Murder Deja Vu

by Polly Iyer

  “I know. So now what?”

  “I want everything you have on Minette.”

  “This is a small town, Jim. The people who grow up here know one another. School friends stay friends, even if they move away.”

  “You’re going to have to relinquish your leverage, Harris.”

  “It’ll open a Pandora’s box. Aside from releasing my hold on Minette, I’d be getting someone else involved. Something I hoped I’d never have to do.”

  “I’ll try to use the information without involving that person. But if I have to, I will.”

  “I know, I know.” He nodded and went into a long pause. “Robert raped a woman, a friend. The woman, who shall remain nameless, came to me to ask what she should do. She was bruised and traumatized but more afraid if she made the rape public against someone like Robert, people would say she asked for it or that it had been consensual. Either way, a lose/lose situation for her.”

  Payton nodded. “It’s a hard call to prove rape, and even harder against a so-called upstanding citizen like Minette. And this was years ago, I assume, while he was still married to Dana.”

  “Yes, during the time Dana began figuring out who she’d married and I realized who I’d sold my soul to. The woman gave me the whole story, along with photographs and a signed affidavit. She still didn’t want to go public, but she said I could use it to keep Robert in line. If I found out he did it again and the second woman would come forward, she would too. Safety in numbers, I guess. I showed a copy to Robert and swore I’d release it if he gave her or anyone else trouble. He believed me. It would have tarnished what he thought of as his good name and ruined any chance of him running for higher office.”

  “What happened to the woman?” Payton asked.

  “She moved away without leaving a forwarding address. I know where she is. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Robert and didn’t trust him not to exact revenge. Robert labeled it extortion, which it was in an emotional sense. My friend’s rape story leveled the playing field with Robert, and I used it to refuse to write certain stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Those that either smeared a political opponent or a defense witness. I never wrote anything that wasn’t true and I never embellished. When I didn’t write what he wanted, he threatened to expose the accident. I threatened to reveal my friend’s letter.”

  “What he asked you to do was an offense in itself.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I should have reported him, but I was protecting my own ass. I’m not proud of that. Makes me as unethical as Robert, which is another reason I can’t sleep.”

  Payton blew out a long breath. “So the two of you really have been playing Russian roulette.”

  “Yes. I have more on Robert. A telephone recording from about ten years ago. The voice is disguised, but the cadence isn’t Robert’s. I’d guess it’s Klugh’s. He’s bribing a witness to recant his testimony in one of Robert’s cases. The case never went to trial because the defendant pleaded out, but the witness came to me with the tape from his answering machine. I told him to go to the police, but he refused. No names were mentioned on the tape, and he didn’t want to call attention to himself. The man had a closet full of skeletons. I bought the tape. Robert knows I have it. Of course he denied he was involved, but he’s never called my bluff, so I figure he’s lying.”

  “Bribing a witness is a federal crime, with no statute of limitations.” Payton fisted his hand to his mouth. “Jesus. There’s so much going on here on so many levels, I’m not sure where to start.”

  “Yes, but you’d have a hard time proving any of it. Like I said, it’s not Robert’s voice.”

  “But you know he’s behind it. Klugh wouldn’t do that on his own. Damn, Minette’s worse than I thought.” Payton took out a small notebook and wrote down something Harris couldn’t see. “I’m working another angle to get him and Klugh both. We’ll see how that works out before I get you involved.”

  “If it happens, I’m ready to take my medicine.”

  “First, we have to verify whether you actually killed someone. If Robert checked it out, which I’m assuming he did, he knows the truth. If you’re guilty of no more than hitting someone on a back road who later walked away, and Robert didn’t tell you, he’s been holding you hostage all these years.”

  “I thought of that and tried to find out myself. Remember I mentioned I drove the car one more time? I went back to where I thought I hit the man. But I couldn’t find any trace of blood or broken bicycle parts. I should have followed up, but I went home, parked the car, and it’s still there.”

  “But you’ve never known for sure?”

  “No.”

  “It’d be like Minette to find out nothing happened and keep it from you, wouldn’t it?”

  “Knowing him like I do now? Damn right.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Old Angers

  New England

  Boston traffic lived up to its reputation. It had taken Reece almost three hours to get to Portland, thanks to a couple of accidents that backed up traffic for miles. He thought of Dana the whole way. Her memory elevated his mood. After this visit, he wanted to get as far away from Maine as possible, back to his house and animals in North Carolina. Back to Dana. Then he remembered the present situation, and his high dissipated like the marsh fog that burned off on the road out of Cohasset.

  The trip north from Regal Falls had become a journey, not only in miles but in emotions. Other than the threat of getting caught and put in jail, this leg would be the most painful. But he decided it might possibly be the most important step toward freedom and the last step to put the past in its rightful place.

  He knew the location of his father’s private nursing home from Carl’s description. Wealthy patients went there to have around-the-clock pampered care while waiting to die. Reece didn’t know what to expect. He wondered if Carl had exaggerated his father’s condition to get him to visit the other day. His brother mentioned the word closure. Was that the word of the day? He didn’t know what it meant. Did it mean to tie up all the frayed strands of his life so he could forget the past ever happened?

