Lethal Legacy (5 page)

After Amy initiated the discussion and got the men talking, she slipped away to the
kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a piece of hard, dry toast for herself.
Eyeing B.J. she seated herself next to Nathan, hoping her father would get the message
that she wouldn't allow him to take pot shots her friend.

Nathan glanced up from the sheaf of papers he held. “The muffins are delicious. Don't you
want one?"

“Uh ... no.” Beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip. “I ... I've already
eaten.” When both men simply stared at her, she wished she'd put on more makeup, made
herself look less pale. Nathan's probing gaze became skeptical; B.J.'s anxious and
concerned.

She took a quick gulp of water. “Dad, would you give us a brief review of your
postmortem?"

Upon hearing the stress she'd put on the word
us
, B.J. flung her a caustic look
and passed around five-by-seven-inch colored pictures of the body. “The victim had lip
and scalp lacerations. There were numerous contusions on her face and body. Most of the
knife wounds on her throat and breasts are superficial. The fatal stab wound entered
between the fifth and sixth rib. The blade severed the heart's left coronary artery and
penetrated the left ventricle."

“She'd have bled out pretty fast,” Amy said.

Nathan touched Amy's arm. “Her husband said she was still alive when he found her,
right?"

“Uh-huh."

“Then either the killer had just left, or your friend is lying."

Amy raised her chin, steadied her gaze. “He's not."

Nathan's expression softened, “You can't be sure of that, Amy. He's a doctor. Whoever
killed her knew where to stab her so it would be fatal."

B.J. scowled and cleared his throat. “She had some fairly large pieces of tissue under
her fingernails."

Amy brightened. “Enough for a DNA?"

“I asked for a polymerase chain reaction."

“Good.” She noticed Nathan's puzzled frown. “A PCR test provides the highest degree of
DNA identification available."

“I see.” Nathan turned to B.J. “Was she raped?"

“Yes, savagely. And she had what appears to be electrical burns on her genitalia."

A muscle twitched in Nathan's jaw. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?"

“Not in the twenty years I've been a medical examiner,” B.J. said.

Amy shuddered. “I've seen some terrible sexual assault cases, but never anything like
that."

“The victim also had denuded areas of skin on her wrists and ankles."

“Was she tied up?” Nathan asked.

“I found cotton fibers."

Amy frowned. “I wonder why neither Cam nor the sheriff mentioned that.” She made a note
on her scratch pad. “What kind of restraint?"

“Rope. I called Boyce,” B.J. said. “He says she wasn't bound when he arrived and no rope
was taken from the scene."

“Hah! After what I've seen of him, that doesn't mean a whole lot. What did you learn
about the stab wounds?"

B.J. rose, took an X-ray from a brown envelope, slid it under the clip on the fluorescent
view box, and flipped the switch. Amy and Nathan gathered around him.

B.J. pointed to an elongated white area on the black film. “Evidently her assailant
twisted the knife in the wound. The barium sulfate doesn't give a clear outline."

“Any bruises around the entrance wound?” Amy asked.

“Yes."

“So the knife went in to the hilt.” She picked up a ruler and placed it on the outline of
the barium. “Blade is approximately seven inches long."

“And the entrance wound measured one inch,” B.J. said.

“Okay, we've got the dimensions of the weapon.” She folded her arms and continued to
stare at the film. “What else do we know about it?"

“Something damned peculiar.” B.J. frowned and tugged at his beard. “The tissues of the
heart wall look shredded."

“Probably a double-edged dagger with a saw edge on the back,” Nathan murmured, almost to
himself.

B.J., his lips compressed into a thin line, turned to face him. “How do you know?"

Nathan didn't meet his gaze. “I've seen a few."

Amy recalled the knife he'd held against her throat the night they'd met. In his type of
work, she suspected he may have needed to know a great deal about weapons of all kinds.
“Did the superficial wounds on the body reveal anything?"

B.J. removed the X-ray and substituted another. “I used the melted Wood's metal as you
suggested.” He beamed at Amy. “Look what I got."

