Lethal Legacy (2 page)

When she finished, she glanced out the window and noticed Sheriff Boyce sitting in his
patrol car, eating his lunch. “
Sheriff!
That's a laugh. Some example of law
enforcement,” she muttered, slamming her forensic kit closed. “No pictures. Not even a
sketch of the room or an outline of where she lay.” She swung around to her father.
“Dammit, Dad, we don't even know if Mai was raped."

B.J. put his arm around his daughter's shoulders. “Easy, honey. The coroner agreed to
have her body transferred to our lab. We'll have a lot more answers when we do the
postmortem tomorrow."

Amy sat on a high stool surrounded by glass-doored cabinets lined with
instruments, electric saws, and large glass jars containing various preserved organs.
Ceiling and wall vent fans hummed. The red on lights of an overhead camera and
microphone blinked. Below, on a steel autopsy table equipped with running water, lay the
body of Mai Nguyen.

Strips of toweling covered her breasts and pubic area, her modesty respected for the
moment. Except for plum-colored bruises, purple-edged gashes, and patches of dried
blood, Mai resembled a diminutive porcelain statue, with perfect proportions and
exquisite features. So young, so gentle, what could possibly have provoked someone to
kill the poor woman?

As Amy leaned over to take a scratch pad from a drawer, a wave of nausea washed over her.
Perspiration beaded her forehead, broke out between her breasts. “Damn, damn, damn,” she
muttered, gripping the edge of the counter. Morning sickness was a complication she
hadn't foreseen. Wetting a paper towel with cold water, she dabbed her face.

B.J. finished laying out his instruments and eyed her with concern. “Feeling okay?"

“Not really."

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Isn't it about time you saw someone?"

“I have an appointment in Seattle tomorrow.” She moistened her dry lips. “Do you mind if
I don't assist?"

“The coroner can help. Time he learned to do a proper post anyhow."

Amy ran over the familiar procedure in her mind. An inch-by-inch inspection of the body
with a high-power magnifying lens; a careful combing of pubic hair, examination of the
vaginal vault; slides and samples from under fingernails and from every orifice. A total
body fuming with cyanoacrylate inside a vinyl tent to bring out fingerprints. Another
inspection, this time in the dark with the aid of an ultraviolet light; a head-to-toe
dusting with black fingerprint powder, and a final going-over with a high-intensity
light.

After all this, her father would pick up a scalpel to make the “Y” section. A clean slash
from each clavicle to the base of the sternum, then another from sternum to pubis.

She gazed over at Mai's body. “Use barium sulfate in the knife wounds and take plenty of
X-rays. If it doesn't give a good outline, pour some melted Wood's metal into them. That
may give us the size and shape of the blade."

B.J. grinned and laugh lines fanned out over his ruddy cheeks. “Yes, Dr. Prescott, I
believe I know the routine. Now go on about your business. Kibitzers make me
nervous."

Amy made a face at him and went upstairs to her apartment. While drinking a cup of herbal
tea, her mind wandered as it frequently did to Nathan Blackthorn. Nathan had given her
some terrible-tasting concoction the night she was poisoned. If he were here, maybe he'd
have an Indian remedy for nausea. But he wasn't here and never would be. The thought
caused a throbbing ache deep in her chest.

Foolishness.
She seized the phone, called Cam's attorney, and asked him to arrange
for her to meet with Cam. That done, she took the elevator down to the office and buried
herself in paperwork for a couple of hours. By ten o'clock, she felt strong enough to
make the thirty-five-mile trip to Wheeler.

The jail was on the first floor of the red-brick court-house. After passing by offices
marked City Clerk, Housing Authority, and Public Works, she approached a glass door.
Large black letters trimmed in gold assured her she had arrived at the sheriff's
department.

She opened the door quietly and peeked inside. Two once-white fixtures in a twelve-foot,
water-stained ceiling provided feeble illumination. In front of a gray metal locker
flanked by two file cabinets sat a man in his middle twenties. He had his chair tipped
back and his ragged athletic shoes propped on a pulled-out drawer.

When Amy closed the office door, the man hastily lowered his feet and bent over a stack
of papers on me desk. She approached a counter that bisected the room. After she'd stood
there for several minutes, the young man raised his head, pushed thick-lensed glasses
farther up on his long nose, and brought her into focus.

