Lethal Legacy

by Louise Hendricksen

  Amy sat down. “I do intend to find the man. Make no mistake about that, Mr. Fenwick.”

  “Make that Ivan, Dr. Prescott. And you’re welcome to use the club facilities any time you’d like.”

  “I doubt if I’ll be spending much time in Wheeler once this case is closed. However, any mention I might make about your club shouldn’t endanger your business.”

  “Fine. Fine. Glad to hear it.” Ivan beamed at her, got to his feet, pulled out a drawer, and handed her two time cards.

  The greenhouse gardeners told Amy that Cam hadn’t returned and they didn’t know where he was staying. Amy left a note for him with the head gardener telling him they were dealing with two men instead of just one. She warned him to use caution since the men might think he knew the location of the item they sought. She closed with a plea for him to call her or Jed.

  With that out of the way, she consulted the information Ivan Fenwick had given her. Kim’s address led her to a two-story clapboard building with faded white paint. The landlady who presided over the rooming house either didn’t speak English or didn’t want Amy to know that she did.

  Amy studied the cars at the curb. If either Kim or Victor was the culprit, it was possible that one of them owned the blue pickup that followed her the first day she’d visited Cam at the jail.

  She drove up the alley behind the rooming house and came upon several old cars and an ancient gray van. Hanuman Janitorial Service was hand-painted in uneven letters on the van’s rust-streaked panels. Amy wrote down the name and the license numbers of the cars and went on her way.

  The quest for Victor Samphan led her to a remote wooded canyon. Through thick stands of fir, she caught glimpses of the turbulent water of the Wasku River. After following a mud-slick lane for several miles, she located Samphan’s house. Set back in a grove of cedars, it was scarcely visible from the road.

  When Amy knocked, a woman opened the door only wide enough for her slender body to slip through. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, yet her face looked drawn and haggard.

  “Hello,” Amy said, and smiled at her. The woman’s dark eyes remained wide with fear. “Are you Mrs. Samphan?” she asked.

  When the woman nodded nervously, Amy asked, “Is your husband at home?”

  The woman shook her head. “No, he’s not here.”

  “Perhaps I could wait. Do you expect him back soon?”

  The woman twisted cracked, reddened fingers together. “I don’t know.” She moistened her lips. “Probably two or three hours. He, he’s very seldom home. He works two jobs.”

  “I see.” Amy gave her a business card. “Please have him call me. I want to ask him a few questions.”

  The woman nodded and closed the door.

  Amy slogged through the mud to her car. A whole day lost and nothing gained. When she happened to glance behind her, she glimpsed a man watching her from around a corner of the house.

  Then she spied the blue pickup in the shed.

  17

  “Shit!”

  Jed’s expletive traveled through the receiver with such force it hurt her ear. “Getting angry won’t help, Jed.”

  “I don’t give a damn. Do you think Cam’s carrying a gun?”

  “Could be. I tried to argue him out of getting one the other day. That may be why he’s avoiding me.”

  “Jesus, I hope he doesn’t screw around and get himself in worse trouble than he already is.”

  “He’s like a different person.”

  “A man whose wife has been brutally raped and murdered changes, Amy. I’ll take a run over there tomorrow and see if I can find him. Let me know if he calls you.”

  Amy hung up the receiver and went to look out the living room window. Rain sprayed the glass and droplets drizzled down the slick surface. In the muted glow of me lamppost, she could see water overflowing the gutters. Cars created geysers as they plowed through hub-deep pools.

  Cam could be out patrolling the greenhouses in this deluge, she thought. Anything could happen. He wasn’t used to such hardships. What would he do if confronted by Mat’s assailants? He was a doctor, not a fighter. She doubted if he even knew how to defend himself.

  She rinsed and dried the few dishes she’d used for dinner. When alone, she seldom felt justified in using the dishwasher. When she’d given the kitchen a thorough cleaning, she moved on to the living room. There she straightened stacks of forensic science journals on the dark oak coffee table, and fluffed cinnamon, gold, and green velvet pillows decorating the glide rocker and the toffee-colored couch.

