Wrong Turn (25 page)

‘What’s wrong, Charley?’

‘Hurry, Lucy, hurry!’ she said and the call was gone.

Lucinda pressed the button for the first floor. She tried to call back but got no answer. ‘If you get this message, Charley, I’m on my way.’

In the parking lot, she popped on the lights and turned on her sirens. It was the tail end of rush hour and traffic was still dense. She pushed her way through, adding the cacophony of her horn when necessary. She ran into the condo building and paced while she waited for the elevator to take her to the tenth floor. She ran down the hall, unfastening her holster as she went.

The door was slightly ajar but not even a whisper of noise came from inside the Spencer home. She put one hand on her gun, without drawing it. With the other she edged open the door. All the lights were out, and the faint glow of the dusk did little more than create ominous shadows in the room.

A shout made her grip her weapon but then she realized the word shouted was ‘surprise’, and the room lit up and everyone was smiling. She blinked and looked around. Hundreds of balloons decorated the space. A banner stretched over a long table filled with food. It read: ‘Congratulations to the Best Detective in the World.’

Charley ran up and threw her arms around Lucinda’s waist. ‘Thank you, Lucy! Thank you! Did you see your sign?’ she asked pointing at the banner.

Bill Waller approached her and clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Good job, lieutenant.’

‘I really didn’t do much of anything.’

Evan said, ‘You believed in Charley even when I had doubts about her. You held Cafferty’s feet to the fire. Without your intervention, my daughter could have been dragged through this mess for months. Thank you, lieutenant.’

Ruby tugged on her jacket. ‘Lucy, Lucy, we got all the stuff you like. Look. We got shrimp. And we got the dingy crabs.’

‘Ruby, Dungeness crabs,’ Charley said.

‘And well, Lucy knows what I mean. And Lucy, we’ve got mudbugs – but Daddy said I won’t like them ‘cause they’re so hot. Do you like bugs, Lucy?’

‘They’re not really bugs, Ruby,’ Charley said in an exasperated tone of voice. ‘They’re crawfish – they’re like little bitty lobsters. Lucy loves them and she wouldn’t eat bugs.’

‘And I brought a few six packs of Blackened Voodoo beer to wash them all down.’

Lucinda spun around. ‘Jake!’

Jake smiled and handed her a cold beer. ‘Who do you think told them about the Cajun crawdads?’

Lucinda gave him a hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. That sign, this celebration should be for you. You did more to help Charley than I did.’

‘Maybe, but I only did it at your request – not on my own initiative. So you get the credit for that, too.’

Ruby tugged again at Lucinda’s jacket. ‘Lucy, Lucy . . .’

‘Yes, Ruby.’

‘And we got corn on the cob and potato salad and cold slaw.’

Charley sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Cole slaw, Ruby.’

‘It’s cold – it is.’

‘Yes, Ruby,’ Lucinda said, with a smile. ‘It is cold.’

‘Lucy, if you agree with her when she makes mistakes, she’ll never learn,’ Charley rebuked her.

‘I’d say tonight’s not for learning, Charley. It’s for having fun.’

‘But at her age, you cannot pass up any learning opportunity,’ Charley opined.

Lucinda hugged her tight to keep her from seeing the amusement in her face. ‘Yes, Charley, you’re right. You’re a good big sister.’

‘I have to be, Lucy. Ruby doesn’t have a mom.’

That simple statement of fact stirred up ripples of pain. Lucinda squeezed her tight, let her go and said, ‘OK, girlfriend, come on, let’s eat!’

L
ucinda tucked Ruby into bed that night, reading her a story while Charley sat on the floor feigning indifference, but the light in Charley’s eyes gave away the pleasure she received participating in the nightly ritual that she insisted was for little kids. After Ruby fell asleep, Lucinda went with Charley to her room.

Tucking the covers around the girl, Lucinda sat on the edge of Charley’s bed. ‘Do you want a story, too?’

‘Yes,’ Charley said.

‘I thought you said you were too old for bedtime stories?’

‘Not for the one I want to hear.’

‘What’s that, Charley?’

‘I want to know when you’re going in for that last surgery.’

‘Charley, I . . .’

‘I called Dr Burns today, Lucy. He told me he’s been trying to get you to set an appointment.’

