Authors: Louise Hendricksen
She felt Nathan's presence, and shivered when he came up behind her and drew her back
against him. “I've missed you so much."
I shouldn't let him do this.
A heartbeat passed, then another and another as she
held herself perfectly still, afraid if she made the slightest movement, he'd let go of
her.
Nathan buried, his face in the hollow of her neck and breathed in. “Oh, Amy girl."
They remained that way until a crashing of underbrush heralded B.J.'s return. Nathan
sighed and moved away from her before her father caught sight of them. “I have something
else to show you."
He took her hand and led her around to the back side of the big Douglas fir. A fresh scar
exposed tan and dark brown inner bark. Below lay bits of shavings and whittled
sticks.
Amy gripped his hand hard. “Does it mean anything? Do you think he did it to pass the
time?"
“Might have."
“If it's the same knife he used to kill Mai, we just might get lucky and find a tie-in.”
As she started to turn away, something caught her eye in the litter at the tree's base.
“What's that?"
“Where?"
She snatched up a twig, turned over a brownish, fir-needle-covered blob, and regarded it
intently. “A piece of candy.” She wheeled around and grabbed his jacket front. “Caramel
candy with tooth marks.” She gave an excited laugh. “That'll be a challenge.” She
sobered and stared up at him. “Oh, Nathan. This will help us so much. Without you, we
might never have discovered any of this."
He flushed and put his arm around her. “I'm so glad I can help you. I,” Suddenly, B.J.'s
bellow cut him off.
“Amy! Where the hell are you?"
“Coming!” Amy yelled. She grinned at Nathan. “Subtle, he ain't."
“That's okay. I've got to go make some preparations. Mind if I use the laundry sink and
mirror in the garage?"
She looked at him questioningly, then shrugged. “Fine with me."
“When she reached B.J., he was setting up battery-powered torches to better view the
scene. “Ran onto a couple of interesting items on the other side of the tree,” she
said.
“Did you get pictures?"
“Enough for the first stage."
“Good. Get out the camcorder and document every move we make. I don't want any
loopholes."
“Will do.” Removing small evidence bags from her kit, she began to label them. “Did you
call the sheriff?"
“Yeah, he says he'll stop by when he can get away.” B.J. said with a derisive snort.
“Probably caught him in the middle of a hot pinochle game.” He inspected the floor of
the area through his magnifier. “Damn this furry green stuff."
“It's moss, Dad.
Leucolepis menziesii
."
“Just what I need, another expert,” B.J. said. He bent to concentrate once more. “Can't
make out anything you'd call a footprint Wish to hell this guy had worn shoes.” He bent
down farther. “Tweezers,” he said, and Amy slapped the requested item into his hand.
“Bag.” She held the sack open while he dropped in a cigarette butt.
“Ah,” he said, drawing the word out with obvious satisfaction. “I see how Nathan knew the
murderer had come here over a period of time. The butts tell a story."
Amy smiled to herself. She knew Nathan would have taken many elements into consideration,
just as she or B.J. would have, before making such a remark. “From the looks of this,
Mai was right in thinking someone was spying on her. He may have even made his presence
known, just to frighten her."
“Wouldn't be a bit surprised.” He lay a telescoping platform he'd invented over
intervening space and inched toward the tree. With slow, painstaking exactness, B.J.
gathered and packaged each piece of evidence while she took turns using the still camera
and the camcorder.
An hour passed before they reached the rotted stump and began to unearth the electrical
cord. “Well I'll be damned,” B.J. said as he carefully lifted a chunk of wood and set it
aside. “Look at that” Crammed in behind the cord lay four short lengths of white cotton
rope. He cleared his throat. “Seems as if your Nathan knows a thing or two after
all."
Amy smiled, but remained silent.
Finally, they gathered their materials and equipment and made their way out of the grove.
As they neared the house, a rotund man in a black suit emerged from the garage and came
toward them.
He stopped several yards away, pressed his palms together in humble manner and bowed his
head. “Doctor Prescott, I am Khieu Ngor. Chantou Pran's nephew."