Amy returned his grin. “It's about time we got something solid.” Although only half an
inch of the knife image showed, it was enough. It was evident that the weapon used in
the murder had a tiny nick near the tip.

B.J. shut off the viewer and they once again took their seats.

Amy jotted down some points she wanted to remember, then asked, “Anything interesting on
the vacuum filters from the Nguyen house?"

“Something a bit odd. I found traces of magnesium carbonate in the areas where Mai and
her assailant struggled."

Amy recorded the substance in her notes. “In the kitchen?"

“Kitchen and bedroom."

“Hmmm,” she said and scribbled some more. “Could be a crushed antacid tablet or a
laxative of some sort, I guess."

“Weight lifters use it,” Nathan said. He put down the investigation notes he'd been
reading. “I just bought some for the exercise room at the lodge."

B.J. gazed at him for a moment, sighed, and ran a hand over his face. “Amy, do you know
if Cam lifts weights?"

Wheeler lay only thirty-five miles from Ursa Bay. Yet today, with
scowling, gunmetal clouds hanging above the tops of the Douglas firs and drifting fog
shrouding the landscape, the distance seemed much greater.

Amy sat on the seat of Nathan's rental car, her back straight, her hands knotted in her
lap. During the planning of the trip out to the Nguyen house, she'd foolishly offered to
ride with Nathan to show him the way. B.J. had given her one of his
who-do-you-think-you're-kidding looks. After that, she refused to change her mind even
though she knew her emotions would take a battering.

Since B.J. had a business appointment, he had gone on ahead. He intended to meet them at
a park-and-ride lot in Wheeler. He advised Nathan to leave his car at the lot and pick
it up later. Although Sheriff Boyce had given them permission to reenter the Nguyen
house, Amy and B.J. both thought it wise not to broadcast Nathan's involvement in the
case.

Amy jumped as a loaded logging truck honked at them and swooshed by, showering their car
with bits of fir bark.

Nathan frowned at the truck's winking taillights. “Do you have any pictures of Pran and
the Nguyens from the ones you've loaned me?"

“A number of Cam and Mai. But only the one Chantou Pran. I can have a copy made, if you
think it important."

“It could be.” Nathan seemed lost in thought for a moment, then said, “The woman's
electrical burns bothers me."

Amy's mind clenched, shutting out images of Mai's terrible ordeal, dwelling on it did no
good and only muddled her thinking.

Nathan flipped on his signal. Tires hissing on wet asphalt, he swept past a slow-moving
car and returned to the right-hand lane. “An insanely jealous man could be capable of
such a thing.” He threaded the car over a narrow, steel girder bridge spanning a river.
Below them, a torrent of brown water leaped and churned, throwing white spume onto
great, sheer-sided rocks. “But that type of sadism smacks of something much more
sinister than a jealous rage."

“Like what?"

He glanced at her with a worried expression. “I would rather not say just now. “It's only
a hunch."

She regarded him carefully, but decided against pressing him. Instead, she wrapped her
voluminous raincoat around her and stared into space.

As the miles rolled by, she became increasingly conscious of Nathan's nearness, the
faint, familiar odor of soap and shaving cream. From time to time, she felt him glance
at her, but she did not return his looks.

Finally, he switched on the radio. Strains of a Patsy Cline love ballad filled the car.
Oh, please, not that song,
she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, yet
couldn't hold back the flood of memories the melody awakened. The same song filling a
cabin in the woods, firelight flickering on their bodies as they made love ...

Suddenly Nathan braked, pulled to the side of the road, and stopped the car. “Amy."

The timbre of his voice drew her gaze upward. Her eyes met his and desire surged through
her.

“Amy...” he whispered. “I dream of you.” He leaned closer and tilted her chin. “Could
I,"

She blinked and shook herself as if coming out of a trance. “Don't ... Nathan,” She bent
her head. “Please don't.” The words of the song intensified the ache inside her. With a
muffled sob, she reached out to switch off the radio. Nathan beat her to it.

“I'm sorry.” He gripped the steering wheel. “I told myself I only wanted to help you.
That I would not let this happen."

“It's my fault."

“No, it's not.” He pounded the wheel with his fists. “I knew. In my heart, I knew. I
couldn't see you again without ... without..."

