The Trophy Exchange (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery)

by Fanning, Diane

  Maybe it’s not just about his mother. Maybe it’s his whole family. She flipped the light back on and called her own police station. The dispatcher reassured her that her standing order still stood. Patrols continued to make extra drives past the Spencer home tonight as they had the last couple of nights.

  Lucinda turned off the light and wondered if there was anything else she could do. She berated herself for the time wasted looking in the wrong direction. At last, her mind grew as fatigued as her body. It thrust all of the questions into her unconscious to let her dreams sort it out while she slept. She drifted off feeling guilty that she needed to sleep at all.

  When her cellphone chirped, she reached out and grabbed the land line first. “Pierce,” she said then heard the dial tone. She slapped her hand on the cellphone, flipped it open and said it again.

  It’s Charley. Adrenaline brought her to instant attention. Please God, she thought as she talked to the little girl, Let it be nothing more than a child’s over-active imagination. Please God, let it be a false alarm. When she finished the call, she pulled on a pair of jeans and fastened her holster on top of the oversized T-shirt she wore when she slept.

  She grabbed her cell and called for back-up as she zoomed down the hall. She explained the situation as she slid her feet into a cheap pair of flip-flops and raced to her car.

  Her internal prayer reduced to an abbreviated, “Please God, Please God,” repeated endlessly in her head as she sped up residential streets and executed turns with reckless abandon. On the near-empty streets, she made excellent time. The first patrol car was just turning into the street when she pulled to the curb.

  She launched herself out of her car, pulled open the gate and loped up the sidewalk. As she hit the top step of the porch, the front door flew open. Ruby ran out and threw her arms around Lucinda’s knees. “Bad man. Bad man,” she said.

  Lucinda crouched down to Ruby’s level. “Ruby, is Charley still inside?”

  “Bad man hurt Charley.”

  “Upstairs?”

  Ruby nodded her head.

  Lucinda heard the creak of the gate and looked back over her shoulder to see a solitary officer in blue. “Go to the policeman, Ruby. I’ll get Charley.” She gave Ruby an encouraging push on her rump. The toddler headed down to the sidewalk. Lucinda pulled out her gun and entered the house. I shouldn’t go in alone, she thought but knew there was no time to waste and headed up the stairs anyway. She held the gun stiff-armed at her side, barrel pointed at the floor as she bounded up the steps two at a time.

  She followed the glow of the only light – Ruby’s night light – down the hall. She put her back against the wall by the doorway to Ruby’s room. She pivoted around, raised her gun and planted her feet in one smooth movement.

  Her worst fear stood framed in dread before her – Kirk Prescott with a rope around Charley’s neck. Charley’s head lolled to one side. Her arms and legs twitched. “Drop her or I’ll shoot,” she screamed.

  Kirk smiled and his head turned to the side. She followed the track of his eyes over to a Mickey Mouse clock. “Sorry, officer, but I need three more minutes.”

  “Drop her now or die.”

  Kirk’s smile widened. He shook his head and jerked the rope making Charley’s body dance.

  Lucinda applied pressure to the trigger. In the infinitesimal amount of time that it took her to finish squeezing out a shot, a lifetime of anguish passed through her thoughts. She’d killed before but never with deliberate intent. It made her feel like God and the feeling sickened her.

  Kirk fell to the floor taking Charley with him. Lucinda flew to his side, pulled the rope from his fingers and off Charley’s neck. Omigod! She’s not breathing. Lucinda lifted Charley’s limp body and laid it on the floor. She checked Charley’s airway for any obstruction, pinched the tiny nose and blew two deep breaths into her mouth. She got no response. She laid an ear against Charley’s chest and heard the sound she feared she would not hear – the persistent beating of a determined heart. Thank God. She breathed two more sharp breaths into the little girl’s lungs.

  Ted materialized out of nowhere, kneeling on the other side of Charley’s prone form. “If you need me to take over, I’m here.”

