“Clarksville! Roy, you know I hate that place. I’m not moving back to Clarksville. No way!”
“All I’m asking you to do is think about it. With your credentials, you could get a job in any accounting firm. I know for a fact that B & D needs someone like you. It’d be good money, and with us owning the diner, we’ll do better than here. We make good money here, but the cost is so high to live there’s nothing left after the bills are paid. Promise me you’ll think about it.”
He could almost see the mental battle raging in Kallita’s mind. She took a long time to acquiesce, but in the end she said, “OK, I’ll think about it but no promises.”
“You won’t be sorry, you’ll see.”
“I haven’t agreed.”
Yet! His eyes lit up as he took her in his arms and hugged her. “You’ll see. It’ll be great.”
* * *
August 1991
Getting together with his brothers had all but ceased since the wedding. Kallita’s insecurity and paranoia controlled her thoughts when Roy wasn’t around. She was happy as long as she was part of the group. He knew that she hated being alone with the kids, and the price he would pay for his independence would be swift and forceful. Regardless, it was Alan’s birthday, and he and Mike had planned a small get together at Benny’s bar for a couple of beers.
“So, you finally got permission to come out and play. How long has it been? Six, no seven years. God, I can’t believe it.” Mike slid into the passenger seat of Roy’s pickup. “I’ll bet Kallita’s just fumin’ right about now. So how long will it be before you get the call to go home?”
“Lay off. I don’t need permission for anything.” Roy put the truck in gear and pulled away.
“Oh yeah, you do. She won’t even let you go see mum and dad, so how did you pull this off?”
“Look, if you don’t drop it right now, this will be over before we get to the corner. I’m not gonna sit and listen to you bitch about my wife all night. So change the subject. Have you talked to Alan? Does he know to meet us at Benny’s?”
“Yeah, he’s there by now; he left an hour ago.”
Roy smelled a rat. This little outing had been his idea, but he felt as though he was the object of the occasion. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he would come to regret this event. Neither of them spoke for the rest of the short trip to the bar.
Alan sat alone in the pool room, having a conversation with a couple sitting at the next table. He quickly cut it off when he spotted his brothers walk in.
“Well, this is different.” Alan waived the barmaid over to the table.
“Don’t start.” Roy sat across from his oldest brother. He was the youngest of the three boys, and he’d always felt outnumbered regardless of what was happening.
“What? What’d I say? Just said it was different is all, and it is. We haven’t had a day like this in…” He had to think, “Jesus, it’s almost seven years.”
“So, what’s your point?”
“Careful.” Mike poked Alan in the arm. “He’s awful touchy today.”
“Get over it. You’re not allowed to be touchy today. All I’m sayin’ is, it’s nice we can get together like this. It’s my birthday. So lighten up. What are you drinking?”
They gave their order to the waitress and tried to keep the conversation light. Still, Roy couldn’t help thinking that there was something else happening.
They played pool for about an hour. Alan won every game. Roy finally relaxed a little. Although this had been mainly his idea, he hadn’t been able to shake the thought that his brothers had planned something entirely different, but now he had his doubts. His thoughts were interrupted by a loud chirping sound coming from his front trouser pocket. Digging into his pocket he retrieved a large, black mobile phone. Flipping the bottom half of the phone open, he walked off to a quiet corner and began talking. Mike and Alan were surprised at their brother having a mobile phone. Cellphones were expensive and not all that dependable. They watched as Roy spoke on the phone. They couldn’t hear anything, but they could see from his face that he wasn’t happy. He flipped the phone closed and returned to the table. He picked up his beer and gulped the remaining brew. With a sheepish look he said, “I’ve gotta go. I—”
“I knew it!” Mike shot a look at his older brother, “I said it in the truck. I asked how long it would be before she would call him home. She can’t let him out of her sight.”
The couple at the next table perked up their ears at the increase in the volume of Mike’s diatribe.
“Why can’t you get off my back?” Roy jammed his phone back into his pocket. “Dustin has an earache, and we’ve got to take him into Emerg. He’s in a lot of pain.”