“Nathan, please. I think it's best if we just get going. Don't you?"

With a sad smile, he nodded, started the car and pulled back onto the road.

The road dipped into a rocky ravine darkened by pendulous fir and cedar boughs. The
purple-shadowed forest reminded her of the hikes she and Nathan took while searching for
her friend, Simon.

“Do you ever see Kittredge?"

Amy flung him a startled look. Had he read her thoughts? “Almost every week. He's staying
at Dad's house on Lomitas Island."

“I see.” Nathan veered through the last switchback, came out on the crest of a hill, and
headed down into a wide, flat valley. “Still working for Global News?"

She shook her head. “He's taken a leave of absence to write a book.” A wan smile spread
across her face. “Weekends, he and I build a fire on the beach and talk half me night.”
She swallowed into a dry throat. “It's a good thing our place on Lomitas is secluded.
The arguments we have would wake the neighbors."

Stony-faced, Nathan peered out the window. “So you're still mothering him."

She regarded him for a long moment. “Sometimes, I just need someone I can talk to.” She
pointed ahead. “The lot where we're meeting Dad is on the right."

Nathan parked the car near B.J.'s van and cut the motor. “You can always reach me at the
lodge, you know, or at Dr. Chamber's cabin."

She stared at him, anger heating her cheeks. “You and your wife are living in the cabin
where I stayed?”
Where they'd met and talked and made love ...

“Angela kept her apartment in Orofino. She teaches second grade.” He reached into the
backseat and lifted out a large duffel bag. “I go home weekends."

Amy steadied the trembling inside her. “Why are you staying at the cabin?"

“It's the only place I can fall sleep,” he said, then got out of the car and closed the
door.

She took a second to pull herself together.
The only place he could fall sleep.
Did that mean he could only find peace in the bed in which
she'd
slept?

She trudged over to the van. B.J. had already situated Nathan on an overturned box in the
rear. On either side of him ranged built-in compartments holding forensic supplies. A
collapsible gurney slid into a metal slot. Light and camera tripods lay in a tangle held
in place by both her and B.J.'s medical bags and their respective forensic kits.

She hoisted herself into the black vinyl bucket seat next to her father and without
thinking let out a sigh. “Let's go."

B.J. gave her a long, level look. “You okay?"

She managed a weak smile. “Of course. I'm strong as an elephant and twice as
healthy."

“Like hell you are.” He maneuvered the van onto the potholed roadway and a stiff silence
settled around them.

Amy swung around to Nathan. “Wheeler was founded in 1910,” she said, hoping to lessen the
tension. “The town nearly died before the Southeast Asian families moved in and leased
these places."

She gestured to weathered two-story houses bordering the street. Instead of lawns, long
rows of rich, black, cultivated earth bracketed each building. “The tenants raise
flowers for the florist trade. Make use of every inch of soil.

“The whole valley is a patchwork of glowing color during spring, summer, and fall.
Hundreds of people come.” She kept up her rambling, tour-guide patter until Nathan
rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. Amy took the hint and subsided.

The street widened, became better paved as shops crowded out the houses. A blue sports
car with a middle-aged man at the wheel darted out of a side street and B.J. slammed on
his brakes. “Stupid idiot ran a stop sign."

“Patience, Dad.” She caught a glimmer of amusement in Nathan's glance. “As you can see,
Nathan, some of the Caucasian locals have gotten rich off the tourists."

“Do Kampucheans work in any of the stores?"

“Mostly in the restaurants, the curio shops, or the vegetable and flower markets at the
other end of town."

“Does Wheeler have an athletic club?"

“I don't know. Do you, Dad?"

“Nope."

“I'll check.” Nathan made a note on a piece of paper.

B.J. turned at a red brick courthouse and cruised through a residential area until the
houses thinned out and they came to a sign that said, pran's landscape gardens. They
drove down a densely wooded lane to a graveled parking area.

Broad overhangs with uplifted gables like those found in Cambodian temples decorated the
gently pitched roof of the Nguyen house. Carved cedar pillars supported a front porch
flanked by vine-covered lattice work.