Lethal Legacy

by Louise Hendricksen

  While she worked, B.J. busied himself in another part of the lab. He wanted to run tests on droplets of dried blood he’d found on the countertops in the Nguyens’ kitchen and bathroom.

  At 5:00 p.m., the buzzer on the office’s front door sounded. Amy opened it to find Nathan standing there with his arms full of packages. “Come in,” she said, opening the door wider. Somewhere during his sojourn, he’d gotten rid of his disguise and he now looked like himself again. Stepping inside, he set down two sacks and lay his lumpy looking leather jacket on the settee.

  “You’re back safe and sound,” she said, beaming up at him.

  “Yep.” He took a long white box from underneath his jacket and regarded her with a soft expression. “These are for you.”

  She gave him a puzzled glance. “What for?”

  “Because I’ve never given you anything.” A bleak expression came over his face. “Nothing at all.”

  She took the box and gazed up at him. “You saved my life … twice.”

  He shrugged. “Anybody could have done the same.”

  “That’s not true.” She set the box on the desk, lifted the lid, and caught her breath. “Red roses! Oh, Nathan, no one’s ever given me flowers.”

  He moved closer. “No one?”

  She shook her head. “I guess I’m not the type of woman men give gifts to.”

  He narrowed the space between them. “They were blind. You should have rings and necklaces and soft pink dresses…” His eyes met hers. “And lacy pink under things.”

  She flushed. The last time they’d been together, she’d worn a pink skirt and blouse with matching lingerie. “Thank you. The roses are lovely.” She blinked and swallowed hard. “I’ll make them last.”

  He stood only inches from her, their bodies close but not touching. “Amy, I wish,” At the sound of the inner lab door clanking open, he stopped and stepped away from her.

  “Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “Dad will want to hear your report. Meet you in the conference room?” When he nodded, she whisked the roses into the kitchen and put them in a place where B.J. would be unlikely to find them. She didn’t want him asking questions.

  A few minutes later, they all gathered around the table in the conference room with her sitting beside Nathan, as she had that morning.

  “I covered all the Cambodian businesses,” Nathan said, looking from Amy to her father. “Had lunch at the restaurant, made purchases at the curio, vegetable, and flower shops.” He lifted two brown paper bags onto the table. One bulged with fruit, the other with vegetables. “Hope you can use this stuff.”

  Amy glimpsed an enormous head of broccoli and smiled. Her father hated broccoli. “I’m sure we will. Did you learn anything?”

  Nathan drew his heavy brows together. “Nothing definite.” His frown deepened. “Everywhere I went, I felt a puzzling undercurrent.”

  B.J. closed his file folder and clicked his ballpoint pen. “Might have known it. Didn’t expect ‘em to talk to a stranger.”

  Amy ignored his remark. “Did they say anything about Mai or her father?”

  “Most knew and liked them. Odd, though … questions about Pran’s background ended the conversation.” He took out a tiny roll of film and laid it on the table. “I carried a hidden camera and took pictures of everyone I talked to.” He turned to Amy. “I’d like to keep the snapshot you gave me of Pran. I’ll make a copy and return the original. I still have some contacts in Cambodia. I have a strange feeling…”

  Amy waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she asked, “Did you find a gym?”

  Nathan took a folder from his jacket pocket and laid it in front of her. “Out of disguise, I went to Fenwick’s Athletic Center. Played some handball. Worked out in the weight room. They have three Caucasian and two Asian employees.” He handed B.J. a slip of paper. “I took the license numbers of the cars in the employee’s lot.”

  B.J. stood up. “Anything else?”

  Nathan wagged his head. “Nothing that I can put my finger on right now.”

  B.J. refilled the folder and dragged his easel and a huge pad of newsprint out of a corner. “Let’s get some thoughts on paper.” He uncapped a black felt pen. “What do we know about the suspect?”

  “Judging from his stride and footprint impression, he’s about five-foot-eight and weighs 130 to 135 pounds,” Nathan said.

  “He could be a Southeast Asian,” Amy said.

