The Trophy Exchange (13 page)

“
I believe it belongs to a biological daughter of the victim. Does she have more than one?
”

“
Yes. She has two.
”

“
There
’
s no way we can know which one without blood samples to compare.
”

“
They
’
re not suspects, Audrey. They
’
re only three-and eight
year
s
old. Where did you find the DNA?
”

“
There was a small spot of smeared blood on the concrete block.
”

“
Charley. It must be Charley. She must
’
ve
moved the block and
cut herself
in the process.”

“
That sounds logical. But it would only be a small cut or scrape. There wasn
’
t much blood.
”

“
Anything else?
”
Lucinda asked.

“
We found a few fibers on the block, too. They seemed to have originated from a pair of workman
’
s gloves. There
’
s a list of manufacturers and distributors attached to the report.
”

A link to the perp. Not much but it’s something
.
“
Thank you, Aud
– Dr.
Ringo.
”

“
Of course, Lieutenant. Now, about your face
. . .”

“
Not now. No time,
”
Lucinda said as she left the room. She drove over to the Spencer home.

Evan Spencer opened the front door and just stood there.

“
Good morning,
Dr.
Spencer,
”
Lucinda said.

“
Lieutenant.
”

“
May I come in?
”

Evan opened the door wider and stepped aside.
“
I have the pictures on the kitchen table.
”

On the way down the hall, Lucinda looked around and saw no signs of a lawyer to her great relief. Evan caught her curious glances and misinterpreted them.
“
Ruby
’
s not here, Lieutenant. I had the sitter take her to the park. Pictures of her mother make her cry.
”

While Lucinda looked over the array of shots on the table, Evan stood in front of the kitchen window and stared out into the yard. His face remained blank and empty of emotion. None of the photos showed a full profile of the ring but a few of them together would give a good composite. She fanned three in her hand.
“
I
’
ll take these with me if that
’
s all right.
”

He did not turn from the window. He simply nodded and said,
“
Fine.
”

“
Dr?
”

“
Yes.
”
“
Was there anything engraved inside the ring? Initials? Names?
”

He barked a mirthless laugh.
“
Forever.
”

“
Forever?
”

“
Yes. Just that one word. Forever. Foolish sentiment. Stupid Lie. Forever. Last laugh
’
s on me, Lieutenant.
”

Lucinda did not know how to respond to his cynicism. She could not tell if his was the pain of a victim or of a murderer who placed the blame for his crime o
n
the victim he killed. It was a tightrope she walked with nearly every case
,
determining whether the loved one standing before her deserved her sympathy or her scorn. She walked toward the hallway, stopped and turned around.
“Dr.
Spencer,
”
she said to his rigid back.

“
Yes, Lieutenant.
”

“
Did Charley have a cut, a scratch or a scrape on either of her hands?
”
“
Charley?
”
he said as he made an abrupt turn to face her.
“
What in God
’
s name does Charley have to do with anything?
”

“
Doctor, please, did Charley have any abrasions to either of her hands?
”

“
No. Well, I don
’
t know. I didn
’
t notice. What is this all about?
”

“
There was a small spot of smeared blood found on the concrete block. The DNA profile indicates it might have been Charley
’
s blood.
”

His mouth dropped, his brow furrowed, his hands formed fists.
“
You think Charley did this?
”

“
Of course not,
Dr.
Spencer. I just need an explanation for that blood.
”

“
You do suspect her. That
’
s just police talk like that mumbo-jumbo person-of-interest lingo you all use. You think Charley
’
s a suspect. This is outrageous.
”

“
No,
Dr.
Spencer. Nothing could be farther from the truth. We just need
—”

“
Oh no, Lieutenant. You
’
re not taking a blood sample from Charley
,
not from either of my daughters. There is a brutal killer walking the streets and you
’
re wasting time worrying about Charley. You are insane.
”

“Dr.
Spencer, I am worried about Charley. And about Ruby. But not as suspects
–
as victims. Please listen
―”

“
No, you listen. Get out of my house. Now. Go find my wife
’
s killer and leave my little girls alone.
”
He stretched out his arm and pointed the way to the front door.