  All the while she worked, she sensed an underlying desperation in her attempt to put her house in order. Yet, she refused to let herself consider the source.

  By eleven o’clock she had run out of excuses to stay up, so she put on a flannel shirt that had belonged to Nathan and went to bed. She seldom wore the shirt for fear it’d lose his scent, but tonight she feared she might need the comfort the shirt gave her.

  The instant she turned out the light, fear clutched her chest. Again, she stood in the basement of the gym straining to see the killer. Would he come at her with his hands, or his knife? Perspiration broke out on her body and she fought for breath.

  The sharp shrilling of her bedside phone jerked her back to reality. Her pulse still racing, she snatched up the receiver. “Hel-Hello?” She stammered. Her voice sounded shrill and breathless to her ears.

  “I had to know that you were all right.”

  “Nathan…” She gulped for air.

  “Sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t”

  “Amy, I know this is wrong. But I got that awful feeling about you again today and I was afraid that … Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She hadn’t told her father or Jed about the attack, How could he have known? To avoid answering the question, she changed the subject. “I’m glad you called. I needed to talk to you.”

  “What about?”

  “I mailed you copies of the fingerprints we have. APIS has nothing on the two men.”

  “There are two?”

  “Yes. One of them was in one of the pictures you took when you were in the Asian vegetable market”

  “Send me an enlarged print.”

  “I will. Remember the piece of caramel candy I found by the fir tree? The dentist says the man has a broken front tooth. And the man who was watching me the day I was at Cam’s house does too.”

  “You didn’t mention anything about such a man the last time we talked.”

  She took a quick breath. “I must have forgotten. Anyway, one or the other or both ransacked Pran’s greenhouse. Uprooted a bunch of plants. He killed one of the gardeners. Broke his neck and back.”

  There was a silence before Nathan finally said, “I thought they might be Khmer Rouge.”

  “What? This isn’t Cambodia.”

  “The FBI have had reports of them infiltrating Asian communities in the U.S.”

  “The man who saw the driver who hit Mr. Pran referred to him as one of the yavana. He refused to identify him.”

  “Smart man. They would kill him and his family.”

  “An Asian woman I met says they’re extorting money from the shopkeepers. Do you think they’re the same men who killed Mai?”

  “Their methods are similar, but that doesn’t mean much.”

  “How am I to solve a crime when everyone is too frightened to tell me anything?”

  “Whatever you do, be careful, Amy. I have seen the awful things these men do to women. I fear for you.”

  For an instant, she was back in the dark locker room again. “So do I. I don’t even trust Cam anymore. I, I … Oh, Nathan, I wish you were here.’”

  He let out a long sigh. “I wish I were too.”

  She swallowed a lump in her throat. “I know it would only make things worse for you.”

  “Impossible. My life is already a mess. In the four months I’ve been married, I’ve slept with my wife once, and that was on
our wedding night”

  Amy felt as if her jaws had locked and it hurt to force out words. “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. When I try to talk to her, she cries and begs me not to leave her.”

  Amy didn’t want to hear about their problems, didn’t want to feel sorry for a woman who stood between her and the man she loved. “Have you tried a counselor?”

  “Angela refuses. Worse yet, I have no way of knowing if her problems are because of something I did or something I did not do.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t ask you this, Amy, but I have to know. Was I a good lover?”

  “Nathan…”

  “Please, Amy, tell me. Did I give you pleasure?”

  If he had cut out her heart, she couldn’t have hurt any worse. Still, she couldn’t deny him the reassurance he needed. “No one has ever made me feel as you did. I, I didn’t even know I was capable of experiencing such … of feeling like that.”

  “Neither did I, Mihewi. When I am with you, I have,” he cleared his throat, “spirit feelings … My people call it liloiz gaudeo, causing joy.”

  Amy was silent, not knowing how to respond.

