Lethal Legacy (11 page)

“Were you hurt?"

She forced a laugh. “Only a bruised knee and a big knot on my forehead."

“Thank God.” He gave a long sigh. “I knew something had happened to you."

Her heart skipped a beat. “You knew? How?"

“I sensed you were in danger; I thought I heard you call my name."

“I might have. I was plenty scared."

He groaned. “Amy, you've seen what this person is capable of. Let someone else take over
the investigation."

“I can't do that, Nathan."

“Then don't go
anywhere
alone."

“I'm nearly finished in Wheeler. I've learned a few things about the hit-and-run. And
that Mai's father's name is Taun Keo, not Chantou Pran."

“How did you find that out?"

“Jed found a letter in Pran's safety deposit box."

Deep silence hung between them for a long beat. “Jed? Who's Jed?"

She tensed.
Oh, hell, not him too.
“Jed MacManus,” she said, her voice a bit more
sharp than she'd intended. “He's Cam's lawyer."

“How much do you know about him?"

Her mouth tightened.
Why did all the men in her life keep pushing on her?
“I met
man last night for the first time. Why? Do you know something I don't?"

Another silence. “He's there. I'm here."

Her heart gave a wrench. “I'm not looking for someone to replace you, Nathan."

“I'm sorry...” He swallowed. “Amy, when I was with you, I got the impression you weren't
quite well. Is everything all right?"

Amy steadied herself. “Just a little stomach upset. Probably stress. I'm fine,
really."

“It's been four months since we made love. If there was something I should know about,
you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

Acid spurted into her stomach and she pressed her hand against her midriff. “Of ...
course I would, Nathan,” she said, and hoped she sounded convincing.

B.J. took up the task of interviewing Cam's friends while Amy
recuperated at the office, keeping an ice pack on her swollen knee. She winced at the
bruises on her face every time she looked in the mirror, and thanked God she had gotten
through the accident relatively unscathed. She used the time to get her lab and
paperwork up to date.

Four days later, she drove to Harborview Medical Center in Seattle to speak to me
supervisor of the hospital's volunteers.

When Amy walked into the office, she approached a woman seated behind an oak desk, who
peered at her over half glasses. “How may I help you?” the woman asked.

Amy handed her one of her business cards. “I'm investigating the murder of Dr. Nguyen's
wife."

“Terrible. Absolutely terrible.” The woman removed her glasses and tucked a tendril of
graying hair into place. “How do you do? I'm Nancy Waring. I simply cannot believe that
nice doctor would ever do such an awful thing."

“That's why I'm here, Mrs. Waring. Cam says he had dinner that night with Chea Le, one of
your volunteers. Would it be possible for me to talk to her?"

“Chea Le? Let me check.” She repositioned her glasses, leafed through a file, and drew
out a card. “Looks as if she hasn't reported in for over a week."

“Do you have a number where she can be reached?"

“There's only a reference number and a phone where messages can be left."

“Could I have those and her address?"

“I'm not sure whether...” She stood up and smoothed her navy blue skirt over plump hips.
“Excuse me just one moment.” She took Amy's business card and left the room.

Ten minutes later, Mrs. Waring bustled back into me room. “My goodness, I had no idea you
were related to Dr. B.J. Prescott."

Amy smiled. “He's my father."

“I'm always reading about him in the papers.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Such a fine,
intelligent man. And so distinguished looking.” She wrote down some information on a
sheet of paper and handed it to Amy. “You must be very proud of him."

Amy thanked her and hurried out to use her cell phone. When she found that both the
numbers the woman had given her were no longer in service, she consulted her city map
and set out to find the address Mrs. Waring had provided. It turned out to be a vacant
building.

After consulting her notes, she drove to the upscale apartment complex where Cam had said
he'd gone after he and Chea Le had dinner.

She knocked on the manager's door. A man with a slim, aesthetic face opened the door. He
wore a pewter gray suit of Italian silk, a platinum gray shirt, and a contrasting tie.
“Mr. Pham?” she asked, addressing him by the name engraved on the door.

He studied her with an arrogant expression, unclamped his lips, and said, “Yes?"

