The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  Fifty-Four

  When Lucinda opened her apartment door, Chester didn’t greet her. She was puzzled by that until she saw the lamp knocked to the floor. “Oh, Chester, are you hiding because you’re ashamed.” She bent over and picked up the lamp and noticed the cord was missing. “Chester, did you chew off this cord?” She looked at the nub where it went into the lamp. It looked sliced not chewed. Her brow furrowed and concern for her cat sent a shiver down her arms.

  She walked down the hallway to her bedroom calling for him. “Chester, Chester, what’s been going on here today?” She slipped out of her jacket and draped it across the end of the bed. Bending down, she lifted up the bed skirt and saw no sign of Chester, but spotted his collar on the floor beside the bed.

  She returned to the living room, her pace quickening as her worry rose. Where is he? “Chester, Chester, come out, come out, wherever you are.” Under the ruffle around the bottom of the sofa, she saw a hint of a little pink nose and whiskers. “Phew. Thank God. Chester, why are you under there?” She got on her hands and knees and flipped up the fabric. “Come on out, Chester. I won’t bite, no matter what you did today.”

  He cautiously stuck out his head. The thump against the closet wall, sent him and Lucinda scurrying for cover. Chester ducked back under the sofa. Lucinda pulled out her gun and crouched by the kitchen island.

  Thump. Thump. Thump. Lucinda rose, extended her gun, walked sideways across the kitchen and grabbed the telephone, punching in 9-1-1. “This is Lieutenant Pierce. Riverside Apartments. Apartment 6D. There’s an intruder in my home. Send back-up. Now.” She set the receiver on the counter and put her hand back on the gun.

  “Police,” she shouted. “Open the door. Throw out your weapons. Step out of the closet.”

  She got a fast and furious repetition of the thumps in response.

  “This is your final warning. Come out now.”

  The sound of muffled mumbling came through the closet door. It sounded human but she wasn’t sure. She stood against the wall beside the door, grabbed hold of the knob, took a deep breath and jerked the door open.

  Leading with her gun, she eased into the doorway and saw a pair of terrified eyes in a battered face. “Mr. Ridley?”

  He bobbed his head up and down. She holstered her gun and pulled the soggy towel out of his mouth. “Holy shit, Mr. Ridley. Who the hell did this to you?”

  “Waaaa, waaaa,” he gasped, making sucking noises as his dry tongue peeled away from the roof of his mouth.

  “Water? You need water?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay, let’s get you out of here first.” She helped him to his feet and tried to untie the cord around his hands but couldn’t work the knots loose. “I’m going to need a knife, Mr. Ridley.” Holding his elbow, she supported him as he hopped into the kitchen. She sliced the knots in two and unwrapped the binding from Ridley’s reddened and tender wrists.

  She eased him down to the floor and handed him a glass of water. He grabbed it with both hands and gulped hard. “Mr. Ridley, slow down. You’ll choke if you drink too fast.”

  He pulled the glass back from his lips, breathed deeply and resumed drinking, this time with little sips. She picked the knife back up and kneeled down to cut the cord off his ankles.

  Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. “Police. Open up. Open up or we’re coming in!”

  “I’m coming,” she shouted as she went to the front door with the knife still in her hand. When she pulled open the door, all four sets of police eyes zoomed in on the gleam of the blade and their guns pointed straight at her chest. “Drop it. Drop the knife.”

  “Easy guys,” she laughed. “It’s me. My intruder was a captive. I was just cutting him loose.”

  They gathered around the damaged Mr. Ridley, his forehead red and lumpy, caked blood was stuck around the nostrils of his swollen nose, his eyes dilated and fearful. At Lucinda’s order, one cop called for an ambulance, another called in a team of forensic techs and the other two checked in closets and behind doors to make sure the intruder was long gone.

  While waiting for the ambulance, Mr. Ridley told his story. His description of the perpetrator was a perfect match for the killer Lucinda sought, down to the hooded sweatshirt. Lucinda called her partner. “Ted. He stuffed the apartment manager in my closet and creeped my house.”

  “Who?”

  “Kirk. Evan. How the hell do I know,” she said, then related Ridley’s story of the day’s events.

