LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  The tech looked at King. “I’ll be outside.”

  King waited until the door closed and then tapped the keyboard, bringing the computer to life. My palms began to sweat. The roots of my hair weighed heavily on my scalp. I licked my lips. A picture might not have the same impact, but this was still Shannon, the girl who’d had survived the system and had so much life left ahead.

  Someone living and breathing whom I’d cared for.

  I didn’t miss the irony. How many families had I put in this same position? No matter the sick things their loved ones had inflicted on kids, someone still loved them. Someone still grieved.

  The image flashed onto the screen. I froze, feeling all the nervous energy drain out of me. I’d expected to see the sort of autopsy photos shown on television, after the body had been washed and prepped. But this had been taken at the crime scene.

  Another smart trick by King.

  The bathroom in the shelter consisted of the bare minimum: two stalls with wooden doors, a heater in the wall, and two small sinks with a shelf above. The mirror sat above the shelf, the message scrawled in blood-colored lipstick.

  I finally made myself look at Shannon.

  She stared toward her right, her eyes wide open–a blue that had faded to the color of pond water. Her skin had already gone ashen, and she’d bit her lip as she died. Bruises in various stages of healing dotted her once-beautiful face. Her blond hair, fixed in finger curls, cascaded around her as if she’d lain down in the grass to watch the clouds.

  The urge to weep and scream rose. Somehow, I had to keep it together. I needed to look at the photo and glean everything I possibly could to help King find the bastard who’d done this.

  My heart rate still doubled, my pulse beating my temples so hard my head ached. Apprehension flooded my thoughts, my subconscious picking up on something I hadn’t yet identified. “Why is her hair dyed blond? Is that something she’d done before she was taken?”

  “That’s new,” King said. “She was still a brunette when she was taken.”

  I kept staring at the picture, trying to see past the eyes that used to be so filled with life and compassion. Finally I whispered for King to show me the next one.

  It was a full profile this time. My empty stomach flipped, my mouth tasted like I’d been chewing sand. The blood surrounded her, staining the concrete floor around her as it had flowed from her arteries. Both of her arms were outstretched, and her right fist was closed. I assume it held the silver dollar. I kept looking at the picture, trying to figure out what it was King wanted me to see.

  Her wrists. Both of them. Vertical slash marks from the top of her wrists down her forearms.

  “Why’d he slit her wrists and then do nothing else to make this look like a suicide?”

  “Good question,” King said. “I’d hoped you might be able to tell me.”

  I shook my head “no” even as the feeling that I was missing something crawled over me. I felt like I’d just walked into a massive spider web and couldn’t see the way to rid myself of it.

  Put it together. A woman with blond hair and blue eyes lying outstretched, looking toward her right hand. Her right knee inched toward her hip, as if she’d tried to curl up. Her wrists cut, but most likely not a suicide.

  But the scene was clearly staged. For me. But why?

  I studied the picture again, trying to drag the answer out of the dark recesses of my memory. Déjà vu struck first, and then the answer hit me with enough force I staggered into the wall, away from King and from the images of the woman. I gasped for breath, tears brimming in my eyes.

  He remained calm, watching me. “What is it?”

  “Lily.”

  3

  I stumbled into the hallway on weak legs. My fingers skimmed the smooth, cool wall in search of some kind of support. The door closed behind me, King’s footsteps following. My eyes stung with tears.

  The hair. No one knew about her hair.

  “You all right?” King made no offer to steady me, instead stepping around to lean against the wall so he could again see my face.

  “Just give me a minute.” My tight chest threatened to explode with sobs. I forced the emotion back, and my esophagus felt like I’d breathed fire. Crying would make me weak. Weakness caused mistakes. I couldn’t afford to say the wrong thing now.

  “Who’s Lily?”

  The question sparked a burning rage from deep inside me. How dare this monster bring my sister’s suicide into this?

  Even as the anger flowed, I knew that was the least of my problems. Lily’s death could have been found in public records if someone searched hard enough but how would someone know reenacting her death would throw me so far?

  Common sense. If a person knew you had a sister who killed herself, using that to get to you is common sense.

  But how did he find out about her in the first place? More importantly, how did he know enough to stage the scene?

  “My sister.” My throat had gone dry. “My mother’s boyfriend molested her. When Lily finally got the courage to tell our mother, she didn’t believe her. Lily killed herself.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry to hear that.” King shifted from foot to foot. “But you know I’ve got to ask you some questions about all this.”

  I nodded. “Can we go somewhere else?”

  The lab technician escorted us back to the lobby. I nearly ran out of the building, welcoming the blinding glare of the sun. Staggering and weak, I sat down on the first bench I came to and tried to get my bearings.

  I couldn’t deny poor Shannon had been a pawn to get to me.

  To use my sister’s suicide in the message meant the killer’s agenda was deeply personal.

  King sat down beside me, offering a bottle of water. I gladly accepted it. “Can you tell me about your sister?”

  The grief that never really went away rose to full force. The sleepless nights, the long crying jags–a wound that never healed no matter how many times I tried to stitch it closed. “She was fourteen. I was eleven. I didn’t realize what was going on for a long time, and then when I did, I told her to go to our mother. It didn’t make any difference.”

