Lethal Legacy (15 page)

After she finished eating, she took her scratch pad with her and went downstairs to the
lab. “I'm going to advertise for a live-in nanny,” she said to her father, who was
sitting on a stool reading a computer printout of her notes.

“Why now? You won't need one for five months."

“I'm going to need a labor coach."

“Your Aunt Helen or I could do that."

“No, I want to get to know whoever will be taking care of the twins. I need to know what
she's like, how she reacts in times of stress.” She pulled the pad toward her. Even
though she knew she had little hope of finding such a person, she added.
Would prefer
someone who speaks the Nez Perce tongue and knows their customs.

With that matter taken care of, she slipped two prepared glass slides under separate
objectives of the comparison microscope and adjusted the focus. One slide contained
cotton fibers taken from a bedpost at the Nguyen house, the other a sample from the rope
they'd found hidden in me woods.

As flat fibers resembling twisted ribbon came into view, she swore under her breath.
Although aware that white cotton can be found in almost any sample of house dust, she
had still hoped her samples might be unique.

She removed the slides and tossed them in the disposal can. “No luck. The rope is useless
as evidence unless you found some blood or tissue on it."

B. J. glanced up. “No. Not a thing that's of any help."

She set up the upholstery samples she'd clipped from the furniture of the apartment where
Cam claimed he'd met with Chea Le and compared them with fibers she'd found on Cam's
clothing. Finally, she let out a heavy breath. “Doesn't look like Cam was ever in
apartment 105."

“You can't be positive, kitten. They might have changed the furniture.” He pointed to the
printout. “Who are Kim Sen and Victor Samphan?"

“Employees of Fenwick's Athletic Club.” She checked through the other labeled slides to
see if she'd examined all the specimens. “Ivan Fenwick gave me their addresses
yesterday. One man drives a blue pickup. Couldn't get his license number, but I did list
a few other licenses you might run through AFIS."

“Will do. Why don't you rest today? You're looking a bit pale."

She and Nathan had talked for two hours the previous night, so she hadn't slept much, but
she couldn't tell her father that. “Probably anemia. The doctor says mothers of twins
may lose more iron."

“Double trouble.” He shook his head. “God help us if they turn out to be as stubborn as
you are."

She smiled wryly. “Takes one to know one. Dad."

The ringing of the phone cut off his retort. She lifted the receiver. “Good morning. This
is Dr. Amy Prescott."

“Amy, this is Hue. I had to call you ... Oh, goodness, the most awful thing ... wait
until you hear,"

“Hue, what is it?"

The woman swallowed noisily. “My husband works for the county road department. The
river's over its banks. The guys have been watching the bridges for log jams. This
morning they found a car. A, A blue Honda, Amy, and, and there's a dead woman in
it."

Amy's pulse started to race. “Hold on a second, Hue.” She turned to her father. “Wheeler.
They found a car in the river with a body inside."

B. J. hopped off his stool and crossed over to her.

Amy raised the receiver to her ear again. “Is she Asian?"

“I don't know. My husband said they haven't identified her yet."

“Did anyone call the police?"

“My husband doesn't like Sheriff Boyce, Amy. He said to let you know first."

“Thanks, Hue. Where's the car?"

“They towed it into a field near the Wasku River bridge."

“Fine. Give us a twenty-minute head start, then call the sheriff. He shouldn't be able to
do too much damage before we get there."

Hue giggled. “Gee, Amy, I feel as if I'm in a TV mystery."

“Good job. Sergeant Quoy,” Amy said with a laugh. “I'll get back to you with a full
report this evening."

Amy and B.J. each took their own vehicles to the scene.

Amy floor-boarded the accelerator as she left Ursa Bay's city limits. If the dead woman
was Chea Le, the sheriff might blame Cam. She wanted to prevent that from happening, if
she could.

Before leaving, she'd called Jed's office. His secretary said he'd left for Wheeler two
hours ago. Amy issued up a prayer that he'd found Cam and straightened out his
thinking.

Amy crested a hill, caught a brief glimpse of the flooded valley. After rounding several
switchbacks, she reached the floor of the canyon and crossed the Wasku River bridge. The
road department had towed the blue Honda onto higher ground.

