Mistaken Identity (A Lucinda Pierce Mystery) Page 2
“No. My father’s not dead.”
What now? She didn’t know if she should allow him his delusion or break through his denial. “But, Freddy …”
“No. You don’t understand. My dad is not dead. It’s impossible. He is immortal.”
Lucinda wondered if it was time to call in a social worker or a psychologist.
“That’s why he had to kill my mom. That’s why. I should have known it when I heard them the other day.”
“Did they fight, Freddy?”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “They never fought.”
“Okay, so did they argue?”
“No. Never. Well, one time. I remember them arguing one time.”
“When was that, Freddy?”
“I don’t remember,” he said. “It was a while ago. My mom was upset with my dad. She thought he was pushing me too hard. They stopped talking when I walked into the room. They looked at each other and I could tell they were trying to figure out how much I overheard. So, I said, “Mom, don’t hold me back.” My mom started to cry. I just walked away. I didn’t want to see that. I wish I didn’t say that,” he sobbed and tears dropped from his eyes to his pants, making round darkened spots on the khaki. “All she did was love me.”
“Is that when you knew your dad would kill your mom?” Lucinda said in a whisper, hoping it was the right thing to say but fearing she was in over her head. Maybe a psychiatrist?
“No. No.” Freddy shook his head. “Not then. It must have been Tuesday.”
“Last Tuesday?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure it was last Tuesday.”
“What happened, Freddy?”
“Well, Mom and Dad were in the kitchen fixing a salad for supper that night. Dad started teasing Mom about her hair. He said it was turning gray. She gave him a hard time and said it wasn’t fair that his hair was still black. She accused him of dyeing it behind her back. They were laughing. I don’t think Mom knew how serious it was. But I know Dad did. I saw it in his eyes.”
Lucinda struggled to comprehend his reasoning for painting his father as a murderer. “You think he killed your mother because her hair was turning gray.”
“Well, sort of. But more because his wasn’t.”
“Freddy, I’m sorry but this isn’t making any sense to me. Maybe you should be talking to someone else.”
“Like who? A minister? A shrink?” he shouted, jumping from his seat so quickly, he turned it over.
“Well, Freddy …”
“No. Don’t patronize me. You think it’s all in my head. You don’t believe me.” He picked up the overturned chair and set it upright with a slam.
“Freddy, I …”
“Don’t. I’ll prove it to you. Just take me to that other body upstairs and let me see it.”
“No, Freddy, I cannot …”
“Yes, you can. It won’t upset me. I know it’s not my dad. It’s just a stranger.”
The image of the leg hanging over the tub, the slumped body without a head floated through Lucinda’s thoughts. She knew the vision would haunt her dreams for months, maybe years. It would be traumatic for anyone. “Freddy, it’s against procedure.”
“It’s not my dad,” he yelled. “Are you going to show me or do I have to go see for myself?”
Lucinda rose to her feet. Her jaw moved but words did not come out.
“Fine,” Freddy said and turned on his heel.
She grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Stop.”
He glared up at her. “Let go of me, One-Eye.”
Lucinda stared back at him and exhaled forcefully. “Cut it out, kid. It won’t do any good to go up there and see the body. You won’t be able to tell if it is your dad or not.”
“Why not?” he said, his angry countenance morphed into a fearful one.
“Just trust me, Freddy, you won’t,” she said, releasing her grip on his arm. “C’mon, let’s sit back down.”
Freddy slumped into the chair as Lucinda sat down beside him. “Dad messed up the face?” he asked.
“Well, not exactly.”
“His face was skinned?”
Lucinda grimaced. “Skinned?”
“Yeah, it’s kinda gross. I saw it on a TV show.”
Lucinda shook off her disgust. She wasn’t enjoying this guessing game at all but she wasn’t sure how to make it stop except by cutting him off and walking away. It might be what she wanted to do, but she would not walk away from her responsibility. “No. Not skinned.”
“The head’s gone, isn’t it?”
The nonchalant way he said it made her head spin. Did he really know?
He nodded his head. “I bet the hands are gone, too.”
She looked at him in horror. He does know. But how? No. A thirteen-year-old boy is capable of taking a gun and shooting both his parents in the head. But beheading one parent? No. Impossible. Or is it? She wanted to believe it was impossible and she didn’t know what to say to this child sitting beside her.
“You don’t need to answer. I can tell by the look on your face that I’m right and maybe you think I did it. I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “It was my Dad. It was bad but he couldn’t help it. He had to. He made his deal with the devil and he had no choice. Honest.”
Lucinda looked at the earnest face, heard the pleading in his voice, but didn’t know what to think. The Devil? That’s often the refuge of the psychotic. Did he kill his parents and mutilate his father’s body while disassociated from reality? That’s the only way he could have done it, if he even could then. She knew she had to find an adult relative for the boy before she asked another question.
“Freddy, do you have any other family besides your mom and dad?”
“There’s my grandma but I’m not allowed to see her anymore.”
“Why not, Freddy?”
