The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  “In September, I lost my wallet. When I reported my stolen credit cards, I learned one of them had been used to purchase a one-way ticket to Las Vegas on the night of September 27. I did not make the connection to my brother.”

  “How did you get involved with Rita?” Lucinda asked. “And what was the nature of your relationship?”

  “Relationship? There was no relationship. She was just another of my unwelcome visitors. She called one evening to introduce herself and ask if I’d seen Kirk. I went out to meet her at an IHOP. She played the pity card – a victim of Kirk abandoned with no money and no place to stay. I brought her into my home at about the same time of evening that you arrived last night, Lieutenant. The big difference was that when you came into my house, you came with a gun and she came with a marriage certificate. You both arrived with an attitude.”

  Lucinda glanced at Reed, raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt.

  “She was looking for Kirk. She told me she’d met him when she visited her mother at the hospital and wrote to him often. She was surprised when he showed in Vegas but they got way too drunk that night and got married. That same day, Kirk tried to strangle her, she said, and she showed me the mark on her neck. I asked if she had him arrested. She said she had but when she talked to him from jail, he told her he was worth a cool million; all he needed to do was get back to Virginia to claim his inheritance. So she took him back. For that kind of money she said she could afford to give him a second chance. I knew then where her priorities lay.

  “But I let her spend the night anyway when she promised she’d stay out of sight of the girls. She wasn’t exactly the kind of role model I felt was appropriate. She agreed not to leave the room until the girls left the house in the morning.”

  “Where did she sleep, Doctor?” Lucinda asked.

  “In the guest bedroom.”

  “And where did you sleep?”

  “In my own bed. Where else?”

  “Well, she did traipse downstairs in the morning wearing your wife’s robe and slippers,” Lucinda said.

  “What was I supposed to do, Lieutenant? Let her sleep butt naked and maybe even stroll around the house like that? She didn’t come with any luggage and I’m sure Charley told you, since for some reason she worships the ground you walk upon, that Rita didn’t keep her promise to stay out of sight.”

  “Charley hardly worships the ground I walk on,” Lucinda objected.

  “Oh, really? Then why does she talk about you morning, noon and night?”

  “Maybe, Doctor, because you won’t allow the poor child to talk about her own mother.”

  Evan lowered his head and sighed.

  “Why won’t you allow that, Doctor? And why won’t you let her have photos of her mother? Does it make you feel guilty to be reminded of Kathleen?”

  “Yes it does . . .”

  “Evan, please do not say another word,” Theismann interjected.

  Evan glared at him and continued. “I do feel guilty but not because of anything I did – but because I wasn’t there for Kate when she needed me.”

  Lucinda certainly understood that emotion but she suppressed any vestige of empathy. “I’m making an assumption here – tell me if I’m right. You’ve talked to your mother since we had our little meeting last night, haven’t you?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Let’s try on another assumption. If your mother hadn’t told you about the visit she and I had, you wouldn’t be here this morning, would you?”

  “That’s correct, too.”

  “So, what were you going to do? Just idly stand by while your brother continued killing?”

  “No, Lieutenant. I put Rita up in a hotel. I promised her a substantial amount of money if she would contact me when Kirk showed up. She agreed. As soon as I found him, I was going to have him committed – locked up so he could not hurt anyone else. And then I would try to persuade my mother to release me from my promise.”

  “Your story is a little too convenient, Doctor. Here we are looking at your complicity in murder. You’re fraternizing with your brother’s wife – paying her expenses and offering her money. It sounds like a murder on the installment plan to me and―”

  Theismann jumped to his feet and interrupted. “Reed, we’re going in circles here. Nothing my client is saying satisfies this cop. Hasn’t she heard enough? Can we continue without her?”

  “I want her here, Counselor,” Evan said.

  “Evan, you are overwrought. You don’t know what you’re saying. As your legal representative, I advise you to terminate this interview.”

  “I do know what I am saying, Mr. Theismann. I advise you to sit down and be quiet if you’d like to retain your position as my attorney.”

