Mistaken Identity (2 page)

Three

Lucinda spotted him through the French doors before she stepped outside. He stood there looking lost in his own backyard. His face sported Harry Potter glasses with his hair styled in similar fashion. In dim light, he could pass for Daniel Radcliffe, the young actor who portrayed the title character in the movie. His solemn face and intense eyes betrayed his worried mind but he appeared to work hard at being the epitome of geek cool.

“I’m Detective Pierce,” Lucinda said as she approached him, flashing her badge as quick as she could in the hope he would not see the word homicide but his eyes were quicker than her hands.

“Homicide? Is my mother dead?” he said. Then he blushed and thrust out his right hand. “Sorry. I forgot my manners. I’m Frederick Sterling.”

“
Frederick
?”

“Yes. But my mom called me Freddy.” His lower lip trembled.

“What should I call you?” she said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Freddy would be good,” he said as tears welled up in his eyes.

“Well, Freddy, let’s go sit and talk.” She moved her hand from his shoulder to the center of his upper back and steered him to the two chairs under an umbrella on the far side of the pool. “Freddy, where were you before arriving home?”

“At school,” he said as he took a seat.

“In the summer?”

“It’s a computer programming enrichment course. Dad thought it would help with admissions at university this fall.”

University this fall? He barely looks old enough for middle school.
“You’re in high school?”

“Yes.
Chesterfield
High. I’ll be a senior when school starts.”

“A senior?”
Is this a sign I’m getting old? He looks like a baby.

“I know,” he said, ducking his head to hide a fierce blush. “I don’t look old enough. Technically, I’m not.”

“How old are you, Freddy?”

“Thirteen.”

“I’m impressed,” Lucinda said.

“Well, yeah, it’s no big deal. College will be the big test. If it’s not easy, I’m not as smart as everybody thinks.”

Smart or not, this wasn’t going to be easy
.
Lucinda sighed. She didn’t really know where to start.

Before she could form the words, Freddy took charge of the conversation. “Somebody killed my mom, right?”

“I’m afraid so, Freddy.”

His shoulders slumped, his head hung, his right foot banged into the leg of her chair once, twice, three times. Then he stopped mid-swing and looked up, embarrassed by the realization he’d been kicking her chair. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No problem, Freddy. Do it again if you want.”

He looked into her face, his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap. “I worried this would happen. I was afraid it would get this bad. I should have done something.”

Lucinda leaned forward, her elbows pressed into her knees “What do you mean, Freddy?”

“I know who killed my mom. And I know why he did it.”

“Who did it, Freddy?”

Freddy turned his head away.

“Freddy, you can tell me. Who did this?”

He swung his gaze back to her face. “What happened to you?”

She focused her eye on his furrowed brow and the darkness lurking behind his stare, deciding to allow him to control the reins of the conversation for a little while. “I came between a man and the woman he wanted to kill. The shotgun blast grazed this side of my face.”

He pointed as he said, “That eye isn’t real.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted. Somehow a child asking about her face did not irritate or anger her as it usually did when an adult posed questions or made unwanted comments.
A child?
She thought. She didn’t spend much time around children. She was really thinking of Charley, a girl who lost her mother to homicide, and now Freddy, a boy who lost both parents. Maybe it wasn’t their age but the knowledge that they possessed kindred spiritual scars, the kind that reach far deeper and with far more cruelty than the ones on her face.

“You don’t sound mad,” Freddy said.

“I was mad – very mad.” Lucinda smiled. “I was angry at the world for a long time. I’ve just learned to deal with it, to accept it and move on.” They sat in silence for a moment then Lucinda spoke again. “Freddy, who do you think did this?”

“I don’t think,” Freddy said with quivering lips, “I know.”

“Who, Freddy?”

“My dad.”

Lucinda leaned back in her chair, stunned by his answer. How could she explain to him that his father was dead, too? “Freddy, your mother’s body was not the only one we found. It appears that your father was murdered, too.” The lump in her throat caught her breath; she held it there, half-released, as she awaited his response.

“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.”

Four

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.