  Lucinda nodded, pressed her mouth down on Charley’s and forced air into her body again. Breathe, dammit, breathe! She breathed into her mouth again. Halfway through that exhale, Charley’s body arched and she sucked in a whistling gasp of breath. She’s breathing! Lucinda’s chin trembled and her eye flooded with tears. Charley swung out her arms hitting out at her and at Ted. For a confusing moment, she was incapable of discerning the difference between her attacker and her rescuers.

  Lucinda wrapped arms around her and held her tight. “It’s okay, Charley. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  “Lucy? Lucy!” Charley said and returned her embrace.

  Lucinda looked to her left and saw the dead body. She pivoted around to face it, turning Charley’s face in the opposite direction to keep the gory vision out of the little girl’s range of sight. She looked over her shoulder at the pair of paramedics entering the room. That’s when she saw Evan Spencer lying in the doorway on the floor.

  Sixty-Eight

  Evan Spencer snuggled in his bed wrapped in a peaceful, drug-induced oblivion as chaos and horror raged through his home. He rested unaware until one sharp, loud noise pierced through the fog. He sat bolt upright in his bed – his first thought for his girls.

  He tried to throw his legs out of bed but they tangled up in the sheets and blankets. He ended up on the floor on all fours. He pushed himself to his feet grabbing his chest of drawers for leverage and stumbled to his bedroom door.

  He fumbled for the doorknob without finding it until he realized he was searching on the wrong side. He shifted over, grasped the knob and pulled open the door. He staggered down the hall to Ruby’s room grabbing the molding to the doorway when he got there. His bleary eyes took in the bloodied face of the body on the floor. He turned his head and fastened on Lucinda breathing into Charley’s mouth. Where is Ruby? he wondered as his body slumped to the floor. By the time he made contact with the wood planks, he was fast asleep.

  “What happened to him?” Lucinda asked.

  “I think he’s drunk,” a patrolman said.

  “Jeez!” Lucinda said, her voice dripping with disgust. She stood and walked toward the female paramedic. “Here, take her. She was strangled to the point that she stopped breathing. She needs to be checked out by a doctor.”

  The paramedic set down the equipment she carried up the stairs and took Charley in her arms.

  “There’s another little girl outside that needs to be looked at, too,” Lucinda told her. She kissed Charley’s cheek. “I’ll see you as soon as I can, sweetie.”

  The paramedic nodded. “We’ll get them both to the hospital.”

  Lucinda stood over Evan with her hands on her hips glaring down at him as he quietly snored. As soon as she heard the footsteps of the paramedic carrying Charley hit the floorboards of the porch, she put a foot on Evan’s rump and pushed. “What the hell is the matter with you?” She pushed again with more force. “What are you, drunk or drugged? Answer me, Spencer,” she said.

  Evan mumbled something indistinguishable.

  Lucinda got down on the floor beside him grabbed a clump of hair and jerked up his head. “What?” she shouted in his face.

  “Ambien,” he whispered.

  “Oh, jeez,” she said as she dropped Evan’s head. His nose bounced on the floor. The pain did not register. “Get him down to the ambulance, too,” she said.

  Two officers put their shoulders under Evan’s arms and half-carried, half-walked him down the stairs.

  Lucinda supervised the techs making sure they took plenty of photographs and gathered all possible evidence. She was more than thorough. She wanted everything documented using as many methodologies as available. It lessened the possibility that something might be overlooked. Her demands for redun
dancy earned her more than a few rolled eyes. The techs, although numbed by the monotony, followed her instructions without hesitation.

  Ted roamed through the house searching for Kirk’s point of entry. In the cellar, his flashlight gleamed on the padlock on the top step by the cellar door. He left it in place and went up the two flights to report his finding to Lucinda.

  When he reached her, she detailed all that she had accomplished to reassure herself she hadn’t overlooked anything at the primary scene in Ruby’s bedroom. She knew she’d be facing a tough Internal Affairs investigation. She didn’t want it complicated by charges of inadequate crime-scene documentation or incompetent evidence retrieval. After Ted’s input, she grew confident that the job on the second floor was complete. She sent Ted outside with the techs to process the cellar door while she stood guard over Kirk’s body.