  Theismann shot a venomous glance at Lucinda and sat back down beside his client.

  Reed looked at the lawyer and smiled. Then he turned to Evan. “The lieutenant would like your response to her insinuation that your wife’s death was murder on an installment plan, Doctor.”

  “Of course, Mr. Reed. Lieutenant, if your allegation is true, then why would I be here talking to you now?”

  “Because you’re a smart man, Dr Spencer. Because you looked at everything that ties you as the perpetrator of these murders or as an accomplice to your brother’s crimes and you’ve created plausible stories to cover all of your tracks. I’m sure in your overweening egocentricity, you actually think we’ll believe you and apologize for inconveniencing you.”

  “I’ve been honest with you today. I told you everything I know. What more do you want from me?”

  “For starters, I want your brother behind bars. You haven’t done all that much to make that happen, now, have you?”

  Evan threw up his hands. “Go ahead, Lieutenant. Charge me with obstruction of justice. Take me before a judge. I’ll plead guilty. If you want―”

  Theismann cut him off. “Evan, as your attorney, I must advise you―”

  “Don’t, Theismann. Don’t. Please leave.”

  The attorney and client stared at each other like two desperados waiting for the other man to draw his gun. Then Theismann stood and grabbed his portfolio. “Very well, Evan. But you will regret this.”

  “I’ve heard that line before, Counselor,” Evan said.

  Lucinda’s mind flew into a tumult again. Her empathetic side believed Evan’s story. But her common sense side, the part of her that thought he was a clever liar, now viewed his version of events as a bit more credible than she had earlier. Guilty men don’t dismiss their attorneys, she thought. She retained a kernel of skepticism but was willing to play out the possibility of innocence through to the end.

  When Theismann left the room, Evan continued. “I am guilty of obstruction and I will accept responsibility for that. I am guilty of aiding my brother by not telling you about him from the beginning, but I did not abet him with his crimes. I will plead guilty to aiding him in avoiding capture. I just request one concession first.”

  Lucinda and Reed nodded in unison.

  “Let me go home, talk to my girls and make arrangements for their care before you arrest me.”

  Lucinda and Reed turned and faced each other. Reed raised his eyebrows. Lucinda cocked her head.

  “Okay, Doctor,” Reed said. “We will hold back the charges for now. You can go home if you’ll agree to a couple of conditions.”

  “Name them.”

  “You don’t leave the area.”

  “No problem.”

  “And you let us know immediately if you have contact with your brother at all.”

  “You’ll hear from me the moment I hear the faintest whisper of a rumor about his location.”

  “And stay away from Riverside Apartments, Doctor,” Reed added.

  A puzzled look played on Evan’s face. “What . . . why?”

  “Just stay away from them.”

  “Whatever. Sure. No problem.”

  After Evan left, Reed said, “What now, Lieutenant?”

&nb
sp; “Time to pay a visit to Rita Prescott and see if she’s hiding her new hubby in her hotel room.”

  “You’re taking back-up?”

  “You betcha. As much blue as I can get my hands on.”

  Fifty-Eight

  He bolted upright when he woke that morning. Eye-darting, throat-drying, heart-pounding fear tensed every muscle in his body. Then his recollection of the night before raced through his mind at high speed, and he remembered where he was.

  He sighed with satisfaction and leaned back into the luxurious comfort of the bed. He hadn’t slept in a good bed for so long. Lumpy mattresses in rooming houses and cheap motels, ratty cots at shelters and cramped back seats of unlocked cars – his life was full of disappointing havens.

  This bed, though, was glorious. Fresh, crisp sheets – he’d taken off all of his clothing and slept naked just to feel them against his skin. Plump, sweet-smelling pillows – before he went to sleep he’d pressed his face into them and breathed deeply. Now he did it again. The mattress so soft yet so firm – he squirmed on it to revel in that delightful contradiction.

  He rolled on his side, pulled the covers up over his ear, closed his eyes and relived his memories of the night before. It was perfect. No screw ups. No surprises. Everything had gone as smoothly as a perfectly executed waltz. Such a relief after the last few messes. He worried he was losing his touch. But last night proved he still had it. It was almost as good as Kathleen.