B.J. stared hard at the man for a moment before uttering, “Holy Jesus. It's you."
Although Amy had seen Nathan in disguise before, the transformation still amazed and
rather frightened her. Each time, she felt as if the man she knew had been usurped by
another. Now, by some means or other he gave the appearance of having shortened his
height, put on weight, and aged. His naturally slanted eyes fit his assumed part, but
he'd partially concealed them with round, steel-rimmed glasses.
Nathan smiled. “Think I'll pass?” Even his voice sounded different.
She shivered. “You carrying your gun?"
“I don't think I'll need it."
B.J. cleared his throat. “We're dealing with a violent man. You could be walking into a
dangerous situation."
“I've been there before.” A siren shrilled in the distance. “I had better get going. I'll
come by your office later."
“Don't you need a ride?” Amy asked.
“No,” he said. “It's best I go on foot. We shouldn't be seen together, and besides, I'll
learn more this way."
Amy fought down an urge to plead with him not to go. “Be careful."
He grinned, a strange toothy smile that didn't resemble his own at all. Amy saw that he'd
already vanished into his new persona.
Nathan raised his hand in farewell and headed off toward the woods.
In the Nguyens' master bedroom, B.J. dusted finely grained gray powder
onto a bamboo screen. When it swayed. Sheriff Boyce reached out to steady it. “Hands
off!” B.J. snapped.
The stocky man yanked his hand back. “Kee-
rist,
Prescott, you'd think this was
some damned major crime scene or something."
B.J. straightened. “And just what the hell do
you
think it is? Someone murdered
Mai Nguyen in this house. And then returned, looking for something."
Sheriff Boyce's bulbous nose reddened. “Waste of time. Just a bunch of kids out to make
some mischief."
Amy lifted her camel-hair dusting brush and regarded the man with annoyance. “Kids would
have left fingerprints everywhere,” she said, turning back to dust the bureau
drawers.
B.J. glanced up from his work. “And I haven't found any that weren't here before."
“Kids go to the movies. They know the score."
Letting out a gusty breath, B.J. asked, “How would they have gotten in? We didn't find
any broken windows or doors."
“So,” Deputy Pierce straightened his hat, “What's your theory?"
B.J. fixed him with a hard-eyed stare. “The person who murdered Mrs. Nguyen probably
stole a key the night he murdered her."
“That's a laugh,” Sheriff Boyce said. “Since when doesn't a husband have a key to his own
house?"
“Ah, come off it, Sheriff.” Amy braced her fists on her hips. “You saw the evidence we
gathered in the woods. What's it take to convince you there's more going on here than
what you thought?"
Sheriff Boyce jutted out his square chin. “You got no proof linking that cache in the
woods to what happened in this house.” He jerked his head at his deputy. “Come on,
Duane. We got more important things to do than dusting cabinets."
By the time Amy and her father finished their work and returned to Ursa
Bay, Amy felt as exhausted as if she'd climbed a mountain. Nevertheless, she trudged
into the lab and began organizing the physical evidence they'd collected.
Several of the cigarette butts they arranged to send out for a polymerase chain reaction;
others they'd analyze themselves. If the man who killed Mai secreted ABO antigens,
they'd have a verifiable clue, if he didn't, they'd be back to square one.
After writing a note to their forensic odontology consultant requesting an impression of
the teeth marks in the piece of caramel candy they'd found, Amy put the package in the
outgoing mail. With luck, the specialist would be able to tell them something about the
perpetrator's facial contours.
Tomorrow, B.J. intended to return to the stakeout area with a saw and wood chisel to
extract the whittled bark. If the marks revealed striations or other anomalies that
matched with the barium sulfate X-rays taken of the victim's wound, they would have a
definite tie-in.
While she worked, B.J. busied himself in another part of the lab. He wanted to run tests
on droplets of dried blood he'd found on the countertops in the Nguyens' kitchen and
bathroom.
At 5:00 p.m., the buzzer on the office's front door sounded. Amy opened it to find Nathan
standing there with his arms full of packages. “Come in,” she said, opening the door
wider. Somewhere during his sojourn, he'd gotten rid of his disguise and he now looked
like himself again. Stepping inside, he set down two sacks and lay his lumpy looking
leather jacket on the settee.
