The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  He’d seen both of the girls the month before when he’d slipped into the basement in the middle of the night. He’d cased out the upstairs that time. He’d stood over his brother and watched him sleep. He’d slipped Evan’s wallet into his pocket before creeping down the hall to the other bedrooms. The first one he’d entered belonged to that whiny little baby he’d ignored while he tended to Kathleen. That daughter annoyed him because she made him think of the stupid baby brother his mother had forced on him so long ago.

  He went into the room next to Ruby’s and saw a pristine guest room. He went up the hall and entered Charley’s room. He stood over her bed for a long time watching the rise and fall of her chest as she slept. She looked so much like Kathleen, it made his hands itch not to kill her right then and there. But he didn’t have his tools. He wasn’t ready. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her face. She stirred and moaned. He backed away, headed downstairs and out of the house.

  Now he was back and he was prepared. He knew just where he would find her again. The keenness of his anticipation burned like a hot coal in his chest.

  The sound of a car pulling up the driveway and into the garage broke his reverie. He put his hand on the light switch, took one last, longing look at the spot where Kathleen had died and turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness again. He walked back to the unfinished section of the basement and pulled the door shut until it clicked.

  He moved into a corner where the darkness was at its deepest and sat down on the dirt floor. “Now, we wait,” he said out loud as he heard the heavy tread of his brother’s footsteps enter the house.

  Sixty-Four

  Evan put on a cheerful, upbeat manner for his girls when he came home that evening. They joked and laughed through a dinner of hamburgers, French fries and a salad. He tried not to laugh when Ruby spat a piece of radish across the table and wiped her tongue off with both her hands.

  Every minute of the charade, fatigue threatened to overwhelm his best intentions. He was so tired. A good night’s sleep had eluded him for too long. He’d brought home samples of the sleeping pill Ambien from the office today. He planned to take one tonight in the hope of feeling a bit more rested in the morning.

  Charley had done all of her homework under Kara’s supervision before he got home. After they ate and cleaned up, Evan and Charley sat at the dining table where he looked over her work and heaped out a full serving of praise.

  The three of them gathered in front of the television together and watched an episode of Funniest Animals on the Animal Planet channel followed by SpongeBob SquarePants on Nickelodeon. He dozed off a couple times, but the girl’s boisterous laughter always snapped him back awake with twinges of guilt. It annoyed him that it was so easy to drift off here without trying, but so problematic when he lay down in bed and wanted to sleep.

  He gave Ruby a bath, tucked her into bed and read Goodnight Moon to her for the millionth time. While he was busy with his littlest girl, Charley took her turn in the tub. Ruby fell asleep before he reached the end of the book. He kissed her soft cheek and inhaled deeply of her scent that still bore a trace of that sweet baby smell. It would fade away soon, he thought with a sigh. An ache of love filled his chest with the feather touch of tenderness and the brutal stab of anxiety for her safety, her future, her life.

  He turned on her night light, extinguished her overhead light and went into Charley’s room. His oldest daughter smiled at him from under the covers. He kissed her on the forehead and wished her goodnight.

  “Should I switch off your lamp?” he asked.

  “No, Daddy, I want to read a little first.”

  He smiled. “Still enjoying the Lemony Snickett books?”

  “Yeah, I like them more than Harry Potter.”

  “Don’t read for too long. You need to get your sleep.” He walked to her doorway and turned around to look at her once again. He saw Kate in the shape of her eyes and a painful thought crossed his mind and creased his brow. I sure hope I can do a better job of protecting you, little one.

  “I love you, Daddy,” Charley said.

  “I love you, too, sweetie. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

  Downstairs, he called his mother but got no answer. He wondered if she was out for the evening or just went to bed early and turned off the ringer on her telephone as she usually did before retiring for the night.

  He circled around the first floor checking the windows, the front door, the back door and the basement door to make sure they all were locked tight. Then he went back upstairs, took a shower, popped an Ambien and crawled into bed.

