by Lauren Carr
“Oh?” Joshua said.
“Vinnie—” She cleared her throat. “He misplaced a delivery of some illegal and expensive merchandise about a year ago.”
“Drugs,” Lillian said.
“After exhausting all avenues and trying to save his skin on his own, he called sweet Aunt Monica, who sold all of their livestock and cashed in the few stocks and bonds that they had to save him. She never told Clyde because he had disowned Vinnie years before. I called their neighbor to check the date on his receipt. The time frame is a match.”
“So she was keeping a big secret from her husband,” Tad said. “As many years as they’d been tigether, Clyde had to sense that something was up with her.”
Cameron nodded her head and held up a finger. “Now, let’s tuck that away in the back of our minds for future reference.” She laid her hands on the images of the two women in the rooms in which they’d been found. “Take a look at these crime-scene pictures. Does anyone see a common element in both murders?”
They took their time looking at the pictures.
In the picture, Monica Brady had dark bruises around her throat and was sprawled out across her bed. The room was disheveled. Furniture was overturned. The dresser mirror was broken. The full-length mirror lay smashed on the floor with shattered glass everywhere.
“Monica Brady was strangled,” Joshua said. “Suellen’s throat was slashed with a piece of her antique mirror.”
“Strangulation is personal,” Tad said. “I would guess that Monica Brady knew her killer. It looks like in both murders, there was a lot of anger. And with the broken mirrors—the killer used what was on hand.”
“Neither one was planned,” Lillian said.
“This picture is of the Bradys’ bedroom.” After pointing to the picture of the elderly woman sprawled out across the bed, Cameron pointed to the ceiling to indicate the room above the bedroom. “Clyde said that on the night of the murder, he went out to check on the livestock, and when he came in, he found an intruder in their bedroom attacking Monica. They got into an altercation, and Clyde pursued the intruder throughout the house. The china closet, which was filled with Monica’s grandmother’s antique china, was overturned. There was a mirror in the back of it. The furniture in every room was broken and overturned. When I got there, there was glass everywhere.”
Lillian frowned. “Like at Suellen Russell’s estate. There was broken glass everywhere.”
“Exactly.” Cameron pointed at her colleague. “That made me think of something that Tom, the manager of the orchard, told me. A while back, Clyde swore that he’d seen his wife’s killer in the orchard barn. He said that he’d seen the man in the office through the office window and that he’d actually broken the window trying to get to him.”
“I thought they found an open window and concluded that the intruder had entered and left through it,” Joshua said.
“Sounds reasonable until you remember that Clyde also said he’d seen his wife’s killer while checking on the opening of the swimming pool at the estate a couple of weeks before Suellen arrived.”
Tad folded his arms across his chest. “There’s a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the solarium.” He nodded his head. “I think I know where you’re going with this.”
“I don’t,” Lillian said.
“Tad, isn’t there a form of dementia—or maybe it’s a symptom of Alzheimer’s—that causes the patient to not recognize his own reflection?” She turned to Lillian. “Tad treats a lot of residents at the local nursing home.”
“And it does sound to me like Clyde is showing signs of dementia,” Tad said as he nodded his head. “He doesn’t recognize his own reflection. Combined with paranoia—”
“Maybe he subconsciously picked up on Monica’s anxiety about selling the livestock to get Vinnie out of a jam,” Joshua said.
“That would have certainly contributed to his paranoia,” Tad said. “When Clyde sees his reflection, he thinks he’s an intruder and breaks the mirror or the glass that he sees his reflection in.”
“When Suellen tried to stop him from attacking the antique mirror,” Joshua said, “he lashed out at her and accidentally killed her.”
“Since the man in the mirror was the same man he saw kill his wife,” Cameron said, “he naturally identified him as the killer.”
“So you’re saying that there wasn’t anyone else?” Lillian said.
“That’s what Cameron’s saying,” Joshua said.
With a sigh, Lillian said, “That explains why the only blood and DNA found at the scene came from Suellen and Brady.”
Cameron agreed. “Same with my case. Monica even had Clyde’s skin under her fingernails. Clyde said that he tried to help her after the killer escaped, and she panicked and scratched him. Even my supervisor suggested that it could’ve been Clyde, but after so many years without even a parking ticket and because everyone said they were happily married for over fifty years—”
“Even though the evidence indicated that he did it,” Joshua said.
“He swore he saw someone else on the scene,” Cameron said. “He appeared to be a credible witness and we couldn’t find a motive—until now.”
“Clyde may sincerely believe that someone else killed his wife and Suellen,” Tad said. “In cases like this one, the patient doesn’t realize that he’s fighting himself. He doesn’t remember things. He black outs.” He tapped Joshua on the arm. “Remember that he didn’t recognize you because of your silver hair. In his mind, Joshua Thornton had a short military-style haircut, dark hair, and no beard.”
“And he swore I was lying when I said I’d been at Monica’s funeral, because he thought she was still alive,” Joshua said. “He’d forgotten she was dead.”
