Murder Deja Vu

by Polly Iyer

  He looked better. Fresher. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath. Calm down Robert. They have nothing on you. Suspicion isn’t fact.

  He didn’t like this Wright guy. The man reminded him of a bulldog. Not visually—he looked like a pansy—but he was tenacious. He’d known men like Wright. They never gave up. “And Robert Minette never gives up,” he said aloud. He breathed in again, grabbed his briefcase, and went into the outer office.

  His secretary looked at him, then looked at the appointment book. “Is everything all right, Mr. Minette? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m feeling ill, Doris. I think I’ll go home and get some rest. Cancel all my appointments, will you?”

  “I hope Mr. Wright didn’t upset you. You seemed perfectly fine this morning.”

  “Wright? Oh, no. He was pumping me for information to see what we had on Reece Daughtry. He knew he was chasing a lost cause defending that murderer. When the police catch him, it’ll be all over.”

  “I hope it’ll be soon. Do you think Mrs. Minette is all right? You don’t think Daughtry will harm her, do you?”

  “I hope not.” He sighed. “I’m worried sick about her. Mrs. Minette is a sucker for a sad story, and I’m sure Daughtry made it sound good. Fifteen years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. What a crock of—um, what a bunch of baloney. But knowing my wife, she probably fell for it like a ton of those stones he uses to make those god-awful fireplaces.”

  “I thought you wanted him to build one for you. Didn’t I hear you say that, Mr. Minette?”

  Robert couldn’t stand anyone calling him out, especially a low-level secretary. She wasn’t even a legal secretary. “I thought I did, until I saw one in person. Shoddy workmanship. I wouldn’t have one of those monstrosities in my house. If Mrs. Minette wanted one, well, shows you what kind of taste she has. Same as she has in men.”

  He turned around and left his office. Outside, he realized what he’d said. Oh, well. Doris knew what he meant. He drove his Escalade to a small shopping center and found a phone to call Klugh’s cell.

  “I’m on a surveillance job, Robert. What do you want?”

  “The PI that works for Daughtry’s lawyer showed up today. He knew you were here the other morning. Then he dropped the bomb that he was going to prove you killed Lurena Howe.”

  Klugh didn’t hesitate. “And you said what?”

  “I said of course you were here. Didn’t make sense to say you weren’t. He obviously knew otherwise. I said you were doing a job for me.”

  “Well, you’d better fill me in on what job I was supposed to be doing, in case it comes up. I like covering my ass, especially when someone’s accusing me of murder.”

  “I wish I could say I had you covering Daughtry, and that you saw him pick up Lurena Howe, but that’s too after the fact. Should’ve thought of it sooner.”

  “Make it something personal. Otherwise you would’ve used the county’s investigator. Maybe I was following your wife.”

  “Ex-wife. But why? Everyone in town knows the whore is sleeping with Daughtry. Why would I have you follow her?”

  “I don’t know, Robert. You’re the brains. I’m just the muscle. I follow orders. You know, like killing Lurena Howe.”

  “I never ordered that.”

  “You think if this has legs, a jury will think it was all my idea? Get real. I’m a hire. So be careful if you think you can pin this on me. I’ll go down, but you’ll go with me. Remember that.” The line went dead.

  Robert stepped away from the phone. His stomach did a weird summersault, and now he really didn’t feel well. If he was perspiring before, after talking with Klugh he was about to dissolve into a freaking puddle. Wright was right. Klugh would fold on him sure as he was standing in a goddamn strip mall with a phone in his hand. He needed a drink. Some place nice and quiet. He could go home, but he didn’t want to be alone. Not that he wanted to chat; he needed people around him. He wouldn’t put it past Klugh to drive to Regal Falls and make sure Robert understood the facts according to Harry Klugh. He drove to Pine House.

  Chapter Thirty

  Russian Roulette

  Where’s the goddamn bartender? Robert was about ready to get behind the bar and pour himself a drink.

  “The usual, Mr. Minette?”

