Lethal Legacy

by Louise Hendricksen

  His expression softened slightly and he nodded.

  After Nathan left, Amy followed the trail of incense-scented cigarette smoke into the living room. A sofa and two chairs rested on their backs, their white satin coverings slashed, their padding pulled out.

  Beside a six-foot-tall feather palm stood a chest its brass-hinged doors gaping open. A raw cigarette burn marred the black lacquered top. Gray ash dotted the oak flooring beneath the chest’s carved feet.

  Amy clenched her teeth. The bastard desecrated Mai’s body, then he savaged her house. Rigid with anger, she marched into the study. Books lay everywhere, each with its spine slit.

  She picked up a dog-eared children’s book illustrated with crude pen and ink drawings. Thinking it might be a keepsake of Mai’s, Amy slid the slim volume into her pocket to give to Cam, and moved on to inspect the bathroom.

  Lotions, creams, pills, and bath crystals filled the sink to overflowing. Discarded containers cluttered the counter top and floor. Amy swore under her breath and continued her survey.

  In the master bedroom, piles of mattress stuffing dotted the parquet floor. An intricately made screen slumped in a corner, its bamboo sections split open like a gutted fish. What was it that would drive anyone to such wanton destruction? she wondered.

  “Amy,” Nathan said, startling her out of her reverie. She turned as he made his way toward her, his boot heels thudding on bare flooring. As he always did when following a trail, he kept to the periphery, to avoid walking where others might have walked. “I found something I think you and your father should see.”

  6

  “I’ve got plenty to do right here,” B.J. said irritably when Amy asked him to accompany her and Nathan outside. “Look at this.” He held up a shard of glass tipped with what looked like blood, dropped it into an evidence bag, and scribbled an I.D. on the fluorescent red label.

  “It’ll keep Dad, Nathan’s found something.”

  Ignoring Nathan, who stood in the doorway behind him, B.J. growled, “Blast it! You know I don’t like other people messing around in my case.”

  Nathan’s nostrils flared, but he gave no other indication he’d heard the older man.

  Amy’s patience snapped. “What case? We don’t have a single lead.”

  B.J. looked up, startled by her tone. “All right, all right. Don’t get so upset.” He flipped up the gray hood of his magnified viewer and peered at Nathan. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Wait until I get my camera and forensic kit,” Amy said and started for the door.

  “How do you know you’ll need them?”

  She turned and gave a hint of a grin. “I know Nathan.”

  Nathan suddenly brightened. “I’ll get your gear.”

  B.J. fidgeted as he and Amy waited for him by the back step. “This cowboy of yours is getting on my nerves,” he said.

  “You might try giving him half a chance.”

  “Why? I don’t owe him anything.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “Hah! Some friend.”

  They quieted as Nathan hastened from the red cinder driveway and handed Amy her camera. “Start over here.” Carrying her forensic kit and a long, thin piece of doweling he’d picked up somewhere, he skirted the patio and squatted down at the far edge. Amy and B.J. moved closer.

  Nathan tapped his improvised pointer on the pink concrete. “Get down on all fours and sight across.”

  Amy and B.J. did as he instructed. “You referring to those small clumps of mud on the concrete?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  B.J. inched forward. “Okay to get closer?”

  When Nathan nodded, B.J. flipped down his magnified viewer and advanced slowly. “They form a kind of pattern.”

  “Yes, he left his flip-flops there.”

  “Thongs? In January? Hell, the man would have to be nuts.”

  “Most Southeast Asians wear shek choeung phtoat from the time they can walk. They’re cheap and more practical than shoes.”

  Nathan stood and gestured to a grove of evergreens approximately a hundred yards away. “He came from that direction. And he’s been here twice. The first time was about five days ago.”

  Amy drew in her breath. “When Mai was killed.”

  Nathan nodded. “He came back again last night.”

  B.J. stood up and thrust out his chin. “How do you know?”

  Nathan jerked his head. “Follow me.” He picked up Amy’s kit and walked along in a bent, tracking stance for several yards before hunkering down again. “Things grow in harmony with their surroundings,” he said solemnly. “If they do not, there is a reason for it.”