“Ah come on Roy, you know this is just an excuse to get you home. She don’t want you anywhere near us. You might be havin’ a good time, and it’s making her crazy. We know it, and so do you.”
Roy stared at his brother. He wanted to argue, but deep inside, he had to admit Alan had a point. Conflicted, Roy turned to leave without responding.
“I’ve had enough,” Alan continued. “We see nothing of each other for years, and she can’t let you have one afternoon out with your own family. Earache my ass! You need to wake up brother. That wife of yours has a problem, and at the risk of losing you all together, I have to tell you—she’s nuts—call it crazy, wicked, evil—I don’t know, but she definitely has a problem, and if you can’t see that, then you’re either blind or just plain stupid.”
Mike sat stupefied at his brother’s outburst. The couple at the next table had turned to watch the commotion. Roy’s face flushed as his anger built up inside, the pounding in his chest, and the pulse in his neck thrummed incessantly in his ears; he felt cold and hot all at the same time, and his bowels were in business for themselves. He wanted to lash out and hit his brother. He clenched his fists; every muscle in his body tensed, ready to spring into action if necessary. Seeing the couple at the next table staring at the brothers, he turned to challenge them.
‘What the hell are you looking at? Turn around and mind your own business. Who the hell are you anyway?” Roy thought he recognized the man sitting at the table. All he’d seen of him until now was his back. The man stood to face him.
“You’re right. It’s none of my business—now. But I feel bad for you.”
“Bad for me, why? Why would you feel bad for me?
Mike and Alan stood quietly by, watching the interaction.
“My name is Mark Taylor. Maybe you’ll recognize it.”
The name burned its way into Roy’s brain. Kallita’s ex, son of a bitch! This is a setup.
“I feel bad for you because you’re the poor dumb asshole that married my ex-wife. I know exactly what you’ve been dealing with. Here’s a piece of advice for you—dump her before she dumps you. She will ride you hard, use you up and drop you the moment she sees something better. Believe me, I know, I lived it. Come on, Mary, I’ve said enough.”
Mary grabbed her purse and stood to leave. Roy’s defenses engaged as Mark stepped closer to him. Raising his fists, ready to fight, he flinched as Mark leaned into his ear, and, in a low tone, warned him, “She’s a goddamn lunatic and dangerous as hell. Believe me, she’s breathing air others could make better use of. You’ll never be happy as long as she’s part of your life.”
Mark pushed past Roy and led his wife to the exit.
“What just happened there?” Mike slumped back in his chair.
“No idea. Did you know that guy, Roy?” Alan sat down also and took a long swig of his beer.
Roy wasn’t buying it. “You guys set this all up. This is all bullshit. No way Mark Taylor just happens to be sitting next to us in a bar by accident, and I saw you Al, you were talking to them when we came in. Nah, nice try, but this is all just too coincidental. Kallita’s my wife! You guys need to accept that and quit trying to break us up.” Roy grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
“Wait! Where are you goin’?” Mike tried
to stop him.
“I told you, my kid’s sick. You guys just don’t get it, do you? I have to go.” Roy kept walking.
“Whoa! Hold up a second.” The brothers followed him into the vestibule. “She may be your wife, but we’re blood.” Alan grabbed Roy’s shoulder. “We’re the only brothers you have, and more to the point, Mum and Dad are your parents. The only ones you will ever have. She won’t let you loose long enough to visit your own damned family for Christ’s sake. Open your eyes and see what she’s doing to you; what she’s doing to us. You can always find another wife, but you can’t replace blood, Roy. Think about it. Kallita’s already proved that she can find another husband. Don’t forget, you’re number two. And from what I hear, Mark wasn’t the only bull in the barn when he was married to her.”
