Authors: Louise Hendricksen
Hue touched her arm and whispered, “He'll want to be alone."
Outside, Amy smacked her fist against her palm. “Justice! Dammit, Mai never harmed anyone
in her whole life. But she's dead and the man who killed her is out there and,” her
voice broke, “and I still don't have the faintest idea who the rotten bastard is."
“You'll find him, Amy.” Hue patted her arm. “I know you will."
The next morning, Amy sat at the conference table drizzling honey over a
toasted English muffin while B.J. watched her with an expression of disbelief. “This
can't be my daughter. She's eating without me nagging her."
Amy laughed. “I had cereal, juice, and toast an hour ago, but I'm still hungry.” She
cocked her head and grinned at him. “And you're just jealous because you can't have
honey on your muffin."
“Damn right, I am.” The cordless phone at his elbow rang. He picked it up and answered,
“Dr. B.J. Prescott here.” He cradled the receiver between cheek and shoulder, pulled a
scratch pad toward him, and picked up a pencil. “What's his name? He worked the evening
shift? When did you find him?” He scribbled some notes. “How'd he die? The sheriff been
notified? Good. Don't let anyone touch anything. We'll be there in about thirty
minutes."
B.J. lay down the phone. “That was Cam. He stayed with friends in Seattle last night.
Today, he went to Wheeler to make sure everything was all right at Pran's greenhouses.
The day workers said when they arrived this morning, they found Gan Haing, the night
man, dead."
“Homicide?"
“Nothing to indicate that. Could have been a heart attack. He was sixty years old."
“The sheriff coming?” When her father nodded, she stood up. “We'd better get going before
he decides to take Cam into custody again."
By a stroke of good fortune, they drove into the parking area of the Nguyen house at the
same time that Sheriff Boyce and Dr. Homer Epps, the coroner, pulled up. While B.J.
greeted the men, Amy looked around her. Five of the gabled greenhouses had cement
floors, glass walls, and adjustable glass panels in the roof. The other four consisted
of wooden frameworks covered with clear plastic sheeting.
Cam, his small-boned features drawn into tense, haggard lines, beckoned from the middle
glassed-in structure. Amy and the three men joined him. “He's down at the far end,” Cam
said. He led the way between rows of benches holding green plastic pots filled with red,
pink, and lavender geraniums.
A spice fragrance scented the warm humid air, reminding Amy of summer gardens, but the
sight of the still, white-haired man lying on a layer of burlap bags shattered the
illusion.
B.J. halted the group some distance away. “Cam, how many people have been in here this
morning?"
“Three. Me and two of the workers."
“Is that where they found him?"
Cam nodded. “He was lying on his face. They'd turned him on his back and laid him on the
sacks just before I arrived."
Sheriff Boyce grunted. “A man can't die a natural death around here without everybody
getting all excited."
B.J. swung around. “I'd rather protect the scene than regret it later.” He squatted on
his heels and studied the area of cement floor on which the man lay.
After noting an exit door beyond the body, Amy hurried back the way she'd come and
circled around the outside. When she reached the rear of the building, she stopped. A
fifteen-foot section of soil lay between the front greenhouse and the one behind it. The
rain had let up around one that morning. Since then, it was evident that someone had
crossed the area, someone wearing thongs.
She searched out the workmen and asked if any of them wore thongs. None did. She glanced
from one man to the next and asked if any damage had been done to the greenhouse
buildings.
“Many of the potted plants were uprooted,” one man said, and pointed to one of the
buildings.
She persuaded them to work elsewhere until she could film the damage and rushed back to
the group. “He was here, Dad. He came in through the rear door."
The sheriff shot her an irritated glance. “Just how do you know that?"
“Our suspect wears thongs."
“So you say. What's to stop
my
suspect here,” he waved a hand at Cam, who eyed him
with an angry expression, “from putting on a pair and tracking up the place to throw
suspicion off of himself?"
B.J. rose to his feet. “Amy, go open the back door and take some pictures."
“Now just wait a damn minute, Prescott.” Sheriff Boyce glowered at B.J. “I'm the one
who's running this show."