  He touched slender green spears of grass that were bent at a forty-five-degree angle. “These were disturbed about five hours ago. Now look at those over there,” he held his stick over blades with a barely perceptible bend, “Similar vegetation recover their normal position at the same rate.” He regarded B.J. with a half smile. “If the weather has not changed.”

  B.J. folded his arms. “That it?”

  “Not quite.” Nathan rose and headed toward the woods.

  Her shoes now soggy, Amy trotted along at his side. “You followed that practically invisible trail all this way?”

  He wagged his head. “Actually, I started at the woods and worked backwards.”

  Amy knotted her brows. “Why there?”

  “I’ve been in this guy’s shoes.” He chuckled. “Make that thongs. When you’re on a stakeout in terrain like this, you find the tallest tree.”

  With his shoulder, he held aside pendulous cedar branches. Motioning Amy and B.J. into a rosin-scented arbor, he pointed upward. “Our man used that tree.” Twenty feet away stood a Douglas fir with wisps of mist coiling lazily around its corky-barked trunk.

  “This is more than I could possibly have hoped for.” Amy followed Nathan on his roundabout route, her feet sinking into layers of moist, black, decaying needles.

  He stopped about ten feet from the towering fir. “He came here over a period of several weeks.”

  Twigs snapping underfoot, B.J. waded through a patch of leathery-leafed salal. “And how did you determine that?” he asked.

  “I just know.” Nathan’s quick glance begged Amy’s forgiveness, for his sharp tone. He set down the forensic bag, wrapped his arm around a sapling, and leaned far out. “Notice these?” He held his stick over something at the base of the tree.

  Amy found a patch of club moss, got down on all fours, and stared into the gloom beneath the sweeping branches. Finally, her eyes focused in on Nathan’s find. “Cigarillo butts.”

  “Djarum. They’re manufactured in Indonesia.” He moved his pointer a couple of feet. “Can you see the cellophane? It’s a slightly heavier variety than ours.” He touched a clump of dried sword ferns. “The empty packs are staffed under here.”

  Amy thought of the valuable DNA information the saliva-dampened cigarettes might yield. “You certainly found a treasure trove.”

  She swung around to B.J..“This, along with the blood you found, could prove decisive.”

  “Doesn’t prove he’s the murderer.”

  “No?” Nathan stomped through a thicket of red alder. He stopped near a stump, teased aside rotted wood with his piece of doweling, and exposed two flat metal prongs embedded in black rubber. “That convince you?”

  “Jesus Christ, an electrical cord! I gotta get more light in here!” B.J. spun around and bolted back the way they’d come. Suddenly he stopped and yelled back, “Don’t touch a thing. Not a thing, hear?”

  Nathan lowered himself onto a fallen log. “Does he ever let up?”

  When Amy smiled, Nathan flung her a sour look. “Something funny?”

  “I just figured out what’s eating him.”

  “Fine. I’m glad you know.”

  Amy uncapped her camera and snapped a picture of the protruding electrical plug. “He started out being angry because he thought you’d hurt me.” She returned to the big
fir and focused in on the cigarette butts. “Now, his nose is out of joint because he realizes your knowledge is on a par with his.”

  “Great. That puts me on his list.”

  She laughed out loud and triggered the camera. “You two are very much alike.”

  “Thanks, just what I wanted to hear.”

  She ambled over to where he sat. “I meant it as a compliment. I happen to think my dad is a very special guy.”

  Nathan spread his hands. “And you think I am, after all I’ve done to you?”

  “You didn’t set out to hurt me, Nathan. I don’t blame you for what happened between us.”

  His expression softened as he brushed his knuckle across her cheek. “Kitten,” he said slowly, as if getting the feel of the name. “Nice. I like it.” He managed a wry smile. “At least your father got that right.” He studied the tips of his muddy boots, then met her gaze once more. “You are very special person, too.”

  Not hardly, Amy thought. A special person would be honest and aboveboard and not yearn for a man who belonged to another woman. She swallowed. “Maybe. Maybe not.” When she ran her tongue over her dry lips, she saw a flame kindle in Nathan’s eyes. “I’d better get busy.” She smiled at him. “Mind if I get a picture of you?” In the difficult months ahead, she’d need one.