Roy wanted to smack him. He wanted to knock his teeth down his throat, but memories of the racetrack and Jim Roberts four years earlier flooded his thinking. He couldn’t shake the idea that Alan could be right. He was all twisted up inside. He loved his brothers. Kallita wasn’t perfect, and not easy to live with unless she controlled everything. He knew she wasn’t happy, and neither was he. He was trapped now. His business, once profitable, barely made ends meet. Kally made good money, but she was gone all hours. He was father and mother to the kids, and he had no life outside his own four walls. Alan was right, and he couldn’t face it. With tears running down his cheeks, he pushed past his brother and walked through the door.
Alan turned to Mike and said, “I could cheerfully kill that bitch. Putting a bullet in her would be the best thing that could ever happen to him.”
Roy wasn’t supposed to hear it, but he did.
* * *
Tears streamed down Roy’s face at the memory of the hurt Kallita had caused. A once thriving business now long gone. A family torn apart and lifelong friendships destroyed because of petty jealousy and wanton self-absorption. She had been cheating on him but not with his best friend. It was months after her disappearance that Freddy let it slip. By the time Roy realized what had been going on, he was too numb to care. His first impulse was to smack Freddy; beat him to a pulp. He thought better of it, considering instead that if Kallita should ever come back, he would walk her straight to Freddy’s door and leave her there. They deserved each other.
It had been difficult. First, the police accused him of foul play in Kallita’s disappearance. The lack of a body and no real evidence of his involvement, combined with a solid alibi for the night she vanished, caused them to drop their investigation into him. Constable Clifford spent a lot of time digging around but never found anything concrete. Even Kallita’s car failed to reveal any substantive clues as to what might have happened. Clifford checked all the hospitals in the area and then one day, about three weeks into the investigation, he stopped asking questions.
Roy’s attempts to follow up on the case met with cold indifference. It was like no one at the police station cared. With no activity on behalf of the police, the case stalled, swept aside by more pressing matters.
It wasn’t long after that he closed the diner’s doors for good. A thirty-year-old mainstay in the community gone forever because of one person’s disdain for the people who patronized the business. With no income, his savings quickly evaporated, forcing Roy to rely on his credit cards to live. For more than a year, he robbed Peter to pay Paul until finally the bank took the house back, and his parents took him and the kids in until he could get on his feet. As the years passed, thoughts of Kallita melted away replaced by the advent of happier times. He secured a management position in the administration office of a chemical plant. The new salary enabled him to re-establish his credit, and eventually, he bought the small hobby farm northeast of Clarksville. He and the kids were happy, and thoughts of Kallita were nonexistent.
Now, with this purse, it was all surfacing again. The pain, the memories, the sick feeling, and the questions were now bombarding his mind. Was she dead or missing, and why was her purse buried in some back yard in the condominium complex they used to live in? He needed answers, and this time, he wouldn’t rest until he got them. One thing he knew for sure. No way in hell would he let Kallita back in his life.
Chapter 13
January 1992
Constable Dan Clifford searched every hospital and clinic within a hundred miles of Clarksville with no sign of Kallita Prewitt. With all the blood found in her car, she must have needed medical help. However, so far, there was no sign of her. His last chance was the trauma centre in Kingston. Using his badge, he gained entry to the ward and enquired at the desk. A young volunteer in a red and white candy-striped uniform sat typing on a keyboard.
Handing her his OPP business card, he said, “Excuse me, I am looking for a missing woman. She may have been brought in here with injuries sustained in a car accident. Have you anyone here who fits that description?”
“I don’t think so. We’ve had no one come in—Oh, wait just a second.” The girl looked at his card and began flipping through charts. “Yes, here it is. We had a woman admitted about three weeks ago. She came in with no identification. She’s in a—well, I guess I should let her doctor speak to you. He is still in the hospital. I’ll page him for you.” She picked up her phone and paged, “Dr. Dorsette, one-one please, Dr. Dorsette, one-one.”
A second or two later, the phone rang. “Yes, doctor, there is a policeman here asking about our Jane Doe. Would you come to the desk, please?”
Moments later, the doctor escorted Dan to Jane Doe’s room.