“You're back safe and sound,” she said, beaming up at him.
“Yep.” He took a long white box from underneath his jacket and regarded her with a soft
expression. “These are for you."
She gave him a puzzled glance. “What for?"
“Because I've never given you anything.” A bleak expression came over his face. “Nothing
at all."
She took the box and gazed up at him. “You saved my life ...
twice
."
He shrugged. “Anybody could have done the same."
“That's not true.” She set the box on the desk, lifted the lid, and caught her breath.
“Red roses! Oh, Nathan, no one's ever given me flowers."
He moved closer. “No one?"
She shook her head. “I guess I'm not the type of woman men give gifts to."
He narrowed the space between them. “They were blind. You should have rings and necklaces
and soft pink dresses...” His eyes met hers. “And lacy pink under things."
She flushed. The last time they'd been together, she'd worn a pink skirt and blouse with
matching lingerie. “Thank you. The roses are lovely.” She blinked and swallowed hard.
“I'll make them last."
He stood only inches from her, their bodies close but not touching. “Amy, I wish,” At the
sound of the inner lab door clanking open, he stopped and stepped away from her.
“Sorry,” she said with an apologetic shrug. “Dad will want to hear your report. Meet you
in the conference room?” When he nodded, she whisked the roses into the kitchen and put
them in a place where B.J. would be unlikely to find them. She didn't want him asking
questions.
A few minutes later, they all gathered around the table in the conference room with her
sitting beside Nathan, as she had that morning.
“I covered all the Cambodian businesses,” Nathan said, looking from Amy to her father.
“Had lunch at the restaurant, made purchases at the curio, vegetable, and flower shops.”
He lifted two brown paper bags onto the table. One bulged with fruit, the other with
vegetables. “Hope you can use this stuff."
Amy glimpsed an enormous head of broccoli and smiled. Her father hated broccoli. “I'm
sure we will. Did you learn anything?"
Nathan drew his heavy brows together. “Nothing definite.” His frown deepened. “Everywhere
I went, I felt a puzzling undercurrent."
B.J. closed his file folder and clicked his ballpoint pen. “Might have known it. Didn't
expect âem to talk to a stranger."
Amy ignored his remark. “Did they say anything about Mai or her father?"
“Most knew and liked them. Odd, though ... questions about Pran's background ended the
conversation.” He took out a tiny roll of film and laid it on the table. “I carried a
hidden camera and took pictures of everyone I talked to.” He turned to Amy. “I'd like to
keep the snapshot you gave me of Pran. I'll make a copy and return the original. I still
have some contacts in Cambodia. I have a strange feeling..."
Amy waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she asked, “Did you find a gym?"
Nathan took a folder from his jacket pocket and laid it in front of her. “Out of
disguise, I went to Fenwick's Athletic Center. Played some handball. Worked out in the
weight room. They have three Caucasian and two Asian employees.” He handed B.J. a slip
of paper. “I took the license numbers of the cars in the employee's lot."
B.J. stood up. “Anything else?"
Nathan wagged his head. “Nothing that I can put my finger on right now."
B.J. refilled the folder and dragged his easel and a huge pad of newsprint out of a
corner. “Let's get some thoughts on paper.” He uncapped a black felt pen. “What do we
know about the suspect?"
“Judging from his stride and footprint impression, he's about five-foot-eight and weighs
130 to 135 pounds,” Nathan said.
“He could be a Southeast Asian,” Amy said.
Nathan sat forward. “He may lift weights."
Amy jotted a few lines in her black notebook. “I'll talk to Cam about that tomorrow."
“Also ask him which province Mai and her father came from,” Nathan said, making a note to
himself on his own scratch pad.
“Is that significant?” Amy asked.
“Could be. Somebody in that household has something someone wants badly enough to torture
and kill for."
For a brief moment, she considered telling the two men about the blue pickup that had
followed her from Wheeler. But she decided against it. It wasn't necessarily related to
the case, she reasoned.