Exasperated, Lucinda headed down the hall. When her hand touched the doorknob, Evan sai
d,
“
Do you have any idea what my daughters have been through?
”

“
Actually, Dr Spencer, I do. I know too well.
”

He looked at her in anger but as he stared into her eye, his features softened.
“
Maybe you do, Lieutenant. Still, I do not want you adding to their trauma. If you do understand, you
’
ll
appreciate
why I want you to stay away from my daughters
–
far away.
”

Something is wrong here, Lucinda thought as she pulled away from the curb and headed for the interstate. What is he afraid I
’
ll learn from his girls? What would they do? What would they say? What secret would they reveal? Her suspicion that Evan was hiding something hardened into firm conviction.
Something is wrong.

Fifteen

Riverton
–
home to less than 20,000 people
–
stretched beside the Roanoke River in North Carolina not far from the state line and less than a dozen miles from Interstate 95. Homicide was a rare occurrence
–
striking inside the city limits only once every three years or so. Usually, the arrest happened quickly with the murder the result of a bar fight, a wife beating or a jealous fit of rage.

The Riverton police force had only two detectives, Lieutenant Fred Covey and Sergeant Max Dawson. The two men came down the hall toward the lobby. They paused at a spot where they knew they could catch a glimpse of their visitor with little risk of being observed themselves.

They caught Lucinda in profile
–
only the undamaged side of her face was visible. They looked her over. A trim, tall body in a gray suit with a skirt just short enough to reveal a quarter inch of thigh above her knee. Below the hem, a shapely calf ended in open-toed black platform shoes.
“
Those legs don
’
t look like they ever quit,
”
Max said.

“
Bear in mind why she
’
s here, Dawson. Those detectives from the city only come to town when they want to share the blame, never when there
’
s any glory to pass around.
”
Fred twisted his neck in his collar and moved down the hall with Max on his heels.

“
Lieutenant Pierce,
”
Fred called out. Lucinda turned in their direction.

“
Shit! What happened to you?
”
The words
flew from Max
’
s lips before he had the chance to think.

Fred pinned Max with a can
’
t-take-you-anywhere look as the sergeant fumbled to find words suitable for an apology.

Lucinda cut him off.
“
Shotgun blast. Domestic violence call.
”

Both men nodded their heads and Fred said,
“
They
’
re the worst. Never know which way they
’
ll go. This way, Lieutenant.
”

The two detectives
were
enter
ing
unfamiliar territory with this recent murder. They anticipated criticism or scorn from the detective from out of town. Now that the shock over her disfigurement passed, they fell back into reticence. Lucinda felt the rigidity and defensiveness in their handshakes.

They all sat at a wooden kitchen table in the break room
–
Lucinda on one side, Fred and Max on the other. She tried to break the ice with idle conversation at first. She asked about the town, its people, their workload
,
but none of those topics diminished the chill.

Beneath a thatch of gray hair threaded with a few stubborn strands that maintained their original pale red shade, Fred
’
s light blue eyes would not meet her eye. He watched her out of the corner of his vision as if she was a shoplifter and he was trying to catch her in the act. His arms folded across his expanding midsection a
s
he sat in a chair pushed back from the table. Up to now, his communication consisted of a series of grunts, nods and head shakes.

Max rested his arms on the tabletop and looked Lucinda straight in her good eye when she spoke, keeping his focus off the black patch and ravaged skin of the other side of her face. His trim-cut black hair framed a face that looked fresh out of high school. Lucinda suspected he was a good decade older than he looked. He kept his verbal responses to a minimum using only one syllable when possible. After he made each one, he gave Fred a sidelong glance.