She parked on a logging byway beside Sheriff Boyce's car and prepared to change from
shoes to rubber boots. Off to her right, a sturdily built Asian of medium height was
controlling the gathering crowd, edging onlookers back behind a strip of yellow crime
tape. Deputy Pierce waved along rubbernecking motorists.

He loped over and pounded on her window. “Move it, lady. You can't park here."

Amy finished jamming on her boot and rolled down her window. “Deputy Pierce, the body has
to be examined before the car can be moved."

He shoved his thick-lensed glasses into place with a muddy forefinger. “That's not my
problem. Now move it."

Amy closed the window, tucked her slacks into the tops of her boots, and got out of the
car. “I'll go clear it with the sheriff, how's that?"

“Piss off, Prescott.” The deputy kicked her tire. “I'm running this show."

Her father's van rolled to a stop behind hers and he hopped out “Something wrong,
Amy?"

“Deputy Pierce thinks it's a problem that we're parked here."

As he spoke. Homer Epps pulled up in his minivan. He slammed the door and joined them.
“I'm not looking forward to this task,” he said. He turned and patted Deputy Pierce on
the arm. “Keep an eye on our cars will you, son?"

“God damn it to hell. Homer."

Dr. Epps smiled and patted him again. “Thanks, Duane, you're a good boy."

He turned to B.J. who'd slid open the side of his van and was assembling his equipment on
the ground. “Anything I can help you carry, B.J.?"

B.J. gestured toward the aluminum gurney and the tote case that held his battery-powered
work lights, then glanced at the gray sky. “I hope this weather holds. This job will be
tough enough without fighting the rain."

He slid me van door closed and hoisted his forensic gear. “Need any help, Amy?"

Amy slung the straps of her purse and two camera straps around her neck. “No, you go on
ahead. I want to talk to Hue's husband."

Carrying her forensic satchel, she stepped off the graveled strip where they'd parked and
slogged through ankle-deep water to a man in an orange workman's jacket who was taking
in the scene. “Excuse me, are you Raymond Quoy?"

“That's me.” His round face crinkled into laugh lines. “Are you Dr. Prescott?” At her
nod, his smile broadened. “Me and the kids have been hearing ‘Amy this' and ‘Amy that'
ever since Hue met you."

Amy laughed. “She and I have a mutual admiration pact. I think very highly of your wife,
Mr. Quoy."

“So do I.” He flushed and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “And call me
Raymond, everybody else in town does."

She nodded. “Raymond, have you or any of the other men seen that car before?"

“I haven't.” He gazed down at his mud-splashed boots. “Some of my men may have.” His eyes
met hers. “But I don't want Sheriff Boyce to know that The men are scared they might end
up like she did."

“Do you think any of them knew her?"

“No one mentioned any names."

“Was the car full of water?"

“Yes. All four windows were open several inches."

“Did you notice if the body was on the driver's or passenger's side of the car?"

“She was behind the steering wheel. The seat belt was holding her in place."

“Thanks, Raymond, you've been a big help."

“She looks pretty awful. Dr. Prescott.” He grimaced. “I wouldn't want to do what you
do."

“That's what most people say.” She smiled. “You better call me Amy, or Hue won't know who
you're talking about."

He reached for her satchel. “Let me take that for you,” he said.

Amy started to decline his offer, but he'd already taken the bag. She was glad he had. To
reach the car, they had to travel through stretches of heavy mud, tall grass, and weeds
that dragged at her feet. When she reached the scene, she thanked Raymond for his
assistance.

He lifted his orange cap by the bill, said, “Nice to have met you,” and went back to join
his men.

Amy walked over to where her father and Dr. Epps were at work. The car sat on a ridge at
bottom of a shale-covered slope. B.J. had divided the exterior of the car into quadrants
and assigned a portion to Dr. Epps. B.J. examined the car's bumper and grill with a
magnifying glass.

He glanced at Amy. “Take lots of pictures."

“Stupid waste of time.” Sheriff Boyce stood with his gaze angled away from the car. He
kicked a rock into the water and flung out his arms. “Jesus Christ! There ain't no sense
in going through this whole damned rigmarole again."

