Murder Deja Vu

by Polly Iyer

  “On what charge?” Dana asked.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “On what charge?”

  Belue sputtered. “Aiding and abetting a suspected murderer and flight to avoid prosecution, for starters. How do you like them apples?”

  Dana’s heart rate ratcheted up another notch. All her years with Robert flooded back. All the legal terminology. All Robert’s stories. “No one was prosecuting me, so that’s not an issue. And where’s the suspected murderer?” She looked around. “I don’t see anyone here wanted for murder. Frank, you’re not wanted for murder, are you? Lana?” She looked back at the cop, hoping the rumbling inside her didn’t show. “There’s no one here by the name of Daughtry for me to aid and abet. I’m visiting a friend. I had no idea anyone was looking for me.”

  The young cop came out of the guest bedroom. “Then whose are these?” he said, holding Reece’s duffel bag in the air.

  “Mine,” Mokey said without losing a beat. “I’ve been staying here occasionally. My old lady threw me out. Frank’s been putting me up.”

  “And you’ve been sleeping with her?” Belue said.

  “Yeah, you got a problem with that? Maybe you don’t like interracial relationships. Is that your problem? You a racist, Belue?”

  “A little old for you, ain’t she, Mokey? Bet she’s as old as your mother.”

  “Look at her.” Mokey gestured toward Dana. “Age is relative. Would you pass up a sweet thang like her?”

  Dana felt herself blushing. This longshot was not going to work, but they were sure giving it a worthy try. She stood, threw out her chest, and faced Belue. “I find your remark not only offensive, officer, but sexist and age discriminatory. It’s quite the thing nowadays for older women to partner with younger men.”

  “Yeah,” Mokey said. “She a cougar.”

  “And where’s Reece Daughtry?”

  “I have no idea,” Dana said. “Obviously, he’s not here, and you’d have a hard time proving he has been.”

  Belue grabbed Dana’s arm and yanked her toward the door. “We’ll see about that, little lady.” He shot a glare at Frank. “I’ll be back to get you, old man.”

  “Better make it fast, Irishman,” Frank said. “I won’t be here long.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  And Then There Were None

  Clarence felt the phone pulse against his hip. He looked at the readout. No number. Must be Reece. He pulled off the road to take the call.

  “It’s Vance. Your phone clean?”

  “Yes.”

  “I fucked up, Wright. Big time.”

  Clarence heard a woman’s voice in the background trying to calm the old man as he explained what happened.

  “They would have seen her eventually, Frank,” Clarence said. “Didn’t matter what you said or didn’t say. Nothing you could do about it.”

  “Maybe, but maybe they wouldn’t have recognized her. I didn’t have to ring the fucking bell for them.”

  Again, the voice in the background warned Frank he was getting too excited and to please take it easy. Frank answered away from the receiver. “How do you expect me to take it easy when I’ve just screwed up everything?”

  “Not your fault,” Clarence said. “Most things like that happen by accident. Take it easy.”

  “They came here to search for racket money. Of course they didn’t find any. But they saw Dana and hauled her out of here. But, man, you should have heard her. I never heard anything so sweet in my life.” He went into Dana’s defensive act. “She was brilliant. Defiant as hell.”

  “Smart lady. I’ll call Jeraldine and tell her what happened and that the cops in Lynn have Dana. I’d warn Reece not to go back to your place, but he’s not answering his phone. They’ll be waiting for him.”

  “We haven’t been able to reach him either. You find out anything?”

  “Yeah. Our killer isn’t Jordan Kraus, I would’ve put money on him, but I just left his house. He’s blind and couldn’t have killed Rayanne Johnson. Then I called Steve Yarrow. Reece left him saying something about clearing up old angers. Any idea what that means, Frank?”

  “Gotta be either the brother or the father, my guess.”

  “That’s what I thought. I think Reece might be on a collision course with the real murderer. I’m halfway to Portland now.”

  “So if it isn’t one of the three guys, my subtraction leaves only one other person.”

  “Right. Brother Carl.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Frank said. “His own brother. Reece could be walking into a trap.”

  “Right again. This thing is coming to a head. Reece has a two-hour jump on me. I can’t beat him to Portland, but my starting point was nearer. It’ll be close. I’m on my way, but I may be too late.”

  “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but do you think you should call the Portland police?”

  “Considering Reece is wanted for two murders, the police might shoot him, no matter what I tell them. That kind of thing’s happened before.”

