Mistaken Identity (3 page)

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.”

“Good,” Lucinda said, pleased that Marguerite was living up to her reputation for thoroughness. “Could you spare someone to come with me to get a buccal swab from the boy we think is his son?”

“Sure. Give me fifteen, twenty minutes to check in with all my team members, Lieutenant, and I can follow you over there.”

“Terrific. I’ll be downstairs,” Lucinda said, starting to turn away until a thought brought her back to face Marguerite. “Listen, you’ve been at this for a long time. Seen a lot of homicide scenes.”

“Sure have. It’ll be seventeen years in September.”

“Give me your gut reaction to this one – could it be the work of a thirteen-year-old?”

After barking out a startled laugh, Marguerite said, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Oh, man. Oh, my God, Lieutenant. A thirteen-year-old?” She turned and looked across the bedroom into the bloodied bathroom. “I suppose anything is possible – but a thirteen-year-old kid? Whoa. I sure hope to God not.”

“Me, too,” Lucinda said. “Me, too.”

Six

Lucinda turned into an older neighborhood, on a street filled with fifties-era ranch homes and lined with tall trees. The address of Freddy’s grandmother was a tidy brick home with roses, irises and gladioli adding a riot of color to a small yard inside a split-rail fence.

As Lucinda opened her door, Robin stepped out of a patrol car. “She didn’t want you in the house?” Lucinda asked.

“Oh, she did. But she plied me with tea and cookies while asking a steady stream of questions that I didn’t want to answer. I told her I had to check in with the dispatcher and retreated out to the car.”

“Anything about her questions cause you any concern?”

“Lieutenant, I wouldn’t presume …”

“Colter, cut the crap. You have an opinion, I want it.”

“Yes, sir – uh, ma’am. I, uh …”

“Colter, listen. You impressed me when you stood up to that school superintendent who was twice your size a year or so ago. You didn’t let him intimidate you. Don’t let me.”

Colter gave a tight nod. “Yes, ma’am.” She cleared her throat, took a breath and said, “Her questions seemed strange to me not because of what she wanted to know but because of the way she asked. She sounded curious but she didn’t seem concerned. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I think I do. What’s going on in the house?”

“Freddy brought his Wii from home and I helped him set it up on the television in the basement. When I came outside, he was still down there playing a video game and the grandmother was sitting in the living room.”

“Marguerite Spellman from forensics is on her way here. I’m going in to find out if Grandma will let us have a buccal swab from Freddy. Bring Spellman in when she arrives. Pay close attention to Freddy and the grandma’s behavior; I’ll want your feedback after we leave.” Without waiting for confirmation, Lucinda turned and walked up to the front door. Victoria Whitehead opened it before Lucinda could ring the bell. Her hair was the consistency of dried straw, the make-up on her face a bit too thick to look anywhere near natural and the deep V-neck of her red dress revealed a bounteous but tired-looking bosom.

“Oh, my lands, officer! What happened to your face?”
Victoria
sputtered.

Lucinda flashed her badge. “May I come in, ma’am?”
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll forget she asked.

“Of course, of course. That was rude. Sorry. Please have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you,” Lucinda said as she studied her surroundings. The living room looked like
Victoria
, colorful but worn, wafting the fragrance of lilacs offset by an undertone of chicken soup. A long teal sofa nestled under the picture window, facing two overstuffed floral-patterned chairs. A glass-topped coffee table filled the space between them – an assortment of crystals rested on its surface. On the far wall, the mantel of the brick fireplace was adorned with family photographs, candles and more crystals.

“Please, please, have a seat,”
Victoria
insisted. “Freddy is downstairs. Should I fetch him?”

“Not yet, ma’am. Would you please have a seat?” Lucinda said as she slipped into one of the chairs. “I need to ask you something.”

Victoria
settled in the middle of the sofa, spreading the full skirt around her as if it were an ante-bellum gown and she was Scarlett entertaining at
Tara
. “Yes, ma’am. What would you like to know?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute. But first, I need to get your permission to take a DNA sample from Freddy.”

