The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  ‘A couple of weeks later, my faith in his treatment disappeared like a stone dropped into a deep quarry pit. Soon after Kirk returned home from school that day, I heard a pounding noise in the basement. I’d gone down half of the steps, when I spotted Kirk kneeling on the floor, raising a brick over his head and slamming it down into the concrete. I called to him but he didn’t respond. He just kept pounding.

  “When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I saw the cat – the dead cat. It had a rope tied around its neck. Its skull was smashed flat on the cold, hard floor. I screamed out Kirk’s name. He stood and turned to me, stretching out his arms. They were bloody and covered with scratches. And in the same sweet voice he used before, he said, “Mama, the cat scratched me. I didn’t mean to hurt it but it scratched me.” At that moment I was afraid of my son. I was terrified of my son.

  “I turned away from him and ran up the stairs. I slammed the door shut. I heard his footsteps coming up behind me. I heard him saying, ‘Mama. Mama’, but I locked the door and wedged a kitchen chair under the knob. He banged and banged on the door, screaming and screaming at me to let him in.

  “My husband had him committed for another thirty days. Once again, we were told that Kirk was not the root of the problem – family dynamics were to blame. When he returned home, I kept my distance from him. I never spoke to him if I could avoid it. My husband begged me to try to love the boy. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Could you?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Spencer. I don’t know. I cannot imagine . . .” Lucinda shook her head at the misery of it all. “It had to be awful.”

  “But it got worse, Lieutenant. It got much worse.” A steeliness stole into Lily’s voice and her eyes glazed. She continued her story, but all the inflection fled leaving hollow, flat words. “The two-year-old girl – Bethany Hopkins. Blue eyes. Golden ringlets. As precious as any little girl could be.”

  Lucinda’s stomach flipped and tightened. She knew what was coming. She didn’t want to hear it. But she knew she must.

  “Bethany Hopkins disappeared. The neighborhood filled with police, volunteer searchers, rescue dogs. Two days later, her little body was found down in a hollow in a dense woods nearly two miles from her home. A rope wrapped around her tiny neck. A large rock rested on her smashed face. The coincidence was all too obvious to my husband and me.

  “I stood in the kitchen – my back against the sink – and I listened to my husband as he talked to my oldest son at the dining-room table. He said, “Son, do you know what happened to Bethany Hopkins?” and my son said, “She was annoying me, Dad, and she wouldn’t stop it.”

  “My husband slammed both of his fists on the table so hard one of the crystal candlesticks bounced off the surface and shattered on the floor. His face turned a brilliant shade of red and veins popped out on his temples, on his forehead and in his neck. I thought he was going to attack my son. And I did nothing to stop him.

  “Kirk glared at his father as if daring him to strike. But my husband turned, walked away from the table and picked up the phone in the kitchen. He called the police. We filed the paperwork to have Kirk made a ward at the state. He was sent to a facility for troubled juveniles at first. But when he turned eighteen, we saw a small paragraph in the briefs column in the newspaper that said he’d been transferred to a hospital for the criminally insane.

  “We tried to rebuild our lives. But patients cancelled appointments and my husband’s practice withered away. Women I’ve known all my life avoided me in the grocery store, in the dry-cleaners, everywhere. Even in church. But the children were the cruelest of all. They tormented Evan day and night. He had no friends. He was an outcast.

  “Finally, we gave up. We sold our home, legally changed our last names and moved here to start our life anew.”

  The two women sat quietly for a few minutes. Lucinda stunned by the story, Lily by the telling of it.

  Lily spoke first. “Should I make another pot of tea, Lieutenant?”

  “No, thank you. I really need to hit the road. Thank you for sharing your story with me. Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, Lieutenant. I actually feel relieved. I should’ve shared this story with someone a long time ago.”

  “Mrs. Spencer, do you know where Kirk is now?”

  “I thought he was still in the hospital. I haven’t heard from him. Not once in all these years. I thought he would never be released. But now, I don’t know. The way Kathleen died . . .”

