Lethal Legacy (20 page)

“Hue, this is Amy."

“Amy! My husband likes to tease me."

Amy laughed.

“What can I do for you?” Hue said.

“Do you remember Mai having any trouble with Victor Samphan in high school?"

“He hassled all of us girls, especially the timid ones. One day a teacher saw Mai crying
and Mai told her about Victor. The principal suspended him for a week.

“That may seem like a minor incident to some people, but to our old country parents,
having a child sent home from school is a major, major disgrace. They feel it's a
reflection on how they've raised their child. They probably punished Victor severely.”
She sighed and went on. “After he came back to school, he did some awful things to
Mai."

“Like what?"

Mai sighed. “I remember that once he dumped a pile of dog shit on her books. Also, he
knew Mai loved animals, so he'd search for road kills and put them in her locker. He
frequently wrote nasty things about her in the boys' lavatory."

“Victor says Mai told Cam that he was making passes at her, but he claims he wasn't."

“Hah! At dances and festivals, he'd slide up to her and describe the filthy things he was
going to do to her. If he'd done it to me, I'd have socked him a good one. But poor Mai
was afraid of him."

“I found out he's been arrested for spousal abuse too."

“Wouldn't surprise me. Una is a lot like Mai, intelligent but shy. She even went to
college. Beats me why she married Victor."

Amy thought of her own abusive marriage and cringed, “Thanks, Hue, you've been a big
help."

“Was that body they found the woman you were looking for?"

“We haven't identified her yet."

“But Raymond said the car was blue and a Japanese make. I thought for sure it was the one
that hit Mr. Pran."

“We found no registration papers or license plates. Not even an engine number."

“Oh, Amy. If I had your job I wouldn't sleep at night."

“That's another thing we'd better discuss. Hue. I think it would be best if you didn't
tell anyone you know me. Someone could try to hurt you or Raymond because of me."

“Amy, you're the one who is most likely to get hurt. You watch out for Victor, he can be
mean, real mean."

Amy sat hunched over the office computer, a cup of coffee perched on the
small electric warmer close at hand. She'd finished typing the autopsy report and had
started to update her investigation notes when her father walked in.

“Morning, kitten,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “What's your plan for the
day?"

“I thought I'd take the fingerprints from the body and the car to the police station and
check them against the criminal records. I might also stop by the courthouse in
Seattle."

“If you get an address, try the reverse directory at the library."

“Good suggestion.” She typed a few more words and then stopped. “I'll also check those
license numbers at the Department of Motor Vehicles."

“We have anything else that's hanging fire?"

“The piece of cloth I found in the dead woman's hand is the same color blue as the
Fenwick Athletic Club's uniforms. Why don't you ask Ivan Fenwick who furnishes their
uniforms, and who does their laundry. If the fabrics are a match, someone's walking
around in a torn uniform, or has discarded one. Find out when Wheeler's garbage is
picked up and where it's dumped.” She wrinkled her nose. “I sure hope we don't have to
go through a ton of garbage."

“He could have buried it or burned it"

Amy smiled. “What I really hope is that it's hanging in our suspect's closet This case
needs a break like that."

“Dreamer. Did you get her blood typed?"

“Type A."

“Fine. I'll process that stain on the backseat of the car before I leave today.” He came
up behind her and massaged her shoulder muscles. “You've been pushing yourself too hard,
kitten. Let's take some time off this evening and go out to dinner."

“Sounds great to me."

He walked off toward the laboratory door. Just before he reached it, he turned. “Why
don't you ask that young lawyer fellow to come along? I haven't had a chance to talk to
him."

He closed the lab door behind him before she could accuse him of setting her up.
Nevertheless, she soon had Jed on the line. “My father wants to know if you'd like to go
to dinner with us tonight"

“I seldom go out with women who hang up on me."

“Fine. I'll stay home and you and Dad can discuss the case."

“Do you have to be so goddamned stubborn?"

Amy let out a long breath. “Jed, I just want to be clear, I like you, we're friends, but
I'm not going to go to bed with you. So do you want to go to dinner, or not?"