“His memory of you was from an earlier time,” Cameron said. “Before he had killed his wife. I think that explains Clyde’s belief that his wife was having an affair.” She opened an old photo album. “I found this in one of the cabinets in a spare bedroom. This album was on top, so I assume that it’s the one he looked at the most recently.” She turned to a page of pictures that had been taken several years earlier. In them, Clyde and Monica Brady were younger and lovingly posing during what appeared to be a vacation to Niagara Falls. In a few, they were even hugging and kissing each other.
“This was their honeymoon,” Tad said. “They didn’t have any money when they got married. For their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, the Russells sent them to Niagara Falls. I think it was the only time they ever went anywhere.”
“Would Clyde remember that?” Joshua asked.
“Maybe not,” Tad said. “So he could have seen these pictures, recognized Monica but not himself, and assumed she was cheating on him.”
“That’s a lot of speculation,” Joshua said.
“Not necessarily,” Cameron took the drawing of the killer out of her pocket, unfolded it, and laid it down next to the picture of Clyde Brady in his younger years.
They were almost identical.
“He gave you a description of himself?” Lillian asked. “But he wouldn’t have seen a young man in the mirror—he’s almost seventy.”
“There’s a lot about dementia that we still don’t understand,” Tad said.
“I just interviewed Clyde’s nephew, Vinnie,” Cameron said. “He claims that over the last several months, he’s seen Clyde more than once in the same old bars that he used to hang out in during his youth, before he met Monica.”
“Clyde doesn’t drink,” Joshua said.
“But he used to,” Tad said. “He drank moonshine and smoked heavily. Did a lot of other drugs, too. That was all before my time, but my dad told me that Clyde and his brother used to really raise hell. Clyde stopped drinking and smoking because Monica wouldn’t marry him otherwise.”
“Vinnie said Clyde has reverted back—like, in time,” Cameron said. “He talks abou
t his dead brother in the present tense—”
“He’s had a total breakdown,” Tad said.
“And he’s killed two women,” Lillian said.
“That means he’s dangerous,” Joshua said. “We need to find him and pick him up before anyone else gets hurt. Did Vinnie have any idea of where to find him?”
“He said Clyde has been hanging out at his old haunts,” Cameron said. “But they’re not old to him.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Does Dad know you’re breaking into his liquor cabinet?” Uttering a low, naughty laugh, Donny leaned in the doorway of the study and folded his arms across his broad chest.
J.J. picked up the shot glass filled with vodka and turned around to hold it up in a toast to his underage teenage brother. “I’m of legal age, and Dad said I could help myself anytime. So legally, I’m not breaking in.”
“Rub it in,” Donny said. “Want any more casserole?”
“No, you can finish it off.” J.J. threw back the shot and took a deep breath while the potent drink slid down his throat.
Donny turned to grab a second helping of dinner, but remembering his brother’s grief, he paused and turned back to him. “I’m sorry about Suellen. She was a nice lady. She didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“No, she didn’t.” Keeping his back to Donny, J.J. poured a second shot.
Not quite knowing what else to say and not wanting to sound uncomfortably mushy, Donny went back to the kitchen to finish off the chicken casserole.
J.J. was in the midst of throwing back his second drink when his cell phone rang. He waited for the caller ID to show him who was calling.
When he didn’t recognize the number, he almost declined the call, but then it occurred to him that it could be his twin brother, Murphy, calling on a burner phone from wherever he was on his mission.
Murphy never failed to know exactly what to say to make him feel better. J.J. was the same with Murphy—he always instinctively knew exactly what Murphy needed to hear from him. They had concluded early on that it was a twin thing.
Suddenly afraid that if it was Murphy, he would hang up, J.J. accepted the call. “Hello.”
“Is this Joshua Thornton Jr.?” The voice of the middle-aged woman on the other end of the line sounded vaguely familiar.
J.J. was tempted to respond with “Depends on who’s calling.” Instead, he asked, “Who is this?”
“Karrie.” She sounded disappointed that J.J. hadn’t recognized her voice. “You gave me your business card after you and Detective Gates interviewed me about Vendetta. You told me to call you if I ever found more evidence that Silas killed her.” She let out a laugh. “Well, I did.”
“What kind of evidence?” J.J. asked. “Real or circumstantial?”
“Which would you consider her body?”
Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania
Joshua had had no idea that there were so many run-down bars in the Ohio Valley. In reality, he had known that there were some. He just hadn’t known how many there were until he, Cameron, Tad, and Detective Cross had started checking the ones that Vinnie Brady had identified as his uncle’s favorite haunts from decades before. After saying that there was really no way to know exactly what was going on in Clyde Brady’s mind, Tad had suggested canvassing the oldest places that had remained basically the same.
Armed with Clyde’s driver’s license picture, they split up into two teams and headed in different directions. Tad and Lillian headed toward Steubenville, Ohio, while Joshua and Cameron headed farther into Pennsylvania. To their surprise, some of the bartenders did recognize the elderly man, who, while kind, did have a short tempter.
“How often does he come in?” Joshua asked a female bartender who was quite flirtatious until she got a warning glance from Cameron.
