She was in her bedroom. She was on her bed. Early morning light drifted into her windows beneath the light flutter of the curtains. It was a dream. Just a bad dream, she told herself. But still she trembled.
Although it was early, she dressed for school and went downstairs to fix her breakfast. In the kitchen, she set a bowl and spoon on the table, retrieved a box of Rice Krispies from the pantry and pulled out a jug of milk from the refrigerator. She was pouring the cereal from the box into the bowl when she startled at the sound of a voice.
“Good morning, kid.”
Rice Krispies clattered on to the tile floor. A woman with coarse hair the color of straw, long bright red fingernails, eyes blackened with smeared mascara walked into the kitchen. She was wrapped in her mother’s white and blue robe.
Charley clutched the cereal box to her chest and backed into the corner. “Who are you? What you doing here?”
“Chill, kid. I’m your Aunt Rita.”
“That’s my mommy’s robe.”
“Yeah, well, your dad said I could use it,” she said as she shuffled over to the kitchen counter.
Charley inched along the wall toward the door and away from the strange woman. “Those are my mommy’s slippers.”
“Yeah, those, too, kid. Chill. I won’t bite you.”
Charley made a dash through the doorway and raced up the stairs. The open box of cereal clutched to her chest spewed Krispies as she ran. “Daddy, Daddy,” she hollered as she raced into her father’s room.
“What’s wrong, Charley?”
“There’s a lady in the kitchen.”
“A lady? In the kitchen?”
“Yes, Daddy. She said she’s Aunt Rita.”
A flash of anger crossed Evan’s face, but he forced his voice to remain calm. “Oh, right. It’s okay, Charley,” he said as he swung his feet off the bed.
“I didn’t know I had an Aunt Rita, Daddy.”
“It was a surprise to me, too, Charley. But everything’s okay. What are you doing up so early?”
“I had a dream, Daddy. A bad dream,” Charley said.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin.”
“Mommy was screaming, Daddy.”
“Aw, pumpkin,” he said scooping her up in his arms. “What did I tell you, sweetie, you’ve got to put Mommy out of your mind.”
Charley wriggled free and rubbed her hand on the pocket where she put the photo of her mother. “I can’t, Daddy.”
“You’ve got to try, pumpkin.” He kissed her on the top of her head. “Go on downstairs now and have some cereal. Everything is okay. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Charley returned to the kitchen where she kept a wary eye on the woman who stood in front of the brewing coffee pot clicking her impatient fingernails on the countertop.
Evan Spencer stepped into the kitchen doorway. “Rita, I’d like to speak with you.”
“I’m waiting for the coffee.”
“Could you step out here, please.”
Rita sighed and walked to the door following Evan Spencer out of the room. “I thought I told you . . .” Charley heard her father say before his voice faded to a low rumble. Charley stopped chewing and listened but could not understand another word.
The mumbled voices were meaningless until the woman’s voice, raised in a harsh rasp, said, “I needed a cup of coffee, Doctor, and I’m getting it right now.” She came through the doorway and into the room. “Hey kid.” Charley jerked her head down and focused on the bowl in front of her chewing as fast as she could. Rita poured a cup of coffee and plopped down in a chair by the table. “You must be Charley.”
Without looking up, Charley nodded her head.
“Don’t talk much, do you?”
Charley shook her head without raising her eyes from the bowl.
“Hey, you found your mom’s body, didntcha?”
Charley’s head popped up. She glared at the woman while she chewed with exaggerated movements of her jaw.
“Okay. Okay. I get the message.” Rita rose from the table, scraping the legs with a loud noise that made Charley wince. “You want to talk to me sometime, kid, let me know and I’ll let you in on a secret.” Rita left the room.
Charley listened to her footsteps plodding up the stairs. Questions about the woman formed ripples of unease in Charley’s mind.
That morning at school, Charley couldn’t concentrate. I don’t have aunts. I don’t have any uncles. She lasted less than an hour before she asked to be excused and went
to the office. “I need to make a phone call,” she said to the smiling lady behind the counter.
The office manager recognized Charley right away and a softness born of sympathy wrapped around her voice. “You do, Charley? Do you need to call your dad?”
“No, I need to call the police lady.”
“You do? Do you know her number?”
“I don’t know.” Charley’s lower lip quivered.
“That’s okay, sweetie. Come on around here to my desk. We’ll find her.”
After a quick three hours of sleep – Lucinda in her bed, Ted in the back seat of his car – they gathered in the conference room to wait for the preliminary autopsy and lab results and to plan their next steps. Lucinda stood in front of the array of crime-scene photos contemplating the completeness of Evan Spencer’s mask of sanity. Ted struggled to focus on the case, as his mind kept drifting to Ellen and the kids. Both were deep in thought when the telephone buzzed.
Lucinda grabbed the phone. “Pierce.”
“Lieutenant, I’ve little girl named Charley Spencer on the line who wants to talk to the police lady with the pirate patch. Don’t know why,” the voiced laughed, “but I thought of you right away.”
“Very funny. Put her through. Charley?”
“Yes. Is this my police lady?”