  For a while he worried, fretting about his daughters, his mother. Grieved over the loss of his wife. Castigated himself for not taking better care of Kate. Wondered where his brother was. Feared he would never be caught. Hoped he’d get back to his work with Doctors Without Borders soon. Wondered if he should.

  Then it all blurred into nothingness as the anxieties slipped away, replaced by a soothing darkness that spread like melting ice cream over his mind. The last thought that he remembered was that Ambien was a very good idea.

  Sixty-Five

  From his hiding place in the basement, Kirk listened to the noises of life above his head. He heard the murmur of voices, the scrape of chairs, footsteps going here and going there.

  Then he heard different voices. At first he was alarmed, but when a blast of music accosted his ears, he recognized it as a commercial jingle and realized the voices came from a television set. He listened to that drone until it stopped.

  He heard the sound of ascending footsteps as the three family members went up to the second floor. He rose, crossed the dirt floor and stood by the door to the laundry room listening. He heard the rush of water through the pipes drowning out any other sound. Bath time? he wondered. When the water stopped running, he could hear only the vaguest whispers to indicate the presence of people above his head.

  He jumped when the water gurgled down the drain. When it stopped, water coursed through the pipes again. Another bath, he thought, this time with certainty. He didn’t startle when the plug on that one was pulled sending water speeding down the drain.

  After a period of near silence, he heard the descent of heavy feet on the stairs. He listened as footsteps moved around the first floor. He backed into his dark corner, crouched down and waited.

  He bounced up and down in a vain attempt to release the tension from his body. Inside his chest, he felt the flutter of excitement, small beads of perspiration popped up on his forehead and his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. He moved his mouth and swallowed, trying to generate saliva but failed.

  The footsteps above his head now ascended again up the stairs to the second floor. He launched to his feet. He heard water course through the pipes and trickle down the drain all at the same time. Shower, he thought. My brother’s taking a shower.

  He walked to the cellar door, opened it and stepped into the laundry room. When the water noises ceased, he heard more whispers of movement two floors above. After a few minutes, he could hear nothing but the beat of his heart and the inhale and exhale of his own breath. He waited. He listened. Thoughts of Kathleen drifted through his head again, occupying his time as he waited to make his move.

  When he was ready, he reached into the pouch pocket of his sweatshirt, pulled out his work gloves and slid his hands inside them. Then he extracted a length of rope from that same pouch, twisted it around his hands, jerked it taut and smiled.

  I forgot my goggles. Panic roiled up. But Charley’s just a little girl. I can control her, he thought and his anxiety subsided.

  He patted the back pocket of his pants to make sure the pair of latex gloves were there. He removed one work glove and reached into his shirt pocket where he caressed the delicate gold links of the necklace. He smiled again, slid his hand back into the glove and ascended the basement stairs one cautious step at a time.

  At the top, he reached for the knob and tried to turn it
. Locked. Damn it. He descended with stealthy steps, laid his work gloves on top of the washing machine and went back into the unfinished cellar.

  From the narrow gap between the oil furnace and the wall, he pulled out a small leather case containing a lock pick set. He’d left it there the night he’d stolen Evan’s wallet as he prowled through the house. He knew their individual smells. He knew the sounds they made in the night. He knew where each one of them slept.

  He went back up the steps. After a few attempts, he heard the satisfying click of the lock releasing its hold. He tested the knob. The door opened with a small squeak. He froze and listened. Not hearing a sound, he descended the stairs, returned the lock picks to their hiding place, retrieved his work gloves and crept back up to the first floor.

  At the foot of the flight to the second floor, he thought he heard something. He paused and listened. He decided it was nothing more than someone turning over in their sleep. He made his way quietly and slowly to the top floor.

  He headed straight ahead to the open door of Charley’s room. He held the rope in one hand as he crossed the threshold. The glow of a streetlight shone right on her bed. No one was there. She has to be here. He blinked his eyes and looked again but still did not see her. He walked over to the side of the bed. He patted the blankets. No one. Nothing. “Shit!” he said under his breath. He turned around and left the room determined to find where Charley slept.

