by Polly Iyer
“I’m not even going to ask if you did it. If I were guilty, I’d have headed straight for the border. I assume you would have too. I never thought you killed Karen. None of us did, and we made ourselves clear during the trial.”
Reece glanced at Steve. “Yes, you did, and I always appreciated that. Until these latest murders, I’d been trying to put that ugly chapter of my life behind me and build another one. Someone doesn’t want me to.” Reece stared at Steve. “I came here to see if it was you.”
“Taking an awful chance.”
Reece shrugged. “I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”
“So you know, I didn’t kill her.”
Wouldn’t Reece say the same thing if he were guilty? Considering the consequences, who would admit guilt? But the vet could have called the police, knowing Reece was on his way. Steve punched a number into a high-tech cell phone. Reece held his breath.
“Gina, I’m going to be late this morning. Tell Randy, will you? And tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.…Yes, I know my car’s there. I’m with a friend.…Thanks.” He punched off the phone.
“Am I safe here?” Reece asked.
“Keep your glasses and hat on. No one’s around. I’m a member of the club. If anyone comes over, I’ll say you’re thinking of joining. They’ll leave us alone.”
Reece felt a current of anxiety shoot through him and he tensed, expecting some twist in the scenario. The cops surrounding him so Steve wouldn’t involve his practice. Steve pulling a gun. Could he ever trust anyone? Would he fight or go quietly?
“That leaves Jordan.” Reece turned toward Steve. He’d learned to read body language out of self-preservation and didn’t see anything threatening. Relaxing, he said, “You knew him better than I did. In fact, I really didn’t know him at all. You were all more Carl’s friends.”
“I haven’t seen Jordan in years. When we graduated vet school, I thought we’d go into practice together, but something happened in his last year of school. He changed, withdrew. He reneged on our plans and never said why other than he had personal issues. It’s not like we had a falling out either. I called him a few times to get together, find out what he was doing, but he always gave some lame excuse why he couldn’t. After a while, I stopped calling, and we lost touch. I wondered if he had depression problems or something.”
Or guilt over killing a woman?
“What was his connection to Karen?”
“He slept with her once to my knowledge. If he had more going with her, I didn’t know about it. Jordan and Mark never had trouble getting women.”
“Yet you slept with her too, didn’t you?”
Steve smiled. Reece thought he smiled more to himself than to Reece.
“I knew you were an item, but I slept with her for a reason. Once. During my conflict about my sexual identity.”
Reece looked at him. “You’re gay?”
Steve nodded. “Yes. My business partner is my life partner. Ten years now. I often wondered if Jordan figured it out and that was why he decided not to go into a practice with me. Anyway, Karen was the one who told me.”
“Huh? Told you what?”
“That I wasn’t into women. Until that time, I suspected, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. If anyone knew about men, it was Karen.”
“Jesus, what a jerk I was. If only I’d known what everyone else knew about her, I’d be building houses in Portland right now, with Carl.”
“Right, Carl.” Steve hesitated. “Your dear brother.”
The tone of Steve’s voice triggered gooseflesh on Reece’s arms. “What―what about Carl?”
“Man, you must have been brain dead back then. Carl had the hots for Karen. He denied it, but the night Karen clued me in that I wasn’t into women, I saw Carl going into her apartment when I was leaving. You didn’t know?”
Reece’s mouth went dry; words wouldn’t formulate. “Not―not until yesterday when Carl told me. He said if it came out at trial it would have given the prosecution more ammunition for jealousy. Reece Daughtry knew his brother screwed her too, kind of thing.”
“That’s what I thought too, which is why I didn’t say anything. Maybe I should have. But frankly, I thought the killer was probably another of Karen’s conquests. Unfortunately, your lawyer couldn’t come up with anyone. Still, Carl was sleazy not to come clean, at least to you. But that was between the two of you.”
“Could Jordan have been hooked on her too?”
“Jordan wasn’t the type to lose it over a woman, but if he suspected I was gay, he might not have confided in me.”
Reece searched out over the water, at the fishing boats and sailboats moored nearby and a few on the horizon skimming the surface. “I wasn’t the type either.”
Reece caught Steve’s sideways glance. “I didn’t know you well, Reece. I figured you were getting all you could, while you could.”
“I never thought like that. But that’s ancient history, isn’t it? Right now, I’m only concerned with the present and with who’s framing me again.”
Steve shook his head and looked out the passenger-side window. Any place but at Reece. “Jesus, Reece. I’m sorry.”
“I need Jordan’s address. Do you have it?”
“Yeah, but I have to go into the office to get it.”
“Before we head back, I need to make a call. See what’s going on at my safe house.” Reece laughed. “Can you believe this? Safe house, safe phones. Jesus. I’ve turned into an accomplished fugitive.”
“You do what you have to do. I’ll wait outside.”
But Reece didn’t call Frank’s. He called Clarence’s number. He had debated whether to call at all so Clarence couldn’t talk him out of what he was doing.
The investigator answered. “Are you on a safe phone?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Always.” Both men told the other what he’d learned.
“I’ve just arrived back in Boston. I have an idea. A hole in the case, maybe. I’ll cover the last man. Go back to wherever you’re staying and wait for a call.”
