Wrong Turn

by Diane Fanning

  ‘Brad Loving, you said? Did he give you any references?’

  ‘No,’ Veronica said with a sigh. ‘I almost didn’t rent to him because of that. But when he explained that he’d been living with his mother because she was so sickly and stayed there in her apartment until she died – well, it made sense. And how can you not believe in a young man who nursed his mother so faithfully?’ Veronica sighed again. ‘I’d like to sell this place now, but who in their right mind would want it?’

  ‘You certainly are not in an enviable position, Ms Plum. I empathize with you. But, back to the matter at hand, could you please describe Mr Loving?’

  ‘Let’s see,’ she said, tapping an index finger on her chin. ‘He wasn’t what I’d call a handsome man, but he had a very appealing face with a smile that must have made younger women melt. And his voice, so lovely. I could listen to it all day.’

  ‘His eyes, Ms Plum, what color were his eyes?’

  ‘Brown, deep dark brown – so dark you could hardly distinguish his irises from his pupils. A woman could lose herself in—’

  ‘Yes, Ms Plum. What about his hair color?’

  ‘A golden brown – looked like the sun kissed it every morning as it rose in the sky.’

  Oh boy, Lucinda thought, she had a crush on her tenant. ‘And his face – the shape of it, the contour of his nose, any facial hair?’

  ‘Oh, no beard or mustache or any of that. His sideburns were a little bit long but not too long. His face was a perfect oval, his lips were wide with a prominent, almost French-looking lower lip, and his nose was – well, it was just right for his face.’

  Lucinda didn’t think she could trust her glorified assessment – not one little bit. ‘How tall was he? About how much did he weigh?’

  ‘He was something over six foot tall – nice height in a man, don’t you think? Oh, well, I suppose maybe not for you. You’re that tall yourself, aren’t you? You’d need someone with a bit more height, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘His weight, Ms Plum?’

  ‘My, I’m no good at that sort of thing. He wasn’t thin but then he wasn’t fat. He looked fit but not muscle-bound, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘So, you’re saying, basically, he was just perfect?’

  Veronica smiled. ‘Now that you mention it, that’s right. He was just perfect.’ Veronica scowled. ‘I just can’t see that he could have had anything to do with . . . with . . . with this . . . this horror.’

  ‘Ms Plum—’ Lucinda began.

  ‘No listen. He moved out a month ago – his lease was up, his rent paid in full. Why, he even told me to keep his deposit to care for any cleaning up I might need to do. I’d had a touch of the flu and hadn’t been able to get over here and do that till this week. Someone could have come in here and put those bodies in the basement after he left. I bet that’s what happened.’

  Lucinda sincerely doubted that theory but she wasn’t about to argue with a smitten woman. She’d lay odds that Brad Loving moved out when the smell got to him or when he thought he’d put as many bodies in that basement as he possibly could.

  ‘I’ll certainly keep that in mind, Ms Plum. Now, you won’t be able to get back into this house for a few days at least. Do you need me to get a patrolman to drive you to your home?’

  ‘I don’t ever want to go back in that house again, lieutenant. Not ever. Thanks for the offer but the reverend said he’d give me a ride when you all said I could leave.’

  ‘I understand that, Ms Plum. I’ll let you know when everything is finished up here and you could decide what you want to do with the property then.’

  ‘Right now, I’d just like to watch it go up in flames.’

  ‘I’m sure you would, ma’am,’ she said, waving the minister over to her side.

  Lucinda had then watched Veronica slip an arm into the crook of Paul McManus’ elbow, get into his car and drive away.

  Since that day, a month ago, much had happened. Fingerprints in the home were linked to Mack Rogers, a man with a long criminal record but with very little time spent behind bars. It appeared that since his last release from prison, he’d been living right here in Veronica Plum’s house.

  At first, Veronica refused to believe that her ‘Brad’ had anything to do with the carnage in the basement. Then, Lucinda showed her his photograph, and Veronica gasped and crumpled to the floor. She swore she’d never trust another human being as long as she lived. The FBI still had not released the house and Veronica was counting the days until she could send a bulldozer to knock it down.