  He entered his brother’s room and stood by the side of his bed. The light in this room was much fainter. He waited for his eyes to adjust and his brother’s face to take on definition.

  The peacefulness of Evan’s features in repose angered him. He looked too innocent, too young, too lucky. Bitterness churned like an angry sea in his gut. The absence of Charley on the other side of the bed enraged him even more.

  He fought down the urge to attack and kill his brother. No, he told himself. I want him to suffer, not to die. If I kill him, his suffering will be real but far too short. I want his pain to be long, hard, eternal. Every time I kill someone he loves, he will die a little more inside. Let him smell the rot of his own soul like I have day after day, year after year in that vile place they call a hospital.

  He was amazed and pleased that his brother didn’t stir, didn’t show any awareness that another person stood so close, stared so hard. I would have known, he thought as a feeling of superiority surged through his mind.

  He left his brother’s side and headed down the hall to Ruby’s room. He stood by her bed and searched with his eyes. Only one body and it’s very small. It’s Ruby. Where’s Charley? A wave of disappointment crashed over him again.

  Then he smiled. Ruby will do. Ruby will do just fine. Her death will make him suffer. Suffer for a long, long time. He tasted the bitter flavor of regret that his victim would not be Charley. Charley was a fighter. He’d not get the chance to experience the intense thrill of Charley’s vicious struggle for survival. Not today, he thought as he giggled under his breath. Ruby will be an easier kill. The pain caused by her will hurt just as bad.

  He slipped the rope around her neck and pulled tight.

  Sixty-Six

  Charley set down her book, flipped off the light and tried to go to sleep. She tossed and turned, struggling to understand what was going on around her.

  She knew something was happening but she didn’t know what it was. Who is Aunt Rita? Why did Daddy and Gramma have a fight? Something is going on, something that has something to do with my mom. But nobody will tell me.

  Tears formed in her eyes and fell on her pillow. I miss my mommy. I miss her so bad. She flipped on the lamp by her bed. She pulled the tattered, creased picture of her mother out from under her pillow. She unfolded it, stared at it and kissed it. She propped the picture up beside the lamp with a sigh and reached under her pillow again. She pulled out Lucy’s card and kissed it, too. I need a picture of Lucy, she thought. Maybe Daddy will take a picture of both of us next time she comes over.

  She leaned the card against her mother’s photo, picked up her book and started reading again. She’d read one chapter and had just started a second when she heard tiny scratching noises. Rats! she thought with alarm. In her mind, the noise sounded like the nasty rodents trying to get out of the basement and come upstairs. Then she heard the squeak of an opening door. Rats can’t open doors. Somebody’s in the house. Maybe it’s the bad man who killed my mommy.

  Her chin trembled. Her bladder threatened to burst. She pressed her legs tightly together to suppress the urge to pee. She reached for the little squeeze light on her nightstand, the one her mom bought for her when Charley decided only babies used night lights. Her mother gave it to her that first night “just in case”.

  She pointed the tiny light into her face and pressed on the sides to make sure it still worked. She slipped out of bed and grabbed Lucy’s card. She went to her desk where she lifted the telephone receiver off its base. She returned to her bedside and turned off the lamp on her nightstand.

  She tiptoed across the room and through the open door of her closet. She slid it shut behind her. She sat on the floor, squeezed the light and pressed the numbers of Lucy’s cellphone into the receiver in her hand.

  In two rings, Charley heard a sharp bark. “Pierce.”

  “Lucy, I’m scared.”

  “Charley?”

  “I think somebody’s in the house.” Charley heard a creak on the stairs. She gasped.

  “Charley, what is it?”

  “He’s coming up the stairs.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In my closet.”