  Nathan sat forward. “He may lift weights.”

  Amy jotted a few lines in her black notebook. “I’ll talk to Cam about that tomorrow.”

  “Also ask him which province Mai and her father came from,” Nathan said, making a note to himself on his own scratch pad.

  “Is that significant?” Amy asked.

  “Could be. Somebody in that household has something someone wants badly enough to torture and kill for.”

  For a brief moment, she considered telling the two men about the blue pickup that had followed her from Wheeler. But she decided against it. It wasn’t necessarily related to the case, she reasoned.

  B.J. capped his pen and looked from one to the other. “That it?” When both she and Nathan nodded, he lay his pen in the grooved ledge of the easel and made eye contact with Amy. “Gotta go to a meeting, kitten. Be home around eleven.”

  “You get anything on that blood?”

  “Oh yeah, I damn near forgot.” He snatched up the felt pen again. “Type AB, Rh-negative. I’ll do a PGM later. Got a Y-factor on the chromosome comp. The house wrecker is definitely a man.”

  “Hey, that’s terrific, Dad.” Amy got to her feet and hugged him. “Sure narrows the odds.”

  B.J. patted her back, shook himself loose, marched over to Nathan, and stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

  With a look of surprise, Nathan shook the proffered hand. “I didn’t accomplish much.”

  “You gave us the nudge we needed.” B.J. swung around to Amy. “Get some rest,” he said meaningfully.

  “Is type AB blood rare?” Nathan asked after B.J. had gone.

  Amy reseated herself beside him. “Only about six percent of the population has it.” She frowned. “But nothing we’ve found today will be of any value if we don’t come up with a suspect.”

  “Wish I could do more.” Nathan set his elbows on the table, interlaced his long, slender fingers, and rested his forehead against them.

  Amy waited a long moment before asking what she knew she had to have the answer to. “Why did you come here today?”

  He let out his breath. “Oh, Amy. Six years ago I left home because my father called me an arrogant fool. I traveled halfway around the world, and I am still an arrogant fool.” He nodded his head in silent condemnation. “What gave me the right to think I knew what was best for you,” or for Angela? I loused up your life and hers too.”

  She longed to put her arms around him; instead she reached over and began to rub his back. “I’ll survive.”

  He leaned into her hand. “I’m not sure Angela and I will. I thought I could forget you. I didn’t.”

  Amy continued to lightly massage his back; gradually his muscles relaxed under her touch.

  His head rested once more on his folded hands. “Night after night, I run, trying to wear myself out so that I can sleep. But when I do, you’re there in my dreams. I’m afraid I’ll say your name … maybe I already have. Maybe that’s why,”

  “Shh, things will get better after…” Her voice faltered. “After you have children.” But even while she said the words, she rejected the thought. The thought of him having children with anyone but her.

  “I doubt that will ever happen.” He ran a hand over his face wearily. “We don’t … she can’t…” He groaned. “I’ve really messed up our lives.”

  She swallowed into a dry throat and tried a different tack. “What you feel for me is only sexual attraction. You’ll forget.”

  He twisted around and stared at her. “Have you forgotten?” When she didn’t answer
, he took her face in his hands. “Have you, Amy?”

  She couldn’t escape his fierce gaze, and knew he’d know if she lied. Her throat tightened and a fine trembling began inside her.

  “Amy?”

  The softness of his voice undid her. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Are you speaking for your body or your heart?”

  The trembling progressed to her legs and she pressed her hands against her knees. “I can’t answer that, Nathan.”

  He flinched. “I need to know.”

  “My heart.” A tear wet her cheek. She wiped it away with her fingers and raised her chin. “But I could be wrong. I thought I loved Mitch when I married him.” She regretted the words as soon as she saw his expression. He knew what a mistake her first husband had turned out to be.

  Nathan brought his chair closer and enfolded her in a loose embrace. “I don’t trust myself with you,” he said. He rested his cheek against hers. “I want to kiss you, touch you, make love to you.” He pressed her cheek harder, rocked her from side to side. “And never ever stop.”