“I understand. But first, I’m going to make one more stop.”
“Where?”
“I’ll call you later. Promise. I want this over with, Clarence. I want my life back.”
“That’s what I’m trying to get for you. Stay out of sight and don’t fucking get caught.”
“I won’t.” Reece flipped the phone shut, wondering if his certainty that he wouldn’t get caught was nothing more than bravado. Could he elude the police for another hour let alone the rest of the day?
“Forget Jordan’s address, Steve. My lawyer’s investigator is on to something and told me to stay away. He’s as good as they get.” Reece pulled out of the club’s parking lot and drove back to Steve’s clinic.
“Let me out here,” Steve said before Reece pulled into the lot. “Take care, Reece. I hope it all works out for you.”
“Thanks. And thanks for not calling the police.”
Steve Yarrow patted Reece’s shoulder. “I couldn’t help overhear. Where are you going?”
Reece had said enough and decided to be as cryptic as possible. “I’m going get rid of some old anger, once and for all.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Going Back in Time
On his flight home, Clarence had read the transcripts of Reece’s trial for what seemed the hundredth time. Jeri did all she could, but with media attention focused on Reece, and pressure to close the case, he could see how the quiet architect took the fall. Witnesses described Reece as studious, polite, and serious, not possessing characteristics of a violent killer. Then the prosecution cited half a dozen cases where neighbors and co-workers referred to men who’d committed heinous crimes in exactly those terms. The fact that Reece couldn’t remember anything did little to help his cause.
The motive had to be personal. Something that transpired between the Sitton woman and her killer that never came out at trial. Clarence zeroed in on the witness wh
o’d alibied Jordan Kraus. Betsy Ferrar, nee Donagan. She graduated from Boston University the same year Reece went to prison. Now married, she lived in Storrs, Connecticut, with two college-age kids. Her husband taught at UConn. She’d be the first stop on Clarence’s journey, and the most important, which is why he told Reece to forget Kraus for the time being.
He drove to Storrs without calling, sure if he did, she’d refuse to see him. His GPS took him right to her door. She answered, leaving the storm door closed and, Clarence presumed, locked. With a dish cloth clutched in her hand, she studied her visitor with a quizzical expression.
“I don’t need whatever you’re selling,” she said through the glass door.
“I’m selling a man’s life,” Clarence said. “Reece Daughtry’s.”
Her rosy cheeks paled, and eyes that at first sparkled dimmed at the sound of Reece’s name.
“I think you can help him, Mrs. Ferrar.”
“I told everything I knew at the trial.”
“Did you? I think not.”
“Well, he’s done it again. Isn’t that proof enough?”
“Not if he’s being framed, which he is. Please. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Clarence saw the conflict in her body language. “Please.”
Her hand reached for the door, then pulled back. “Who are you?”
He pulled out a card. “I’m the investigator for Reece Daughtry’s attorney, Jeraldine De Bolt.”
She hesitated, wiped her hands on the towel, which she’d been doing nervously the whole time. Then she opened the door. “Come in, but I don’t know how I can help.”
She bypassed a neat living room—the kind used only for company or special occasions—and led Clarence into a comfortable but lived-in den. He smelled something baking—an apple pie, maybe, or a cobbler. A collection of Hummel figurines clustered under a framed landscape that looked as if the artist painted it with cotton candy. The requisite family photos shared space with other accessories on an overstuffed bookcase. He’d obviously interrupted her because a book lay open, spine up, on the sofa table. She gestured to a stiff-looking wingback chair. Clarence sat while she perched at the end of the sofa. He usually made small talk to put his subject as ease, but with time running out, he went straight to the reason he’d come.
“You lied at the trial,” he said.
Betsy Donagan Ferrar squared her shoulders and straightened. “If you’ve come here to accuse me of lying under oath when a man’s life hung on my testimony, I suggest you leave.”
“I believe you thought you were telling the truth, but you weren’t.”
“I was.”
Her words said one thing but without the indignity Clarence expected from someone just called a liar. “The truth as you remembered it. But you didn’t remember everything from that night, did you?”
“Of course I remembered everything.” She stood. “I want you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call the police.”
“Give me a minute, please. Let me back up. You said you were with Jordan Kraus that night, correct?”
Hesitating, she lowered herself into her seat. “Yes, I was. Are you telling me I wasn’t? Is that what I’m lying about? Because there were other people who saw us together. You must know that.”
“Yes, I do. You met Kraus at the bar and went to the Daughtry party with him. The two of you stayed awhile, then he invited you to an apartment he’d borrowed from a friend who was out of town. I guess to have a place to go if he scored.”
Mrs. Ferrar’s face reddened. “Yes. In retrospect, I believe that was his plan.”
“And you had a lot to drink, didn’t you?” Clarence noticed she hesitated before she answered.
“I didn’t think I did, but apparently I drank more than I thought. I said that at the trial. It was embarrassing to do so, not only because of Jordan’s intentions, but because my parents were in the courtroom for moral support.”
“But you didn’t mention you passed out. In fact, you said you remembered every minute of that night with Kraus. That’s not true, is it?”