  The thought of Kathleen sent shivers of pleasure flickering through the length of his body. Last night’s trophy wasn’t as flashy as the ring he took from Kathleen, but it was exquisite in its delicacy and simplicity. Tiny gold links rose from each side of a small black rectangular pendant – on its surface, a pink rose so delicate it appeared as if it were painted on with an eyelash. Thinking of that rose reminded him of the Daisy pin—the first gift he’d left behind.

  A smile stole across his face as he remembered the trophy he’d left behind last night. What a perfect touch. The lieutenant’s little horse. Oh, I’d love to see her face when she learns about that. A panicky feeling fluttered in his chest. He knew it would build if he continued to lie there. He swung his legs out of the bed and left its comfort with a sigh of regret.

  He padded on bare feet into the master bedroom. He raised the toilet seat halfway and dropped it back down. The hell with that, he thought, she can’t bitch at me about the toilet seat anymore. As he peed, drops of urine landed on top of the seat and glistened in the morning light. “Sit in my piss, bitch,” he said out loud and laughed long and hard. His laughter shook his body, causing stray yellow drops to land on the white tile floor.

  He grabbed the woman’s terrycloth robe from the hook behind the bathroom door. The sleeves were short, barely covering his elbows. The shoulders were snug but did not restrict his movements. The rest of the robe wrapped nicely around his body and felt good on his skin.

  He went downstairs in search of breakfast. In the refrigerator, he found eggs and a few strips of bacon and set them on the counter. He pulled a skillet out of the cabinet and put it on the front burner of the stove top. He turned the knob to light the gas flame. As it popped to life, cooking seemed to be too much trouble. He turned off the gas.

  He went back to the refrigerator and pulled out a quart container of milk. He guzzled from the container, drops of white falling from the edges of his mouth on to the front of the woman’s robe and the tops of his feet. After he emptied it, he dropped the container on the floor and kicked it out of the way.

  In the freezer, he found a half-gallon of rocky road ice cream. Only one scoopful was missing. He grabbed it and a spoon from a drawer and sat down at the kitchen table. He shoveled bite after bite into his mouth, reveling in the forbidden – chocolate ice cream for breakfast. He giggled at his audacity. He ate more than half of the ice cream before fullness struck. He dropped the spoon on to the table and left the container sitting there, too.

  He prowled the downstairs until he found the purse. He carried it into the kitchen and upended it on the table. The contents clattered, bounced and came to rest by the sweating ice-cream container. He fished out her keychain and checked to make sure the car key was on it. She had a much nicer set of wheels than the rat trap he’d hotwired near the rooming house. Then he removed the currency from her wallet.

  He went back upstairs to dress. He regretted that no man lived here now. He would’ve loved fresh, clean clothes. He sighed as he shrugged back into his dirty ones.

  Before leaving, he took one last look into the small bathroom tucked under the stairs on the first floor. The woman’s body covered most of the tiled area. A black skillet rested on her face. He so liked the feel of the heavy iron in his hand. No home should be without one, he thought and smiled. He nodded in satisfaction as he looked at the horse pin, exited the room and shut the door.

  He left the house, entering the garage where he slid behind the wheel of an older BMW. He backed out, drove to the highway and headed east. He’d already selected his next victim.

  Fifty-Nine

  Lucinda strode into the lobby of the Hilton with Ted by her side and six uniformed officers at her back. They headed straight for the bank of elevators. A startled, nervous-looking young man rushed out from behind the front desk and chased after them calling, “Excuse me. Excuse me.”

  Inside the elevator, Lucinda pressed the button for the sixth floor and smiled as the door shut in the hotel employee’s face. When the doors opened on the sixth floor, they disembarked and walked two by two up the hall. Startled hotel guests plastered their bodies against the wall as they passed.

  At the door to room 627, they stopped. Lucinda motioned the uniformed officers back against the wall out of the view of the fisheye peephole. She turned the good side of her face toward the door and knocked.