  And Mack Rogers was still on the loose. Every law enforcement agency was on the lookout for him but no one had reported a verifiable lead. He was still out there – free to hunt for new victims. The fact that he hadn’t been caught yet disturbed Lucinda’s sleep more nights than not.

  Now, the identification of Emily Sherman’s body. Martha Sherman had spent seven years in prison for a crime she did not commit. And Lucinda had helped put her there. The guilt for that alone nearly overwhelmed her. What made it even worse – what haunted her waking hours and her nightmares – was the other consequence. By putting the wrong person behind bars, she’d allowed a ruthless killer to take more victims. At least four of the bodies found in that basement were young women killed after Emily – women who died because somewhere in the early stages of the investigation, she’d taken a wrong turn.

  FOUR

  Special Agent in Charge Jake Lovett rose from his desk and opened the door to his office wondering why someone from the state Attorney General’s office would want to meet with him. He stretched out his hand as the man approached. ‘Special Agent in Charge Jake Lovett. How can I help you?’

  A lanky man who looked more like a college freshman than someone who had actually graduated from law school and passed the bar reached out to return the greeting. ‘Will Hunt, sir. I’m here to talk about developments in the Chris Phillips case.’

  ‘Chris Phillips – you mean former United States Representative Chris Phillips?’ Jake said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

  ‘One and the same,’ Hunt said as he slid into the seat and pulled a file folder out of his briefcase in one smooth move.

  ‘I thought he was in the state prison for life.’

  ‘He was – still is for that matter – but not for long. He got a favorable ruling from the federal appeals court this morning. His release is being arranged as we speak. He’ll be let out on bail awaiting a second trial on the charge that he murdered his third wife, Patty.’ Hunt used the fingers of his right hand to comb strands of his blond hair away from his forehead. ‘Personally, I think we ought to charge him with the homicide of his first wife Melinda, too, this time around; but that decision will happen somewhere above my pay grade.’

  ‘That’s a real shame, but it was a state crime. What does that have to do with me?’

  ‘This morning, Phillips’ attorney referred to his client as the rightful, duly elected representative of the citizens of his district to the United States House of Representatives. He vowed to use the courts to regain the seat that was stolen from Phillips after his wrongful conviction.’

  ‘Sounds like typical defense lawyer B.S. to me,’ Jake said with a shrug.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Hunt acknowledged, ‘but since he once was, and is now claiming that he still is, an elected federal office-holder, it seems that the federal government ought to have some oversight in this matter. We’d like you to direct the re-investigation, working with the local lead detective in the case.’

  ‘I can’t just push myself into a case like that; I don’t see any jurisdictional imperative.’

  ‘The Attorney General has already spoken to your regional director. She has approved of this plan. I wanted to get you on board before I spoke to the trial prosecutor.’

  Jake rolled his eyes at the mention of his loathed supervisor. ‘You should have started with that fact. Why did the appeals judge throw it back for a new trial?’

  ‘He ruled tha
t the statement of his ex-wife – formerly wife number two – was prejudicial and should not have been admitted at his trial. The prosecutor should have never put her on the stand. She’d accused Phillips of trying to kill her by pushing her down the stairway but he’d been acquitted of that charge. I suppose the state thought they needed her statement to demonstrate a pattern of behavior in order to get a conviction; but I cannot understand why the trial judge allowed the admission of that testimony.’

  ‘So the appeals court is basically saying that he was railroaded in this first trial?’

  ‘You could put it that way. I assure you that law enforcement and the legal community are united in their belief in Phillips’ guilt, not just in the case of his third’s wife’s death, for which he was convicted; but also in the demise of his first wife Melinda. However, since she was cremated, we can’t even exhume to look for more evidence. The autopsy photos and the report itself contain information that indicates that the cause of death was homicide, according to our experts, but the first pathologist labeled it an accidental death.’