The hell with being sociable, Lucinda thought and whipped out the three photographs of Kathleen wearing her ring. She spread them out on the table.
“
Gentlemen,
”
she said tapping her index finger on the ring in each shot,
“
does that look familiar to you?
”

Max leaned forwards and gasped. He turned to the other detective. Fred inched his chair forward and peered at the shot. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and
lifted
the photos closer
towards him
to look at them again. He lifted his head and looked at Lucinda.
“
Hard to believe there
’
re two rings that look like this one, isn
’
t it?
”

“
My thinking exactly,
”
Lucinda said.

“
Let
’
s go down to the property room and check on the one we
’
ve got.
”

Lucinda followed the men down a half flight of stairs lined with a concrete block wall painted in a putrid green. At the landing, the stairway took an abrupt turn down to the lower floor.

The property room in the corner was a renovated cell. The two sides with bars were lined with a more substantial wire than seen on an average chicken coop but it looked a lot the same. The lock on the cell door had some age on it
–
it was the kind opened by an old skeleton key. Wrapped around the bars, a bicycle chain with a padlock added an extra measure of security. Before opening the door, Max entered the date, time and all three of their names on a log hanging on a peg.

A long wooden table that appeared to be a recycled altar table from a church sat in the middle of the room. Its surface was bare except for a dispenser box of latex gloves. A roll of white butcher paper in a metal holder was fastened with sturdy nails on one side.

Plywood shelves lined the two solid walls. A large, metal, double-doored cabinet sat up against the side with the wire covered bars. A handwritten sign on it read:
“
Weapons and Narcotics. Two officers must be present to open
–
NO EXCEPTIONS!
”

Max pulled a shoe box labeled
“
Haver
”
from a shelf and placed it on the table. The three officers gloved up before lifting the lid. Fred looked inside and pushed it over to Lucinda. The ring looked exactly like the one on Kathleen
’
s hand in the snapshots. She plucked it out and looked inside.
“
Forever
” was
etched across the gold.
“
This is it,
”
she said.

“
How can you be sure?
”
Fred asked.

She handed him the ring.
“
Check out the engraving.
”

“
The Spencers
’
names in there?
”

“
No
,
l
ook.
”

“
Initials?
”

“
Look at it,
”
Lucinda insisted.

“
Sorry. Can
’
t. Left my reading glasses upstairs.
”
He handed the ring to Max.

“
Forever?
”
Max asked.

“
Yes. That
’
s the one word Evan Spencer said I
’
d find in his wife
’
s ring.
”

“
No initials or names?
”
Fred asked.

“
No. Nothing but
“
Forever
”
. I suppose he thought that said it all.
”
Lucinda
’
s attention moved back to the shoe box where a tired cheap watch rested beside a single silver hoop earring.
“
She was wearing these?
”

“
Yeah. The watch was working when we found her. Looks like it gave up since then.
”
Fred searched Lucinda
’
s face for answers.

“
Just one earring?
”
Lucinda
’
s stomach quivered as she thought of the implications of one missing earring.

“
Yeah. That was odd,
”
Max said.
“
We tore the place apart looking for another one but never found it.
”

“
Really?
”
Puzzle pieces clicked together in Lucinda
’
s mind.

“
Yes, Lieutenant,
”
Fred said.
“
And what are you thinking that means?
”

“
Not sure.
”
Lucinda
’
s thoughts raced.
Was this a peculiar coincidence? Or no coincidence at all?
“
I brought along my crime scene photos. I
’
ll show you mine if you show me yours.
”

Fred grinned at the language of an old childhood dare.
“
Let
’
s head on back upstairs.
”

In the break room, they swapped file folders. As they looked through the shots, Fred grunted and Max said,
“
Oh shit,
”
again and again.

Lucinda studied the Haver homicide photos with amazement. Instead of a concrete block, this woman
’
s face was smashed with a large rock, its edge worn smooth as if it
had
rested under rushing water for hundreds of years.
“
Did she live near the water?
”
she asked.