, I should call my attorney.”

  “Dr. Spencer, the charges were dropped last night. Don’t we both want the same thing – justice for Kathleen?”

  “Lieutenant, I know a couple of exceptional plastic surgeons. I would be glad to give you a referral.”

  Damn you, asshole, Lucinda thought. “Doctor, do you have any close male friends?”

  “Close? Depends on how you define that, Lieutenant. I have male friends, sure. But probably not friends in the way a woman would define a friend. We don’t share intimate secrets, confess hidden fantasies or giggle over our spouses. I saved all that for my best friend – my only true friend.”

  “Who is that, Doctor? Rita?”

  He grunted and curled his lips in disdain. “Not hardly. My best friend is my wife Kate. I still talk to her, but it’s not quite same. Not the same, at all.” He closed his eyes. When he opened them, pools of moisture clung to the surface of his pupils, defying gravity.

  Lucinda perceived sincerity and sorrow in his reaction. But, she reminded herself, if he worked with a partner on other murders, the partner could’ve killed Kathleen in a power-play battle or out of anger. He can be sorrowful about his wife’s death and still be responsible for the other murders. “Who is Rita?” she asked.

  “My attorney advised me not to answer that question, Lieutenant.”

  “What are you hiding from me, Dr Spencer?”

  Evan looked at the floor of the porch and did not respond.

  “Do you want me to find your wife’s killer, Doctor?”

  Evan lifted his head and turned his face in her direction, but his eyes skewed far to the left. “Of course I do.”