  “If Kirk is still in the hospital. Is it possible your other son is copying his crimes?”

  “Evan? Oh no, Lieutenant. That’s not possible. Evan is my good son.” She jumped to her feet and paced in a tight circle. “Evan was worried you’d think that. I told him that was nonsense. But he was right. And you are so wrong. You must believe me. It couldn’t be Evan. Not Evan.”

  Lucinda knew what she was about to say was a lie, but also believed, at this moment, hiding her suspicions would be a gift to this distraught woman. Maybe it would only buy Lily a few hours of peace, why not give her that? She grabbed Lily’s hands between hers and said, “Of course not, Mrs. Spencer. Not Evan. I’m sorry I upset you.”

  Fifty-Two

  As soon as she navigated her way out of the heavy traffic in town and hit the highway, Lucinda called Ted. “Put out an APB on Kirk or Kirkland Prescott. Check Evan Spencer’s age and make Kirk nine years older and use Dr Spencer’s physical description. And add an a.k.a. of Kirk Spencer, just in case.”

  “You found the brother?” Ted asked.

  “Not exactly but I have confirmed his existence.” Lucinda ran down a synopsis of Lily Spencer’s monologue.

  “Holy shit,” Ted said.

  “Amen, brother.”

  “Do you believe her story?”

  “There may be some self-serving elements in her version of history. But it was a soul-wrenching ordeal for her. I think essentially she told me the truth. I need you to find out as much you can about Kirk Prescott. I’m guessing he was about fourteen when he killed little Bethany Hopkins. Dig up as much as you can about that case. Evan Spencer was young, but if his mother’s assessment of the harassment he got from his peers was anywhere near the mark, he had to remember it. He had to know. The son of a bitch probably knew his brother killed Kathleen and he said nothing, just protested about how much he loved her. Liar.”

  “You thinking about charges here?”

  “Of course. As many as I can. In fact, we may be looking at more than obstruction here. He may be his brother’s partner in crime. That scenario has moved up a notch on my probability list.”

  “You want me to bring him in?”

  “No. At the station, he’ll sit mute until his attorney gets there and then his lawyer won’t let him say a word. I’m going straight to his house when I get back into town. Corner the bastard in his lair. I won’t get there till after nine so the girls will be in bed and not be a distraction. The element of surprise may make something pop out.”

  “You think that’s safe?” Ted asked.

  “Please, Ted. I’ve got a gun, remember?”

  “Damn it, Lucinda, you think this guy might be involved in multiple murders. You get cocky and you could get dead.”

  “I’m not cocky, Ted. Dammit, you’re pissing me off.”

  “Lucinda―”

  “I told you what you I want you to do – what I need you to do. Get to work. I’ll see you after I pay the good doctor a visit.” She disconnected the line before Ted could respond.

  With every passing mile, Lucinda’s anger at Evan Spencer intensified. The madder she got, the more she was convinced he had participated in the murders of some of the victims. Had Evan’s brother been released from the institution? And had Evan known all along and not said a word?

  If Kirk has been released, how long had he been out? Long enough to commit the first killing? Or was that Dr Spencer’s work? And was the first murder they knew about really the first? she wondered. Where’d the Sarah Coventry daisy p
in come from? Is the owner of it another victim? How far back does it go? Did Evan start out as a solo act before his brother’s release?

  Her list of unanswered questions grew longer and longer. One leading to another. All leading to a big black hole. Engrossed in her thoughts, she missed the turn-off to the Spencer home. She took the next exit and doubled back.

  She parked in front of the gate to the house, strode up the sidewalk, stomped up the steps, pressed on the doorbell long and hard. She waited. When she heard no noise from inside, she pressed on the bell again. She heard the chiming echo in the hall but heard nothing else. She pounded her fist against the front door four times. She paused. Heard footsteps. The door sprung open with a sharp abrupt movement. Evan’s face bore a look of anger that quickly morphed into surprise. He was expecting someone else, Lucinda thought. His brother? Rita? Who?