  “Charley, you stay there and be very, very quiet, don’t answer me. Don’t say a word. I don’t want him to hear you. Now, listen, sweetie, if he pulls open your closet door, he’s going to find you. So what I want you to do if he does is jump out of the closet as fast as you can and scream at the top your lungs. And run – just take off – and don’t stop running. Got that? Okay, I’m gonna hang up now, Charley, but I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  Charley pressed off the phone and heard another creak on the steps. She shook all over. Her teeth started to chatter. She held her hand to her chin and pushed up on it to still her jaw and quiet the noise.

  She heard footsteps in her bedroom. She heard someone breathing in her room. Tears flowed down her face. She heard a voice say, “Shit!” Then she heard footsteps leave her room.

  She closed her eyes and listened hard. He’s going into Daddy’s room. A sensation of relief poured over her. Daddy will take care of the bad man. When she didn’t hear any other noise, though, her anxiety built up again. What if the bad man killed her daddy, too? She was scared of staying in the closet. She was scared of leaving the closet – she didn’t know whether she should do what Lucy said or make sure her dad was okay. She heard steps in the hall again. She wanted to scream but she knew if she did, he’d find her. The steps passed her door and went down the hall where Ruby’s bedroom and the guest bedroom sat side by side. The footsteps stopped.

  Oh, Lucy! Lucy! Hurry! Hurry! Charley panicked.

  A short, sharp cry from Ruby trumped Charley’s fear. She shot out of the closet and down the hall to Ruby’s room. She saw the man standing over her baby sister. With a growl of outrage, she threw her body across the room and on to his back. She stuck a finger in his ear and dug it in as hard and as far as she could. He fell forward across Ruby’s legs trapping the little girl on the bed but he let go of the rope as he reached his hands back to Charley.

  Ruby choked and whined. Charley pulled her finger out of his ear and stabbed three fingers into one of his eyes. He reared back and bucked trying to knock her off his back as he pushed her hand away.

  Charley screamed, “Go, Ruby! Run Ruby! Get out of the house! Now!”

  Ruby looked at Charley with fear frozen like icicles in her eyes.

  “Go! Go Ruby!” Charley said as her back slammed into the wall. She lost her grip and slid to the floor. Ruby shoved off the bed and ran fo
r the door, sobbing every step of the way. Charley heard her little feet go down the stairs, as she felt the rough rope cut to her neck. She clawed at the rope. She kicked with her feet. She heard the front door open and then she heard nothing at all.

  Sixty-Seven

  Lucinda laid a heavy head down on her pillow. Weariness hung like dead weights on every muscle of her body. Physically, she was ready for sleep but anxiety and worry jazzed her brain with a sleep-avoiding jolt more simulating than multiple cups of the strongest Cuban coffee. A combination of instinct and knowledge told her that Kirk Prescott twisted in an out of control spiral that grew tighter with every passing hour. She found it hard to believe he would not strike again soon. Maybe tonight. But where?

  She knew the number of vulnerable, potential victims in the city exceeded the ability of the officers to protect them all. Where would Kirk hit? When would he hit? And she knew that even if she could cast a spell of mystical protection over the citizens in her department’s care, it would not be enough. The tendrils of terror that Kirk Prescott wove radiated out from the city like the spokes of a malevolent spiderweb.

  His mother. It could all be about his mother. She flipped on her bedside lamp, grabbed her phone and called the Homicide department in Lynchburg. The investigator there assured her he’d see to it that patrol officers made extra passes by Lily Spencer’s home.

  She turned off the light and burrowed her head into the pillow. She tried to think mellow thoughts: the colorful panorama of life revealed beneath the surface of sea when snorkeling by Pinel Island off the coast of St Martin, the emerald green beauty that enveloped her when hiking the rainforest on Dominica, the total relaxation of lazing on the sand of Negril Beach in Jamaica. No matter how hard she tried to immerse herself in the most peaceful moments of her life, Kirk Prescott’s presence intruded on every scene driving away pleasant dreams and pushing her into a living nightmare.