  “Chaz. Good. I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  “I went in back for a minute. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Yeah, the usual, and make it a double. Bring it over to that table, please, would you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Robert nodded to one man he knew, but he didn’t feel like making small talk. He never did, unless he gained something from it. Tonight, the idea of going home to an empty house appealed to him even less. The boys were away at school; Dana was long gone too. Not that he missed her. He snickered. Who was he kidding? He missed Dana, but he was too angry to admit it to anyone other than himself. She’d walked out with nothing he could take away. Didn’t even ask for alimony. What kind of woman did that? He would have fought her anyway. He had pictures, and he threatened to use them. Unfortunately, she had pictures too, taken after he lost his temper for he couldn’t remember what. Probably one of those times she mouthed off. He doubted she would show them and embarrass her sons, but they were good enough for a standoff. He could say he had nothing to do with the bruises, but people liked Dana. They’d believe her. They didn’t like Robert. They were jealous of his success. Of his power.

  Lost in his thoughts, Robert didn’t hear Harris Stroud until the editor set his drink on the table and sat down.

  “Bad day, Robert? Don’t usually see you in here this early.” Harris sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair.

  Robert didn’t feel like a companion, least of all Harris, who’d be sloshed before long and slurring his words. At least he wasn’t a nasty drunk. Harris had made an effort to stay off the booze a few months ago, but it didn’t last. It never did. Robert took a good look at the editor. They’d known each other more than twenty years. Still trim, with only a few strands of gray, Harris hadn’t lost his boyish looks, though the drinking was starting to show. Robert wondered how he managed it. Maybe being drunk allowed him to forget why he drank.

  “I felt like a drink,” Robert said. “Can’t a man have a drink without someone thinking he had a bad day?”

  “Sorry, you’re right. I’m having a drink and I had a wonderful day.”

  “You have a drink every day, good or bad. More than one, in fact.”

  “Just winding down. That’s what the end of the day is for.” Harris polished off his drink and waved for another. “Why so grouchy? Hasn’t Dana come crawling back yet?” He looked at his watch. “Past due, I’d say.”

  Robert felt the heat burn around his neck, flush his cheeks. Damn Harris. Always twisting the knife. “You know goddamn well she’s with that murderer, digging her own grave in the process.”

  “No one’s proved him guilty. In fact, I don’t think he is. I think someone’s setting him up. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “What kind of question is that?” First Wright and now Harris, insinuating he knew who set up Daughtry. No, not insinuating. Accusing. He stared at the editor and saw that he was stone-cold sober.

  Harris stared back at him, unflinching. “A dead serious one.”

  “A jury convicted Reece Daughtry of murder twenty-one years ago. He severed a woman’s head from her body. Don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence that another woman is found the same way not thirty miles from him?”

  “Gee, if a reasonably sane man wanted to commit murder, and he’s done it before, do you actually think he’d do it the same way and call attention to himself?”

  “That’s the brilliance,” Robert said. “Who’d think a man like Daughtry, as smart as he’s supposed to be, would copycat his own murder? More than brilliant, if you ask me.”

  Harris peered over the rim of the glass before guzzling his drink. �
�Typical Robert. Off base as usual. You’re jealous because Dana’s with him. You’d do anything to get him out of the picture.”

  “Dana and I were finished long before Daughtry. Besides, you’re not paid to think. You’re paid to report and write and edit. Daughtry is guilty as sin. Innocent men don’t run away. If he had nothing to hide, he’d have stayed and proved it. I think that should be your lead story in tomorrow’s paper. ‘Beheading Murderer Does It Again.’”

  Harris grimaced. “That won’t be the lead story in any paper I write for. And if you threaten me with the job again, you can have it. I won’t be a party to that kind of journalism. I’m not your champion like when I was young and too innocent to know how you were using me.”

  “I bet your assistant editor would like climbing the corporate ladder.”

  “I bet he would too.” Harris swilled down his drink and stood. “Good evening, Robert.” He headed for the door.