“Not real often,” the bartender said. “Often enough for me to recognize him but not often enough for me to remember his drink. When he comes in, he seems to be looking for someone.”
“Do you know who?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “’Cause I asked him the first time he came in. He looked really confused and lost, and I felt sorry for him. So I asked him if I could help him, and he said he was waiting for his brother.”
“His brother died decades ago,” Cameron said to Joshua in a low voice.
“Did he ever get violent?” Joshua asked the bartender.
“The last time he was here, he did. It was about a week ago.” Her heavily made-up eyes grew wide. “He was talking about Ronald Reagan like he was still alive.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think he thought he was still the president.” She shrugged her shoulders. “One of the guys, Bruce, said Reagan was dead. The old man said that he wasn’t and that he was the best president we could ever have. One of the other drunks said he was dead, and your guy turned red. He was rubbing his head with his hands. I felt really bad for him and tried to help him. That was when he lost it. He threw his drink at me and went after Bruce.” She frowned. “We had to throw the poor guy out.”
“I don’t suppose you called the police?” Cameron asked.
“He didn’t hurt anyone,” the bartender said. “Why are you looking for him? Did he escape from a psyche ward or something? What did he do?”
“We think he killed someone,” Cameron said while grabbing her cell phone, which was vibrating on her hip. She was surprised to see that the caller was J.J. She stepped away from the bar. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I’m on my way to meet Karrie and thought you might want to join the party.”
Cameron could hear familiar background noise, including music, and realized that J.J. was in his car. “Business or social?”
“She says she found Wendy Matthews’ body,” J.J. said. “Apparently, your theory about Silas keeping her body close so that he could visit it was correct. Karrie’s been stalking Silas and noticed that he takes very regular walks a couple times a day deep into the woods behind his house and up the hill toward the rear of what used to be Dixmont. She followed him and saw him going into what looked like a stone tool shed. This evening, after he left, she went in. Apparently, it goes underground. She says—”
“The icehouse!” Cameron said. “Back when they first built that place over a hundred years ago, they built an icehouse to keep food cold.”
“Now it’s a shrine. I’m meeting her at a turnoff that’s up the hill from Silas’ place. It’s a dirt road. I’ll send you the GPS coordinates when I get there. Do you want Karrie and me to wait for you?”
“Yes,” Cameron said as firmly as possible to make sure that he knew not to disobey her. “Your father and I will meet you there in a half hour.”
She was aware that Joshua was watching her when she disconnected the call. “Was that J.J.? What did he want?”
“He’s on his way to meet a vampire in the remote woods out by a haunted cemetery in the dead of the night.”
Joshua’s eyebrows rose up high on his forehead.
“I told him not to start without us.”
Joshua slipped his arm around her waist and led her out to the police cruiser. “Sounds like my type of date.”
J.J. cringed when the bottom of his twelve-year-old sedan scraped against the tall grass as he slowly maneuvered it along the dirt road. His tires rolled along in deep ruts as he drove deeper and deeper into the thick woods. All he could see beyond the beams of his headlights was blackness. Because of the moonless night, when he looked up the hill, he couldn’t see where the treetops ended and the sky began. He could see only the overgrown road ahead of him.
He had heard many stories about hauntings in the area that had once been home to Dixmont State Hospital. Thousands of mental patients had died there. The cemetery where many were buried still rested somewhere at the top of the hill—making it an ideally creepy place to avoid--especially at night.
How did I let myself get roped into this? He shook off a shudder. Because Wendy’s DNA will help us positively identify Dylan Matthews, which will then help us convict his killer, who is most likely the same psychopath who killed Wendy. And all of this was important to Suellen, which makes it important for me to finish this for her.
Finally, the beams of J.J.’s headlights illuminated the taillights of a MINI Cooper, the car Karrie had told him to look for. Searching the clearing and the trees for any signs of a woman in black medieval-style clothes, he parked his sedan in the tall brush and turned off the engine. He was alone in the thick woods and surrounded by the sounds of the nights.
Where is she?
Despite Karrie’s claim that she was a vampire, J.J. doubted that she could see in the dark. After turning on the LED flashlight that he had brought along for the expedition, J.J. searched the area in and around the car. Seeing nothing, he climbed out of his car.
Hearing a screech, he reached behind his back for the Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic that he had taken from his father’s gun safe. After he’d shot Silas, the Pennsylvania State Police had taken his own personal gun for evidence, and he hadn’t wanted to risk running into Wendy’s killer without protection.
Listening to the silence that had fallen over the woods, he realized that he’d heard a screech owl.
Man, J.J., Penn State really turned you into a city boy.
“Karrie!” He waited for her to answer but heard nothing. Shining the flashlight around the clearing, he circled the MINI Cooper. As he rounded the front of the car, the beam illuminated a red object in the fallen leaves. J.J. squatted down to the ground to pick it up and examine it.
It was a cell phone. Clean. It had not been there long. J.J. picked it up and swiped his thumb across the screen. His phone number came up. Maybe Karrie had been about to call him, but something had interrupted her.