“Yes, Charley, this is Lieutenant Pierce. Just call me Lucinda.”
“Um, um, can I call you Lucy?”
A lump formed in Lucinda’s throat. No one had called her Lucy since the night her mother died. “Sure, Charley, no problem. What’s up?”
“There’s this lady in my house.”
“A lady? Who is she, Charley?”
“She said she’s my Aunt Rita, but I don’t have an Aunt Rita.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t have any aunts.”
“Are you at home now, Charley?”
“No, I’m at school. The office lady helped me call you.”
“That’s nice. You tell her I said thank you, okay?”
“Okay.”
“When did this lady come to your house, Charley?”
“I don’t know. She was there when I got up.”
“This morning?”
“Yes. She was wearing Mommy’s robe.”
“She was?”
“And her slippers.”
“Did that upset you, Charley?” Lucinda heard a sob on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Charley. I’ll go by your house and check her out, okay?”
“Thank . . .” Charley’s voice broke.
“No problem, Charley. You go back to class and don’t worry about a thing.”
“Thank you, Lucy. Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye, Charley.” Tears moistened Lucinda’s eye as she listened to the receiver on the other end terminate the call. She hung up and turned to Ted. “Well, that was interesting.”
“What?”
“That was Charley. She said there’s a strange woman in her house.”
“Really?”
“And this morning she was wearing Kathleen’s robe and slippers.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t. But it does add another dimension to the ugly picture in my mind.” Lucinda’s gut clenched as an image of Charley without a mother or father filled her with anger toward Evan Spencer.
Twenty-Nine
Ted and Lucinda drove over to the Spencer house to confront the woman claiming to be Aunt Rita.
They got no response to the doorbell or to their hard knocking, They heard no sounds in the house and spotted no signs of anyone when they peered in the windows facing the porch.
“Let’s head back downtown. We can come back here after school and talk to Kara,” Lucinda suggested.
As they climbed back into the car, Ted winced and groaned.
“Hey, Ted, you need me to drop you off at your place so you can catch a little more sleep?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You looking ragged and sound even worse.”
“You’d be stiff, too, Lucinda, if you’d slept in the back seat of your car.”
“The back seat? Why the hell did you do that?”
Ted gave Lucinda a rundown of his situation on the home front without mentioning any of Ellen’s concerns about Lucinda.
“What happened before she threw your stuff out and changed the lock? Did you do or say something to upset her?”
“I don’t know, Lucinda,” he lied.
“Are you screwing around on her, Ted?”
“No. Shut up, Lucinda.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence. Lucinda pulled into the parking space by the door to the morgue. “Be patient with Ellen, Ted. It’s hard for a mother to lose a baby. It takes a long time for a lot of women to get back on their feet. It’ll get better in time.”
“I hope so,” Ted said but as he looked at Lucinda, he was no longer certain that he wanted his marriage to mend.
Lucinda and Ted returned to the station and went straight to the conference room. Within minutes, the phone buzzed. It was the front desk. “Pierce,” Lucinda said as she answered it.
“I’ve got a woman down here by the name of Vivienne Carr who says she needs to talk to you about the Terry Wagner homicide.”
“Send her on up. I’ll meet her by the elevator.” As the doors opened, Lucinda stuck out her hand. “Hello, Mrs. Carr.”
Vivienne Carr grabbed her hand in both of hers. “You can’t allow them to do this.”
“I can’t allow who to do what, Mrs. Carr?” Lucinda asked as she led Vivienne down the hall and into an interrogation room.
“The DA. He’s charged my girl with first-degree murder. You have to stop him.”
“I have no control over the DA.”
“But you have to talk to him. You know what happened. Julie told me she told you everything.”
“I haven’t had a chance to investigate her story myself, Mrs. Carr. I imagine the DA’s investigator has done a thorough job of looking into it. They must have reasons to believe the murder was premeditated.”
“It was self-defense, Lieutenant, and you know it.”
“Mrs. Carr . . .”
“Listen. I know she shouldn’t have shot him. I know she had a chance to run. But that sorry son of a bitch screwed her head up so bad she wasn’t thinking right. How can you premeditate when you can’t think?”
“Mrs. Carr, I . . .”
“Lieutenant, do you have any idea what it’s like to be brutalized by a man? By a man who is supposed to love you, supposed to care for you, supposed to take care of you?”
Lucinda’s mind filled with visions of her mother cowering in the corner while her husband towered over her. She saw the spittle flying as he yelled profanities and insults. She saw her mother cringe, heard her beg. She saw her father’s hand flash through the air, heard it make sharp impact with her mother’s body. “Yes, Mrs. Carr, I do.”
Vivienne reached across the table and grabbed Lucinda’s lower arm with both of her hands. “Then you have to do something. I wouldn’t like it, but I could understand it if they charged her with manslaughter. But first-degree murder? Lieutenant, please, please, help my girl.”
Lucinda closed her eye and inhaled deeply. “Mrs. Carr, I can’t promise you I’ll help Julie, but I can promise you I’ll look into it right away.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I can’t ask for anything more.”