  “Reece is a loose cannon,” Frank said. “No telling what he’ll do if the police corner him. He’d rather die than go back to prison.”

  “Another reason not to call the police. Gotta go.”

  Clarence punched in Jeri’s number. Her secretary answered. “Tell her to call me ASAP. That’s like yesterday, Doreen.” He disconnected the call and stepped on the gas.

  When Jeraldine called back, Clarence repeated what Frank told him and how Dana had handled herself.

  “Quick thinking, but unless they can prove she was with Reece, they don’t have enough to hold her for long,” she said. “I’m on my way. Shit, can this get any more complicated?”

  “Yeah. You want to hear what I found out?”

  “Only if it’s good. Is it good?”

  “Not really.”

  “Let me call you back from the car. I need to tell the office where I’m going and have them track down a bail bondsman in case I need one. Gotta be one step ahead. I’m on the move, love. Back in a flash.”

  Frank was right—clearing up old business meant either Carl or his father. His father couldn’t physically hurt Reece, but if Clarence had this figured right, Carl could and would. That son of a bitch. Nailing his brother for double murder.

  Could Reece have found out? If so, how? And if he did, he could be walking into a trap right now. Clarence needed to warn him. He pressed the Send button. “Come on, Reece. Answer, dammit.” Nothing.

  Timing meant everything.

  He slammed his foot on the accelerator.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  A Hopeless Choice

  Why, Carl?

  The question bounced around in Reece’s mind as he sped away from the nursing home. He punched the steering wheel. “Damn!” His brother hated him. Why? What had he ever done to Carl?

  His head pounded. A breath huffed out of his lungs. Then another and another, until he was gasping for air. Rage filled his insides, and he felt the vise tightening in his chest.

  His brother stole his life twenty-one years ago, and he was trying to do it again.

  Reece sailed through a red light.

  Pull yourself together. Don’t get stopped for a traffic violation. He had to think. Where? The dog park. Space. He needed space.

  If he were home, he’d run the mountain roads to drive out his demons. But he wasn’t home. He was running from the police. Wanted for a murder his brother committed to cast suspicion on him.

  Again, he asked why?

  Few cars at the dog park. He pulled his cap low, pushed the sunglasses back on his nose. Nothing he could do about his height. He always stood out. He navigated the paths and bridges, weighing his options. Think smart. He’d been taking chances, walking into the lives of people who could have turned him in. He’d come to the end of the line.

  His own brother.

  There must have been signs. He’d even considered the possibility but rejected it as being impossible. Reece didn’t un
derstand, and he doubted Carl could say anything that would help.

  How long had he walked? Half an hour? Circling and circling. Passing people who paid him no mind. He checked his watch. A little after one. Where was Carl now? At the business? Out to lunch?

  The only way to clear himself was to make Carl confess. Trade one life for another. Isn’t that what Carl did? If he were a police informer, he’d wear a wire. Well, he didn’t have a wire, but he could do the next best thing. He sprinted back to his car.

  Portland had changed in twenty-one years. It was still a beautiful city. Maybe more beautiful. But it wasn’t home anymore. What remained of Reece’s life here were frayed strands that connected to family and friends who had turned their backs on him. Same with Boston. Would the latest tragedies taint how he felt about the North Carolina home he’d grown to love?

  Reece remembered where a chain electronics store used to be. He bet they’d have what he needed. He drove to find it still there. Inside, he avoided looking directly at anyone, then thought maybe the straight-on approach would be less obvious. So he smiled at those who caught his eye, acting anything other than a wanted man. He located a small, handheld digital recorder that fit unobtrusively into his shirt pocket, where dialogue would record clearer than if he put it in his pants. He bought batteries, paid in cash, and left without drawing anyone’s suspicion. At least he hoped so.

  Inside the car, he read the directions to the recorder. Record and Stop were activated by the same button. He inserted the batteries and tested a few sentences to make sure he had the feel of it. When he did, he drove to Daughtry Custom Homes. Someone would probably call the police. That was okay. He planned to get what he needed before they arrived, then give himself up. He couldn’t run any more. He thought of calling Dana but changed his mind. This was something he had to do, and he didn’t want to be talked out of it.