  “I assume you were aware of the specifics of how your sister died?”

  I tried to stop the shiver. “I found her body. So yes, I’m familiar.”

  “That’s rough.” King’s attempt at sympathy rang with a note of sincerity. “Can you tell me about it?”

  I took a deep breath. “She’d skipped school that day. Our mother hadn’t believed her the night before, but I kept thinking she’d come around and realize Lily would never make up something like that.” It never ceased to amaze me how clear a memory could be, even after so many years had passed. I could still smell the air in the house, feel the prickly sensation in my spine that something was terribly wrong. “Lily was in the bathroom. She’d used his razors to cut her wrists–vertically. The blood was everywhere. She’d emptied her bowels. Her hair was deliberately fixed in curls as a shot to my mother, and they fell around her like the strangest halo.”

  King wrote something in his notebook. “The female forensic investigator said her hair looked like someone had used their fingers to make it curl.”

  Of course a female had noticed. “I saw that too.”

  King ran his hand over his face. He hadn’t shaved, his shadowing beard making him look older. “The estimated time of death is between 5:00 am and 9:00 am yesterday.”

  So few people knew about my sister. Public record only gave basic details. The message on the mirror…I suppose that could have been leaked. It had been sensational. If a person dug far enough, asked the right people, that wouldn’t have been a secret. With the exception of Kelly, no one else in my life knew about the message.

  “Lily left me a message on the mirror. In her lipstick. ‘Sorry, Lucy.’ My mother spent more time angry about my getting more attention in Lily’s death than she did. So she talked about it to everyone. I suppose someone could have asked around and fo
und out.”

  King hesitated for a moment. “So this would have been what, more than twenty years ago? I doubt even the best Internet creeper could have found a crime scene photo. The police probably destroyed them since the case was closed. But if your mother talked, that kind of stuff can stay around. I’ll buy he might have found it out somewhere.” King had very nearly read my mind. “Who all knows the specifics of your sister’s death? That you found her, the position of the body, that sort of thing?”

  “No one knows about the hair.” I cleared my throat. “About the curls. I never mentioned that.” That had been the real message, not the note. In my mind, the curls were not only a way of telling my mother to shove it, but of reminding me to stay strong. Self-preservation.

  “What about Shannon? Did you ever tell her?”

  Had I? I’d used the story of my sister’s suicide as a tool to reach more than one of my kids during my social worker days. I wanted them to know I understood pain even if the circumstances were vastly different. But Shannon?

  “Her mother died.” About a year into Shannon’s placement with the Hudsons, her biological mother’s alcoholism had finally caught up with her. Shannon had been despondent, and Amy Hudson had asked me to talk with her. “I told her about Lily. I might have told her about finding her, and if I did, I probably told her about the message on the mirror. But not the curls.” I wouldn’t have given Shannon that detail. I hadn’t even told Kelly about it.

  “So maybe the bad guy knows Shannon’s got a connection to you. That part would be easy enough to find out. And then he pumps her for information, she shares the details, and he uses them against you. The curls could simply be a coincidence, assuming he found out what Lily looked like.” He glanced at the hot sun and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “So let’s get to it. This was a calculated move by someone who knew about your life. The coins are just another part of the message, a tool to make sure we don’t miss this murder is all about you. You need to be honest with me if you want justice for this girl. We’ve all got enemies.”

  My blood felt cold and slow, my tongue thick. I desperately wanted to help. But I finally had the chance to move forward with my life. How could I give King anything without incriminating myself?

  How could I be so selfish as to withhold information?

  “Before you showed up, I was on hold with the state correctional institution in Muncie,” I said. “That’s where Mary Weston is being held. She’s the first person I thought of when I received the coins.”

  King rolled his eyes to the sky. “God help me. You’re that Lucy Kendall. If you helped take that woman down, you must have a list of enemies and balls of steel. No offense.”

  “None taken.”

  “Mary Weston is under maximum security,” King said. “As far as anyone knows, her only allies were her uncle and her cousin, who are both dead. Right?”

  I nodded. “That’s true.”

  “So it’s hard for me to believe she orchestrated all of this when she’s not allowed to talk to anyone but her public defense attorney. Not to mention she wouldn’t be able to find out about your connection to Shannon. And she’d have to have a partner who hated you as much as she did. Because you know as well as I do that whoever staged that scene felt it was personal. Revenge.”

  He wasn’t saying anything I hadn’t already thought of. Yet I wouldn’t put anything past Mary Weston’s capabilities. But King had stirred something loose.

  “Jake and Riley.” The words popped out of my mouth, and relief relaxed my muscles. This actually made sense. If I didn’t have such a guilty conscience, I would have thought of Jake Meyer immediately. My actions had cost his life and resulted in several arrests.

  “Who?”

  “In January, I uncovered a sex trafficking ring run by Jake Meyer, the aide of Pennsylvania Senator Coleman–who was ironically running a sex trafficking task force. The senator was cleared of involvement, but the FBI discovered Jake found a lot of his clientele through the task force.” I explained how I’d ended up in the garage and fought for my life.