  She stared down at the fresh corpse wondering why. How could the son of a gentle lady like Lily Spencer turn into such a violent man? Is the answer locked in his genetic code? Or is there a trauma in his early childhood no one has mentioned? An accident or incident that twisted him into the monster he became?

  A wheezing sound ascended the stairs pulling Lucinda’s gaze to the doorway. The coroner came into view. “Dr Sam!” she said in greeting.

  “Dammit, Pierce! How many times do I have to ask you to find these dead bodies during regular business hours,” he grumbled.

  “I didn’t find this one – I made it myself.”

  “That makes it even worse and even more inconsiderate of an old man’s sleep.” He stood over the dead man and examined the obvious bullet wound as Lucinda explained the sequence of events leading up to the shooting.

  “So, I suppose you want me to rule that the manner of death was natural causes?” Dr Sam teased.

  “Yeah right,” Lucinda said.

  “I could say he suffered a spontaneous cessation of brain activity,” he said with a crooked grin.

  Lucinda laughed. “You could. But you won’t.” If only it was that simple – if a change in the medical records could alter reality and wipe out the memory of her finger on the trigger and the bright red bloom on the dead man’s forehead, she wouldn’t give Dr Sam a moment of peace until he did just that.

  “Damn ethics!” he grumbled. “Makes life so hard for decent people.”

  Two men entered the room carrying a stretcher and a body bag. “Take him away, boys,” Dr Sam said. “I’ve seen all I need to see here.” He turned to Lucinda. “Next time, wait till morning before you pull the trigger.”

  “I’ll try to remember that, Doc, if I’m still a cop after tonight.”

  “Kill the pity party, Pierce. You’ll get through this one, too. Only this time, the damned reporters will hail you as a hero.”

  “Me? Never. They hate me.”

  “Till the next corpse, Pierce,” he said and ambled out of the room and down the stairs.

  Ted and Lucinda took separate cars to the hospital. The sun poked its way into the sky as they made the drive, burning a painful glare into their sleep-deprived eyes. On their arrival, an emergency room nurse gave a glowing report on the condition of the two Spencer girls. Lucinda asked about Dr Spencer.

  The nurse laughed. “We toddled him down to the doctors’ lounge to sleep off his sleeping pill. Follow me.”

  When the nurse opened the door, Lucinda and Ted heard water running in the small bathroom. Seconds after it cut off, Evan emerged in bare feet, pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

  “Lieutenant!” he said as he rushed to Lucinda with open arms. “Thank you. You saved Charley’s life.” He wrapped Lucinda in a firm embrace. He pulled back enough to lay a hand on the damaged side of her face. “You want a referral to take care of this, you let me know. I’ll hook you up with the best doctors in the business and make sure they don’t charge you more than your insurance will pay.”

  Lucinda nodded and smiled.

  Evan traced his fingers down to her jaw line and moved one finger to the tip of her chin. He lifted it and planted a kiss right on her lips.

  Flustered, Lucinda backed away. “What will you do now, Doctor?”

  “The ER doctor caring for the girls told me I could take them home any time. I think we’ll head down to my mother’s house. I need to tell her about Kirk and everything else that happened last night. And it’ll be good for the girls to get away from the house for a while. I guess you’re convinced Kirk killed Kate.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s so hard to accept. And he committed all the other murders you questioned me about?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you be so sure, Lieutenant?”

  The method of murder and the signature of the perpetrator are the same in every scene. And it’s all reinforced by the trail of jewelry, Dr Spencer. Like the turquoise cross around Kathleen’s neck and Kathleen’s ring on another woman’s finger. There is a clear chain from the first murder we are aware of until the failed attempt last night. The only thing we don’t know is if the first murder we have in the string of homicides is really the first. There could be more.”

  “But why Kate? Why Ruby? Why Charley?”

  “I wish I could answer that, Doctor. The best I can do is theorize that he was all wrapped up in rage at your family – at his family.”