‘I’m a little busy right now, Charley.’

‘You’re always busy. You need to make time. You know you’ll feel a whole lot better once he fixes that cheek.’

‘Well, maybe, but . . .’

‘No, Lucy. You know I’m right. I’ve seen you running your fingers over it as if you’re trying to hide it when you talk to people. I’ve seen you make faces when you walk past a mirror.’

‘I don’t have time right now, Charley.’

‘Then, I guess I’ll have to stop seeing you so that you’ll have more time.’

‘OK, Charley, I promise. As soon as I get this one last bad guy locked up, I will call and make an appointment.’

‘I want it in writing,’ Charley insisted.

‘What, you don’t trust me?’

‘Not when it comes to taking care of yourself, no I don’t.’ She pulled a spiral notebook and pen out of the top drawer of her nightstand and handed it to Lucinda. ‘Here: write it down, sign it and date it. I will sign as your witness. Then if you don’t do it, I’ll sue you for breach of promise.’

‘Breach of promise? Where did you pick that up?’

‘Mr Bill.’

‘Your attorney, Bill Waller, gave you this idea?’

‘Sort of. I heard him talking to one of those other lawyers from his office tonight. And decided it made a lot of sense.’

Lucinda hid her amusement at Charley’s odd application of the law as she wrote out her promise. ‘Here you go, Charley.’

Charley countersigned the handwritten document and ripped the page from the notebook. ‘I’ll make a copy on Daddy’s printer and give Mr Bill the original for safe keeping. You can’t wiggle out of this one, Lucy.’

Lucinda kissed her on the forehead and said, ‘You’ve got me locked in, Charley. I’ve got to run now.’

‘No. Stay and talk. Daddy’s already told me to sleep as late as I want in the morning. He’ll write me an excuse and drive me to school.’

‘Sorry, girlfriend. Duty calls. I have to talk to the night shift of patrol officers before they hit the streets.’

‘Why?’

‘I need their help to catch that bad guy I mentioned.’

‘Oh, then go, go, and tell them it’s real important.’

After addressing the night watch, Lucinda headed home for a few hours’ sleep before she had to show up for a repeat performance with the morning shift. After that, she headed to her office to work on the self-perpetuating stream of paperwork that never seemed to end. She kept her eye on the time, waiting for the hour when DA Reed would be in his office. She was angry with him still but she wanted to mend bridges enough to help him in any way she could with the prosecution of Chris Phillips.

At nine that morning, she set aside her reports and went upstairs. Usually, the door to Reed’s office was wide open but now it was shut tight. She walked towards it to knock but was stopped by Cindy. ‘Lieutenant, I am under strict instructions, barring you from the DA’s office.’

Lucinda looked at her, then turned and took two more steps toward the room.

‘Lieutenant, he locked the door. He told me he was doing it in case you barreled past me over my objections.’

‘Oh, for crying out loud. I know he’s as pissed at me as I am at him, but really? We do have to work together.’

‘Well, not this morning, lieutenant.’

Lucinda paused, wondering whether to sit and wait him out or hope to catch him when he was loose in the building or out in the parking lot.

‘He also left a message for you.’

‘Is it fit for repetition?’

‘Yes, lieutenant,’ she said with a smile. ‘Actually, he said I probably wouldn’t be able to get rid of you unless I tossed you a bone.’

‘Oh, nice,’ Lucinda said and sighed. ‘OK, what is it?’

‘He received a call this morning from Chris Phillips’ attorney. He wants to make a deal. Mr Reed is meeting with him and his client at the jail this morning at eleven.’

‘A deal? He’s not going to fight through a trial?’

‘Apparently not. Mr Reed has not lost a single opportunity to spread the word that he might be seeking the death penalty.’

‘The death penalty?’

‘Yes, he’s been going out of his way to casually “bump into” a number of lawyers and paralegals to mention that since he got a life sentence for Phillips without a witness, he should be able to get the death penalty with one. And you know how fast gossip spreads through the legal community.’

‘Oh yeah. I think they have the cops beat on this one. You have any idea what the defense wants in exchange for a plea?’

‘His initial offer was ten years minus time served and he wanted half the time to be probation instead of incarceration.’

‘That means he’d be out in what? Two years? Is Reed going for that?’

