The Trophy Exchange (23 page)

Twenty-Three

Lucinda headed straight back to the station. After dropping off files and photos at her desk, she walked through an open door into the office of the
H
omicide
c
aptain. She wanted to take over the conference room to spread out the photos and documents on Kathleen Spencer and all of the potentially related cases. The
c
aptain had to give his approval before she could commandeer the space.

His red brush-cut hair bristled as she detailed the new developments in the case. He listened intently, his beefy index finger and his thumb resting on opposite corners of his mouth as
s
he spoke. When she finished, they sat motionless and silent for a moment. He shifted his hand, pushing up on the nose-piece of his glasses with his index finger. He twisted his neck making his red, white and blue tie bob. Lucinda stifled the urge to salute the stars and stripes as they swayed on his chest.

“
Pierce, with all of these jurisdictions involved, we need to form a task force.
”

Lucinda grimaced.

“
I know you don
’
t play well with others but you know when a case is this far-reaching it is a necessity.
”

“
Give me a month, sir.
”

“
No way, Pierce. One week.
”
He stabbed his desktop with his index finger.
“
We
’
ll wrap it up in seven days or we pull in the investigators from each jurisdiction.
”

“
Captain, I don
’
t mind those detectives
–
it
’
s the Feebs. You know they
’
ll muscle their way in.
”

“
FBI or no FBI, I
’
ll put you in charge of the task force, Pierce.
”

“
You know that doesn
’
t matter with the Feebs. They take over everything and kick us all aside. At least until they blow it, then they hand us all the blame.
”

He pointed an index finger into her face.
“
You looking for glory, Pierce?
”

“
Captain, that
’
s not fair. I
’
ve never been a glory hound
,
you know that. And now with this,
”
she said gesturing to her face,
“
I avoid cameras at all costs.
”

“
Then what
’
s the problem, Pierce?
”

“
You know how they are, sir. They suck up all your files, all your evidence and even when it
’
s over they keep it all hidden in a dark closet somewhere. They let nothing out. They fight every Freedom of Information request like their lives depended on it. And the public out there
–
the regular folks who pay our salary
–
are wondering what we
’
re hiding. Wondering if we got the right guy. Wondering if they can sleep easy at night.
”

“
O
kay
, Pierce, but I still can
’
t give you more than a week. And if one of the other departments call demanding a task force, I might not be able give you that long.
”

Damn, damn, damn, shit, shit, shit, banged through Lucinda
’
s head as she gathered up stacks of photos and files and carried them down to the conference room. She rolled whiteboards and chalk boards out of the long narrow closet and scattered them around the room. She set up easels with pads, set out markers, chalk. She
’
d started mounting photos when Ted entered the room.

“
What did you find out
at the doctor’s office yesterday
?
”
she asked.

“
Not much.
”

“
He was here for all the murders?
”

“
All but Kathleen
’
s, yes.
”

“
Available?
”

“
So far, it looks that way.
”

“
Hot damn.
”

“
I
’
m still not convinced Evan Spencer
’
s our guy.
”

“
Fine. But with no DNA and no fingerprints the only other suspect we have is named un
known
right now. And that
’
s no help at all. I
’
ve got the room for the duration. Help me get this stuff up.
”

“
The duration?
”
Ted asked grabbing a handful of photographs.

“
To the bitter end or until the Feebs jerk it all out of our hands.
”

“
Is the captain forming a task force?
”

“
Not yet.
”

“
When?
”

“
A week.
”

“
You think we can solve this in a week?
”

“
I asked for a month but didn
’
t get it. We
’ve
got to get as much done as we can before then. We
’
ve got to plan what to release and what to hold back when the connections to the other crimes wiggle out to the press. We need to reveal as much as we safely can to the public before the Feebs come in and shut down the lines of communication. We need the press as an ally for as long as possible. Use one of those pads to timeline Spencer
’
s whereabouts,
okay
?
”

“
Sure.
”

Lucinda stood in front of another pad on an easel and filled in the information for each murder they knew about so far. The chart had four columns: one for the day and date, the second for location, the third for the piece of jewelry left at the scene, the fourth for the missing item. When she finished, she stepped back and looked it over.

Lucinda compared her chart to the timeline Ted
had
prepared detailing Evan Spencer
’
s whereabouts on all the pertinent dates. Everything fit.

Ted and Lucinda worked side by side without much conversation, organizing and reorganizing photos into logical sequences and inter-related fact groups. They made to-do lists, reworked their lists and defined priorities. When they were done it was after
ten
o
’
clock at night.

“
Whew! Ready for a fresh start in the morning?
”
Lucinda asked.

“
I
’
ll have to clear it with my watch commander.
”

“
Nope. Captain
’
s already taken care of that. You
’
re mine for the duration.
”

Ted looked at her face and saw none of the damage. He saw only the eager, happy face of his
eighteen
-year-old sweetheart the day she left for college.
“
Mine for the duration
”
echoed in his ears.
Why hadn’t we made that commitment on that day
–
made it and stuck with it?

Lucinda saw the longing in his eyes and mis-
read
it as pity. She turned away.
“
Go home, Ted. Go home and get some rest.
”

“
O
kay
. See you tomorrow, Lucinda.
”
He slipped out of the door and forced himself to walk down the hall. His regrets felt like shackles
around his ankles.

Twenty-Four

He peered through the crack in the curtain at the window on the far side of the living room. He saw a man, a woman and a young girl bustling in and out of his line of vision. The girl reappeared in the room dragging a small pink suitcase on wheels. The woman bent down to the girl and gave her a kiss.