B.J.'s face darkened. “The death of Mai Nguyen, her father, and this man are all
related."
“You're off your nut.” Boyce gave Cam a walleyed look. “Did you do in her old man
too?"
Cam's steady gaze met and held the bigger man's. “I didn't kill anyone, Mr. Boyce."
“You don't fool me, New-Yen, or Win, or whatever the hell your name is. You're guilty as
hell."
“Now, Fred.” Dr. Homer Epps straightened thin, sloping shoulders garbed in a brown,
double-breasted suit and clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “The judge
and the prosecuting attorney might not approve of,"
“Who the hell cares? This thing is getting out of hand."
“You're right, Sheriff,” B.J. said in a controlled voice. “There's something rotten going
on in Wheeler. You'd be wise to let us gather the proper evidence, otherwise your
prosecuting attorney could end up with a damned red face. Most places that's a good way
for a sheriff to get himself fired."
Boyce ran a hand over his face and shifted his feet. “Well, if you're gonna do something,
do it. I ain't got all day."
Cam accompanied Amy to her father's van and helped carry her gear around back. “Are you
going to stay in the house?” she asked him as she recorded the film number in the log
she kept.
“I can't bring myself to even open the door,” he answered.
“Perhaps Hue Quoy and I could straighten up the place and,"
“No. I'll call a housecleaning service.” He let out a long sigh. “I'll never be able to
live there. Maybe I can rent it.” He made a vague gesture. “Shit, I can't think straight
enough to make a decision right now."
She put her arm around his shoulders. “Things can wait. And if you need someone to talk
to, you know my number."
He squeezed her hand. “Thanks, Amy, I don't know how I'll ever repay you and your father
for what you're doing."
She patted his back and jerked her head toward the greenhouse. “I'd better get busy
before the tension inside blows the roof off."
Being careful where she placed her feet, she opened the rear door and took the necessary
pictures. “Okay, Dad, you can move him now. There's a footprint here I want to
lift."
While her father and Dr. Epps examined the body, Amy marked off the area with crime tape
and asked Cam to bring in one of the kits.
“What's this?” he asked, crouching down beside her.
“An electrostatic print lifter."
“Which is...?"
“You ever notice how dusty your TV screen gets?"
“Sure,” Cam answered.
“Televisions produce a high-voltage current that attracts dust. This device uses the same
principle to lift impressions. Works best if the impression has some type of dry residue
adhering to it."
She took a flat piece of metal from the case. “This is the ground plate, and this,” she
held up a black sheet of material, “is polyester film coated on one side with a
conductive metal laminate.” She carefully lowered the film over the footprint, picked up
a metal probe, touched the metalized backing of the film with the probe's tip, and
turned on the voltage.
Cam watched with interest as the film flattened tightly against the concrete floor. “The
electrical charge causes the impression to record on the film. Right?"
She turned off the voltage. “That's the general idea.” After waiting a few seconds for
the charge to dissipate, she transferred the film to a paper folder and anchored it in
place. “I'll examine the film in a darkroom, then photograph the impression.” She
snapped the briefcase closed. “Now, let's go outside and make some casts of the man's
thong prints."
After she'd finished pouring the cast mixture into the deep impressions, she picked up
her camcorder. “While that's setting, we can check the other greenhouses."
Cam pushed open the door of the adjacent building and gaped. Row after row of camellia,
mimosa, magnolia, and jasmine had been jerked from their green plastic pots, and the
soil dumped onto the floor. “My God!"
“That's what he did to all of the plants in your house.” She started the camcorder. “Can
any of these be saved?"
He shook his head sadly. “I don't know, I'll have to ask the men."
The plants in the next building had also been vandalized. The greenhouses behind and the
ones adjacent to where Gan Haing's body lay had been spared.
Cam and Amy walked toward a long shed where the workers huddled together. “Why is he
doing this, Amy? What's he after?"
“I don't know. I told you what Hue said about the men who are terrorizing the
townspeople."
“But why target Mai and Chantou?” Tears filmed his eyes. “Mai never harmed anyone and
Chantou was a kind, peaceable man."