“I don’t really know. My mom said she was a bad influence but that doesn’t make sense. My mom is good and grandma raised her. I tried to tell Mom that but she said I shouldn’t talk back. I tried to explain I was just being logical but she sent me to my room and said she didn’t want to hear another word about it.”
“Would you like to see your grandma?”
He raised his head and nodded up and down; for the first time since she’d seen him, a tiny smile teased at the corners of his mouth.
“We’ll see if we can find her, then.”
“I have her number on my cell,” he said, digging his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her.
“Okay, any other family? Is there a grandpa?”
“No, all of my grandpas are dead, I think. I don’t know about my Dad’s dad – he never talked about him or showed me pictures or anything. But I guess they didn’t have photographs that long ago. But my grandma was married, maybe five times, I think. She showed me all their pictures. The only one I really remember was my Mom’s dad. He was in a uniform.”
His comment about not having photographs of his paternal grandfather bothered Lucinda but she set it aside for later rumination. “Okay,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I’ll call your grandma and, while I’m doing that, I’m going to turn you over to a couple of officers. You tell them what you need from the house and one of them will get it for you.”
“I can get it myself. I’m not a little kid,” Freddy objected.
“No, Freddy,” she said, lifting his chin with one hand to meet his gaze. “You do not want to go in there, now. No matter how old you are, this is something you don’t ever want to see.”
“But …”
“Trust me, Freddy. I honestly wished I had never seen it and they are not my parents.”
He jerked his chin out of her hand. “I told you, my dad is not dead.”
“Okay, Freddy. I’ve heard you. I understand what you are saying. And it is a possibility we will investigate. Okay?”
He nodded his head. “Promise?”
“Yes, Freddy. I promise.”
“He needs to be stopped.”
Pamela Godfrey stuck her head out of the interrogation room, shouting down the hall. “Hello. Hello. Hello.” She paused a moment for a response before striding down the corridor, teeth and heels clacking in unison.
The noise drew Ted’s attention away from the computer. He jumped up and chased after her. “Ma’am? Ma’am?”
Pamela stopped, placed her hands on her hips and spun around. “Yes!” she said, the trailing sibilance of the last letter causing the image of a coiled snake to pop into Ted’s mind.
“Ma’am, we really need you to wait for Lieutenant Pierce. She’ll be here as soon as she clears the crime scene.”
Pamela’s nostrils flared and her mouth turned down as if she smelled a bad odor. “I am here, officer, because I agreed to come down and answer a few questions – not because I wanted to take up permanent residence in that ugly little room. Ask your questions and be done with it.”
“Lieutenant Pierce needs to talk to you. I’m sure she’ll be back as quickly as she can.”
Incredulity washed across her face. She tilted her head to the side. “Do you know who I am, off-i-cer?”
Normally Ted was not a stickler for titles but the sneer that wrapped around “officer” as it left her mouth hit a nerve. “Sergeant, Ms. Godfrey, Sergeant.”
“So, you do know who I am. Good. Then I won’t need to explain to you that my time is valuable and I can’t afford to lollygag here any longer.” She spun on her heels and headed for the door.
“Ma’am, you can’t leave,” Ted said as he followed her.
Pamela ignored his entreaty but she had to acknowledge the uniformed bulk that stepped in her path. She stopped an inch before contact, looked up at the man’s eyes and snapped, “Excuse me.”
The officer folded his arms across his chest, planted his feet and returned her glare.
Pamela turned back to Ted. “Am I under arrest?”
“No, ma’am, but you are a material witness,” Ted said as he stepped forward, hemming her in a place of no retreat.
“Material witness? To what?” She laughed. “A note?”
“Please, ma’am. I’ll be glad to get you a cup of coffee, a soft drink, water? But please return to the room and wait a bit longer.”
“A glass of cab, perhaps?” She laughed again, then set her jaw tight. “I really do regret making that call.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but …”
“Forget your buts. The least you can do is explain to me what you found at that address. I assume it was more than a cat up a tree.”
“Yes, ma’am, it was.”
“And?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation with you, Ms. Godfrey.”
“Fine. Get my lawyer or let me leave.”
Ted looked her over. She certainly was a fine-looking woman – he had to admit he enjoyed watching her walking away. But she exceeded the allowable level of bitchiness by an excessive amount. He blew a disgusted breath of air out of his mouth. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll give the Lieutenant a call.”
Her hands gravitated to her hips. “I’ll wait. For one call.”
Looking at the sharp angles of her jutting elbows made Ted want to grab her arms, pull them back and snap on a pair of cuffs. The urgency of the impulse surprised him. He pulled out his cell and punched up Lucinda’s number. He grimaced when his call went straight to voicemail. He left a message and disconnected.
“Time’s up,” Pamela chirped. “Lawyer or departure? Your call.”
“You’re free to leave, Ms. Godfrey.”
She smiled and turned to face the broad blue shoulders. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. “Excuse me.”
The officer raised his chin and looked down at her through slitted eyes for a moment before stepping aside. He swiveled his head, watching her until she’d turned a corner and was out of sight. “Lieutenant’s not gonna be happy ’bout that.”