The man and the girl made their way to the front door, opened it and left the home. Now the woman was alone. He sidled around the back of the house to the window of her bedroom. He settled in the bushes to wait. It took a while but soon he had his reward
–
the unmistakable sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He ran a cutting blade down one side and across the bottom edge of the screen. He reached in, pushed up on the sash and slid the window up. He stepped through the hole in the screen and into the room. He moved quickly into position behind the bedroom door. He pulled the rope out of his pocket and held it in his hands.

When he heard the shrieking protests of the pipes as the woman turned the water off, he tensed. He heard the glass door of the shower slide open and shut. He imagined her wrapping the towel around her naked, wet body and wiping herself dry. What would she wear after her shower? he wondered. Would she wear a comfy T-shirt and a soft pair of flannel boxers? Or would she slide into a sexy silk and lace nightgown?

He didn
’
t know what to expect but he knew she would be here soon. It was all he could do to keep his breathing even. His body quivered as he heard bare feet on the wooden floor of the hallway. She was only steps away. She stopped and turned and went up the hall. He heard the door of the refrigerator whoosh open, the clink of a glass, the splashing of water.

Her footsteps came back down the hall. He listened to the distinctive sound of damp feet slapping on wood. Then she took one step on
to the carpet in the bedroom doorway. He waited until she took one more step. That quick and easy motion seemed to last an eternity. He launched himself from behind the door and wrapped the rope around her throat.

The glass flew into the air. Water fell on both of their heads. The glass hit the carpet and rolled. She, like all the others, clawed back in the direction of his face
,
but her hands slid off the smooth plastic of his goggles and her nails dug impotently into his thickly gloved hands. His gaze roamed around the room until they landed on the red digital numbers of the alarm clock beside the bed. He smiled.
06
:07 winked and rolled to
06
:08.

Soon, she went limp. He held on tight, closing his eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the life slip out of her body.
06
:09.

In the center of his body, a bright light pulsed, radiating warmth and brilliance to every inch of his skin.
06
:10.

He felt as if he glowed. He was powerful, invincible, fulfilled.
06
:11.

But it
’
s not the same
–
not the same as Kathleen.
06
:12.

He lowered her body to the floor. She wore only a terry cloth robe. The sash
had
f
a
ll
en
open in the struggle exposing the nakedness beneath. He pulled it
together
and retied the sash to keep it in place. He stretched her out neatly.

He walked down the hall and into the kitchen. He
took
a glass from an open shelf, pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator, poured a glass of water and drank it. He smacked his lips when he finished.

He picked up a heavy iron skillet off a hook on the wall. He paused for a moment to savor the last time he
’d
used a skillet. He liked the feel of it in his hand. He liked the impact of it when he struck. He carried it back down the hall. After breaking all the bones of her face, he replaced his working gloves with a pair of latex gloves. He pulled a lapis lazuli gold earring out of his pocket. He slid the post into her right ear lobe.

He stood and examined his handiwork. It was a pleasure but nowhere near as intense as the killing of Kathleen.
Why can’t it be the same? Why doesn’t it measure up? How many times do I have to try in order to feel that way again?

His eyes raked over her body. No jewelry? That
’
s right, she was in the shower. He walked across the hall to the bathroom. There, on a shelf, he found a pair of earrings, a watch, a bracelet and a heavy ring. Its carved silver leaves embraced a large oval of black onyx. Perfect, he thought. As he slid it into his pocket, he heard a key slide into the front
-
door lock. He stepped back into the shadow of the bedroom. He heard running feet.

“
Mommy,
M
ommy. I forgot
Mr.
Wiggly. Mommy,
M
ommy?
”
The little girl raced down the hall. From out of nowhere, the skillet slammed into her head knocking her off her feet and down to the floor. She whimpered as she fell.

The killer squatted down next to her body. She reached her tiny hand up and grabbed at him in desperation. Her nails sunk into the latex and scratched the skin on the back of his hand. In anger, he slammed a skillet down on her head again smashing her skull open like a discarded
J
ack-o-
L
antern.

He heard more footsteps at the front door.
“
Darla, Darla? Emily forgot her stuffed bunny. We had to come back and get it. Can you think of anything else she might have forgotten? Darla? Emily? Oh my God!
”

His feet flew down the hall. Once again, the skillet flashed out of the doorway of Darla
’
s bedroom. It smashed into the man
’
s face breaking the bridge of his nose. He fell to the ground. Before he could recover from the stunning blow, the killer flipped him over, jammed his knees into his back, wrapped the rope around his throat and pulled tight. He pressed down hard on his newest victim
’
s back. The man pushed up with his hands.

The killer slipped one hand off the rope, grabbed the handle of the skillet and bashed the back of his victim
’
s head. The body spasmed under the killer. Then the jerky movements stopped. The killer maintained his grip on the rope until the movements of his victim
’
s chest became feeble and then died.

The flash of the man
’
s wristwatch caught his eye. On impulse, he slipped it over the dead man
’
s hand and dropped it into his pocket. All the while alarms were going off in the killer
’
s head making it hard for him to think.
I panicked. I made a mess. I have blood on my clothes and in my hair. What can I do? I need to get out of here. It’s all Kathleen’s fault. If I wasn’t thinking about her, I wouldn’t have been so careless.

He dropped the skillet on
to
the floor and ran back into the bedroom. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and slid through the open window and into the bushes.

He stayed there for a minute, slowed his breathing and looked around for intentional or incidental observers. He saw no one. He missed the nosy neighbor whose wrinkled finger pulled back the curtain ever so slightly from her kitchen window. She watched as he emerged from the bushes. The hood of his sweatshirt was up but not drawn as tightly as he usually
pulled it
. She got a good look at his face as he flashed by her window. He ran to the back of the property and into the woods.

The neighbor punched 9
-
1
-
1 into her phone.
“
Someone just crawled out of the window of my neighbor
’
s house,
”
she said.