  “Lieutenant.”

  Lucinda pushed her way past Evan and turned around. Her index finger poked hard into his chest with each word she spoke. “Where is your brother?”

  “I don’t have a brother,” he said backing away from her.

  She moved in closer poking again. “You are a liar. Where is your brother?”

  “I don’t have a brother.”

  “When did you last talk to him?”

  “Talk to who?”

  “Don’t play stupid with me, Dr Spencer. Your brother. When did you last talk to him?”

  “I’m calling my lawyer,” he said picking up the receiver from the telephone in the hallway.

  “You do that, Doctor. Call your damn hotshot attorney. And before he gets here, I’ll have a search warrant. We’ll search every room of your home again. You could be hiding your brother here.”

  Evan set down the receiver. “The girls are sleeping.”

  “It’s a shame you didn’t think about the girls before you conspired with your brother. It’s a shame you didn’t think about them before you arranged for their mother to die.” Lucinda said. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of Charley. Despite her threats, she knew she wouldn’t bring anyone in here tonight. She hoped Evan did not call her bluff. “It took you a little too long to answer the door. You could have hidden him in one of the girls’ closets. Or under one of their beds.”

  “I would never be that careless with my girls. I would never hide . . .” Evan snapped his mouth shut and clenched his jaw.

  “So where is your brother, Doctor?”

  Evan kept his teeth clenched tight and snarled, “I do not have a brother.”

  “I know you do. I know you’re lying. This is your last chance to come clean, Doctor.”

  Evan folded his arms across his chest and didn’t say a word.

  “Maybe your phone records will show when you talked to him. How often you talk to him. Maybe we’ll find an interesting pattern.”

  Evan’s eyes darted from side to side.

  “Did you ever have him in your home, Doctor? Did you take him to the basement? Did you show him the laundry room?”

  Evan’s eyes widened.

  “I’m not bluffing, Doctor.”

  Evan blinked his eyes and glared at her.

  “I’m going back to the station and preparing an arrest warrant charging you with obstruction of justice and in aiding and abetting a felon after the fact.”

  Evan did not move a muscle of his own accord. His only response was an involuntary throb in his jaw.

  “Then, Doctor, I’m going to do my best to find all the evidence I need to prove that you participated with your brother in as many murders as I can. I hope to find evidence that you are behind your brother’s murder of Kathleen. I suspect your motive involves Rita – whoever the hell she is.”

  Evan’s mouth opened and shut, but not a word passed his lips.

  “Fine,” Lucinda said. She spun around and left the house.

  Evan stood at the window and watched as Lucinda got into her car and drove away. He waited for a couple of minutes longer to make sure she didn’t circle the block and return.

  He picked up the phone and pressed a series of eleven numbers. “Mother, I’m sorry for calling so late but I’ve got a serious problem.”

  He paused and said, “I’m sorry, too, Mom. But about my promise . . .”

  His eyes widened. His jaw dropped. “You did what?”

  Fifty-Three

  Lucinda drove back to the station thinking about how much she hated Evan Spencer. Not for the obvious reason that she suspected he helped commit murder. No, she’d dealt with too many perps to work up that intense an emotion for a killer. She despised him for the impact his actions had had and would have on Charley.

  She swallowed a sob that threatened to stick in her throat at the thought of the little girl. She wanted to protect her, to shield her from any more harm. Is that how mothers feel? Is this what my mother felt? Despite her feelings for Charley, she knew protecting the motherless child from another loss in her life could not be her priority and that realization tore her heart in two.

  She burst into the conference room startling Ted with the angry tone of her voice. “He’s still denying he has a brother.”

  “Did you tell him you talked to his mother?”

  “No. I figured if she wanted him to know, she had plenty of time to call him while I was on the road. Besides, I wanted to test his character. He saw the crime-scene photos. He knows how serious this is. I wanted to see if he would be honest, before he knew his mother ratted him out. What did you dig up about Kirk?”

