The Trophy Exchange (25 page)

After making sure techs
had
bagged the hands of all three victims, Lucinda and Ted retreated to the living room and the two men from the coroner
’
s office headed up the hall to retrieve the dead.

“
I wonder where the good doctor was
earlier this
evening,
”
Lucinda mused.

“
You want to pay him a visit?
”
Ted asked.

“
No
,
n
ot yet. I want to talk to the babysitter first. Find out when he got home
tonight
.
”

“
Lucinda, I still say Spencer makes no sense as the perp. Even less sense after viewing this scene. Look, the perp here killed a little girl. No one laid a finger on Ruby when Kathleen was killed.
”

“
Yes. Think about that, Ted. A little girl whom Spencer did not know was brutally murdered, but his own daughter
’
s spared at a similar scene. What does that tell you?
”

Before Ted could respond a voice shouted from the front door.
“
Lieutenant.
”

“
Yes.
”
Lucinda turned toward the uniformed officer standing there.

“
Got a special delivery here for you.
”

Lucinda walked over to the doorway and took a Manila envelope from his hand. Her name was scrawled across the front. She undid the clasp and slid out a single sheet of paper
–
a copy of the forensic sketch. She gasped and wordlessly handed the piece of paper to Ted.

“
Shit
!”
Ted exclaimed. A face framed inside a sweatshirt stared back at him. It bore a remarkable resemblance to
Dr.
Evan Spencer.

Twenty-Seven

After the fiasco on Linden Street, he headed to his private refuge
–
the room he rented
i
n a shabby Victorian on the sad side of town. In its heyday, it must have been a source of pride for its owner. Now, although the yard inside the wrought iron fence was mowed, no one took the time to trim. Straggles of grass and weeds ran along the fence line and around the perimeter of the building. The sidewalk was cracked and irregular. The paint on the loose steps blistered and peeled.

In the lobby, the once regal stairway led to a second floor. Neglected for decades
,
the carved wood
had
turned dark and dull. He went up the creaking stairs and ducked into his room. It was a place to go
,
n
ot a place to be. On a normal day, he
’
d be oblivious to his surroundings but in the agitated aftermath of the botched killing, it depressed him.

The once brilliant red roses and green leaves on the bedspread had long ago faded to an ugly, non-descript blur. Burn marks marred the edges of the nightstand and the dresser where forgotten butts
had
singed the wood. The tuning knob was missing on the tiny television set. He used a cheap pair of pliers to twist it and change the channels.

He grabbed a towel, shampoo, a bar of soap, a change of clothes and an empty plastic grocery bag and headed to the communal bathroom. He stripped off his bloodstained clothes and stuffed them all into the bag before he stepped into the shower. He washed carefully, getting rid of every drop of blood on his face and in his hair.

He noticed the scratch on the back of his hand as he toweled off.
“
Shit! Shit! Shit!
”
he muttered as
he
rubbed at the red line in a futile attempt to make it disappear.
You really screwed up this time, asshole.

Back in his room, he paced back and forth in the tiny space.
It had started so perfectly. Everything as I planned. Then that damned kid came in. Then the man. Damn them! They ruined it. Could I have done anything different? Could I? What? I can’t think of anything. Nothing. I was trapped. They forced me to do it.

In his agitation, he turned too fast and banged his shin on the nightstand.
“
Shit! Shit! Shit!
”
he said as he raised one leg to rub on the injury and hopped around on the other. He la
y
down flat on top of the bed and closed his eyes, willing himself into a state of calm. But the what-ifs kept tumbling in his head.

In minutes, he was back up and pacing again. Wait, he thought. His feet froze in place.
That’s it. I’ll return to the same neighborhood. And I’ll do it again. This time, I’ll do it right. This time, a house with only a woman in it. No dumb kid. No man. Just bliss. That will fix things. That will make up for tonight.

He snatched up the bag with his blood
-
spattered clothing and bounded down the stairs and into the street. He walked ten blocks before cutting up an alley and dropping the bag in a dumpster behind a diner.

The next morning, he loitered around the bus top at the end of Poplar Street keeping his eyes on every opening door down the block. Being just one street up from Linden made him hum with excitement one moment and shake with anxiety the next. He identified two houses where women emerged without kids. When the work morning traffic
had
died down, he strolled up the block to check out where they lived.

At the second house up on his left, he realized a pick-up truck was parked at the top of the driveway. Not a good sign. He moved on to the next possible site, the fifth house on the right. That drive was empty. He saw no lights or any other signs of life. He smiled and continued his saunter down to the corner where he turned right and headed away from the neighborhood. He
’
d return before the work day was over.

Twenty-Eight

Terror filled Charley
’
s mind. She stood in the middle of a box consisting of four walls of concrete blocks
–
each wall only four blocks long. Above her head storm clouds churned
,
dropping lower with every passing moment. Lightning struck down hitting the walls but, so far, missing her.

She had to get out. If she didn
’
t, she knew she would die. She pushed one block and it fell. But as it hit the ground, she heard a scream. It sounded like her mother. In a frenzy, Charley pushed out another block. As it fell, there was another scream. She had to get out. She had to get to her mother.

She pushed one more block out. Her mother screamed. Then it dawned on her
–
every block she pushed out was hitting her mother. A scream hovered on her lips but before it could escape, her eyes flew open. She exhaled a jagged breath
,
its edges tinged with the whispered remnants of her unfulfilled shriek. She watched the ceiling fan as it made lazy circles over her head. She looked beside her. The blocks were gone.