“Where and what time?"

“The Cove at seven."

“I'll be there. You're a cold, hard woman Amy."

“Sometimes it's easier that way."

The wealthy citizens of Ursa Bay expected their police force to do their
duties efficiently but quietly. With this “out of sight, out of mind” attitude, they'd
relegated their police station to the basement of the courthouse.

When Amy walked in, the reception area was quiet except for the constant ringing of
phones. She set down her briefcase and asked the officer behind the counter if Sergeant
Greg Hatcher was in.

“He's off today. Dr. Prescott,” the desk sergeant said. “Captain Morelli is in his office
if you'd like to talk to him."

“I hate to bother him. I just need someone to run some fingerprints and check on some
licenses."

The sergeant leaned across the counter.
"Please
go see him,” he said in a low
voice. “He's in a rotten mood. He always lightens up when you come around."

Amy smiled good-naturedly. “Okay, if you say so."

She walked down a wide corridor and knocked on the captain's door.

“Come on in,” a voice called gruffly.

Amy opened the door and smiled. “You sure sound cheerful today."

“Amy!” He leaped to his feet. “It's good to see you.” He cleared a stack of bulletins off
a chair. “Sit down. Tell me all you've been up to."

Amy laughed out loud. “You sound a bit desperate."

“You know what the Old Guard says, “There's no crime in Ursa Bay.' Well today, it happens
to be true."

“You're lucky. In the last two weeks. Wheeler has had three homicides."

“In that sleepy little burg?” He ran his hands over his graying, black curly hair, leaned
back in his chair, and rested his well-shined black shoes on the desk. “Tell me an about
it"

She gave him a condensed version of the investigation, but it still took thirty minutes
to cover the story. “So now,” she said, “I have some license numbers and fingerprints
I'd like you to check for me."

“Sure thing,” he said, his dark eyes alight He got to his feet and pressed his palm
against his flat stomach. “Got to do something or I'm going to get a potbelly like the
cops on TV have.” He chuckled and held out his hand. “Give me your prints and I'll see
they're expedited."

She passed him the most recent prints plus the ones they'd gathered in the Nguyen house
for comparison. After he'd allocated a man to the job, he checked the license numbers
himself.

He rejoined her twenty minutes later with a computer printout. “I hope this is
helpful."

“So do I.” She scanned the sheet. The first two cars belonged to men who lived at the
rooming house. “Hmm, this is interesting."

The captain craned his neck to see the item she was pointing to. “He's one of your
suspects, isn't he?"

“Yes, Victor Samphan works at the athletic club. But I didn't know he owned the Hanuman
Janitorial Service."

“Is that important?"

“I don't know.” She thanked Captain Morelli and hurried out to her car.

At the North Precinct in Seattle's Public Safety Building, Amy ran into
her old nemesis, Lt. Joseph Salgado. He squinted one of his melancholy basset eyes at
her. “Please tell me you're not investigating somebody in my territory."

“I'm not sure. Lieutenant. We have a Jane Doe and are hoping to get a line on her I.D. I
was hoping someone might have reported her missing."

“What's her name?"

“Chea Le. As you may know, two weeks ago Dr. Cam Nguyen's wife was killed. The night of
the murder, Cam says he was out with this Chea Le. But all the information we've gotten
on the woman has proved to be phony. I don't have a birth date, a social security
number, nothing.” She shrugged and smiled. “Matter of fact, I'm not even sure that's her
real name."

He laughed. “Sounds like a typical Prescott case.” He motioned her to a chair. “Sit down
and I'll see what I can dig up."

After awhile, he came back with a big smile. “Found her. We arrested her eight months ago
for prostitution and petty larceny."

Amy glanced at the sheet of paper and saw that it included a birth date, social security
number, and an address. “This is tremendous. Can you find out if she has a car
registered in her name?"

A pained expression settled over his face but he trudged off. hi ten minutes, he came
back with another sheet of paper. “A 1992 Honda Civic. License number ATY434. Purchased
at King Street Honda. The car's serial number is there too."