“You want something?"

“I'm Dr. Amy Prescott, one of the investigators on the Nguyen case. I came to talk with
Dr. Nguyen."

The man pushed aside a flap of lank, blond hair. “No visitors allowed.” He got up, turned
his back to her, and started pawing through a file drawer.

Amy stared at him with disbelief. “Young Man?..."

He wheeled around and marched over to the counter. “The name's Pierce, lady.” He puffed
out his skinny chest. “Deputy Duane Pierce."

Amy managed a smile and stuck out her hand. “Good morning. Deputy Pierce. Jed MacManus,
Dr. Nguyen's attorney, called Sheriff Boyce this morning and got permission for me to
see Dr. Nguyen."

“Nobody told me,” the man whined.

“Is Sheriff Boyce in?"

Deputy Pierce gestured widely about the room. “Do you see him?"

Amy reined in her temper. “Would you locate him for me please?"

“He's in a meeting."

Amy clenched her teeth. Some meeting. She'd seen the sheriff's patrol car parked in front
of Myra's Restaurant on her way through town. “Doesn't Sheriff Boyce have a two-way
radio?"

“He doesn't like being disturbed when he's, uh ... when he's in a meeting."

Amy plunked her rear on a chair. “Then, you'll have to upset him. Cause I'm not
moving."

Half an hour later, Sheriff Boyce lumbered into the office and yelled, “Doo
wayne
,
how many times have I told you not to bother me when I'm over at My,” he caught sight of
Amy and glowered, “I mighta known.” Boyce stomped behind the counter. “Deputy Pierce,
put Nguyen in the visiting room.” He jerked his head at Amy. “Stick
her in
the
hall."

Minutes dragged by while Amy sat waiting on a hard wooden bench. After awhile, an Asian
man appeared out of the murky shadows of the dimly lit hall. Shoving a damp mop back and
forth over bilious green vinyl, he moved along the corridor toward her.

When about twenty feet separated them, he lifted his head and Amy caught her breath. A
puckered scar stretched from his right cheekbone to his ear and his eyes when he met
hers were jet black and cold as a cobra's. A chill ran through her. She clutched her
purse and prayed the deputy would hurry back.

After what seemed an eternity, Deputy Pierce sauntered out of the gloom and came up
behind the man with the mop. “Get your ass in gear, Sen. You gotta swab out Nguyen's
cage."

Pierce snickered, opened a door halfway down the hall, and motioned Amy inside. “Don't be
passing any stuff to him, ya hear?” He propped himself in the open doorway and took a
folded comic book from his back pocket.

The gray, windowless room had an entrance at either end. A table-height partition topped
with a four-foot wide counter extended from wall to wall. Cam slumped in a chair on one
side of the barrier.

Amy took her seat and peered at the man. Even when they'd worked double shifts as
interns, he'd always managed to appear neat and well groomed. Now, he had mussed hair,
rumpled clothing, and the skin covering his fine-boned features had taken on a greenish
cast.

“Cam.” She put her hand out as far as she could but still couldn't reach him. “I'm so
sorry."

He let out a sigh that shook his entire body. “Thanks for coming. Amy. I still can't
believe this is real.” He looked at her with a stricken expression. “The whole thing is
a nightmare."

“That's for sure.” She sat forward. “Cam, if I'm to help you I need to know what
happened. Are you up to answering some questions?"

“Anything ....” He wiped his hand over his face. “Anything that'll help make some sense
out of this. I'm so glad you're here. I really need a friend right now.”

Amy opened her notebook and placed it on the counter. “Some of these questions may upset
you, but just keep in mind that I believe you're innocent. And you have my word that I'm
going to do everything in my power to help you prove that."

Cam nodded and took a deep breath. “Please, go on,” he said.

“Had you and Mai been having any problems?"

A sad expression crossed his face. “Some."

Amy's stomach tightened. “Tell me about it.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I've been going over and over this for hours. I
think things started falling apart about six months ago."

“What happened?"

“After Mai's father died ... I don't know, she changed."

“In what way?"