  “Then, there is the other feeling,” Nathan continued. He laughed softly. “You smile, or flip your hair, or flash your eyes at me and my heart thunders. I think, I must touch her. And when I do,” his voice grew husky, “Mikewi, my Sun Woman, heteuit, my blood turns to fire and I want you.”

  “I know.”

  “You feel that way too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mihewi…” He hesitated for a long moment. “Amy, would you have made love with me the last time I saw you?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “Right there in your conference room?”

  Her laughter had a bittersweet quality about it. “On the chair, on the table, on the floor. It wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

  “Or to me.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Describe your bedroom. I want to picture you there.”

  She smiled, thinking of him imagining her. “The wallpaper is cream-colored with little yellow roses. The curtains and spread are white with lace trim.”

  “What do you have on?”

  She laughed. “Your flannel shirt.”

  “My shirt! I thought you would be wearing something pink and filmy I could see through.”

  “I have some of those too, but at special times I wear your shirt because it comforts me.”

  “Amy, how can you forgive me for what I have done to you?”

  “You did what you thought was right at the time.” She gave a weary sigh. “And that, I’m afraid, is a lot more praiseworthy than what we’re doing now.”

  18

  The next morning, as Amy was dressing, the twins made her aware of their presence again. “Good morning, babies,” she said, somewhat self-conscious at hearing her voice in the quiet room. Recently she’d read that pregnant women should talk and sing to their unborn babies. Researchers claimed an unborn child had thoughts and feelings and might even sense its mother’s moods. Since that was the case, she decided she’d sing and talk regardless of who might think she’d slipped a cog. Besides, it made the twins seem more real and helped ease her loneliness.

  “So, J. T. and J. B.,” she said in a cheerful tone. “I guess it’s about time I started thinking about getting a nanny.”

  She took a pencil and scratch pad into the kitchen and wrote. Wanted: Live-in Nanny, at the top of the page, then stirred rolled oats into water and started the microwave. Motherly woman. In her mind, she envisioned a plump, large-bosomed woman of around fifty.

  Amy dropped two slices of bread into the toaster and scribbled. Must love children. When the toast popped up, she buttered it and sat down to eat. “You guys are certainly changing your mother’s life. Before you came along, I seldom thought of food. Now look at me.” She laughed. “One way or another, you’re going to turn me into a blimp.”

  After she finished eating, she took her scratch pad with her and went downstairs to the lab. “I’m going to advertise for a live-in nanny,” she said to her father, who was sitting on a stool reading a computer printout of her notes.

  “Why now? You won’t need one for five months.”

  “I’m going to need a labor coach.”

  “Your Aunt Helen or I could do that.”

  “No, I want to get to know whoever will be taking care of the twins. I need to know what she’s like, how she reacts in times of stress.” She pulled the pad toward her. Even though she knew she had little hope of finding such a person, she added. Would prefer someone who speaks the Nez Perce tongue and knows their customs.

  With that matter taken care of, she slipped two prepared glass slides under separate objectives of the comparison microscope and adjusted the focus. One slide contained cotton fibers taken from a bedpost at the Nguyen house, the other a sample from the rope they’d found hidden in me woods.

  As flat fibers resembling twisted ribbon came into view, she swore under her breath. Although aware that white cotton can be found in almost any sample of house dust, she had still hoped her samples might be unique.

  She removed the slides and tossed them in the disposal can. “No luck. The rope is useless as evidence unless you found some blood or tissue on it.”

  B. J. glanced up. “No. Not a thing that’s of any help.”

  She set up the upholstery samples she’d clipped from the furniture of the apartment where Cam claimed he’d met with Chea Le and compared them with fibers she’d found on Cam’s clothing. Finally, she let out a heavy breath. “Doesn’t look like Cam was ever in apartment 105.”

  “You can’t be positive, kitten. They might have changed the furniture.” He pointed to the printout. “Who are Kim Sen and Victor Samphan?”

  “Employees of Fenwick’s Athletic Club.” She checked through the other labeled slides to see if she’d examined all the specimens. “Ivan Fenwick gave me their addresses yesterday. One man drives a blue pickup. Couldn’t get his license number, but I did list a few other licenses you might run through AFIS.”