  “Not if you’ll let me take some of you.”

  Amy took photographs of the vicinity, before revisiting the lookout tree. Kneeling on the forest duff and inhaling the damp mushroom odors, she got several closeups of the site. Finally, the knees of her wool slacks sodden, she struggled to her feet.

  She felt Nathan’s presence, and shivered when he came up behind her and drew her back against him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  I shouldn’t let him do this. A heartbeat passed, then another and another as she held herself perfectly still, afraid if she made the slightest movement, he’d let go of her.

  Nathan buried, his face in the hollow of her neck and breathed in. “Oh, Amy girl.”

  They remained that way until a crashing of underbrush heralded B.J.‘s return. Nathan sighed and moved away from her before her father caught sight of them. “I have something else to show you.”

  He took her hand and led her around to the back side of the big Douglas fir. A fresh scar exposed tan and dark brown inner bark. Below lay bits of shavings and whittled sticks.

  Amy gripped his hand hard. “Does it mean anything? Do you think he did it to pass the time?”

  “Might have.”

  “If it’s the same knife he used to kill Mai, we just might get lucky and find a tie-in.” As she started to turn away, something caught her eye in the litter at the tree’s base. “What’s that?”

  “Where?”

  She snatched up a twig, turned over a brownish, fir-needle-covered blob, and regarded it intently. “A piece of candy.” She wheeled around and grabbed his jacket front. “Caramel candy with tooth marks.” She gave an excited laugh. “That’ll be a challenge.” She sobered and stared up at him. “Oh, Nathan. This will help us so much. Without you, we might never have discovered any of this.”

  He flushed and put his arm around her. “I’m so glad I can help you. I,” Suddenly, B.J.‘s bellow cut him off.

  “Amy! Where the hell are you?”

  “Coming!” Amy yelled. She grinned at Nathan. “Subtle, he ain’t.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got to go make some preparations. Mind if I use the laundry sink and mirror in the garage?”

  She looked at him questioningly, then shrugged. “Fine with me.”

  “When she reached B.J., he was setting up battery-powered torches to better view the scene. “Ran onto a couple of interesting items on the other side of the tree,” she said.

  “Did you get pictures?”

  “Enough for the first stage.”

  “Good. Get out the camcorder and document every move we make. I don’t want any loopholes.”

  “Will do.” Removing small evidence bags from her kit, she began to label them. “Did you call the sheriff?”

  “Yeah, he says he’ll stop by when he can get away.” B.J. said with a derisive snort. “Probably caught him in the middle of a hot pinochle game.” He inspected the floor of the area through his magnifier. “Damn this furry green stuff.”

  “It’s moss, Dad. Leucolepis menziesii.”

  “Just what I need, another expert,” B.J. said. He bent to concentrate once more. “Can’t make out anything you’d call a footprint Wish to hell this guy had worn shoes.” He bent down farther. “Tweezers,” he said, and Amy slapped the requested item into his hand. “Bag.” She held the sack open while he dropped in a cigarette butt.

  “Ah,” he said, drawing the word out with obvious satisfaction. “I see how Nathan knew the murderer had come here over a period of time. The butts tell a story.”

  Amy smiled to herself. She knew Nathan would have taken many elements into consideration, just as she or B.J. would have, before making such a remark. “From the looks of this, Mai was right in thinking someone was spying on her. He may have even made his presence known, just to frighten her.”

  “Wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” He lay a telescoping platform he’d invented over intervening space and inched toward the tree. With slow, painstaking exactness, B.J. gathered and packaged each piece of evidence while she took turns using the still camera and the camcorder.

  An hour passed before they reached the rotted stump and began to unearth the electrical cord. “Well I’ll be damned,” B.J. said as he carefully lifted a chunk of wood and set it aside. “Look at that” Crammed in behind the cord lay four short lengths of white cotton rope. He cleared his throat. “Seems as if your Nathan knows a thing or two after all.”

  Amy smiled, but remained silent.