  “So you’ll write the story?”

  Harris turned around and stepped back to the table. He lowered himself to Robert’s face and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you what story I’ll write. About a criminal defense attorney in Charlotte twenty years ago who figured out a way to make the prosecution’s star witness disappear. Why? To insure his drug-dealing, murdering client got off. How would you like that headline under the Regal Falls Banner?”

  A volcano erupted inside Robert. He sputtered. “You…you wouldn’t. You have no proof.”

  “No, but it would be enough to start an investigation, considering the questions that arose at the time. I bet some people at your old firm would support my assumptions. And lest you forget, I have proof of some of your other misdeeds. Any hint of impropriety would ruin your chances for whatever aspirations you have. And don’t think you can get your hatchet man to silence me permanently, like putting me behind the wheel of a car while I’m drunk. Everyone around here knows I don’t drive. Haven’t since that night a long time ago.” Harris moved closer, lowered his voice even more. “But you know that story, don’t you, Robert? You could hardly expose me without revealing you covered up a crime. I know enough about the law to know that’s being an accessory after the fact.” He moved into Robert’s ear and whispered. “I wrote it all down, and if I die under unusual circumstances, my proof will become public. So it’s a stalemate, isn’t it? I go down, you go down with me.” Harris straightened, brushed off his jacket. “Good night, Robert.” On the way out the door, he muttered, “Asshole,” loud enough to be heard.

  Diners had begun filling the restaurant. A few of them turned around when they heard Harris’s last word. Robert heard it too. He tightened his tie and finished his drink. He needed another. This was turning out to be a bad day all around.

  Robert couldn’t do much about Harris’s threat. The son of a bitch wasn’t blowing smoke. Robert watched him walk steadily out of Pine House, sober. He was pathetic. A Princeton graduate, the town drunk. No one knew why but Robert.

  Harris had learned to play Robert’s game. So had Dana. The knowledge didn’t free them, but it evened up things. Playing dirty strained people with ethics. Dana cared who got hurt in the ongoing saga of her life. Robert was glad she cared about the boys. He did too. He really did. But now they’d learned how things worked in real life. The knowledge taught them a good lesson, which made them stronger.

  Dana and Harris, childhood friends held together by lies and secrets and omissions. But there was one secret Harris never confided to Dana. He wouldn’t. Because there was no statute of limitations on murder.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  What Could Have Been

  New England

  Carl had given Reece Mark Cabrini’s business address in Wellesley Center. Reece remembered the orthodontist as a nice guy, but he knew Cabrini in another life, when he wasn’t wanted for double murder. He hoped Cabrini was still a nice guy.

  The office, sandwiched between a Chinese restaurant and gourmet grocery store, offered a better location to fit into the surroundings than to lurk in front of Cabrini’s home, where a neighbor might notify the police. Reece parked in front of the grocery store, adjusted his sunglasses, and pulled down his cap—just another patient husband waiting for his store-bound wife.

  The hours on Cabrini’s door were obscured, and he wasn’t about to get out and check, but he had a clear view of who came and went. If Cabrini left by a back exit, Reece would be forced to go to his house. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

  A woman and child left the office a few minutes before five. Then another woman in a white uniform came out—an assistant, Reece guessed. He held his breath and waited some more. Ten minutes later, Mark Cabrini came out of the office. Seeing Cabrini’s face brought into focus that night twenty-one years ago. Time had been good to the orthodontist. Reece remembered admiring Mark’s dark good looks, and though silver threaded his black hair, he could still stop women in their tracks. He walked to the grocery store, came out ten minutes later toting a shopping bag, crossed the street, and got into a BMW SUV. Reece eased out of the parking lot and followed discreetly.

  Wellesley’s residential roads forked and curved past manicured lawns and stately homes that spoke of old money. If Reece’s survival hadn’t been prominent in his mind, he might have enjoyed the drive.