  “Are you okay, Lucinda?”

  “Hey, I’m fine. But Ridley’s on the way to the hospital and Chester’s hiding under the sofa and won’t come out.”

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No, the apartment is crowded as it is with the team of techs crawling over every square inch. But you could go see Dr Spencer. Talk to him. Ask him about his brother again. Look for any signs of injury. If you see any, haul his ass in.” As she disconnected, she noticed that Chester’s bowl was brimming with food. “That’s odd.”

  “What, Lieutenant?” a tech asked.

  “Chester does not normally leave food sitting in his bowl and besides, that’s more food than I ever put in there at once.”

  “Don’t touch it. We’ll collect it and have it analyzed.”

  “For poison?” she asked.

  “You never know.”

  “You think he tried to poison my cat?”

  “If he did, we’ll find out.”

  “Chester, Chester,” she crooned as she knelt by the sofa. She coaxed him out and wrapped him in her arms.

  “Lieutenant, is this yours?” the tech dealing with collecting the cat food asked holding up a tuna-covered garnet ring.

  “No. It’s not mine. Bag it. It might be evidence in a homicide. Whoever’s got the fingerprint kit, follow me.” She walked down the hall still holding Chester. A Tyvek-suited woman followed in her footsteps. In the bedroom, Lucinda pointed to the jewelry box and said, “Dust that. When you’ve finished lifting the prints, let me know. I have to check and see if anything’s missing.”

  She stretched out in her recliner to wait, stroking Chester, watching techs tear apart her closet and wear a path in her carpet as they went up and down the hall. She eased Chester off her lap when she got the word from the fingerprint tech. Using the end of a pencil, she rummaged around in the wooden box but she couldn’t figure out if anything was gone.

  “Lieutenant,” a voice called.

  She followed it into the bathroom.

  “Look on the floor between the toilet and the wall. Does that belong to you?”

  Lucinda bent over and saw the photo of Kathleen and her two little girls. Seeing the smile on Charley’s face formed a tight knot in Lucinda’s chest. Was it dropped there accidentally? Or intentionally? “No. It’s not mine. Bag it.”

  All the techs, bar the one in the bathroom, were now packing up equipment and carrying bagged and tagged evidence down to the van. Her cell rang. “Pierce.”

  “Lucinda, Ted.”

  “Hey, Ted. Did you see Dr Spencer?”

  “Yeah. It seemed like he was asleep when I arrived. He opened the door, stared at me and without a word, turned, leaving the door open and walked to the phone. As he came back, he punched in a number then he stood in front of me and stared again.”

  “Who did he call?”

  “His attorney, I think.”

  “You think.”

  “Well, Lucinda, he stood there staring at me and then spoke into the phone. He said, ‘Evan Spencer here. Sorry to wake you but there’s a police officer on my doorstep. He just woke me up. He’s the second one to come around tonight. I want this harassment to stop.’ Then he nodded his head a couple of times, said ‘thank you’, disconnected the call and slammed the door in my face.”

  “Then what did you do?” Lucinda asked.

  “I left.”

  “You left?”

  “C’mon, Lucinda, what else could I do? I looked him over while he was staring at me. I didn’t see
any scratches or bruises on his face, hands or arms. What else could I do?”

  “Dammit!” she said and hung up the phone.

  She thanked the departing techs for their trouble, threw the deadbolt on her door and went looking for Chester. She found him huddled in a corner behind the recliner. “C’mon, sweetcakes, it’s just you and me now. Let’s call it a day – or something.”

  Fifty-Five

  First thing in the morning, Ted was on the line pestering the airlines about their flights to Vegas. Lucinda made a personal appearance at precinct roll-call with the forensic sketch of the man she believed was Kirk Prescott and with a snapshot of Evan Spencer. “The guy we’re looking for looks a lot like this man,” she said pointing to Evan’s photograph. “But he’s a little bit older and probably has a shorter haircut.”

  She headed next to the district attorney’s office where she made her case for a new arrest of Evan Spencer.

  “Not yet, Pierce. There’s a great big step between lying to you about his brother and helping his brother kill.”