“Why is that. Sheriff?” Amy kept a smile pasted on her face. She wanted to keep their
conversation on an amiable level if she could. Perhaps, if he had time to think
something through he might not jump to one of his screw-loose conclusions.

The sheriff stared out at the churning flood waters. “The woman was probably drunk, or
speeding, or both, and went into the river."

B.J. snorted derisively. “Both the front and rear license plates are gone."

“That's right, Fred.” Dr. Epps shifted his attention from the right rear fender to
Sheriff Boyce. “Seems to me someone doesn't want us to know who she is."

Sheriff Boyce swung around, caught sight of the body, turned pale, and looked as though
he wanted to vomit. “The plates coulda gotten snagged on something,” he said in a weak
voice.

Dr. Epps' gaze darted from Amy to B.J. When neither of them commented, he said, “It's
possible, I guess."

Amy busied herself adjusting her camera and snapping pictures. If she got pulled into
their discussion, she'd lose her patience for sure.

“Bumper and grill are unmarked and intact” B.J., with an obstinate expression, flung the
declaration at the sheriff's back. “Pretty damned hard to run off a road without hitting
something.” He inspected the windows and door handles, dusted and searched for
prints.

Dr. Epps peered at B.J. from around the back of the car. “How're we going to get inside
with all the doors locked?"

“I have a Slim Jim.” B.J.'s eyes twinkled. “You want to jimmy the door lock.
Sheriff?"

Sheriff Boyce glanced over his shoulder and gave him a sour look. “No way. Dead people
give me the willies."

B.J. worked the device, opened the door, and stepped aside while Amy drew a rough sketch
of the inside and the position of the corpse. Dr. Epps stood in the background,
observing her.

A smile twitched the corners pf Amy's mouth. If his interest held, he'd soon be a much
more efficient coroner. She photographed the car's interior, indicating the angle of
each shot on her sketch.

Behind her, B.J. fidgeted with impatience. “Is the key in the ignition?"

“Yes. In the off position."

“How about the light switch?"

Amy snapped another picture. “That's off too. And the gear shift is in neutral."

Dr. Epps cleared his throat “The ignition would have been on and the car in gear,” he
said, raising his voice. “ff the woman went into the river by accident"

B.J. nodded. “That's right How about the emergency brake, Amy?"

She squatted down to get a clearer view. “It's not engaged, and there's no registration
slip on the steering post."

“Could be in the glove compartment,” B.J. tested the dead woman's seat belt. “This is
sure cinched up tight"

Amy, noticed a clamp on the seat belt similar too those used to hold a child seat in
place. “Better make sure of the distance from her feet to the pedals before you move
her."

“Good idea.” B.J. took the measurements while Amy recorded them on her sketch.

After he finished, Amy moved in to fasten paper sacks around the woman's hands and feet
In the meantime, B.J. and Dr. Epps arranged an unzipped body bag on the gurney. As soon
as Amy completed her task, the two men tackled the chore of getting the corpse out of
the car.

“This isn't something I'd want to do every day,” Dr. Epps said as he slid his arm under
the woman's knees.

“We're lucky the water was so damned cold. It slowed decomposition.” B.J. grasped the
woman's shoulders. “Ready?"

Dr. Epps nodded and together, they got her out of the car and into the body bag.

The instant B.J. closed me zipper, the sheriff strode over and peered in the car's side
window. “Her purse is on the floor in the rear of the car. That'll tell us who she is.”
He reached out to grab the door handle.

Amy opened her mouth to object, then remembered she was in a subordinate position at the
scene. “Don't you think I'd better dust it for prints first?"

The sheriff snatched back his hand. “Well, get to it. What the hell you waiting for?"

After making a note of the purse's location, Amy got out her fingerprint kit. A light
brush of gray powder on both sides of the black patent leather clutch bag revealed
nothing but an unblemished surface. She handed it to the sheriff. “It's been wiped
clean."

Boyce thrust out his chin. “Bull."

“Any woman who owns a patent leather purse can tell you they are usually covered with
fingerprints."