“She became withdrawn. I thought the move back to her old home, and taking care of
Chantou's landscape business, would help her.” He swallowed and shook his head. “She got
worse. Started imagining things. People following her, spying on her. She had all the
locks changed twice."

Amy jotted down a few words. “Did you work late Friday night?"

“No...” Cam put his head in his hands. “If only I'd gone home, maybe...” He met Amy's
steady gaze. “I had dinner with a woman I met at the hospital. Afterwards, we went to
her apartment. Nothing happened, Amy. I swear it. All we did was talk. Amy, you know I
loved Mai. I wouldn't ...."

Amy nodded, but didn't comment. “What time did you get home?"

Cam glanced at her, then away. “About twelve-thirty."

Amy recorded the time. “Where was Mai?” His mouth trembled as he tried to get himself
under control. “She was ... lying naked on the floor of our bedroom.” His dark eyes grew
moist. “Amy, Mai wouldn't let anyone see her naked...” He gulped. “We were married two
years before she even let me."

Amy nodded. “I remember you telling me she refused even to wear tennis shorts."

“Most old-country Cambodian girls are like that."

“What did you do after you found Mai?"

“So much blood. God, it was all over her. I tried to stop the bleeding,” his voice broke,
“Then her ... her heart stopped and ... I tried to resuscitate her.” He raised his eyes
to meet Amy's. “I save other people's lives all day long.” He beat his fist on the
counter. “But I couldn't save my own wife."

“Don't do this to yourself, Cam. I've seen you work. I know you did everything you could
to save her."

“It didn't keep her from dying."

“If you couldn't help her, nobody could.” She gave him a moment to compose himself, then
spoke again. “Let's go back to this woman you were with. Will she testify you were
together?"

Cam pressed his fingers into his temples and shook his head. “It's the strangest thing.
The sheriff says he went to the apartment to check my story. The manager told him he'd
never heard of Chea Le, that apartment 105 is only used for display and it's never been
rented by anyone."

Amy blew out her breath. “That
is
strange..."

Cam leaned forward. “You believe me, don't you?"

“Of course, I,” As Amy started to reassure him, she heard the clank of a bucket in the
hallway and remembered the man with the chilling stare. “Just a second.” Jumping to her
feet, she peered around Deputy Pierce. Mop in one hand, bucket in the other, the janitor
was shuffling down the hall.

She turned to the deputy. “Has that man been outside this door ever since we started
talking?"

“Huh?” The deputy lowered his comic book. “What man?"

She rounded on him, her brown eyes blazing. “The one you called Sen."

The deputy smirked. “No reason to get all het-up. He's only the janitor."

“It's your job to keep this meeting confidential. Whoever he is, he can broadcast Cam's
story all over the Southeast Asian community you ... you ....” Amy made a sound of
disgust, seated herself opposite Cam and tried to retrieve her train of thought.

“Is this Chea Le a nurse at the hospital?"

“No. She's a volunteer,” Cam said.

“What do you know about her?"

“We only went out that one time. She told me that she and her boyfriend had quarreled. We
shared our troubles."

“The administration office should have some information on her, shouldn't they?"

He shrugged. “Volunteers are a hospital fixture. I can't remember even speaking to one
before I met Chea."

While Amy scribbled a reminder to call Harborview Medical Center in Seattle, her mind hit
upon a far-fetched notion. “You're Vietnamese, aren't you, Cam?"

“Ethnically speaking, but my father's family lived in Cambodia for generations. And as
you know, my mother is Caucasian."

“How do Cambodians feel about the Vietnamese?"

“There's hostility on both sides.” He grimaced. “Khmers call the Vietnamese barbarians.
The Vietnamese call the Khmers lazy."

“Khmers?"

Cam's heavy brows knotted in an irritated frown. “'Cambodia' is a name the French and
English tacked on the country. Natives think of themselves as Khmers and their country
as Kampuchea. Where is all this going, Amy?"

“I'm searching for a motive."

He stared at her, his eyes wide. “A blood feud? Good God, Amy, that's ridiculous."

“Do you have a better idea? Who had a reason to kill Mai?"

Cam winced and turned his head.

“Cam?” Amy said.
"Is there someone you suspect"