“Our suspect thinks your father-in-law had something of value. He also thought Mai knew
where it was. He screened most of the loose articles in your house and took off all the
electrical outlet covers, so whatever it is can't be too large."
“It doesn't make sense. Chantou worked eighteen hours a day to keep his business going.
If he had anything of value, wouldn't he have used it to make his life easier?” He ran a
hand across his eyes. “And if Mai knew, why the hell didn't she tell the man who
attacked her? Why, Amy? Why? Maybe he wouldn't have..."
He rested his forehead against the building and beat his fist on the splintery
boards.
Amy put out her hand to comfort him, but before her fingers touched him, he wheeled
around. His face held no expression, but a wild light burned in his dark eyes. “I'm
going to find him, Amy. I'm going to find him and kill the son of a bitch the way he
killed Mai!"
After B.J. and Dr. Epps removed Gan Haing's body from the stainless
steel autopsy table, Amy sluiced the table warm water and wiped it dry. When she
finished cleaning, she joined the men in the conference room.
Dr. Epps glanced up, his hazel eyes gleaming with excitement. Since he'd watched her
father perform Mai's autopsy, he'd become a forensic convert. Today, he'd kept up a
steady flow of questions throughout the procedure. “Amy, what do you make of the
contusions on his stomach, the back of his neck, and his heels?"
She remembered Nathan taking on a man twice his size. A swift blow to the neck and
sternum and the man had collapsed without a sound. “Because both his neck and back were
broken, I thought at first that all of them might be from high impact blows.
However,"
“Couldn't have been, kitten.” B.J. shoved a pad toward her on which he'd drawn several
sketches of a man. “His hand had to have been flat on Gan's neck for us to have found
the fingerprints. I figure, his assailant got him in a half nelson and rammed his feet
onto the concrete. That's about the only way his back could have gotten broken in three
places."
Amy shivered. “That would account for the severe contusions on his heels."
Dr. Epps ran his hand over his thinning sandy hair and licked his lips. “The bastard's
heartless. He could have knocked Mr. Haing out and tied him up. He didn't have to kill
him."
Amy pulled out a chair and sank onto it. While doing the autopsy, she'd thought about Mr.
Haing and the life he'd led. Through the years, he'd burned up the fat on his body. The
sinew and knobby muscles that remained resembled the roots of wind-ravaged scrub
mahogany. Judging from the scars and metal fragments they'd found, he'd gone through
great danger before finding his way to Wheeler; where he and his tiny wife had hoped to
find peace.
Her shoulders drooped. “He didn't have to rape Mai either, but he did."
Dr. Epps interlaced his fingers. “Fred'll get him.” He nodded emphatically. “You folks
give him that fingerprint you found on Mr. Haing's neck and Fred will have him in jail
in jig time."
“No, he won't. Our man doesn't have any priors. Homer.” B.J. drew black boxes around the
edge of his scratch pad. “This is his third murder and we aren't one goddamned bit
farther ahead than we were."
Amy stared into space for a moment, then got to her feet “I'm going to fax a copy of all
the fingerprints we've gotten to the FBI. Maybe they can find out if he's ever been in
the army.” She hesitated, unsure of her father's reaction to her next idea. “I'm also
going to send a copy to Nathan."
B.J.'s head snapped up. “What for?"
She met his challenging gaze. “He has special resources."
“You sure that's your only reason?"
“My personal life isn't involved here."
“What's over is over, Amy. Let it go."
She remembered the rage she'd seen in Cam's eyes. No one except her knew, but tonight he
planned to arm himself and patrol the area around the greenhouses. The savage person he
sought might torture and kill Cam as he had Mai.
“Don't tell me what to do,” she said, setting her chin in a determined line. “This man
has to be stopped before he kills again. I intend to find out who he is. And I don't
give a damn what it takes."
Later that evening as Amy lay in bed trying to get to sleep. She thought
of the heated discussions she and Nathan had about their case the previous fall and
wished he were here. Perhaps he could think of a new angle, something she hadn't yet
pursued.