  “Who is it?” a muffled voice asked.

  “The police, Mrs. Prescott,” Lucinda said. “Please open up.”

  In the hallway they heard the clatter of the chain engaging the security lock. The door opened a crack and Rita peered out over the stretched chain.

  “Lieutenant Pierce,” Lucinda said holding her badge in front of the woman’s face. “This is Sergeant Branson.”

  Ted held his badge up to the opening of the door.

  “What you want?” Rita asked.

  “Could we please come in and speak with you, Mr.s. Prescott?”

  “Why?”

  “We are from Homicide about your husband.”

  “Did somebody kill him?”

  “I’d rather not talk out here in the hall,” Lucinda said. “I’d like to discuss your husband’s whereabouts with you if you’ll just open up.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “You have two choices, Mrs. Prescott. Either you allow us to come in and speak with you willingly or we will force our way in and continue this conversation at the police station.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Rita said. She shut the door, removed the chain and opened it wide.

  Lucinda stepped into the room. Rita’s jaw dropped as she saw the damaged side of the lieutenant’s face. Rita’s hand flew up to her eye in an unconscious mimicking of Lucinda’s patch. She focused so intently on Lieutenant Pierce that she didn’t notice the uniformed officers until they were all inside the room. “What’s all this?” she said waving an arm at the line of blue positioned behind Lucinda. Rita wore a nightgown and a matching robe so sheer the dark nipples of her too-huge-to-be-real breasts were discernible bobbing with the movement. Also apparent was the dark triangular patch of hair below belying any possibility that the blonde hair on her head was natural.

  “Would you like to put on some more clothing?” Lucinda asked.

  Rita thrust her chest forward, winked at Ted and said, “I’m comfortable.”

  “Is Kirk Prescott here?” Lucinda asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you mind if we look around?”

  “I imagine it doesn’t matter if I mind or not. Go ahea
d.”

  Lucinda folded her arms across her chest and stared at Rita. Rita folded her arms too, but she made sure they rested under and pushed up on her breasts, making her cleavage even more pronounced. Rita eyeballed Ted.

  The officers looked in the bathroom, the closet, the armoire holding the television set and checked to see if there was a hiding place under the bed. When they finished, they arrayed themselves behind Lucinda again and folded their arms across their chests.

  “Where is Kirk Prescott?” Lucinda asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rita said with a toss of her head.

  “If you’re lying to me, there will be serious consequences.”

  Rita turned to Ted. “She just called me a liar.”

  Ted looked away without saying a word.

  Disappointed, Rita turned back to Lucinda. “Well, he’s not here. You can leave now.”

  “Where is he, Mrs. Prescott?” Lucinda asked again.

  “I don’t know, just like I didn’t know the last time you asked.”

  “Kirk Prescott is the prime suspect in a number of murders. If you conceal knowledge of his whereabouts, you could be charged along with him.”

  “You tryin’ to shock me, girly? Ha. Sorry to disappoint you.” Rita jutted out her chin and ran her fingers across the fading mark on her neck. “I know what Kirk is capable of. He tried to kill me.”

  “And yet you picked him up at jail and traveled across the country with him?”

  “He owes me. He owes me big. And he’s not getting away with strangling me without paying the price.”

  “And how do you expect him to pay you?”

  “Listen. I’m here for the money. He’s going to get a big inheritance. And I’m getting a piece of it. Then I’ll split.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “I don’t know. And it pisses me off. He promised me half a million – half of his inheritance – when we got to Virginia. Then he disappears on me. The inheritance is the only reason I took him back. And I want my share of it.” She stuck out her lower lip. “As his wife, I am entitled to it. I know my rights. But Kirk’s stupid brother said there’s no inheritance. But I saw the house he lives in. I know he’s loaded. He offered me a pittance to turn over Kirk and go away. Soon as I find Kirk, I’ll let him set his snotty, doctor brother straight. Then you can have Kirk. He can rot in jail for all I care. I just want to get my money first.”