“I'm Dr. Amy Prescott.” She showed him her I.D.

“Investigator?” He eyed her narrowly. “Why are you here?"

“I need to ask you a few questions.” She eased her foot past the doorjamb. “Could I come
in?"

“I see people only by appointment."

“I'll only take a few minutes.” He moved back just far enough for her to plant both feet
in the deep white pile of the foyer carpet. She opened her notebook. “On January tenth
of this year, did a Miss Chea Le occupy apartment 105?"

A muscle tensed in his cheek and he caught a quick, shallow breath. “No one lives in
apartment 105. It is the one I show prospective residents."

Amy took her time recording his statement. When she glanced up, she saw the man swallow
nervously. She fastened her steady gaze on him. “Did Chea Le bring a man to that
apartment on the evening of January tenth?"

“I do not have a tenant by that name."

“Mr. Pham, did a man and a woman occupy 105 for several hours that evening?"

His features froze into a tense mask. “No."

Amy closed her notebook. “May I see the apartment?"

He folded his arms and glared at her. “I'm afraid that is impossible."

“I can easily get a search warrant, sir.” She issued up a silent prayer.

Tight ridges formed on either side of Mr. Pham's mouth. “I'll give you exactly ten
minutes and no more. I have people coming."

“That will be sufficient.” She held out her hand. “May I have the key?"

“No, you may not,” he said. He retrieved a ring of keys from his desk and motioned for
her to follow him. Number 105 lay only a short way down the hall. The chances of anyone
having used the apartment without his knowledge was highly unlikely, Amy determined.

He flung open the door and stood back for her to enter. A sweep of sand-colored carpeting
issued into a living room with champagne walls and furniture in muted shades of green
and marsh brown. She observed the nubby-textured wool upholstery and continued on into
the bedroom, where jade green damask hung from brass drapery rods. A matching spread
covered a king-sized bed.

Mr. Pham followed at her heels until suddenly his phone shrilled from down the hall. He
flung an agitated glance in her direction, excused himself, and left the room.

Amy hurried into the living room, took a pair of scissors from her purse, and snipped
fibers from the back of each piece of furniture. She was able to bag the fibers before
Mr. Pham returned. She met him at the door with a nonchalant smile. “I believe I've seen
all I need to see,” she said. “Thank you for being so gracious."

On her way back to Ursa Bay to have lunch with Jed MacManus, she wondered what Mr, Pham's
response would have been if she had mentioned the
yavana,
the Khmer Rouge, or the
harvest of death.

Amy waited for Jed at Jack's Café and Bookstore. Knotty pine shelves
stuffed with books bracketed her table on two sides. A third side gave a view of Ursa
Bay's polished granite courthouse, the town's architectural monument to the wealthy
founders of the town and their equally well-to-do descendants.

Jed arrived just as the big courthouse clock chimed the hour. “Why the cynical
expression?” he asked, pulling out a chair.

“Just thinking about our affluent citizenry."

Jed laughed. “This is one town where you don't dare talk about anybody. I nearly blew my
practice before I realized most of the people in Ursa Bay are interrelated.” He picked
up the menu. “You think a bowl of clam chowder will warm the inner man?"

“It ought to help.” She ordered a bowl, too. When the server left, she took a brown
envelope and her notebook from her purse. “My father checked out Cam's male
acquaintances. All but two have alibis."

“He'll keep on digging, won't he?"

“You can count on it. He ran all the fingerprints we've found through Seattle's automated
I.D. system.” She blew out her breath. “Our suspect, or suspects, has never been
arrested. And the license numbers of Fenwick's employees didn't give us any leads
either. The Caucasians don't have records and the two Asians apparently don't own
cars."

“What did you find out about the woman Cam was with the night of Mai's murdered?"

Amy explained about Chea Le's sham address and the disconnected phones. “The apartment
where Cam claims she took him is a demonstrator. The manager denies ever knowing Miss
Le, or that anyone ever used the apartment."

“So where's that leave you?"

“I'll go over the clothes Cam wore and try to match them with the fibers I took from the
apartment. Maybe I'll find something that will prove he was there."

