The Trophy Exchange (21 page)

After she climbed back under the covers, he turned off the bathroom light, unscrewed the bulb and left the room.

She la
y
in bed for hours yearning for the blissful escape of sleep but
couldn’t
find it. Her mind raced through solutions to her dire situation. Each scenario she explored ended with her death.

Finally, she could not bear to do nothing any longer. She had to try. It
’
s better to die trying, she resolved and laughed a hollow laugh. How many movies used that line? First, she had to get through the door.

She got up and grasped the knob and turned it. To her amazement, it was not locked. She pulled it all the way open, raced back to bed and took refuge under the covers. She waited with a thudding heart but didn
’
t hear a sound.

She rose again, stripped a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her body. She took one timid step into the hallway and then another. She walked to the top of the stairs where she stopped and listened again. Not a sound.

She
’
s eased down half a flight. She crouched and peered into the living room. Terry slept on the sofa. An open pizza box sat on the coffee table. Beer cans
were
scattered all around him. She slipped down the stairs.

She knew she should leave but was drawn to his side. She stood and looked at his face
–
so soft, so sweet in sleep. Absent
-
mindedly, she flipped the lid of the pizza box shut. His gun was no longer concealed. She picked it up off the coffee table and hefted its weight in her hand. She raised it and pointed it at his face. She moved closer. She aimed at him again.

She dropped the blanket off her shoulders and moved in right beside him. She slid the barrel between his parted lips. His eyes flew open. She pulled the trigger. His bloody tissues splattered on the front of her naked body. Each little drop of Terry burned like hot embers searing her skin.

Her first thought was that she had to make it look like a suicide. She picked up a piece of paper Terry
’
d been using, flipped it over and scratched out a note:
“
I am a sorry son of a bitch.
”
In her disheveled state of mind, she abandoned that plan setting the gun down across the room.

She went upstairs and stepped into the shower where she washed Terry off her skin. She padded on wet feet to the guest bedroom and slipped into a pair of her husband
’
s shorts and one of his Tshirts. She grabbed the keys off the top of the dresser and went downstairs into the garage. She started the engine, exited and drove to the interstate, pointing her car toward Baltimore.

Both detective and suspect felt depleted by the time the story reached its end. Julie signed a waiver abdicating her right to an extradition hearing. Lucinda took her into custody, loaded her into the back
seat of a car. Before they left the parking lot, Julie curled up and fell asleep. A grateful Lucinda reveled in the silence and peace of the long drive home. Lucinda felt no satisfaction at bringing this fugitive to justice. But there was one more on her radar and she anticipated his capture with delight.

Twenty-One

By the time Lucinda got home that night, it was nearly 2 a.m. She felt nasty but was too tired for a shower. She shed her clothes, set her clock for 6 a.m. and slid into bed. Four hours later, she slammed the snooze alarm on the top of the clock. The next time it sounded, she poured herself out of bed and headed for the shower.
“
Four hours of sleep is not enough,
”
she moaned.

She grumbled as she piled into her car for the drive over to Leesville. She didn
’
t quite feel half human. As she pulled up to the victim
’
s home, she spotted the investigator from the
s
heriff
’
s
d
epartment sitting on the front porch steps inside of the yellow police tape. He rested his arms on his knees and his tie dangled between his legs.

While she parked, he stood up, ducked under the tape and stepped out to greet her.
“
Lieutenant Pierce,
”
he said sticking out his hand.
“
Sergeant Tunney. What the hell happened to you?
”

She grasped his hand.
This routine is getting so old. I’m so tired of meeting new people. Particularly other cops. We walk around like we have a God-given right to question everybody about everything. No wonder so many of us have marital problems.
“
Domestic violence call.
”

“
Shit. They
’
re the worst.
”

Lucinda nodded. She
wa
s pretty tired of that exchange, too. She thought about never using
the
domestic violence line again, but it certainly was an effective conversation
stopper
.

“
Before we go inside, let me show you where we think he got in. Remember the picture of the window screen?
” he said referring to the pictures he’d already sent Lucinda of the crime scene.

“
Yes,
”
Lucinda said.

“
It was sitting right here in these bushes. And it had knife scratches on the metal edges. The sash on this window was closed but it wasn
’
t locked. We figured he came through here while she was still at work and laid in wait for her inside the house.
”

Lucinda scanned an eye over the neighboring houses. They were all small pre-
Second
World War bungalows crowded close together.
“
Nobody saw anything?
”
she asked.