  Reece found the two-story building set on a serene plot of land with a pond bordered by trees and flowers. He remembered the place from his childhood, the fun he and Carl had on the grounds riding their bikes, feeding the ducks in the pond. Visitors parked in front of the building, and he assumed employees parked in the rear. He searched for cars or vans that looked out of place, an extra antenna, a light on the dashboard or in the rear window. Nothing suspicious caught his eye, but that didn’t mean a cop wasn’t waiting.

  Carl mentioned his father’s room led onto a patio at the rear end of the building, near the woods. If that was supposed to make Reece feel safe, it didn’t. Not today. Fortunately, the single French door leading into the room offered easier entry than an impenetrable sliding glass door that came with security bars. Nothing compared to a little luck, he thought for the second time that day. He pulled to the end of the parking lot, as close to the building as possible, and parked next to another Civic. He sat there, unable to move.

  Overwhelmed by the same insecurities he experienced at Steve Yarrow’s vet practice, he questioned whether he should have phoned ahead and said, Hey, coming to see my father today. Make sure the cops are waiting.

  Well, he couldn’t turn back now. He’d do what he came to do, even if it meant discovery. His clock was ticking down anyway. He’d get inside that room, and if the man who’d shunned him as if he were a leper was coherent enough to understand him, he’d say what he had to say and get the hell out.

  Reece scanned the parking lot once more to bolster his illusion of safety. When he went to shut off his cell phone, he discovered it was already off. Unused to modern technology, especially phones, he’d shut it off after talking to Clarence without realizing it. Just as well. He didn’t want anyone to talk him out of the risk he was taking. The risk he had to take.


  He slipped out of the car, closing the door quietly behind him. His insides shook, but not from fear of his father. Reece had never been afraid of the man. Although Thom Daughtry could be aloof, he’d never been abusive or mean. He expected excellence and Reece had never disappointed.

  His father’s life revolved around his business. He went to work at the crack of dawn and came home late at night. Little camaraderie existed between him and his sons, but there’d always been love and respect.

  Until Reece’s arrest. Then everything changed.

  Reece walked to the door, confident, as if he should be there. The thought struck that his father might be under police guard. Maybe they expected Reece to do him harm? Why not? They already suspected he was the maniacal murderer of three women.

  Peeking through the open blind, he saw only the end of the bed, feet tenting the cover, and no one in the room. He tested the door. Locked, as expected. He withdrew a credit card from his wallet and hoped it worked. Twenty years ago this would never have occurred to him, but prison taught him a few things he never imagined he’d need. He couldn’t use the card for anything else anyway. One swipe and the police would be on him before he could pocket it.

  Sliding the card into the space between the door jamb and the lock, he pushed back, and turned the knob. It opened. Hmm, too easy. Didn’t people waiting to die require safety from the outside world? Or did easy entry indicate a trap for a wanted man?

  A blast of cool air hit him first, then the antiseptic smell that never hid the odor of decay. Different from the stench of testosterone, body odor, and desperation he’d endured in prison, but somehow exuding the same dull feeling of hopelessness.

  Reece scanned the room. The sleeping man lay motionless, wired to monitors, a steady beep the only sound. A table and two chairs occupied the opposite corner of the room—a watchful attendant’s place—replete with magazines and bottled water. Reece entered cautiously. Any change in the old man’s heart rate, and the machines would alert the nurses’ station. They’d barrel through the door and it’d be all over. Warning enough to make the visit quick.

  He hadn’t seen his father in twenty-one years. They’d both changed dramatically. He stood at the bedside, looking down at the old man, his once powerful physique a shadow of the man Reece knew as a child. But then Reece had changed too since his father last saw him. He couldn’t help comparing him to Frank. How could his two fathers be wasting away before his eyes?

  As if sensing a presence, Thom Daughtry opened his eyes. His gaze wandered toward his visitor. Recognition came slowly, but it came. “Reece,” he said in an old man’s voice.

  “Hello, Dad.” At that word—Dad—something hit Reece hard, and he struggled to contain the emotions swelling within him.

  “You’ve changed,” his father said.

  Reece nodded. “In many ways, yes.”

  Thom Daughtry swallowed, a gulping sound. Tears welled in his eyes, and he breathed a few short breaths through his nose. He took a moment before he spoke. “I’m…I’m sorry, son.”

  Reece choked back the pain of those words. He imagined this moment would engender anger or something stronger—rage. But he felt only as if his body had abandoned him, leaving him numb and disconnected.

  “I’m sorry too, Dad.” Only Reece didn’t know exactly what he was sorry for. Because he’d been such a disappointment in his father’s eyes? Or that his father had turned his back without giving him the benefit of doubt? For all the lost years? Whichever or for all, the sorrow cut into his heart with the same effect as if a knife had made the slice—sharp and penetrating and painful.

  “I don’t deserve it,” the old man said, “but can you forgive me?”

  Reece’s chin quivered, surprised that his father had such an effect on him. Could he forgive this man who had given him life and whose remorse now surfaced because he faced his end? “Yes, Dad,” he managed to say. “I forgive you.” He sat down on the chair next to the bed and lifted his father’s skeletal hand to his lips. “I forgive you.” The tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t know if his father knew the police were after him for another murder, but he sensed time running out. “I need to go now.”