  Amy was silent, wondering if she was hearing him correctly.

  “I didn’t know, Amy,” he continued. He drew back his head to gaze at her. “I swear I never knew I could feel this way. The burning need never goes away. It makes me crazy.”

  “I know.”

  “You too?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes I think I can’t stand it another day, but I do.”

  He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. “Once, I even called here late at night just to hear your voice on the answering machine.”

  He kissed her, touched her hair, her eyes, her mouth like a blind man memorizing a face. His hands moved restlessly over her back and she sensed his growing urgency, but didn’t have the will to stop him.

  Suddenly, he stumbled to his feet, upsetting the chair in his haste. “I have to get out of here. Catch a plane. Go back to where I belong.” He looked at her with desperation in his eyes, hesitated, then rushed out of the room.

  Amy hurried after him, saw him grab his coat and head for the front door. He couldn’t leave yet, she thought. She hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye. “Nathan, wait…”

  He turned to face her. “Do you have the medicine pouch I gave you?” When she nodded, he added, “Promise me you will wear it.”

  She lifted her forlorn gaze to meet his. “I promise.”

  His dark eyes bored into hers. “Every day, Amy. There is danger in that town, and I cannot be here to protect you.”

  8

  Amy hadn’t slept the night before, and as she drove to Wheeler, her mind and body felt weighted down with hopelessness. Last fall when she and Nathan had parted, he’d said the thought of being away from her created an ache so terrible he didn’t know if he could live with it. He was wrong. You went on living and the pain got worse, much worse.

  Gunmetal gray clouds that matched her mood hovered just above the Douglas firs. The station wagon’s windshield wipers labored to control the sheeting rain. She let out a long sigh. A little sunshine might have made the day bearable.

  Once at the courthouse, she got soaked while dashing from the parking lot to the building’s entry portico. Pushing open one of the double oak doors, she bumped into a man with wavy red hair who stepped back a few feet and peered at her through rimless glasses. “Uh … excuse me, you aren’t Dr. Prescott,” he shook his head doubtfully, “Are you?”

  Amy wiped the rain from her lashes and squinted up at him. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. “Yes. Are you looking for me, or my father?”

  “You.” He gestured toward a door off to the right. “The sheriff said you were on your way.” He smiled and laugh lines fanned out from his blue eyes. “You’re not exactly what I expected … I mean, people who do what you do don’t usually look…” He turned pink and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jed MacManus, Dr. Nguyen’s attorney.”

  She shook his hand and said, “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do. I’m late for court now. But…” His flush deepened. “Could we, uh … meet at seven tonight at the Cove in Ursa Bay, and talk over dinner?” He gazed at her with an anxious expression.

  She regarded him with a puzzled frown. The two times she’d talked to him on the phone, he’d sounded confident and able, yet here he was stammering like a schoolboy.

  “Would that be all right?” he said when she didn’t respond. “I, I have to be in the area and … since we’re going to be working as a team, we really should get acquainted. Don’t you think?”

  “Seven?” She calculated her day’s schedule. “I might be able to make it. If not, perhaps my father can.”

  “Your father?” He seemed disappointed. “Oh yes, of course, you practice together, I’d forgotten.”

  “He knows as much about this case as I do,” she said. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. MacManus. I’m late.” She brushed by him and headed for the sheriff’s office.

  Deputy Pierce, wearing a sullen expression, showed her to the jail’s visiting room where Cam was seated and departed without a word.

  Amy glanced at his retreating back and sat down across from Cam. “What’s ailing the deputy?”

  “Jed chewed him out for mouthing off.”

  Amy’s opinion of the attorney rose a few points. “Is MacManus a friend of yours?”

  “Met him a year ago when his mother was brought into the trauma center. So, tell me, have you learned anything?”

  She drew a breath. It would be best to get the questions out of the way first. She pressed her palm against her stomach, which had begun to act up again. “Do you lift weights?”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. “Occasionally. Why?”