“Tell me about it.” Ted shook his head and walked down the hall to his office.
Five
While Lucinda spoke to Freddy’s grandmother, another call came to her cell. She let it roll to voicemail. She walked over to the patrol car where Freddy sat looking very small. Opening the door, she said, “Have you got everything you need?”
He gave a tight nod. “I think so.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later. Here’s my card. If you need me before I get there, just call my cell, Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lucinda straightened up and closed the door. She spoke to Officer Robin Colter across the roof of her car. “I’m not sure how long it will be before I can get over to his grandmother’s house. I would appreciate it if you could remain there until I do.”
“In the house?”
“Until we know why this happened to his parents, it might be best. But if the grandmother gives you a hard time, sit out in your car and keep a close eye on the house. Go back in if anything makes you feel uncomfortable, no matter what she says.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t ask him anything about the crime or his family while you’re driving over. He’s made some odd comments and I think it would be better not to question him without an adult family member present.”
“No problem.”
“Go on,” Lucinda said.
Robin ducked her head, slid behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. Lucinda watched as she pulled away, still not knowing what to think about the boy. His reactions seemed odd but then what did she know about thirteen-year-olds?
Lucinda checked her voicemail and returned Ted’s call. Without giving him a chance to say a word, she started talking. “Ted, how old is Pete?”
“My Pete?”
“Yeah. Pete Branson. Your kid. Who else?”
“He’s eleven – gonna be twelve soon. But, Lucinda, I have to tell you …”
Lucinda cut him off. “Is there a big difference between an eleven-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old boy?”
“How should I know? Pete hasn’t gotten there yet. Lucinda, I …”
“But you’ve been there. You were a thirteen-year-old boy. You must remember something.”
“Ha. I tried to block it all out. It was an awkward, clumsy, insecure year. What’s this all about?”
“The son of the two victims. I just can figure him out. None of his reactions seem normal.”
“There’s nothing normal about thirteen.”
“Yeah, it wasn’t a romp in paradise for me either.”
“Do you think the kid’s the doer?” Ted asked.
“I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that possibility but I just don’t know,” Lucinda said with a sigh. “So why did you call?”
“Pamela Godfrey.”
“Who?”
“The woman who made the nine-one-one call for your crime scene. We brought her in …”
“You’ll have to amuse her for a while. I’ve got to go over to the grandma’s house and see the kid when I finish up here.”
“But, Lucinda …”
“Just ask her some questions about the note and her reaction to it. There may have been a reason it was left on her car – or maybe she’s the one who wrote it. Press her a bit and see what pops out.”
“I can’t, Lucinda.”
“What?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you – she left.”
“She left? You let her go?”
“Yes, but …”
“Right now, she’s a possible suspect and you just let her go? You didn’t even question her first?”
“Lucinda, she asked for her attorney.”
“All the more reason to keep her there. What were you thinking, Ted?”
“Do you know who she is?”
“You said she was the nine-one-one caller, right?”
“Yeah, but beyond that?”
“No. Tell me.”
“Her father is Malcolm Godfrey – the Godfrey in Drummond-Godfrey.”
“The law firm?” Lucinda asked, hoping it wasn’t true. Drummond-Godfrey was the largest – and most influential – law firm in the state; and, with offices in New York, Miami, Houston and Los Angeles, a dominant force across the country.
“’Fraid so,” Ted acknowledged.
“Shit. Is she an attorney, too?”
“No, but her public relations company does a lot of work for the firm. Most of it typical corporate image stuff but Pamela’s personal specialty is dealing with situations when crime and corporate culture overlap.”
“A PR flak? Damn, that’s worse than a lawyer.”
“So, that’s why I backed off when she squawked. I …”
“No need to explain, Ted. I get it. What I need you to do now is start digging to find out everything you can about that woman and her company.”
“Pamela Godfrey Management.”
“Gee, I wonder how long it took her ego to settle on that. Dig up everything you can. Look for any connection between her or her company and Jeanine or Parker Sterling – at least for now; I’m assuming that’s Parker we found in the tub.”
“You got any reason to doubt his identity?”
“Other than his son? No. But the kid’s story makes no sense. Look for any background you can find on the Sterlings, too. Even rumors about infidelity by either one of them might be useful. But I have a feeling that the answer might lie in a connection with Godfrey – find it for me.”
Lucinda disconnected from Ted and walked back to the house. After donning Tyvek booties and latex gloves, she went upstairs. “Spellman?” she called from the bedroom doorway.
Forensics team leader Marguerite Spellman, covered in blue from the hood over her head to the toes of the matching foot coverings, rose from the floor on the far side of the bed like a spooky apparition. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“One of the most important things for me right now is establishing the identity of the male victim.”
“Of course, Lieutenant. We have bagged and tagged all the toothbrushes, hairbrushes, a man’s electric razor, two used disposable razors and a pile of dirty male garments from the hamper to compare with the vic’s DNA.”