  The SUV pulled into the driveway of a handsome fieldstone and wood house with a slate-tiled roof. Flowers edged the walkway, and two rambunctious golden retrievers romped in a fenced yard, barking for their master’s attention. The garage doors rose automatically, and Cabrini drove inside. Reece parked in the driveway behind him. Cabrini got out and turned around. He stopped, squinted.

  Reece looked a lot different than he did the night of the murder. Forty pounds lighter, his scholarly pallor now burnished brown, dark blond hair mixed with gray. No matter, Cabrini recognized him. Reece’s heart pounded. Cabrini could punch 911 into his cell phone and there’d be no escape.

  “Hi, Mark.”

  “Reece. You know half the country’s looking for you.”

  “I know.” He took a few steps forward. “I didn’t do it.”

  Cabrini craned his neck to scout the surrounding area. “I wouldn’t have thought so. I never believed you killed Karen. I told the attorney who interviewed me, but he wasn’t inclined to listen.” He waved Reece toward him. “Come inside before someone sees you.”

  Reece released a long breath. Unless Mark was playing him, he felt safe for the moment. He followed him into a study on the garage side of the house.

  “Wait here. My wife’s mother is sick. She’s there. I’ll get us a couple of beers.”

  “Am I safe, Mark?” He looked at Cabrini, the implication of his question clear.

  “You’re safe. The police have already called to see if you’ve been around. They asked me to let them know if you showed up. Fuck ’em.” He left and came back with two longnecks of imported beer. “You look different. I want to say better. Not so soft like when you were in school.”

  “Prison has a way of toughening you up. I’d advise getting a gym membership instead.”

  Mark nodded. He looked like he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

  “I need to know about that night,” Reece said. “Someone’s trying to nail me again, and I think it’s someone we both know.”

  “You mean either Carl, Steve, or Jordan? Or me?”

  Hearing Carl’s name gave him a jolt. But he was there. “Yeah. My investigator stirred the pot. He thinks it made someone nervous.”

  “I know. He called me too. Asked me all kinds of questions.”

  “I saw Carl this morning. What about the others? Do you have any sense of something that could help? Something you might have thought of since then, no matter how unimportant it seems?”

  “I told everything I knew at the trial, and nothing ever dawned on me later. I used to be close with Steve, but we kind of drifted apart. He and Jordan were out in Grafton at the vet school. I lived in Med
ford, met Sandy and, well, you develop a whole different group of friends when you have a serious girlfriend, then get married. Couples. No more singles bars and late-night carousing. You know how it is.” Mark shook his head. “Shit. Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “After all these years, have you remembered something?”

  “I’ve gone over that night a million times. Went over the trial even more, but none of it meant a thing. I couldn’t remember. Carl…”

  Mark tipped his beer to his lips. “I didn’t know he slept with her until after the trial.”

  “I didn’t know for sure until today.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference,” Cabrini said, “but he should have spoken up. He was my friend, but he was your brother. We drifted apart after that.”

  “He thinks the prosecution would have said it gave me more reason to kill her. He’s probably right. I just wish he’d told me. But that’s something he’ll have to deal with in his own heart.” Reece thought after meeting his brother that morning he’d be over feeling betrayed, but the knife in the back still cut deep. “You can’t go back in time, Mark. What’s done is done. I’ve spent years festering. I wanted to move on, but someone won’t let me.”

  “Even though we didn’t know you well, being Carl’s friends, we weren’t very ethical. We knew Karen was your girlfriend, yet we all slept with her. What does that make us?”

  “Horny guys.” Reece forced a smile. “Like I said, I wish I’d known, instead of investing myself in her.”

  “I only had sex with her one time. Then I learned both Steve and Jordan had slept with her. I didn’t need the distraction. I had enough anxiety with dental school. I didn’t know Jordan well. He always seemed, I don’t know, a little odd. Being in vet school together, he and Steve were closer.”

  “Did either of them mention they were hooked on Karen?”

  “No. I think we all felt guilty, so we never discussed her.”