  “Will do. Why don’t you rest today? You’re looking a bit pale.”

  She and Nathan had talked for two hours the previous night, so she hadn’t slept much, but she couldn’t tell her father that. “Probably anemia. The doctor says mothers of twins may lose more iron.”

  “Double trouble.” He shook his head. “God help us if they turn out to be as stubborn as you are.”

  She smiled wryly. “Takes one to know one. Dad.”

  The ringing of the phone cut off his retort. She lifted the receiver. “Good morning. This is Dr. Amy Prescott.”

  “Amy, this is Hue. I had to call you … Oh, goodness, the most awful thing … wait until you hear,”

  “Hue, what is it?”

  The woman swallowed noisily. “My husband works for the county road department. The river’s over its banks. The guys have been watching the bridges for log jams. This morning they found a car. A, A blue Honda, Amy, and, and there’s a dead woman in it.”

  Amy’s pulse started to race. “Hold on a second, Hue.” She turned to her father. “Wheeler. They found a car in the river with a body inside.”

  B. J. hopped off his stool and crossed over to her.

  Amy raised the receiver to her ear again. “Is she Asian?”

  “I don’t know. My husband said they haven’t identified her yet.”

  “Did anyone call the police?”

  “My husband doesn’t like Sheriff Boyce, Amy. He said to let you know first.”

  “Thanks, Hue. Where’s the car?”

  “They towed it into a field near the Wasku River bridge.”

  “Fine. Give us a twenty-minute head start, then call the sheriff. He shouldn’t be able to do too much damage before we get there.”

  Hue giggled. “Gee, Amy, I feel as if I’m in a TV mystery.”

  “Good job. Sergeant Quoy,” Amy said with a laugh. “I’ll get back to you with a full report this evening.” />
  19

  Amy and B.J. each took their own vehicles to the scene.

  Amy floorboarded the accelerator as she left Ursa Bay’s city limits. If the dead woman was Chea Le, the sheriff might blame Cam. She wanted to prevent that from happening, if she could.

  Before leaving, she’d called Jed’s office. His secretary said he’d left for Wheeler two hours ago. Amy issued up a prayer that he’d found Cam and straightened out his thinking.

  Amy crested a hill, caught a brief glimpse of the flooded valley. After rounding several switchbacks, she reached the floor of the canyon and crossed the Wasku River bridge. The road department had towed the blue Honda onto higher ground.

  She parked on a logging byway beside Sheriff Boyce’s car and prepared to change from shoes to rubber boots. Off to her right, a sturdily built Asian of medium height was controlling the gathering crowd, edging onlookers back behind a strip of yellow crime tape. Deputy Pierce waved along rubbernecking motorists.

  He loped over and pounded on her window. “Move it, lady. You can’t park here.”

  Amy finished jamming on her boot and rolled down her window. “Deputy Pierce, the body has to be examined before the car can be moved.”

  He shoved his thick-lensed glasses into place with a muddy forefinger. “That’s not my problem. Now move it.”

  Amy closed the window, tucked her slacks into the tops of her boots, and got out of the car. “I’ll go clear it with the sheriff, how’s that?”

  “Piss off, Prescott.” The deputy kicked her tire. “I’m running this show.”

  Her father’s van rolled to a stop behind hers and he hopped out “Something wrong, Amy?”

  “Deputy Pierce thinks it’s a problem that we’re parked here.”

  As he spoke. Homer Epps pulled up in his minivan. He slammed the door and joined them. “I’m not looking forward to this task,” he said. He turned and patted Deputy Pierce on the arm. “Keep an eye on our cars will you, son?”

  “God damn it to hell. Homer.”

  Dr. Epps smiled and patted him again. “Thanks, Duane, you’re a good boy.”

  He turned to B.J. who’d slid open the side of his van and was assembling his equipment on the ground. “Anything I can help you carry, B.J.?”