“
It
’
s a working-class neighborhood, Lieutenant, mostly lower tier white
-
collar folks
,
but decent law-abiding ones for the most part. Sure we get called out for a drunken fight in some backyard or another on a holiday weekend. But aside from that and the occasional domestic violence call
. . .
Oh, sorry about that.
”

Lucinda shook her head and shrugged.

“
Well, anyway, if somebody was sniffing around here during working hours, there probably wouldn
’
t have been anyone at home to see them.
”

They walked to the front of the house, eased themselves under the yellow tape and went inside.
“
She used to live here with her husband, but they separated about
eighteen
months ago and she was here alone. We found her right here,
”
he said pointing to a spot on the living
-
room floor.
“
Her feet set about here,
”
he pointed,
“
and what was left of her head was up here where the bloodstain is.
”

“
Was she wearing any jewelry?
”

“
Still had her wedding band on. And she had a gold chain with a pretty blue stone on it. Her earrings didn
’
t match, though. Well, one did match her necklace. It was the same blue stone
–
one of those that don
’
t hang down at all. They just stick in the ear
,
you know what I mean? The earring in the other ear
was hooped
.
”

“
Was it silver?
”

“
Yes.
”

Lucinda reached into her pocket and pulled out a photo from the Riverton crime scene.
“
Did it look like this one?
”

“
Sure did. The damage to the face looks the same, too.
”

“
One of those silver hoop earrings is missing from a homicide scene in Riverton.
”

“
Is the Riverton murder connected to yours?
”
Sergeant Tunney asked.

“
It
’
s beginning to look that way.
”

“
And our scene
’
s connected to Riverton?
”

“
That
’
s very possible.
”

“
Do we have a serial here?
”
Tunney asked.

Lucinda saw a flash of excitement in his eyes that she didn
’
t trust. Here
’
s a man who would love to be in the center of media attention, she thought.
“
I
’
m looking into that, Sergeant. But I need you to keep that to yourself for a while. We don
’
t want it leaking out to the media yet.
”

“
Sure,
”
he said,
“
sure.
”
But the look in his eyes told Lucinda that this was a future source of a leak. And she probably didn
’
t have much time before that leak became a flood of reporters.

Before heading back to the office, Lucinda stopped by the Spencer home. She had a few questions for Evan. Before she could ring the doorbell, Charley opened the front door.
“
You
’
re the police lady, right?
”

“
Yes
,
I
’
m Lieutenant Pierce.
”

A devilish merriment danced across Charley
’
s face.
“
Let me see your ID, please.
”

Lucinda smiled, pulled out her badge and identification card and squatted down to Charley
’
s eye level.

Charley grinned.
“
That
’
s you, all right. Do you need to be tall to be a police lady?
”

“
No, you don
’
t.
”

“
Good. I don
’
t think I
’
ll be tall, but I would like to be a police.
”

Finding your mother
’
s dead body does that to a kid, Lucinda thought. She forced a smile to remain on her face.
“
You would?
”

“
Yeah. Do you need to shoot a gun good?
”

“
It certainly helps.
”

“
Well, I
’
m not big enough yet anyway. I can learn the gun stuff later.
”

“
You
’
ve got plenty of time, Charley. Are you doing
okay
?
”

Charley shrugged.
“
I
’
m all right,
”
she said but the quiver of her bottom lip betrayed her lie.

Lucinda wanted to wrap her arms around her and take away all the hurt
,
suck it out and spit it away as if it were venom from a snake bite. This child awakened the shadowed side of Lucinda
’
s heart, the part she thought was dead and gone. But instead of embracing her, she kept her hands at her side and asked,
“
How about Ruby?
”

“
She
’
s just a baby. She cries a lot. She cries herself to sleep every night. I don
’
t.
”

“
You don
’
t cry?
”

“
Not every night. Sometimes. But don
’
t tell my dad.
”

“
I won
’
t. I promise. Is your dad here?
”

“
Yes. He
’
s in the kitchen.
”
A dark look passed over Charley
’
s face.
“
He
’
s busy,
”
she said and pursed her lips.
“
Come on, I
’
ll show you.
”
Lucinda followed Charley down the hall. When they reached the doorway, Charley said,
“
Dad, the police lady is here.
”