  Ted lifted a piece of paper from the printer. “Here’s the skimpiest timeline I’ve ever seen. But it’s all I’ve found so far.”

  Lucinda scanned down the first page.

  “You were right,” Ted said. “Kirk was fourteen at the time of Bethany Hopkins’ murder and Evan was five. I know Kirk was released from the institution but I haven’t found the exact date yet, but I’d estimate it was about two years ago. No major criminal charges anywhere since then until just recently.”

  Lucinda looked up from reading. “What was that?”

  “A domestic violence charge on September 28.”

  “Domestic violence? Who filed it?”

  “Rita Prescott.”

  “Rita? You’re kidding?”

  “Nope.”

  “The same Rita?”

  “Don’t know but I know what my favorite lieutenant would say about that coincidence,” Ted teased.

  “Yeah. Yeah. So who is Rita Prescott? Please tell me she’s not a sister everyone’s still keeping as a secret.”

  “Don’t think so. It seems sometime after midnight in the wee hours of September 28, Kirk Prescott married Rita Flynt in an all-night chapel in Vegas.”

  “Las Vegas?”

  “Yep. Then just after ten p.m. that night – less than twenty-four hours after promising to love, honor and cherish each other – Rita called 9-1-1 from a cheap off-strip dive complaining that her new husband tried to strangle her with a rope. When police responded, she displayed a livid red mark around her throat. They found Kirk cowering in the dumpster in the back of the motel. When they dragged him out, he whined about his new wife kicking him in the balls. The officers didn’t feel his pain.”

  “Tsk. Tsk. Some officers of the law are so insensitive.”

  “Yeah, right. Real callous guys. They hauled our man in and held him overnight. When Rita didn’t show up the next morning to sign her formal complaint, Las Vegas PD called the motel. She’d checked out. The clerk told them she’d loaded her luggage into a white Hyundai and driven off. They got the license-plate number from the registration form. They made a note of it and checked to make sure it wasn’t stolen. The vehicle belonged to Rita Flynt, erstwhile Black Jack dealer at a low-tier casino. They didn’t check up any further and released Kirk and never heard from either one of them again. They said they’d follow up on the car now that it might matter.

  “After checking out of the motel, one Rita Flynt used a credit card at the airport to buy two airline tickets
to Virginia for a Mr. and Mrs. Kirkland Prescott. They boarded that flight which departed at 2:35 in the afternoon.”

  Lucinda went over to the pair of easels where she’d written out her chain-of-homicides timeline on one and notes on Evan Spencer’s whereabouts on the corresponding dates on the other. She looked down at the papers in her hand and compared the three lists. Nothing stood out as a conflict. She dragged another easel beside it and copied the few dates and events from the Kirk Prescott timeline. Beginning with the murder of Bethany Hopkins and listing his release from the hospital without a date. Then she updated the murder-timeline board with new crimes and new information. When she finished, she called Ted over. “Do you see any conflicts or problems here?”

  Ted’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two boards. “No. We’ve got a lot of holes in Kirk’s timeline, but there’s nothing yet that precludes his presence at any of the murder scenes as far as I can see.”

  “But when did he get to Las Vegas?”

  “And how?” Ted added.

  “To be responsible for these murders, he had to leave after the September 27 homicide in Leesville.”

  “Not much wiggle room.”

  “No, not much at all. Check all the flights that flew from airports in our general area to Vegas that night and the next day.”

  “Would there be enough time for a bus trip?” Ted asked.

  “I think so but I’m not sure. A bus trip would tighten up the timeline even more. But if the airlines don’t pan out, call Greyhound and see.”

  “I’m not likely to find anyone who would tell me anything tonight.”

  Lucinda sighed. “I don’t want to admit it but you’re right.”

  “Call it a day and come back fresh in the morning?”

  “I don’t think we have much of a choice, Ted. And I doubt I’ll be able to sleep much. Dammit. I wish there were something else we could do. Someone could die tonight.”