“I’m afraid she’s not conscious. She came to us in bad shape, almost dead, cold and suffering from hypothermia. She collapsed in the ER and has been in a comatose state ever since. I believe she can hear us, but she’s unresponsive. It’s obvious she’s been through something traumatic. We have no idea who she is or where she came from. If this is the person you’re looking for, then at least we’ll have identified her. If she ever comes out of this coma, then we can surely let you know. I fear something horrible happened to her.”
Stepping into the room, Dan could clearly see the woman. Various monitors and computer screens flashed and winked as line graphs scrolled across the screens, all keeping tabs on the woman’s vital signs. An intravenous tube, attached to her left wrist, kept fluids and medication pumped into her. She had more tubes connected emerging from under the bed covers. Dan could only imagine their purpose. She appeared to be resting peacefully. But this woman was not in good shape. He walked over to the bed for a better look.
He turned to the doctor, shaking his head, “No, I’m afraid not. It’s not her.”
“Are you sure? She’s pretty banged up. Her face is still quite swollen and bruised.”
“No, I’m sure. It’s not her, I happen to know the woman I’m looking for, quite well. I’m afraid this isn’t her. Have you checked with the city police to see if they have a report of a missing person?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, they have no such report. No one has filed any reports of a missing woman. You’re the first to enquire. I had hoped this was the person you are searching for. I hope you find her.”
“Sorry, I can’t be any help to you with this one. Good luck with her. I’m curious. What do you think her chances are?”
“Right now, I’d say fifty-fifty. She has full function of her breathing, and there is brain activity, so I’m hopeful that she will come out of this soon. I guess time will tell. The body has an uncanny way of dealing with this type of trauma, and miracles do happen.”
“Well, let’s hope, eh.” Dan left the doctor standing in the doorway. Hope indeed.
* * *
“Diane! Diane, can you hear me, dear?” The voice was somewhere outside. It had to be, and who the hell is Diane? She felt someone tugging at her—what—where the hell am I? She finally opened her eyes to see that she was in bed in what appeared to be a hospital. A woman dressed in a light blue uniform was checking her, adjusting something attached to her wrist. She snatched her wrist away from
the nurse.
“Ouch! Jesus, what is that? That hurts, what are you doing? Where am I? Who are you, and who the hell is Diane?”
The nurse flashed a gentle smile. “You, my dear, are in hospital, I’m your nurse and honey, we don’t know your name. You’ve been out for weeks. You’re in bad shape, dear. You’re suffering from exposure and frostbite; you almost died. They’ve got you down as Jane Doe, but I hate that name, so, you look like a Diane, and until you tell me differently, that’s what I’m calling you.”
“Diane! My name’s not Diane it’s—it’s—wait —I-I don’t remember. Why don’t I know my name?”
“It’s not unusual to be disoriented after what you must have been through. I’ll get Dr. Dorsette; he’ll want to know you’re awake.”
Dr. Charles Dorsette, Chuck to those close to him, sauntered into the room, a stethoscope hung around his neck, one end dangling dangerously lower than the other, giving the impression that the listening device was about to fall to the floor. His white, stained lab coat draped loosely about him, revealing the green scrubs underneath. Diane looked him over, wondering why she couldn’t remember her name, why she was here, and why her left hand was all bandaged. He walked up beside her bed, took her wrist in his hand and checked her pulse. He placed his stethoscope in his ears to examine her chest. “Deep breath, please —good —hold it—good, and out. Your lungs appear to be clear. It’s nice to see you awake, you know you’re very lucky. We weren’t sure you would pull through. What can you tell me about what happened to you?”
“Nothing! I can’t remember anything, I’ve tried, but there is nothing there,” Diane sobbed. “Why can’t I remember? What’s wrong with me?”
“It’s not unusual in cases like this. You’re confused, disoriented, and you took a pretty bad blow to your head. You also came in here soaking wet and nearly half frozen. In fact, you were in stage 3 hypothermia, and you suffered severe frostbite on your left hand. I have to tell you that it is bad, and right now, we’re in a wait and see phase.”
Kill Her Twice Page 9