  “We found magnesium carbonate in the kitchen and bedroom.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “Antacids? Neither Mai nor I take them.”

  “Weight lifters sometimes use magnesium carbonate on their hands.” She avoided his gaze. “Where do you go to work out?”

  “Fenwick’s, at the foot of Main. I play handball there twice a week. Well, I used to.”

  Amy jotted his answer in her notebook, then looked up at him. “What part of Cambodia did Mai come from?”

  “She and Chantou seldom mentioned Cambodia. Once Mai said she thought her mother grew up in Phnom Penh.”

  “Are you interested in archaeology?”

  He regarded her questioningly for a moment, then understanding lit his eyes. “The books in the study belonged to Chantou. Mai said the subject fascinated him.”

  “I spoke with him at your wedding. He struck me as being an educated man. What do you know about him?”

  “Less than nothing.” Cam raised his shoulders in a shrug. “He read a lot. Kept up on what was going on in Southeast Asia.” He folded his arms. “What has Chantou got to do with Mai’s murder?”

  “Perhaps nothing.” Amy lay her notebook on the counter. “Mai was right to be paranoid, Cam. Someone was spying on her.”

  “Oh, God!” Cam covered his face, “Why didn’t I believe her?”

  As gently as she could, Amy told him about the destructive search of the house, the evidence they’d found, and, when she could put it off no longer, the results of the autopsy.

  When she finished, Cam sat as if stunned. “The man’s a monster.” His lip quivered. “He must be. Who else would do such a thing?”

  Amy studied his face. “We think Mai knew him. Either that, or he had a key to the house.”

  “Mai had the locks changed two weeks ago. He couldn’t have had a key, unless,” his eyes clouded, “she gave it to him” He gripped the edge of me counter.

  Amy stretched out her hand in an effort to reach him. “We have to consider every possibility.” She pushed a sheet of paper across to him. “We’ll need a list of your male friends and acquaintances.”

  He recoiled. “You think someone I know did that to her?”

  “Cam,” she said gently. “Every day, you see what terrible things people are capable of doing
.”

  “Not my friends. Not people I know.”

  Amy got to her feet. “How well do we really know anyone?” she asked.

  From the outside, Fenwick’s Athletic Club looked like many other red brick warehouses built in the early nineteen hundreds. Inside, in the U-shaped foyer, clear Plexiglas extended from floor to ceiling, providing a view of each room. On Amy’s left, two men played handball; on her right, a group of women exercised to music.

  Amy had watched the scene only a few minutes when a thin young woman with blonde hair came toward her. She wore royal blue slacks and a matching blouse trimmed with a white collar and cuffs. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m Amy Prescott,” Amy said, noting the FAC logo rendered in script on the woman’s collar. A blue plastic tag disclosed that her name was Daphne. “Do you offer low-impact aerobics for expectant mothers?”

  “But definitely.” The woman flashed a cover-girl smile. “It’s an ongoing class and they’re just starting today’s workout. You can sit in, if you’d like.”

  Wondering if her stomach was up to the challenge, Amy forced a smile. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Daphne took her name and led her down the hall to a room where a group of women in various stages of pregnancy were sitting on blue vinyl mats. Amy took a seat on a vacant mat beside an Asian woman.

  “Hi.” Good humor glinted in the woman’s dark eyes and wreathed her angular face. “I’m Hue Quoy.”

  Amy answered her smile. “Amy Prescott.” The instructor began to speak, cutting off any further conversation.

  When the session ended, Amy followed Hue down a flight of stairs to the windowless basement. As they started along a hallway, an Asian man with permed hair worn in an elaborate pompadour came toward them. He was dressed in the club’s blue and white uniform and carried a stack of towels. He stopped near the group of women and a smile spread over his delicately formed features.

  “Good morning, ladies. Are all the mothers in fine health today?”

  A chorus of answers came from all sides. Hue grinned and a tiny dimple flickered beside her wide mouth. “They go bonkers when Kim’s around.” She rolled her eyes. “They think he’s so romantic looking.”