  “But his lie is a clear obstruction of justice. You wouldn’t have any difficulty making that charge stick. And he probably helped hide his brother and he might even know where he is right now. Maybe he’s the one who creeped my house and attacked the apartment manager.”

  “Probably, might and maybe don’t cut it, Pierce.”

  “But . . .”

  “We can file obstruction of justice charges at any point in the game. Focus on bringing in Kirk Prescott. Maybe we can get him to turn on his brother.”

  “What? You’re thinking about cutting a deal with him? Do you know how many people he killed?”

  “Oh, so you want the death penalty, Pierce?”

  “Damn right.”

  “Aw, that sounds like the Lieutenant Pierce I know and love. Ever since you brought in the Wagner woman, I was worried you were going soft on me.”

  “Have you lowered the charges against Julie Wagner?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Listen, Reed―”

  “Settle down, Pierce. I made an offer to her attorney – a manslaughter offer. I’m waiting to hear back.”

  “Good. Now, about Evan Spencer?”

  “Find Prescott, Lieutenant, and then we’ll talk.”

  “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath as she turned and stepped out of his office. She headed down the hall until she spotted Evan Spencer and his attorney Stephen Theismann at the front desk. She pivoted on her heel and headed back to Reed’s office.

  As she walked through his doorway, Reed was hanging up the phone. “Dr Spencer and his lawyer are here.”

  “I noticed,” Lucinda said.

  “They want to talk to me.”

  “And . . .?” Don’t you dare shut me out of this, Reed.

  ‘And I think they should talk to both of us.’

  Lucinda smiled.

  ‘Whaddya say we have our little conversation down in your murder room, Lieutenant. If we surround them with death-scene photos that might be just the thing we need to keep them aware of the gravity of the situation and keep the gameplaying to a minimum.’

  ‘I like the way you think, Reed.’

  He gave her a wink and they headed up the hall.

  At the front desk, Theismann objected to Lucinda’s inclusion in the discussion. Reed listened but did not speak. Evan poked his lawyer in the side with his elbow. Theismann gave him a look that would freeze the dead but then remembered who was paying the bill and shut up.

  ‘Follow us, Counselor,’ Reed said.

  ‘I expected we’d be welcomed into your office, Reed. Just where are we going? I refuse to return to that loathsome interrogation room for this meeting. I demand a place more befitting the respect we deserve.”

  “I am so sorry, Counselor, but that is not possible,” Lucinda said in mock-sweetness. “But don’t worry. We all get what we really deserve eventually.”

  Reed rolled his eyes at her and gave a tight, barely perceptible shake of his head. Theismann shot the same look at Lucinda that he’d given his client just moments ago.

  Good, Lucinda thought as she glared back. I can be just as hostile as he is and I’ll enjoy it twice as much.

  Fifty-Six

  As the foursome entered the conference room, Ted looked up from the long table and assessed the situation without a pause. He gathered up his papers and retreated from the room to work at his desk where he could continue his calls without getting caught up in the morning’s drama.

  Theismann was nowhere near as accommodating as Ted. He objected to the location. Reed pointed to the side of the table that faced the wall of crime-scene photos and asked him to take a seat.

  Evan stood transfixed before the three timeline boards. He mumbled under his breath as if reading aloud.

  “Dr Spencer,” Theismann said. “Please have a seat.”

  Evan sat beside his attorney with a sigh.

  “Dr Spencer,” Reed began, “you called this meeting. How do you want to play it?”

  “First of all, I would like to apologize for my continued deception,” Evan said.

  Lucinda snorted and leaned back in her chair.

  “Mr. Reed,” Theismann objected, “the cop is making this more difficult than it needs to be. I ask, once again, that she not be present for this interview.”

  Reed ignored him and spoke to Evan. “Describe your deception, Doctor.”

  “The main thing I concealed was the fact that I do have a brother.”

  “We figured that out, Doctor,” Lucinda said with a sneer.

  “I regret my dishonesty, Lieutenant. I was keeping a promise I made to my mother.”

  “A promise to your mother is more important than all of these lives?” she said, sweeping her arm across the photos on the wall.