  Finally, they gathered their materials and equipment and made their way out of the grove. As they neared the house, a rotund man in a black suit emerged from the garage and came toward them.

  He stopped several yards away, pressed his palms together in humble manner and bowed his head. “Doctor Prescott, I am Khieu Ngor. Chantou Pran’s nephew.”

  B.J. stared hard at the man for a moment before uttering, “Holy Jesus. It’s you.”

  Although Amy had seen Nathan in disguise before, the transformation still amazed and rather frightened her. Each time, she felt as if the man she knew had been usurped by another. Now, by some means or other he gave the appearance of having shortened his height, put on weight, and aged. His naturally slanted eyes fit his assumed part, but he’d partially concealed them with round, steel-rimmed glasses.

  Nathan smiled. “Think I’ll pass?” Even his voice sounded different.

  She shivered. “You carrying your gun?”

  “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

  B.J. cleared his throat. “We’re dealing with a violent man. You could be walking into a dangerous situation.”

  “I’ve been there before.” A siren shrilled in the distance. “I had better get going. I’ll come by your office later.”

  “Don’t you need a ride?” Amy asked.

  “No,” he said. “It’s best I go on foot. We shouldn’t be seen together, and besides, I’ll learn more this way.”

  Amy fought down an urge to plead with him not to go. “Be careful.”

  He grinned, a strange toothy smile that didn’t resemble his own at all. Amy saw that he’d already vanished into his new persona.

  Nathan raised his hand in farewell and headed off toward the woods.

  7

  In the Nguyens’ master bedroom, B.J. dusted finely grained gray powder onto a bamboo screen. When it swayed. Sheriff Boyce reached out to steady it. “Hands off!” B.J. snapped.

  The stocky man yanked his hand back. “Kee-rist, Prescott, you’d think this was some damned major crime scene or something.”

  B.J. straightened. “And just what the hell do you think it is? Someone murdered Mai Nguyen in this house. And then returned, looking for something.”


  Sheriff Boyce’s bulbous nose reddened. “Waste of time. Just a bunch of kids out to make some mischief.”

  Amy lifted her camel-hair dusting brush and regarded the man with annoyance. “Kids would have left fingerprints everywhere,” she said, turning back to dust the bureau drawers.

  B.J. glanced up from his work. “And I haven’t found any that weren’t here before.”

  “Kids go to the movies. They know the score.”

  Letting out a gusty breath, B.J. asked, “How would they have gotten in? We didn’t find any broken windows or doors.”

  “So,” Deputy Pierce straightened his hat, “What’s your theory?”

  B.J. fixed him with a hard-eyed stare. “The person who murdered Mrs. Nguyen probably stole a key the night he murdered her.”

  “That’s a laugh,” Sheriff Boyce said. “Since when doesn’t a husband have a key to his own house?”

  “Ah, come off it, Sheriff.” Amy braced her fists on her hips. “You saw the evidence we gathered in the woods. What’s it take to convince you there’s more going on here than what you thought?”

  Sheriff Boyce jutted out his square chin. “You got no proof linking that cache in the woods to what happened in this house.” He jerked his head at his deputy. “Come on, Duane. We got more important things to do than dusting cabinets.”

  By the time Amy and her father finished their work and returned to Ursa Bay, Amy felt as exhausted as if she’d climbed a mountain. Nevertheless, she trudged into the lab and began organizing the physical evidence they’d collected.

  Several of the cigarette butts they arranged to send out for a polymerase chain reaction; others they’d analyze themselves. If the man who killed Mai secreted ABO antigens, they’d have a verifiable clue, if he didn’t, they’d be back to square one.

  After writing a note to their forensic odontology consultant requesting an impression of the teeth marks in the piece of caramel candy they’d found, Amy put the package in the outgoing mail. With luck, the specialist would be able to tell them something about the perpetrator’s facial contours.

  Tomorrow, B.J. intended to return to the stakeout area with a saw and wood chisel to extract the whittled bark. If the marks revealed striations or other anomalies that matched with the barium sulfate X-rays taken of the victim’s wound, they would have a definite tie-in.