Lethal Legacy
by Louise Hendricksen[ Mystery ]
Dr. Amy Prescott has transformed the science of forensics into an art with her intuitive sense for danger and an eye for detail. When Mai Nguyen is found sprawled out on her kitchen floor in a pool of blood and shattered glass, Sheriff Boyce is confident that Amy's colleague, the victim's husband, Dr. Cam Nguyen, is the murderer. Amy combs the scene, determined to uncover the truth, while Cam remains helpless in jail unable to prove his innocence. Amy's involvement in the case becomes too personal when ex-boyfriend Nathan Blackthorn appears and the two discover a trace of calcium carbonate and hidden footprints. When they are unknowingly led down a trail into the Wheeler's Southeast Asian community, haunting secrets threaten to silence the case--and end Amy's life.
1
Murder spawned a stench all its own.
Dr. Amy Prescott flipped a switch, casting the murky kitchen into stark relief and gasped. Blood ! Blood everywhere--obscene sprays, spatters and splotches.
Mai Nguyen's blood.
Mai, wife of Dr. Cam Nguyen, Amy's colleague, her trusted friend.
Amy sagged against the doorjamb. "Poor little Mai."
Wind moaned a dirge through the house. Somewhere in the distance, Amy fancied she heard a woman sobbing.
Dr. B.J. Prescott put his arm around his daughter. "You sure you want to be in on this?"
Amy sighed wearily, then glared at Sheriff Fred Boyce, who had wedged his stocky body in the doorway. "Cam didn't kill her and I intend to prove it."
Boyce narrowed his eyes and thrust out his beefy chin. "Nguyen's in jail and he's gonna stay there. The man was covered with her blood. What more do ya want?"
B.J. ran the heel of his hand over the strip of gray hair fringing his bald pate and said in a controlled voice, "He's an M.D. There's no way you can treat a bleeding patient without getting some on you."
"Might a known you doctors would stick together." Boyce leaned on a counter, putting his hands behind him to grip the edge.
Amy, stooping to slip white paper booties over her shoes, caught his movement. "Don't touch that," she said sharply.
Boyce straightened and dropped his arms, his face turning red. "Where the hell do you get off telling me what to do?"
Amy, her voluminous white coveralls a contrast to the blood-spattered room, faced him squarely. "We're here to investigate a murder. Or have you forgotten that?"
B.J. put his hand on his daughter's arm in a calming gesture, then stepped out onto the back porch and retrieved his and Amy's forensic kits. "We'll need a copy of your prints and those of your deputy and the paramedics." Then he sat down on the edge of a chair, bending over his midriff to tug on his shoe covers.
Sheriff Boyce grunted and shifted his feet. "No need of those paramedics even being here. The woman was dead."
Amy lifted her gaze from the viewfinder of her camera. "Cam's attorney told me she was conscious when Cam found her."
"That's what Nguyen says. I figure he started battin' her around and she fought back. He grabbed a knife out of that rack over there," he gestured toward a slotted wooden block, "killed her, dragged her into the bedroom, then called the paramedics to make it look as if he'd just come home and found her that way."
B.J. took a box of tacks and a ball of string from the pocket of his white coveralls. "Did you find the weapon?"
Boyce hooked his thumbs over the belt of his khaki-colored pants and rocked on his heels. "The way I see it, he washed the knife and stuck it back where it come from. I took all of 'em in as evidence."
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Amy raked her fingers through her short-cut brown hair. "So now your prints are all over the knife rack."
"Watch it, girl." The sheriff pointed a stubby finger at her. "I've about had it with you."