“DNA?” she asked, her eyes widening, the fingers of her left hand flying to her throat.

“It’s really simple, ma’am. We take what looks like a giant Q-tip and rub it on the inside of his cheek.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why do you need to do this?”

“We need to confirm the identity of Freddy’s father.”

“Are you referring to the dead man in his house?”
Victoria
asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s not his father,”
Victoria
said with a shake of her head.

Lucinda decided to pursue that line of questioning later. Right now, she simply wanted permission to get a sample before the tech came through the door. “Fine, Ms. Whitehead. That is important information. We simply need to confirm it with a DNA test.”

“I suppose that could be useful,”
Victoria
conceded. “If you are sure it won’t hurt
Frederick
, then that will be fine.”

Lucinda pulled the release form out of a pocket, unfolding and smoothing it on the coffee table. “Won’t hurt at all, ma’am. Thank you so much for your cooperation,” she said, handing the woman a pen.

As
Victoria
touched the paper with the nib of the pen, the doorbell rang. Lucinda bounced to her feet. “I’ll get that, ma’am. It’s just the technician who’s come to get Freddy’s sample. You go ahead and sign that and we’ll put her to work.”

Opening the door, Lucinda nodded and said, “She’s signing right now. Colter, would you please take Spellman down to the boy.”

As they walked by,
Victoria
came to her feet. “Shouldn’t I go with them?”

“No need,” Lucinda said, scooping up the document from the coffee table. “I”d really like to speak to you alone for a moment.”

Victoria
looked at Lucinda; cast her eyes toward the retreating backs of the other two women. “I don’t know.”

“Please have a seat, Ms. Whitehead.”

Biting her lower lip,
Victoria
eased herself back on to the sofa, arranged her skirt, folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head to the side. “Yes?”

“Your grandson?”

“Yes?”

“You call him Frederick?”

“That
is
his name,”
Victoria
said.

“I understand your daughter called him ‘Freddy’?”

Victoria
rolled her eyes. “I am afraid so. That wasn’t the only thing I didn’t approve of.”

“What else, Ms. Whitehead?”

Victoria
closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t want to go into that. It is personal – between me and my daughter.”

Lucinda bit back a retort, letting her response rest for a moment. “Do you think the deceased male in your daughter’s house is not her husband?”

“Oh, no, it’s not a matter of what I think. I’m certain he is not. Her husband killed them both. I tried to warn my daughter.”

“Really? Why is that, Ms. Whitehead? Was your daughter having an affair with the deceased man?”

“Absolutely not. No daughter of mine would ever – no, ma’am. I can’t believe you even suggested that.”

“Forgive me if I gave you cause for offense, Ms. Whitehead. I am simply trying to understand. You said that your daughter and a man were found deceased in the same bedroom suite, killed by your son-in-law, but there was nothing going on between your daughter and that man.”

“Well, I sincerely doubt that Jeanine even knew that poor man.”

“Help me, ma’am. I’m struggling to put this information together in a way that makes sense to me. You are saying your daughter and a man are killed in her bedroom and they don’t know each other.”

“I’m pretty sure of that. Parker wouldn’t want to make it easy to identify the man so he wouldn’t kill someone connected to the family. He would want everyone to assume it was him.”

Lucinda waited to see if she would say anything more without prompting. I
know the head and hands are missing but she doesn’t – or rather, she
shouldn’t
.

“You did make that assumption, didn’t you?”
Victoria
asked.

“Ms. Whitehead, what are you saying about your son-in-law?”

“He’s still alive.”

Lucinda stared hard at
Victoria
, willing her to continue talking. Instead, without saying a word,
Victoria
turned her head away, casting her glance down to the floor.

“Ms. Whitehead, why do you think your son-in-law is still alive?”

Victoria
turned toward her, and then turned away. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I find it very difficult to look at you. I know that’s rude but – I’m sorry.”