“I…I didn’t pass out. I couldn’t have. I would have remembered.”
“Not if you were drugged.” Clarence couldn’t tell if she knew she’d passed out or if the idea had never occurred to her, but it didn’t seem like it had.
“Who would drug me? And don’t you think I’d remember if I passed out?”
“Not with certain drugs. And that’s what I think happened.”
She turned from Clarence and gazed off into space, then shook her head. “That’s impossible, but—”
“But what?” Clarence asked, sitting straighter. “What is it, Mrs. Ferrar? Please. I’m fighting for a man’s life. An innocent man who’s already served time and who’s trying in the only way he knows to prevent going back to prison.” He thought he was getting through to her. “However insignificant you think it might be, please tell me.”
Betsy Ferrar looked off to the side, twirling a lock of curly hair around her finger. Her cheeks flushed even more, and she squinted as if trying to resurrect the scene from that night over twenty years ago.
“I’d never gone out with Jordan before that night at the bar. I’d seen him around and thought he was cute. I was at the next table, and I overheard Reece Daughtry ask Karen if what they said was true. I didn’t know what he was talking about. Of course, I found out later. I’d been watching Jordan, hoping to connect with him. He’d been laughing before, but then he got quiet. He must have noticed my interest because he asked me to dance. He kept looking back at the table. I asked him what was happening, and he said something about a secret life. That you never really knew anyone. He seemed upset at first, then he bought me a couple of drinks and said everyone was going back to the Daughtry brothers’ apartment and would I like to go. I did. It was a neat place near Harvard Square. We were all drinking and having a good time, except for Reece and Karen. They were in the throes of a serious discussion. I told all this at the trial.”
“Who else was there? Everyone you can remember.”
“Jordan and me, of course, Reece and Karen, Reece’s brother and his fiancée, and two of his friends with another couple of girls—sorry, I don’t remember their names now.”
“That’s all right. I have them. Then what happened?”
“Jordan asked me to go back to the apartment where he was staying, and we left.”
“And everyone was still there?”
“I think they were getting ready to leave. Carl’s girlfriend felt sick, and he was going to take her home. He made arrangements to meet the others at another bar in Harvard Square.” She stopped. “Like I said, I told all this at the trial.”
“No, you didn’t go into such detail. I have the transcript with me. Would you like to read what you said?”
“You’re getting me confused. That’s what the defense attorney tried to do—get me confused.” She stood. “I can’t do this, Mr. Wright. I’m married, with a family. I don’t want this whole affair brought up again. It was a very trying time. I did the best I could at that trial. Everything I remembered.” Her words stopped her again, and she stared at Clarence.
“Everything you remembered?” She slumped into her chair. Clarence could see her going back in time as clearly as if she spoke. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? Something you remembered?” She didn’t answer the question but continued her story.
“Jordan was considerate that night. I had another drink when we went back to his place. He never made an advance on me, never even tried to kiss me. We talked, and I was sitting in the same chair the whole evening. The only thing is—”
“What?”
“I couldn’t believe how much time had passed. I was definitely a little dizzy from the drinks, and when I got back to my apartment I was sick. Violently sick. I remember thinking I wouldn’t drink like that again.”
“You didn’t mention that during your testimony.”
“It had no bearing on the case. All it woul
d have done is make me look even worse.”
“I think I know how you took sick, and I believe it had a lot to do with the case.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dana’s Fifteen Minutes
Dana sat in the parlor with Frank and Lana. She’d wanted to tell Reece to be careful, but he’d left before she woke. The place felt empty without him.
“Shh, listen,” Frank said. “There’s a picture of Reece on TV. Oh, and who’s the lovely lady flashing on the screen? Sure looks like that cute gal Reece brought here the other day, doesn’t it, Lana?”
Lana shushed Frank with a playful sock in his upper arm. “It’s not funny, Frank. She’s wanted for questioning by the FBI and the police.”
“That’s her, all right,” Dana said. “Turn it up so I can hear what awful things they’re saying about her.”
She listened as the talking head reported that no one had confirmed whether she was with Reece Daughtry, and if she was, whether he kidnapped her or she went voluntarily. There were no sightings, and her disappearance could be a coincidence.
Frank laughed. “I love coincidences.”
“But in case I am with Reece, they’re exposing my life for all to see.”
“Is that the infamous Robert Minette?” Frank asked.
“That’s Robert, basking in his fifteen minutes of national fame, hoping for an hour.” He filled the screen with his smarmy attitude, looking like a mob’s mouthpiece instead of the district attorney of three North Carolina counties.
“Even though I divorced my wife,” Robert said into the camera, “I care about her welfare and hope for her safe return. Daughtry will be given a fair trial in Harold County. I’ll see to that.”
The blood pulsing through Dana’s veins boiled. “What bullshit. He didn’t divorce me. I divorced him.” A clip of some reporter sticking the mike into the face of her younger son flashed into view and almost sent Dana through the roof. “These people have no morals. They’ll do anything for a story. They—” She watched as David calmly pushed away the mike and said, “No comment,” then disappeared into his dorm building.