“That's all the hope you can give me?"

“When Cam played handball at Fenwick's Athletic Club, he put his house keys in his
locker. Combination locks can be fixed so they won't close properly."

“So somebody could have made copies of Cam's keys."

“Next time I see Cam, I'll find out where he keeps his gym bag."

“I've arranged Cam's bail. He needs to be out to make preparations for the Buddhist
funeral."

Amy felt a sharp stab of remorse. “I've been so engrossed in this darned investigation,
I'd forgotten about Mai."

Jed looked equally guilt-ridden. “I'm ashamed to say it, but that goes with the
territory."

Amy sighed, opened her notebook, and ran her finger down the list she'd made. “We found a
half-eaten piece of caramel candy in the woods where our suspect conducted a stakeout.
The forensic dentist I sent it to says the man has a chipped front tooth."

“Oh, brother! Now we have a guy who smokes Djarum cigarettes, has flat feet, and a
chipped tooth. So where the hell is he?"

Amy dumped the contents of a brown envelope on the table. “These are snapshots a friend
of mine took of some of Wheeler's residents."

Jed put on his glasses, shuffled through the five-by-sevens, and handed them back.
“Doesn't mean much to me."

She singled out a picture. “See this man, with the cap pulled down low?"

“Yes. What about him?"

She chose a photo from several she hadn't shown him. “This is an enlargement of his
face."

“Good Lord, he's got a chipped front tooth. Who is he?"

“I don't know.” She laid another photo on the table. “This is a blowup of the hooded man
I saw last time I was at Cam's house."

“Ugh. No wonder he scared you."

“Notice his teeth?"

“I'll be damned.” Jed's face lit up. “Hey, all we have to do is take these pictures and
show them around Wheeler. Somebody is bound to identify him."

She shook her head. “Not if he's one of the
yavana
they fear."

Jed regarded her intently as a shaft of sunshine momentarily flooded through the window,
crossing over her face. He leaned across the table. “Amy, what happened to you?"

She grimaced. “Are they still noticeable? My brakes failed a few days ago. I rapped my
head on the windshield."

“Jesus, Amy, are you okay? And the babies?"

“We're all fine. A bit of a scare though. My car was tampered with."

“Are you sure?"

“Positive."

He regarded her with a grave expression. “I need solid evidence to get Cam off, but
goddamn it, Amy, it's not worth your life."

Amy entered the prayer hall with Hue and found a secluded corner. She
had never been to a Buddhist temple, and the unfamiliar setting made her nervous. She
had expected to find a gathering of friends. Yet aside from the monks, she and Hue were
the only mourners present.

“Look at all the gifts,” Hue said, pointing to an alcove where gleaming multiple images
of the Buddha were enshrined. On a dais below the images sat wooden, china, and crockery
bowls containing fruit and other articles of food. A pleased expression wreathed Hue's
face. “Many people have been here."

The monk's soft musical chanting filled the temple, and within minutes, Amy found herself
becoming relaxed and peaceful.

Hue gestured to the monks. “They chant to help Mai release positive energies."

Amy nodded in a rather dazed manner. A kaleidoscope of sights, smells, and sounds crowded
her senses, incense, subdued lights, dozens of candle flames reflecting off the gleaming
Buddha statues.

Hue went forward, laid the food she and Amy had prepared on the alter in front of the
Buddha, knelt, and prayed, then rejoined Amy.

“The state of a person's mind when he or she dies determines their rebirth,” Hue said in
a low voice. “People who die violently run a great risk."

Amy stared at her. “But that's not right. The way Mai died wasn't her fault."

“These days the priests take that into account. However, there was a time when the body
of a woman who had gone through any violence, even childbirth, was not allowed in the
temple."

Her statement rankled Amy but she kept her feelings about the sexist practice to herself.
“When will Mai be cremated?"

“When the priests feel they've done as much as they can for her lingering spirit."

Her chest tight with pity, Amy watched Cam shuffled into the temple flanked on either
side by a priest in golden-colored robes. At sight of Cam's ashen face, his dull,
lusterless eyes, a lump gathered in her throat and she tasted salty tears.