  “I should have talked to you, son. I should have heard your side of the story. Not only what Carl told me.”

  At first, Reece didn’t know what his father meant. It took a moment to process the words. “What…what did Carl tell you?”

  “About how you confessed everything to him. About why you murdered that girl. That’s why I stayed away. I thought if I saw you, I’d give you away.”

  Reece swore his heart stopped beating. He thought he’d experienced every possible emotion, but what passed through him at that moment relegated them all to nothing more than empty definitions. He struggled to bring the words to his lips. “Dad, hear this. I didn’t kill that woman. That’s the truth. I don’t know why Carl lied to you, but I never confessed anything to him because I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it, do you understand?”

  “You didn’t do—”

  “No. I spent fifteen years in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. And now someone’s trying to frame me again.”

  Tears flooded his father’s eyes. “Why did Carl say that? Why?”

  “I wish I could say I don’t know, but I’m beginning to think I do.”

  “Oh, my God. What have I done?”

  Leaning down, Reece whispered in his father’s ear. “You did what you believed was right. I hold no animosity.” The weight Reece carried in his chest all those years lifted, but a heavier burden descended. He had to let it go for now because he heard voices outside the door, coming closer. “I have to go, Dad. I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  “Go, son.” His father grabbed his arm with strength Reece wouldn’t have believed the old man still possessed. “I love you,” he said. “I always have.”

  Reece swallowed a breath. “Thank you for that. It means a lot.” It did too. And he could say those words now without suffering the hypocrisy. He leaned down and kissed his father’s forehead. “Do me a favor. If Carl visits, don’t tell him I’ve been here or that we’ve had this conversation, okay?”

  “I won’t. God help me, I’ve been a stupid man, Reece, but I think I know what’s going on. I’m glad I won’t live to go through it again. You’ll make it. You’re a survivor. You’ll make it.” Thom Daughtry’s breathing labored, the beeps on one of the machines quickened, sending pulsating noises throughout the room.

  “Gotta go, Dad.” He squeezed his father’s bony hand before he rose and headed for the exit. After one glance back, he slipped through the patio door and closed it behind him at the same time someone came into the room. He didn’t look back but ran to his car and drove out of the parking lot, his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

  How could he have been so dense, or had he known all along and refused to accept it? His own brother. Not Mark or Steve or Jordan or any of the others at the bar or party that night twenty-one years ago. No, the brother who supposedly loved him. The brother who sat silently while guards led Reece out of the courtroom to begin another life.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Sweet Thang

  “I wish Reece would call,” Dana said. “Shouldn’t he have been here by now? I’d call him, but I don’t want to call attention to him if he’s somewhere people might notice.”

  “Call him,” Frank said. “The phone’s on vibrator. That’s the way it’s programmed.”

  Dana dialed Reece’s number, but he didn’t answer. She tried half a dozen more times, but he still didn’t respond. She left message after message. “Now I’m worried.”

  “No sense worrying till you have to.”

  The door buzzer rang.

  “That’s probably him now.” Frank pointed to the intercom. “Go see, Lana.”

  Lana pushed the button. “Yes.”

  “Mokey.”

  Dana looked at Frank. “Who’s Mokey?”

  “My pick-up man.”


  “Do I want to know this?”

  “Probably not.”

  Lana hit the buzzer and opened the door. A lanky, light-skinned African-American sauntered in, but before Lana could close the door, three men announcing themselves as police forced their way in behind him.

  “You have no right to barge in here,” Lana said.

  “Every right in the world,” one of the cops said, waving a warrant in her face. They moved into the living room and did the same in front of Frank’s recliner. The youngest cop made his way through the apartment.

  Dana’s heart pumped so fast she thought it would lurch from her chest. So far, none of the cops paid her any attention. She wanted to slink away into the closet before they did. But hiding now wasn’t an option.

  “How’ya doing, bagman?” said the oldest cop, a big man with red spidery veins feathering a large round Irish face. His voice oozed disdain.

  “Bagman, my ass, Belue,” Frank said. “Can’t you see I’m a dying man? I ain’t got the strength for the rackets anymore.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll tell you what I see.” He nodded toward Mokey. “I see a skinny runner come to collect money from an even skinnier bagman. That’s what I see.”

  “Why don’t you get off my ass? Your guys didn’t find anything here the other—”

  Frank stopped in mid-sentence. His gaunt face turned red as he’d obviously said something he shouldn’t have. Dana knew what it was. The people who searched the house the other day weren’t looking for racket money. They were looking for Reece and her.

  “You know what he’s talking about Sam?” Belue said to the other cop.

  Sam’s gaze rested on Dana. A smile started slow and stretched into a big grin. “I do now. Must’ve been Homicide here the other day, ’cause you know who we have here, Belue? If you don’t, you haven’t been following the news. This here’s that woman from North Carolina run off with, what’s his name, Daughtry, wanted for double murder down there.”

  “You don’t say. Well, what’d’ya know? You’re under arrest,” Belue said to Dana. “You’re all under arrest.”