‘Nah. Right now, his counter-offer was the same sentence he got at trial, life without parole. I imagine they’ll settle on something in between. But Mr Reed is very serious about this case. He’s hoping to find enough evidence to tack on another murder charge for the death of his first wife, too. He’s not going to come down much.’

‘I hope not,’ Lucinda said. Her faith in prosecutors sticking to principle was eroded a long time ago by experiences she’d prefer not to remember.

M
ack Rogers stared out of the front of the convenience store after handing over twenty-five dollars to put gas in the miserable excuse for transportation he was using since he’d stolen it out of the apartment parking lot where he’d abandoned his truck. He was annoyed that he’d been so careless. He should have left the pick-up at least a mile away and walked back for the other car. But he’d been panicking when he made the switch and hadn’t taken the time to think.

Seeing nothing that looked the least bit suspicious, he pushed open the door and walked over to the gas pump. He pumped the fuel, his eyes roaming without pause around the parking lot and up and down the street. He saw no reason for concern as he finished up and pulled out of the lot.

A block later, at a stop light, he realized a cop car was right behind him. Panic beat a tattoo in his chest. When the light changed, he pulled away carefully, not wanting to give the cop any reason to pull him over. He made sure he drove at the speed limit, not a mile over or under. He worried the speedometer was not accurate in the old piece of junk. But the cop showed no interest in him, in fact, the distance between them seemed to have increased a bit. He hoped there wasn’t a busted tail light or any other stupid reason for the cop to pull over the crappy little car.

He turned into a side street and his anxiety rose when seconds later, he saw the cop car enter the neighborhood, too. He fought off the urge to flee, maintaining a speed of twenty-five miles per hour. He came to a complete halt at a four-way stop sign. He then moved forward slowly and deliberately.

He relaxed a bit when the cop made a complete stop there, too. Then sighed in relief as the car took a left turn. He pulled into the driveway and entered the open garage door. He jumped out of the car, rushed to the button and stared underneath the lowering door to make sure the cop hadn’t doubled back and followed him. He didn’t notice anyone or anything moving outside. He did have a flash of concern about the obstruction to his view caused by the tall row of shrubbery across the back of the property; but dismissed that worry as quickly as it arose.

He entered a home he’d been in many times before. He’d worked here: building bookshelves, replacing broken window panes, hanging pictures on the walls, unclogging toilets and any other thing the prosperous but mechanically challenged couple needed. It seemed like they had one little job after another every couple of weeks. He put away his purchases, grabbed a beer and sat down to make plans for his immediate future.

He knew his time here was limited. The owners, his occasional customers, were away on a long cruise encircling the entire South American continent. They’d been kind enough to let him know they wouldn’t need him while they were away. He laughed out loud at their misplaced trust.

He wondered if he could find enough in the house to sell for a few quick bucks – enough to get him far, far away from Virginia. He wondered if it would be possible to get out of the country. He expected the only way possible would be if he sneaked across the border into Mexico or Canada on foot.

He grew angry as he thought of the reason he’d abandoned the home he’d rented for all those years. The smell wasn’t really that bad. If only he hadn’t been spooked when Mrs Plum asked him about repairs he made to the home. She’d talked about coming by to admire his work. He should have stalled her, brazened her out. It would have worked. She was so grateful to have a long-term tenant who kept the premises in good condition. But no, he’d panicked and fled.

He’d been such an idiot. If he hadn’t done that, no one would have found the bodies. No one would be looking for him. That thought brought Martha Sherman to mind and a smile to his face. He’d loved watching that trial on Court TV. On days he’d had jobs, he’d taped the coverage so he could watch it at night. It was thrilling to watch someone else take the blame for his actions. It was a real high to watch her parents sobbing after the verdict.

But now, he had problems – serious problems. He needed to find someplace he could hide permanently. Someplace where no one would see the news. No one would ever recognize him. He’d started growing out a beard and mustache; that would help but only so much. He needed an isolated place where he could live cheaply. It would have to be Mexico.

The other problem, though, felt more pressing. It demanded his attention no matter how hard he tried to suppress it. The hunger was building. It gnawed at him when he tried to sleep. It burned inside when he caught a glimpse of a young woman walking past the end of the driveway. It ate away at his concentration when he tried to focus on his escape from pursuit.