Murder Deja Vu

by Polly Iyer

  Except for a hitch in the Marines during the first Gulf War, Payton had lived in North Carolina his whole life. War cements bonds between men as solid as childhood friendships, and Payton had remained close with a few of his Gulf buddies. One was Barry Kanter from Atlanta.

  After the military, Barry studied law at Georgia State and became a public defender in his hometown. The two men took off every October to go fishing. Payton kept his phone number on speed dial.

  “Is it October?” Barry asked.

  “What happened? You were supposed to be here last week.”

  “You’re getting to be as big a smart-ass as me. What’s up, buddy?”

  “I need a favor.”

  “You want me to break the law?”

  “Possibly.”

  Kanter hesitated. “You’re serious?”

  “Yeah, I am, but not if it’s done right. Ever hear of an Atlanta PI named Harry Klugh?”

  “Klugh, Klugh. Why does the name sound familiar?”

  “He’s done some work for the DA up here, Robert Minette, going back twenty years when Minette worked for a criminal defense firm in Charlotte.”

  “Minette’s name doesn’t ring any chimes, but Klugh’s does. What do you need?”

  “His fingerprints.” Payton heard Barry whistle through his teeth.

  “May I ask why?”

  Payton filled Barry in on Klugh’s non-existent past. “I think Harry Klugh is someone else, and finding out who might give me leverage to solve a murder in my county, maybe two. It also might clear the man I believe is wrongly accused.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the Daughtry guy from up your way that the whole country’s looking for, would it?”

  “Yup.”

  “Been following that one. Daughtry seems too smart to murder someone using the same M.O. as the murder he went to prison for.”

  “Yeah. The DA insists that’s Daughtry’s brilliance at work. Kind of reverse psychology. Who’d think a guy that smart would do something so stupid? Minette is hoping this trial will give him name recognition to run for state office. That’s what I think anyway.”

  “Sounds like an asshole.”

  Payton smiled. “You could say that. Others have.”

  “I know a guy who gets off on this kind of work. It shouldn’t be too hard if he leaves something with his prints in a public place.”

  “Bill me for it.”

  “You betcha. My department runs on a shoestring. While we’ve been talking, I checked the phone book. He’s here. Harry J. Klugh, Private Investigator. Why does his name make me think of something I’d rather not think of?”

  “That’s the kind of guy he is. I think he killed a woman, and if we can nail him, he’ll blame Minette for hiring him to do it. But I have no proof other than a twitchy feeling between my shoulder blades.”

  “This is getting better all the time. I’ll get back to you.”

  Sometimes a man needed a little luck to go with the forces against him. Payton had a few ways to get results, but he needed help. First, light a fire under Robert Minette’s ass. And he knew the right person to strike the match.

  Chapter Forty

  Let’s Make a Deal

  Jim Payton liked Harris Stroud. Everyone did, except maybe his ex-wives. The newspaperman had two weaknesses. Women and booze, not necessarily in that order. When sober, he was charming and funny and smart. The sheriff called him a night drunk, because the next morning he sat at his desk, serious and competent. For years Payton wondered when night would turn into day. So far, it hadn’t.

  “Sheriff,” Harris said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Might not be a pleasure, Harris. Least not for me.”

  “Uh-oh. What did I do?”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  “No, ’course not. Sounds serious enough for a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve already had enough caffeine this morning to send me into orbit.” Payton pulled out a stick of gum and folded it into his mouth. “I want to get Robert Minette.”

  Harris paused pouring his coffee with his cup half full and turned to Payton. He didn’t say anything, then turned around and finished pouring.

  Payton chewed. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to get him for?”

  “Hmm, don’t think so,” Harris said, settling back into his chair. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  “Name Harry Klugh mean anything to you?” Payton couldn’t read Harris’s expression, but he definitely reacted to the name.

  “Enough to know he’s not a nice guy.”

  Focusing on the editor, Payton asked, “What’s Robert Minette got on you, Harris?”

  Harris snorted a short puff of air and put his cup down on his desk. “What makes you think he has anything on me?”

  “May I be frank?”

  “Can I stop you?”

  “Probably not.”

  Harris drank his coffee. “Well, then.”

  “See, here’s my problem. I’ve got two murders in my jurisdiction. I don’t like that the murderer or murderers are still on the loose. Makes everyone edgy. I understand that. It makes me edgy too. It also makes me look incompetent.” He chewed his gum, taking it slow. “I like my job. I don’t know if people would vote for someone who’s incompetent, so I’m starting to worry.”

  “I report the news, Jim. I don’t solve crimes. Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  “Everyone in the county knows you’re too good a newsman to be working at a small local paper for a prick like Minette. Every time his office wins a case, even a petty robbery, it gets front page treatment, along with his name as a lead so we all know who’s boss. Fine, if that was the deal you made with him when he bought the paper, but he treats you like shit. I’ve heard him threaten to fire you in front of people. Why do you stay, Harris? Why do you put up with his nasty temperament?” Payton noticed the tremor in Harris’s hand when he brought the cup to his lips.

  “That’s between me and him. Frankly, it’s none of your business.”