  “No, Lieutenant, it is not. My priorities were out of whack. When I first learned the details of Kate’s death, I thought of my brother but believed he was still institutionalized. His involvement seemed impossible. Telling you about him would be a senseless betrayal of my mother and father. I know I was wrong about that now.

  “Try to understand how it all seemed to me. When we first moved to Lynchburg, my mother grilled me every day after school to make sure I had not given up the family secret. And each day, she had me reaffirm my promise not to tell. Before today, I’d only shared the secret with one person – my wife Kate. And I didn’t tell her until after Charley was born.”

  “What’re you telling us, Doctor?” Lucinda asked. “Kathleen knew your family secret so she had to die? And your brother was the perfect tool?”

  All the color drained from Evan’s face.

  Theismann jumped to his feet. “This is uncalled for. We asked for this meeting and now we’re ending it.”

  “Sit down, Theismann,” Evan said. “And shut up. I’ve earned her derision.”

  Lucinda and Reed stared at Evan wide-eyed and exchanged a glance of surprise and a shrug.

  Patches of red suffused Theismann’s cheekbones. “I would like a moment alone with my client, Mr. Reed.”

  “Your client does not want a moment alone with you,” Evan said. “Your client wants to tell the truth – the whole truth – no matter how inconvenient it may be. And he wants you to be a witness to the truth. So please sit down and concentrate on your accumulation of billable hours.”

  Lucinda wanted to laugh, but instead lowered her head and squeezed her nose between her thumb and her index finger. The tiny jolt of negative nerve impulses helped her maintain control.

  For a moment, Theismann looked as if he’d stomp out of the room in a snit. But then he settled back in his seat. “Very well, Doctor.”

  “As you were saying, Dr Spencer,” Reed said to jumpstart the conversation.

  “No, Lieutenant, I had nothing to do with my wife’s murder nor with any of the other murders. But I don’t expect you will accept my word about that on face value.”

  “Good,” Lucinda said. “That’s at l
east one thing we can agree on. Did you pay a visit to Riverside Apartments yesterday, Doctor?”

  Evan frowned. “No. What does . . . Why? Never mind. I saw your charts. I realize I was available for all the murders except for Kate’s and the most recent attempted murder. My brother’s whereabouts, however, seems vague for all of them.”

  Lucinda nodded.

  “At times I was certain that Kirk killed Kate. And at others I refused to believe my own brother would kill my wife.”

  “You didn’t think he’d killed Kathleen even though he attempted to kill you?” Lucinda asked.

  “I have no memory of that, Lieutenant. I only know of it because my mother told me. The indirectness of that knowledge robbed it of its reality. I do, however, remember Bethany Hopkins. But that had been so many years ago and Kirk had been out of my life for a long time. He was the bogeyman, a skeleton in the family closet – nothing more.”

  He looked up at Lucinda with wet, pained eyes.

  Fifty-Seven

  Lucinda knew that agonized look. She’d seen it in her own face when she looked in the mirror. It looked like the reflection of survivor guilt – the carrying of an unearned burden of responsibility for the murder of someone you love. It was a feeling that haunted her about her mother. Her heart seemed to stop. Breath caught in her throat.

  Reed gave her a puzzled look. Lucinda swallowed deeply. Evan Spencer is not me, she told herself. Kathleen is not my mother. Maybe he knows about my mother’s murder? Maybe he’s a psychopath with knowledge of my family history and is using it to play me. When she spoke her voice was harsh. “Really, Doctor? When did you make the deal with your brother to kill Kathleen?”

  Evan drew back as if she’d slapped him. For a moment, no one said a word. Then Evan said, “I suppose I deserved that, Lieutenant. When I learned Kate died . . .” His voice cracked on the last word. He put his hands to his face and rubbed them up and down on his cheeks. He brought them to rest one on top of the other on the table’s surface. “After Kate’s murder, I was convinced it was personal when I saw the turquoise cross and listened to what you said, Lieutenant, about how Kate died. It sounded so much like Bethany Hopkins. I thought that someone who hated me had hunted me down and was re-enacting Kirk’s crimes from the past.