Lucinda wanted to jump up, grab her by both the shoulders and shake her hard. Instead, she said, “That is understandable. You don’t have to look at me. But I do need you to answer my questions.”

Victoria
rubbed the back of her neck, raised her chin and turned her face toward the window next to the fireplace, her focus on the yard beyond the glass. “Certainly.”

“You think your son-in-law is alive?” Lucinda asked again.

Victoria
turned her glance toward the hallway when she heard the sound of an opening door. Marguerite and Robin stopped in the archway of the living room. “Got it, Lieutenant. You need anything else?” Marguerite asked.

“No, thank you, Spellman. I’ll see you back at the scene. Colter, could you go downstairs with Freddy? I’m not quite through talking to his grandmother.”

As Robin turned away,
Victoria
said, “I should be there when the boy’s being questioned.”

“She’s just keeping him company, Ms. Whitehead.”

“Yeah.” Robin grinned. “He promised to teach me how to play ‘Punch Out’.”

“Well, Okay,”
Victoria
said.

“Ms. Whitehead, about your son-in-law?”

“Yes, yes. Of course, he’s alive.
Frederick
told me he explained that to you already.”

“Yes, ma’am, he did. But I’d like to hear it from you. He didn’t really give me a lot of detail.”

“I must admit the boy had a hard time understanding it, at first. He is bright but he is only thirteen. You still tend to accept the world at face value at that age. It is hard to accept that evil can come in very attractive packages.”

She’s not making any more sense than the boy. Maybe the whole family is whacked.
“Could you start at the beginning?” Lucinda asked.

“Oh, dear, I’m not really sure where the beginning is. But I can start with when I first met Parker.”

“Fine. Go ahead, ma’am.”

“I didn’t like him. And let me tell you,” she said with a wag of her finger, “these are not the words of the motherin-law from h-e-double hockey-sticks. I was ready to accept my daughter’s choice of a life mate – more than ready, actually. And Parker was brilliant, competitive, and on the fast track to the top of the heap. After all, who am I to criticize? I’ve been married five times and now I’m living with a sixth man. I was ready. Yes, ma’am, I was ready.”

“You were ready, but …?”

“Oh, but – oh yes, oh yes. I was uncomfortable from the moment he stepped into the room,” she said, leaning forward. “His aura was black. Solid, pitch, black.” She leaned back in the sofa, folding her arms softly across her chest as she nodded. “Oh, my, yes. His aura was as black as the heart of Satan himself.”

Here comes the devil again.
“Did you share this with your daughter?”

“Well, of course. But at the time, I didn’t know what I know now.” Her folded arms kept flying apart and coming back together as she spoke. “If I had known, I would have taken her away, out of the country, into an asylum – whatever it took. I knew his aura was bad, but I had no idea. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“Didn’t know what was possible?”

Victoria
leaned back again and spoke in a tone that made it clear she thought Lucinda asked a stupid question. “Didn’t know he was immortal, of course.”

“Be patient with me, Ms. Whitehead, and please explain why you think your son-in-law is immortal.”

“Because he sold his soul to the devil,” she said, laughing at Lucinda’s ignorance.

“And when did this happen?”

“Now, that I’m not sure of yet. Jason’s been doing the research. So far, we’ve tracked it back to 1845. But it could go further. It gets difficult following a trail that old.”

“Who is Jason?”

“My boyfriend. Jeanine didn’t approve. He is a bit younger than me,” she said as a blush penetrated through the thick layer of cosmetics on her face.

“And what did he track back to 1845?”

“Parker
Sterling
, of course. Naturally, he’s used other names. Many other names. Sometimes he simply disappeared and turned up in a distant location with a new life and a new identity. Other times, he faked his death by sinking a ship or seeming to get lost in an avalanche. But on other occasions, like this one, he faked his death by substituting the body of someone he murdered. And this time, he killed his wife – my daughter. This time, he went too far.”

“And you are convinced of this, Ms. Whitehead?” Lucinda said, trying hard to keep her incredulity out of her voice and off of her face.