  ‘I’m still not sure why you need me involved.’

  ‘This is the Attorney General’s call. From his point of view, the local prosecutor and the local judge both made errors of judgment in this case. He felt it was quite likely that, somewhere along the line, the local cops did, too. He wants an independent party with a strong investigative background to look into the conclusions reached, find any bias or tunnel vision, and set a clear path for a conviction in the second trial.’

  ‘Alright, I’ll do what I can. But some of the detectives on a local level are very resistant to what they consider FBI interference.’

  ‘You just let me know if you have any problems. We’ll pressure the district attorney and I’m sure he’ll send that message downhill fast.’

  Jake doubted the wisdom of that maneuver. In fact, he was not very keen on the whole plan. ‘Who was the lead on the initial investigation?’

  ‘A woman named Pierce – Lucinda Pierce. She was a sergeant then, but I believe she’s a lieutenant now.’

  Jake closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. This was all he needed.

  Will Hunt rose and dropped a file folder on Jake’s desk. ‘Here’s a summary of the case and the contact information for everyone involved.’ He stretched out a hand. ‘We’ll have her report here to you and you can take it from there.’

  Jake popped to his feet. ‘No! Don’t do that!’ he shouted.

  Hunt dropped his hand and said, ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Excuse me, I mean, I’ve worked with her before on other cases. Don’t order her here. I’ll go to her and brief her on the situation.’

  Hunt cocked his head to one side. ‘Really? Making her report to you would set up the lines of command pretty clearly.’

  And she’d probably never speak to me again, Jake thought. ‘Trust me on this. I believe I know the best way to handle the situation to ensure her willing cooperation.’

  ‘Your call. Play the old gal any way you want.’

  Inwardly Jake winced at the lawyer’s choice of words; but he clapped the other man on the back and led him to the door. He watched until the other man turned a corner and disappeared from view.

  He had immediate regrets. Why did I volunteer to tell her? Maybe I should have let them handle it and then apologized for their boorishness later. Jake kicked his trash can and sent it wobbling across the room. He slammed his foot into it again and realized his mistake in an instant. A not-quite-empty take-out coffee cup slung its contents on the beige carpet. He uprighted the waste receptacle and pulled a used paper towel out of it to dab at the mess on the floor. The stain had already set into the fibers, making him want to kick the can again. Instead, he lifted it and placed it by his desk.

  He felt as if nothing was going his way lately. He’d badgered every field office across the country in the hunt for Mack Rogers but there was no sign of the man anywhere. Every time he spoke to Lucinda, she asked for an update on the progress. He’d grown tired of having absolutely nothing to report. Right now, he’d settle for any lead he could pursue even if it ended in a dead end. At least it would be something to do – something to make him feel as if there were hope for resolution and a chance at getting a violent predator off the streets.

  Now, this. He knew she would not take it well – not now, with Mack Rogers still on the loose. He’d lost count of the times she’d said that getting the FBI into the case was a big mistake. He’d remind her that she hadn’t had any luck finding the suspected serial killer either. She’d snap back that FBI headquarters was not keeping her in the loop and accuse him of holding back information, too. He hadn’t, but he did understand her frustration; there were times when he thought the profilers were keeping things from him, too.

  During the next hour, he’d called Lucinda’s cell at least four times and each call went straight to voicemail. He had to admit he was relieved the first time he failed to reach her, but his anxiety rose with each attempt, in anticipation of the challenging conversation ahead. He knew a lot of his dread was personal. Although he and Lucinda continued to grow closer, she always held a piece of herself back and her reluctance to make even the lightest commitment left him permanently uncertain of where he stood with her.

  He left messages of escalating urgency and wondered why she’d had her phone turned off for so long. Was she caught up in vital pursuit of evidence in a new homicide case? Or had she been dragged, kicking and screaming, into another mind-numbing round of departmental politics?