Lucinda escorted Vivienne to the elevator and accepted more expressions of gratitude from Julie’s mother as the elevator doors closed. She walked into the conference room talking. “Ted, I need to go to the Wagner house to check out Julie’s story.”
“You want me to come along?”
“No, I need you to get busy finding out everything you can about Evan Spencer. Where he went to school, where he grew up, everything. Find anyone who knew him – when he was five years old, when he was in high school, when he was in med school – anyone who ever knew him . We need to find something that shows a pattern supporting the theory that Evan Spencer is a cold-blooded serial killer. When the DNA results come in, I want to be prepared.”
Lucinda pulled up in front of the Wagner house. It looked even sadder and more forlorn than before. The grass in the front yard was taller. More trash had accumulated and now skittered on the sidewalk outside the fence.
She walked up to the front door, pulled back the yellow tape, slid the key into the lock and walked inside. She felt the uneasy quiet present in every abandoned home as she drew in her first breath.
She went up the stairs and into the master bedroom first. She looked around the room. Plywood on the windows. A closet without any clothes. Empty dresser drawers. A disheveled bed. On the day of the murder, they’d all thought the room was weird. They’d exchanged a lot of theories about it. One officer had suggested they only used the room for kinky sex. Not one of them had theorized that the room was a makeshift prison. But it sure looked like one to Lucinda now.
She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom. This room was obviously occupied. The closet was full of clothing. The dresser drawers packed tight. An assortment of items sat by the bed on the nightstand. She shuffled through the clothes in the closet. It was all men’s clothing. She hadn’t noticed that before. She knew she should have. She pulled open the drawers of the dresser and checked them one by one. Not one piece of clothing belonging to a woman. I should’ve seen that before, too, she thought.
She left the guest room and stopped in the hallway bathroom. One toothbrush. One electric razor. A pile of damp towels in the corner. That was it.
She went downstairs to the living room where Terry Wagner had died. She stood back, folded her arms and stared at the sofa where Terry’s life had ended. Swatches of fabric were cut out of the upholstery on the arms and back. One whole cushion was missing. Still, there was enough blood remaining to send a whiff of death creeping up her nostrils.
She looked through the rest of the rooms on the first floor for the boxes of Julie’s clothing. She went down to the basement. She found them stacked there in a corner – each one had “Goodwill” scrawled on its side. She pulled open the crisscrossed flaps on the closest box. It was full of dresses, blouses and skirts, all still on hangers. She pulled open another. It was full of women’s shoes. She sighed.
She looked through the rest of the basement and then made another round through all of the rooms in the house. She searched hard, trying to find one small piece of evidence that made Julie’s story a lie. She found nothing.
She felt the presence of her mother with her. She heard her whisper, “This could be me, Lucinda. This could be me.” Lucinda shook her head to chase her mother away. This was not about her mother. This was about Julie Wagner. This was the story of Julie’s captivity, the story of Terry’s murder. No matter how she looked at it, though, she could not understand what good would be served by making Julie Wagner spend the rest of her life in jail. She shook her head and left the home.
Thirty
Back at the justice center, Lucinda headed straight for the district attorney’s office, only to find out that he was in court. She went down to her floor and popped her head into the conference room where Ted was digging through a stack of papers. “Hey, Ted!” she said, “you want to go down to the basement and see what we can pry out of Dr Sam?”
They found the coroner in the autopsy suite bent over a body on a stainless steel table. When he saw them, he pulled off his gloves,
lowered his face mask and told his tech to sew up for him. “What do you want now, Lieutenant?”
“Stopped by to check my autopsies from last night’s homicides.”
“There were three of them, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, Doc, did you get them all done?”
He toddled toward his office and they followed in his wake. “Awful presumptuous of her to expect me to have them all done by now, don’t you think so, Branson?”
Ted kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to be caught between these two when they squabbled. He could rarely tell the difference between their serious talk and their silly banter.
“Humpf,” the coroner said. “She’s got you cowed, doesn’t she, Branson? Can’t say that I blame you. The woman scares me, too.”
“Doc, did you finish the three autopsies or not?” Lucinda asked.
“Of course I did, Lieutenant. I might be old, but I’m not feeble yet.” He walked into his office and plopped down on the chair behind his desk.
“What can you tell me about their deaths, Doc?” Lucinda asked.
“The manner in death for all three of them is homicide.”
“Cut the crap, Doc. You told Cummings more than that at the crime scene.”
“So why are you here bothering me? Where’s Cummings?”
“It’s my case now.”
“Just my luck,” he grumbled and winked at Ted.
Ted covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin from Lucinda.
“Come on, you old curmudgeon, give,” Lucinda said.
“Like I told Cummings, the manner of death in the two adults was ligature strangulation. The little girl was blunt force trauma to the skull. I don’t like it, Lieutenant, when you make me autopsy the bodies of little girls.”
“And I don’t like it when nasty perps kill them, Doc. What else can you tell me?”
“I sent scrapings from all the fingernails down to the lab early this morning. That redheaded Ringo witch might have something for you by now.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ve got a blunt trauma expert coming in to take a look at the injury to the little girl’s skull. Pretty sure it was caused by the skillet, but I want another opinion.”
The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 14