  “You’re right. I’m from around here, and so are you, so I know what you used to be like before Minette came to town. Excuse me for being blunt, but you’ve turned from occasionally tying one on to being an out-of-control drunk.”

  Harris’s cheek twitched. “I’m not out of control. I’m here every morning, stone-cold sober.”

  “How long do you think that’ll last?”

  “Lasted a long time till now. You ever see me drunk during business hours? No, because I’m not. I don’t go near the stuff until my workday is done.”

  “My guess is Minette’s holding something over you. You’re a smart guy. Whenever he gives you shit, you throw it back at him, in front of everyone, like he does to you. He doesn’t like it, but he takes it. Which makes me think you have something on him too. What do you say to that?”

  Harris finished his coffee and went for another cup. Payton recognized the ploy to kill time while the editor thought of an answer.

  “You came in here saying you wanted to get Robert. Sounds like you’re trying to get me along with him.”

  “No, I’m trying to use you to get him. I don’t know what you did or what he knows about you that’s tying up your balls, but I’m offering you a fair hearing. Might be when I get Klugh, and I will, he’ll roll on Minette. Knowing Minette, he’ll pull all the dirty laundry he’s been collecting for years out of the closet to make a deal for himself. I’d rather give you the break than either one of them. Come clean. Take away his edge.”

  “Something to think about,” Harris said.

  Payton walked to the coffeepot. “Think I’ll have a cup of that coffee while you’re dawdling around thinking what you should do.”

  “I don’t have cream or sugar.”

  “Don’t need either.”

  “How come you never asked me about this before?”

  Payton took one of the Styrofoam cups, poured, and took his seat. “Ordinaril
y, I wouldn’t give a crap whether you’re blackmailing each other. That’d be between the two of you. But like I said, I’ve got two murders to solve, and I think Minette might be involved in one or both of them. And before, I didn’t have two residents of Harold County on the run, one of whom I happen to like a lot.”

  Harris fiddled with the handle of his mug, studying it. “I like her too. People say a man and woman can’t be best friends, but Dana’s mine and has been since we were kids. I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “I’d guess not, which is why I’m counting on you to tell me what I want to know. I’ve only met Daughtry one time. He wasn’t particularly friendly, and he didn’t like me checking him out, but he acted respectful. I get the feeling he’s being fucked over for the second time. I hate it when people who don’t deserve it are fucked over. Is that what happened to you?”

  Harris went into a long silence while he drank his coffee. “I fucked myself over, and I allowed Robert Minette to make it worse.” He hesitated again. “I did something many years ago that Robert advised me to cover up.”

  Payton’s heartbeat quickened. He was going to get what he came for. “Which makes him an accessory to whatever the crime is. Unless it’s a felony, the statute of limitations in North Carolina has expired.” He felt naked from the intensity of Stroud’s penetrating stare.

  “What if it is a felony?”

  The sheriff understood what Harris implied. “Depends. We might be able to strike a deal. I want Minette for either ordering a murder or covering up one. Whichever, I want him, and I’m willing to play ball. I think I can get a judge to do the same.”

  “Awfully risky, Jim. You’re going after the highest law enforcement agent in three counties on the word of a self-confessed drunk for something that happened years ago.”

  “Yes, I am. And unless you want to see your best friend go down for aiding and abetting a murderer, which is what will happen if Daughtry is shot dead, I suggest you think long and hard before you say no to what I’m asking.” He finished his coffee and placed the cup on Harris’s desk. “It’s the best deal you’re gonna get.”

  “I still haven’t heard a deal.”

  “I still haven’t heard your story. You trust me, Harris?”

  Harris pursed his lips. “Yes, I do.”

  “Then cut the crap and give me what I want.”

  “How’d you know, Jim?”

  “I didn’t for sure. But I know you well enough that if Minette didn’t have something on you, you’d’ve told him to go fuck himself a long time ago instead of burying your head in a bottle. I figure you have something on him he wouldn’t want to come out, so you two have been playing a game of Russian roulette, waiting to see who gets the fatal spin. Shouldn’t be you, Harris. And I’d hate like hell to give the deal to a creep like Klugh, whoever he is.”

  “What do you mean, whoever he is?”

  “The real Harry Klugh died in 1984. I’m figuring our imposter did something really bad long about then, stole the man’s identity, and moved to Atlanta to start a new life. But snails are snails, and calling them escargot doesn’t change the fact. Now, you want to tell me something I can use to nail that son of a bitch Minette before Klugh makes a deal and cuts you out?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Misplaced trust

  Harris refilled both his and Payton’s coffee cups and leaned back in his chair. As Harris spoke, the sheriff drank and listened.

  “I’d come home to visit, armed with a master’s in journalism and a few rejections for jobs I’d applied to. Bad time back then. The job market was tight. I had no intention of staying in Regal Falls, but the owner of the Banner—you remember Mr. Grimes?”

  Payton nodded.

  “He was getting on and offered me a job. I figured it’d be a good place to get some hands-on experience before I moved up to the big time. Before long, Grimes handed over more and more responsibility. I settled in, thinking I was lord and master of my own little universe, but I still had those lofty ambitions only the young think are attainable.”