  Evan hung his head and shook it slowly from side to side.

  “Does your mother know you’re coming? Have you told her anything at all?”

  “No. I haven’t talked to her. I called but I didn’t get an answer.”

  Alarm stabbed a sharp pain into Lucinda’s chest. “She’s not answering the phone?”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. My mother usually turns off the ringer on her phone before she goes to bed at night. Even if she’s up, she often doesn’t remember to turn it back on until she happens to go past the answering machine and sees the blinking light. I left her a message. She’ll probably get it before we get there and call my cell.”

  Back at the station, Ted and Lucinda headed to the conference room. “Wonder how long it’ll take them to come with my suspension notice?” Lucinda mused out loud. “I know they’ll ask for my gun but I gave that up to the crime-scene techs. I hope that doesn’t piss them off.”

  “That was proper procedure. How could that tick them off?”

  “You know Internal Affairs – they’re not happy unless they’re pissed.”

  “You want to start packing this stuff up while we wait?” he asked gesturing to the murder wall.

  “Not yet,” she said. “I’ve got to figure out where Kirk got that daisy pin.”

  “That’s something we may never know Lucinda. We sure can’t ask him.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” she snapped. “I had no damn choice, Sergeant!”

  “Whoa, Lucinda. I know that. Ease up. I’m on your side.”

  Lucinda ran a hand through her hair. “I know. I’m sorry.” She crossed the room and stood before the crime-scene photos from Waverly. She poked a finger at the shirt of the victim. “I have to know, Ted. I have to know if the owner of that daisy pin is another victim of Kirk Prescott.”

  Sixty-Nine

  Evan made the two-hour and fifteen-minute drive to his mother’s house. His uneasiness grew with each mile that passed without a call from his mother. He had to focus to participate in light-hearted banter with the girls and conceal his apprehension. Several times he checked to make sure he still had a signal on his cellphone. Three times he called and got her voicemail.

  He pulled into her driveway in the back of the house and saw an open, empty garage. Panic beat a fierce tattoo on his heart. Maybe she just ran out to the store, he thought. But she never leaves the garage door open when she’s not at home. Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead.

  Fortunately, he’d already spoken to the girls about playing outside in the yard while he had a minute with his mother alone. Hopefully, that would prevent any arguments about not going straight into the house. The girls bounded from the car
and over to the swing hanging from a branch of the large oak tree in the backyard.

  He walked into the garage and up to the door to the kitchen. He held his keys in a trembling hand but he didn’t need them. The door was not locked. It was not even all the way shut.

  He took a deep breath and entered the house. He saw an open carton of eggs and a partial pack of bacon sitting on the counter. A container of melted ice cream and spoon crusted with smears of chocolate sat next to an upended purse on the kitchen table. An empty milk carton was discarded on the floor. Mom would not leave this mess, he thought. Not ever.

  He raced into the living room and up the stairway calling out, “Mom! Mom!” He entered her bedroom and saw the disheveled blankets and sheets. Mom wouldn’t go anywhere without making the bed.

  He plunged back down the stairs hollering, “Lily! Lily Spencer!” as if those words would evoke the response that his cries of “Mom!” did not. He went through every room on the first floor but saw no sign of his mother’s presence. Back up the stairs, he checked her bath and walk-in closet. Nothing. He moved down the hall and searched the two guest bedrooms without finding her.

  Down the stairs he went again with thoughts of checking on his daughters foremost in his mind. As he reached the closed door to the half bath nestled under the stairs leading upstairs, his steps slowed, then stopped. He wrapped his hand around the knob, breathed in deeply and pulled open the door.

  His breath surged out in a rush. Although the cast-iron skillet concealed a view of his mother’s face, he knew it was her body that stretched out covering the tiled floor of the small room. He knelt beside her and grasped her hand. It was cold and unresponsive.

  Tears coursed down his cheeks. The girls flashed back into his mind and propelled him to his feet. He walked with a heavy tread through the kitchen, through the garage and out to the yard.