“Thanks for your help.” She grinned at him. “I'll try not to get involved with anyone in
your bailiwick."

“I'd appreciate that. Doctor. Too many fingers in the pie gives me ulcers."

Elated at the new lead, Amy drove to the address on Chea Le's arrest record. The manager
of the apartments said the woman had moved out months ago. Amy sat in her car and tried
to figure out what to try next.

Her wandering gaze alighted on a café with a gray, ripped awning that flapped in the
wind. A row of red metal newspaper vending machines ranged near the front door of the
white stucco building.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She stopped at the first telephone booth she came to,
snatched up the yellow page directory, turned to “newspapers” and ran her finger down
the list. A Cambodian newspaper! Maybe they could give her a lead.

Street lamps blinked on as she entered an area the locals called Chinatown. Lighted
windows beckoned shoppers to Thai, Chinese, Japanese, and Vietnamese variety, grocery,
and furniture stores. Elaborate neon signs glittered above ethnic restaurants and gave
the street an exciting, exotic charm it lacked in the daylight.

Amy located the newspaper's building sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a Chinese
import store. A single globe in the ceiling lighted the room. Shelves that held pencils,
scratch pads, reams of paper, boxes of envelopes, and rolls of adding machine tape
ranged in tiers on age-darkened walls. In a shadowy corner, a covered printing press
crouched like a black, humpbacked beast.

An Asian woman with thin gray hair and a multitude of wrinkles sat on a stool at a long
table rolling newspapers and sliding them into clear plastic sleeves. “You needin'
someting?” she asked in a reedy voice.

“I'm looking for a young woman named Chea Le."

The woman blinked and knotted her fingers together in front of her. “I fine out” She
pattered across the room and through a door.

Amy heard a clamor of voices speaking in a language she didn't understand. The next
moment, a group of people poured out of the door, two men, one who looked to be in his
thirties and one in his mid-fifties; two women of about the same ages; and a couple of
little girls.

At the sight of her, all the adults stopped and again had a spirited consultation. One of
the little girls clung to the younger woman's leg. The other one edged around her mother
and sucked her finger as she fixed Amy with an unblinking stare.

The wrangling ceased and the younger man stepped forward. “I am Antoan Yong,” he said.
“My family want to know who you are."

“Dr. Amy Prescott,” she said, holding out her I.D. All of them crowded around to see it.
“I'm an investigator. I'm looking for a woman named Chea Le."

She made eye contact with each of the adults. “Did any of you know her?” As soon as the
words were out of her mouth, she realized she'd used the past tense and cursed her
stupidity.

Silence fell as each of them weighed her. “I know Chea,” the young woman said. “We were
in school together. My mother-in-law,” she gestured to the older woman, “and her mother
were friends before Chea's mother died."

“Does she live in this neighborhood?"

The young woman and Antoan exchanged glances and Amy wondered if they knew about the
prostitution charge.

“She comes and goes,” the young woman said.

Antoan's mother asked him a question and he relayed it to Amy. “Why are you looking for
Chea?"

“I work for a lawyer. He is defending a man who has been accused of murdering his wife.
This man says he was with Chea the night his wife was killed. So the lawyer wants to
talk to Chea to find out if the man is telling the truth."

The young man translated, the others said, “Ahh,” nodded their heads, and another heated
exchange took place. Finally, the older man spoke sharply and gestured to his son.

“Chea works as a hostess at the Golden Turtle Lounge."

Amy checked the time and found it was five o'clock. “How do I get there?"

The older woman scowled and started shouting at her husband and son. Antoan threw up his
hands. “My mother says you should not go there alone.” With solemn expressions, the rest
of the group nodded in agreement.

“Why not?"

“Bad place,” the mother said emphatically. “Very bad."

Amy steered her car into traffic, then turned to Antoan. “Why does your
mother think the Golden Turtle is a bad place?"

“My parents are old-country people.” Antoan regarded her for a moment. “Have you heard
about Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge?"