She was in her bedroom. She was on her bed. Early morning light drifted into her windows beneath the light flutter of the curtains. It was a dream. Just a bad dream, she told herself. But still she trembled.

Although it was early, she dressed for school and went downstairs to fix her breakfast. In the kitchen, she set a bowl and spoon on the table, retrieved a box of Rice Krispies from the pantry and pulled out a jug of milk from the refrigerator. She was pouring the cereal from the box into the bowl when she startled at the sound of a voice.

“
Good morning, kid.
”

Rice Krispies clattered on
to
the tile floor. A woman with coarse hair the color of straw, long bright red fingernails, eyes blackened with smeared mascara walked into the kitchen. She was wrapped in her mother
’
s white and blue robe.

Charl
ey
clutched the cereal box to her chest and backed into the corner.
“
Who are you? What you doing here?
”

“
Chill, kid. I
’
m your Aunt Rita.
”

“
That
’
s my mommy
’
s robe.
”

“
Yeah, well, your dad said I could use it,
”
she said as she shuffled over to the kitchen counter.

Charley inched along the wall toward the door and away from the strange woman.
“
Those are my mommy
’
s slippers.
”

“
Yeah, those, too, kid. Chill. I won
’
t bite you.
”

Charley made a dash through the doorway and raced up the stairs. The open box of cereal clutched to her chest spewed Krispies as she ran.
“
Daddy, Daddy,
”
she hollered as she raced into her father
’
s room.

“
What
’
s wrong, Charley?
”

“
There
’
s a lady in the kitchen.
”

“
A lady? In the kitchen?
”

“
Yes, Daddy. She said she
’
s Aunt Rita.
”

A flash of anger crossed Evan
’
s face, but he forced his voice to remain calm.
“
Oh, right. It
’
s
okay
, Charley,
”
he said as he swung his feet off the bed.

“
I didn
’
t know I had an Aunt Rita, Daddy.
”

“
It was a surprise to me, too, Charley. But everything
’
s
okay
. What are you doing up so early?
”

“
I had a dream, Daddy. A bad dream,
”
Charley said.

“
I
’
m sorry, pumpkin.
”

“
Mommy was screaming, Daddy.
”

“
Aw, pumpkin,
”
he said s
c
ooping her up in his arms.
“
What did I tell you, sweetie, you
’
ve got to put
M
ommy out of your mind.
”

Charley wriggled free and rubbed her hand on the pocket where she put the photo of her mother.
“
I can
’
t, Daddy.
”

“
You
’
ve got to try, pumpkin.
”
He kissed her on the top of her head.
“
Go on downstairs now and have some cereal. Everything is
okay
. I
’
ll be down in a minute.
”

“
O
kay
, Daddy.
”
Charley returned to the kitchen where she kept a wary eye on the woman who stood in front of the brewing coffee pot clicking her impatient fingernails on the countertop.

Evan Spencer stepped into the kitchen doorway.
“
Rita, I
’
d like to speak with you.
”

“
I
’
m waiting for the coffee.
”

“
Could you step out here, please.
”

Rita sighed and walked to the door following Evan Spencer out of the room.
“
I thought I told you
. . .”
Charley heard her father say before his voice faded to a low rumble. Charley stopped chewing and listened but could not understand another word.

The mumbled voices were meaningless until the woman
’
s voice
,
raised in a harsh rasp
, said,
“
I needed a cup of coffee, Doctor, and I
’
m getting it right now.
”
She came through the doorway and into the room.
“
Hey kid.
”
Charley jerked her head down and focused on the bowl in front of her chewing as fast as she could. Rita poured a cup of coffee and plopped down in a chair by the table.
“
You must be Charley.
”

Without looking up, Charley nodded her head.

“
Don
’
t talk much, do you?
”

Charley shook her head without raising her eyes from the bowl.

“
Hey, you found your mom
’
s body, didntcha?
”

Charley
’
s head popped up. She glared at the woman while she chewed with exaggerated movements of her jaw.

“
O
kay
. O
kay
. I get the message.
”
Rita rose from the table, scraping the legs with a loud noise that made Charley wince.
“
You want to talk to me sometime, kid, let me know and I
’
ll let you in on a secret.
”
Rita left the room.

Charley listened to her footsteps plodding up the stairs. Questions about the woman formed ripples of unease in Charley
’
s mind.

That morning at school, Charley couldn
’
t concentrate.
I don’t have aunts. I don’t have any uncles.
She lasted less than an hour before she asked to be excused and went

to the office.
“
I need to make a phone call,
”
she said to the smiling lady behind the counter.

The office manager recognized Charley right away and a softness born of sympathy wrapped around her voice.
“
You do, Charley? Do you need to call your dad?
”

“
No, I need to call the police lady.
”

“
You do? Do you know her number?
”

“
I don
’
t know.
”
Charley
’
s lower lip quivered.

“
That
’
s
okay
, sweetie. Come on around here to my desk. We
’
ll find her.
”

After a quick three hours of sleep
–
Lucinda in her bed, Ted in the back seat of his car
–
they gathered in the conference room to wait for
the
preliminary autopsy and lab results and to plan their next steps. Lucinda stood in front of the array of crime
-
scene photos contemplating the completeness of Evan Spencer
’
s mask of sanity. Ted struggled to focus on the case,
as
his mind kept drifting to Ellen and the kids. Both were deep in thought when the telephone buzzed.

Lucinda grabbed the phone.
“
Pierce.
”