  FIVE

  Lucinda left the captain’s office and trudged upstairs to meet with the district attorney. His office was three stories up and the elevator would have been quicker but she was in no hurry to get there. The captain told Michael Reed that he’d look in the files and send the lead investigator in the case up to his office. She hadn’t been in charge of the case; she wasn’t even in Homicide at the time, only temporarily assigned to assist Lieutenant John Boswell in the investigation. She was, though, as close to a lead detective as Reed was going to get since Boswell was dead.

  When she walked into Reed’s office, he bolted to his feet, put his hands on his hips and asked, ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Martha Sherman, sir?’ Lucinda asked.

  ‘What else, Pierce? Did you screw up something else, too? Where did you go wrong in the investigation into Emily Sherman’s murder?’

  ‘I do not know, sir. I—’ Lucinda began.

  ‘You do not know? You are the lead investigator and you do not know? You arrested and charged a woman with a murder she did not commit and “I don’t know” is the best answer you can give?’

  ‘Sir, I wasn’t the lead—’

  ‘I don’t want your lame excuses, Pierce. I want answers. I want to know what went wrong and how it went wrong. If you can’t give me more than “I don’t know”, what am I supposed to tell reporters? They’d skewer me if I repeated that. I need more. But if you can’t give it to me, then I’m going to have to say, “I don’t know” and if you force me to do that, I’m going to have to add a “but”. I’m going to have to say, “But, I’ve called for the immediate dismissal of Lieutenant Lucinda Pierce from the police force of this fine community.” Is that clear?’

  Lucinda spoke through a clenched jaw. ‘It certainly is, sir. As I was trying to say, I intend to pull all the files on the case and follow every step of Lieutenant John Boswell’s investigation to find out where we went wrong on this case.’

  ‘Don’t be blaming someone else. Finger pointing is not an attractive characteristic – not in anyone. Particularly not in someone like you who is always convinced she’s right in each and every situation.’

  Lucinda’s hands clenched up into tight fists by her side. She pressed her teeth together with more force and squeezed her eyelids tight. She simply did not trust herself to respond. His assessment of her was unfair and undeserved. Or was it? Was the Sherman case symptomatic or an anomaly? Did she
lock into theories prematurely and ignore evidence that did not fit into her preconceived notions? She never thought that about herself before, but now she wasn’t sure.

  After an awkward minute of silence, Reed asked, ‘Can’t think of a snappy comeback, Pierce?’

  ‘When will Martha Sherman be released?’

  ‘Changing the subject work better for you? Well, her release is not a foregone conclusion. We have to schedule a court date before that can be considered. I haven’t gotten around to that yet.’

  ‘I would think, sir, that that would be a priority.’

  ‘Oh, would you? Well, I suppose you didn’t have to listen to the howling claims of injustice pouring out of Andrew Sherman, like I did this morning. He is convinced she should remain behind bars. He is certain that she is involved – that she’s either an accomplice of Mack Rogers or she killed Emily all by herself and garnered a favor from Rogers, allowing her to put his daughter’s body down in the basement of Rogers’ house.’

  Lucinda stared at him. What a ridiculous allegation. That woman should be released immediately. ‘And you’re taking Andrew Sherman’s wacky theories seriously?’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. He’s a major contributor, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s one of the citizens I was elected to serve, Pierce. My oath of office does mean something, you know.’

  ‘Oh, please, Reed. Your political pandering is as transparent as your glossy ambition. You wouldn’t adopt this attitude for just any citizen – only one with deep pockets and a willingness to dig into them.’

  ‘You,’ Reed shouted, pointing an index finger at her face. ‘You better get me some answers and get them quick. I am not going to lay down on the sacrificial altar for you.’

  ‘You’ve never taken a bullet for anyone, Reed, unless you knew it was in your best interests. You sicken me!’ Lucinda spun on her heels, grabbed his door and slammed it as she walked out. As she passed the desk outside of his office, she saw a wide-eyed look of horror on the face of Reed’s secretary, Cindy, and hoped he didn’t take it all out on her. If he did, she’d have to add Cindy to the long list of people to whom she needed to apologize; a roster of names that seemed to grow every day.