  “You can get all of the details from the Philadelphia police and the FBI, but Jake killed Riley, and I hit him with the shovel in self-defense.” The early stages of a headache banged against my skull. “He died. I was cleared of the charges, but the information found on Jake’s computer was a treasure trove for the FBI. Jake sold teenagers and young children for sex in least three states: Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Ohio. His buyers were from all walks of life, some of them with a lot of money and reputations to lose. An entire brothel was taken down in Ohio.” Jake’s connections had stretched farther than I’d bothered to find out. But King would have access to the investigation.

  “And it was no secret you were responsible for Jake’s downfall?” King asked.

  I took a drink of water, feeling some of the shock wear off. “I refused all interviews, but my name was mentioned in several news reports, in print and on television.” Seeing me on television thrilled my mother, as though I had finally earned her attention. She loved to tell her friends she was the mother of the woman featured on Channel 9’s lead story. The fact that I’d saved kids from being sold for sex didn’t seem to matter.

  “Well, aren’t you a busy bee.” King’s head bobbed up and down. “You receive any threats?”

  “Not really. A lot of requests for interviews. I was a licensed private investigator, so my business blew up.” I hadn’t taken advantage of the sudden swell of requests. I’d been too busy wallowing in remorse. “There were a few messages from jerks saying I’d screwed them over or whatever. I passed all of that onto the special victims unit at Philadelphia PD. They were working in conjunction with the FBI.”

  King scratched his cheek. “I remember that case now, I think. A woman running a fancy salon was one of the fronts for the business, right?”

  “Exhale Salon. She knew Senator Coleman. That’s how Jake Meyer found her and exploited her financial vulnerability. I’d been working there undercover when she was killed. Her death ended up being completely unrelated. Ex-boyfriend lost it and killed her. But that’s what opened the door.”

  “Jake Meyer didn’t do the dirty work, though, if I recall. Seems like the right-hand guy was found dead too. Stupid nickname.”

  “Preacher.” As far as I knew, his murder was still cold. Lennox said the FBI and locals currently weren’t interested in finding out who did the world a favor and put Preacher down. I had the distinct impression that my behavior would dictate if that remained the case. “He’d hooked up with Jake at Penn State a few years before.”

  “Penn State,” King echoed. “Not sure I believe the coincidence that Shannon was a student there. Anyone from the school involved in Jake’s business?”

  I shrugged. “You’d have to ask the investigating team. I can give you the name of the SVU lead investigator at Philadelphia PD. I know they were looking into it, but there were a lot of hoops to jump through. I have no idea what came of it.” I could have found out. Although Todd Beckett worked in Major Crimes and primarily handled missing persons and homicides, he’d kept an ear on the investigation. The weeks after killing Riley and Jake were a painful blur for me, full of pity and pretending to contemplate suicide. If Chris hadn’t wound up taken by his crazy mother, I’d probably still be holed up feeling sorry for myself.

  King jotted down the name of the SVU investigator. “I’ll give her a call once I get all this figured out. And we know that your connection with Shannon could have been found from news reports and digging into your history.”

  “But why choose her? Out of all my foster kids?”

  “Because she was vulnerable and easily accessible,” King said. “I hope the Philadelphia detective working her case calls me soon. He’s Major Crime, but I assume he’ll still handle the case. I’m sure he’ll want to talk to that SVU investigator and check in with the paramedic and EMS program at Penn State. And I’ll check on Mary Weston whil
e I’m waiting for him to call. Won’t hurt to make sure she’s behaving herself.”

  A sudden, sinking thought tore through me. Major Crimes. “Who’s the detective on her case?”

  “Todd Beckett. You know him?”

  I leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy. “Of course I do.” Todd’s catching the case was nothing more than luck of the draw. He would have gone through all of Shannon’s current and prior contacts. Todd had to have found out I’d been her social worker. Why hadn’t he told me?

  “Really.” King crossed his arms and waited.

  “Lots of past history. All professional.” If Todd wanted King to know about his brother and all the hell Mary Weston had caused us, he could share. As long as King made sure she wasn’t orchestrating all of this from prison, I couldn’t see the point in telling him any more.

  But what would Todd say when he heard the killer essentially delivered a personal message? He’d long suspected I’d murdered both Harrison brothers. Would he open that can of rotting worms now?

  He was a damned good cop. He’d know the Jake Meyer angle was the most logical. He’d chase it first. But he wouldn’t leave anything unchecked. Especially when the victim was an innocent girl.

  I looked at King. “Did you tell Detective Beckett that Shannon had asked for me?”

  “No,” King said. “I left him the information that we had her body and for him to call me right away.” He stood up. “I’m going to leave him another message now and let him know the new information. You need to keep thinking about who else would have a big enough grudge against you to do something like this. And if you’ve got any close friends or family, you might want to warn them. If this guy can get to someone like Shannon Minor, he can sure as hell find someone else you care about.”

  Kelly’s face flashed in my mind. Panic rose in my chest. I sucked in a deep breath.