  “Get to it, Harris. Time’s wasting.”

  “I’m getting there. This isn’t easy for me.” He stared into his coffee cup, pushed it aside. “Then Robert arrived on the scene, bought the paper from Mr. Grimes. He was older and self-assured. He acted like my best friend, taking me into his confidence. I looked up to him. Of course he had an ulterior motive. I wrote newspaper stories that could make him look good whenever he won a case. He had switched from defense to prosecution, and he needed to make his bones—get name recognition. At the time I didn’t know that he’d left his firm in Charlotte under suspicious circumstances. Found out the details later. Anyway, Robert was colorful and did everything with panache. It was easy to write about him. Then he saw Dana, the prettiest girl in the county—still is—and he wooed her like she was royalty, buying her expensive presents and taking her to the best places. She fell for his line. Besides seeing my folks, Dana was the real reason I’d come back to Regal Falls. But we grew up together and were more like brother and sister, no matter that I wanted it to be more. Anyway, neither of us saw the real Robert until it was too late.”

  “What happened?” Payton asked, coaxing Harris along.

  “What do I get for this besides baring my soul?”

  “I told you, it depends. I can’t promise anything till I know what you tell me. Even then.”

  Harris set his gaze across the room as if he couldn’t look at Payton when he told him. Maybe he figured time had come to tell someone.

  “I was driving back from Asheville one night, wasted. I shouldn’t have been behind the wheel of a car, but—” He glanced at Payton and shrugged. “I took the back roads, figuring I’d be safer off the highway and so would everyone else. It was dark, and—” He chewed on his thumbnail, pulled a piece of skin until it bled.

  “And?”

  “I’m getting to it, Jim.”

  “I know, but we’ve got a situation here.”

  Harris nodded. “I felt a bang. I swear I didn’t see anything, but I stopped the car and got out. A black man lay crumpled on the road beside a toppled bike. He didn’t have any reflectors; I flat out didn’t see him.”

  Payton didn’t say anything. He drank his coffee.

  “I checked for a pulse, couldn’t find one. I listened at his chest, thumped it. I didn’t know what else to do. The guy was dead.”

  Payton watched as Harris absent-mindedly sucked his bloody finger.

  “I felt sick. You know how those mountain back roads are. It’s like a wasteland. No houses, no cars, nothing. I didn’t have a cell phone. No one did then. I panicked and left the scene. Other than stopping a mile or two down the road to throw up, I drove straight to Robert’s apartment.”

  “Why him?”

  “I don’t know, Jim. He was an attorney. I was scared shitless, still tipsy, although the accident sobered me. I thought Robert was my friend, and he’d tell me the right thing to do.”

  “And you told him what happened?”

  “I said I was in trouble. I’d obviously been drinking, so he must have figured out what happened or had an idea. He told me not to say another word until I gave him a dollar. I didn’t know why he asked, but I gave him the dollar. Then he said he was my attorney and whatever I told him was privileged. He asked me questions and manipulated what I said, adding words like allegedly and hypothetically, but he knew what I was saying, and I knew what he was doing. I was young, not stupid. I wanted to call the police, but Robert said if I did hit someone, the guy was dead, and there was nothing I could do for him. I’d go to jail for vehicular manslaughter because I left the scene. I shouldn’t have let him talk me into it, but I was scared.” Harris took a gulp of coffee, winced at the cold dregs, and pushed the cup away.

  “Did you ever find out about the guy you hit?”

  “No. I listened to the police reports in the area, read all the papers. Nothing. No one ever reported the hit and run or a dead man. I
can’t tell you how many times I almost called the police. Must have been a hundred.”

  “You’re sure the guy was dead?”

  “I thought so. Damn, just thinking about it—” Harris leaned over, put his head down.

  Payton eyed him, thought the editor was going to lose his breakfast. When he raised his head, Payton said, “Go on.”

  “Now I’m not sure if he was dead or not. I only know from that time on, Minette thought he owned me. And I haven’t had a sober night’s sleep since.” He focused on Payton. “After I left his house that night, my hands shook so I could barely hold on to the steering wheel. When I got home, I was as sick as I’d ever been. I drove the car one more time, then parked it in the garage. It’s still there, dusty and probably needing a good tune-up, nearing antique status. I keep renewing my license, paying the taxes and registration, but I’ve never been able to get past turning the key in the ignition, which I do when I remember. You’d think that would have been enough to stop me drinking, but it had the opposite effect.”

  “So you’ve confined yourself to Regal Falls.”

  “Hard to admit, but yes, with a drinking problem and three ex-wives who drove. If I had it to do over again, I’d go to the police and tell them what happened. But the longer I didn’t, the harder it was to do. And with no news of a hit and run, I kept telling myself it didn’t happen. When I’m drunk, I actually believe it, or at least I can’t remember it.”

  “If Minette knowingly concealed the crime—if there was one—he’s just as guilty.”

  “He’d say it was privileged information.”

  “Privilege doesn’t apply to communications between an attorney and a client that further a crime. Minette’s slick. I’m sure he covered his ass, but what he did was illegal. He could and should be disbarred. But it’s your word against his.”