  Daughtry Custom Homes occupied half a block on a main thoroughfare. Reece hadn’t seen it in two decades. They’d renovated. Nothing he would have designed for the home office of the largest builder in the state, but then he wasn’t their architect. The man who’d taken what would have been his position had left years ago, he’d heard, and others had come and gone since. The thought triggered a wave of nostalgia, but now wasn’t the time for what might have been.

  Carl’s SUV sat in his father’s parking space, at the side entrance, under a columned portico. Reece checked his watch. Almost two. Now or never. You can do this.

  The lobby décor, all taupes and beiges, fit Daughtry Homes ersatz Italianate image. The style seemed fussy and somewhat retro, as young, upwardly mobile couples now trended for simple, clean lines with no pretense.

  No one sat behind the receptionist’s desk. Reece checked his watch. A late lunch hour? Day off? He walked toward his father’s old office and stood in front of the closed door, stepping back in time. Thom Daughtry’s name had been etched on a bronze plaque when he inhabited the office. Now, Carl’s name in brass replaced it. Reece closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, let it out. Again. He turned the knob and entered. Shut the door behind him. Twisted the latch.

  The office looked different. Same layout but a different color paint and new carpet. Carl sat behind his father’s big carved antique desk, appearing smaller somehow, as if he didn’t quite fit the man who preceded him. He glanced up from his phone conversation, froze when he saw Reece.

  “Gotta go, Jasper. I’ll talk to you later.” With his eyes riveted on Reece, he said, “No, not tonight. Listen, sorry, but something just came up. I’ll take a rain check.” He placed the receiver on the cradle. “Reece. What…what are you doing here? The cops and FBI have been all over me, asking if I’ve seen you. Of course I said no. I didn’t tell them about yesterday. I wouldn’t. But they have to be keeping an eye on this place. The house too.”

  Carl looked every inch the executive. Reece found the suit and tie off-putting. Maybe men in charge of building McMansions were supposed to look like Wall Street big shots these days, but Reece had pictured himself less formal. More hands-on. Maybe because he’d never been the type to sit behind a desk.

  He noticed a sheen of perspiration sprout across Carl’s top lip. His eyes darted, as if he couldn’t face Reece straight on. Had he realized why Reece was here?

  “Doesn’t matter,” Reece said. “I’m turning myself in after this visit.”

  Carl rose to his feet. “You can’t. You’ll go back to prison.”

  A strange calm settled over Reece as soon as he closed the office door behind him. It was as if his whole life at that moment had fallen into place. Carl, on the other hand, looked as if he were about to dissolve into a puddle. “Maybe.”

  “You don’t have to, you know. I’ll help you get away. Up to Canada. Montreal’s only a couple hundred miles. From there you can get lost. They’ll never find you. You’ll be safe.”

  Reece tried to look as if he was considering the offer, then said, “Hmm, no. I thought about it, but that’s not how I want to live. Besides, I’d never get past the border.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, I’ve spent the last few hours wondering why.”

  Carl squinted. A tic twitched his left cheek as he lowered himself into his chair. “Why? Why what?”

  His gaze steady, Reece focused on his brother. “Why you framed me for Karen’s murder.”

  Carl’s weak laugh offered no sign of outrage. He planted his palms on the desk and leaned forward. “Wha—? Where did you get that notion? You’re joking, right? You have to be.” His laughter died in his throat, and he slumped back into his chair, twisting his face in mock indignation. “How…how can you say that? You’re looking for someone to blame, and I’m the one left, is that it?”

  Reece hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and watched his brother squirm. He didn’t answer.

  “I told them at the trial you couldn’t have killed anyone. You heard me. What else could I have said? Haven’t I been there for you all these years? Supported you?” Rivulets of sweat crawled down from Carl’s hairline. He reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket for a handkerchief and dabbed it across his forehead and cheeks.

  If Carl were strapped to a lie detector, the needle would vault off the paper. “You could have said you killed her. That’s the truth, isn’t it? You killed Karen and left me to take the blame. Then you told Dad I confessed to you. He told me today when I visited him.”

  Carl made a strange noise. Not a laugh, not the sound of righteous anger. “The old man said that? He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s sick, out of touch with reality. I never said anything of the kind. Never.”

  “To bastardize the quote, ‘The gentleman doth protest too much.’”

  “It’s true, Reece. Think. Why would I kill Karen? We got it on a couple of times, like I told you. I barely knew her.”

  Reece almost could have believed his brother if he weren’t sweating like an overworked racehorse. Innocent men didn’t do that. They didn’t sputter lies. “You’re sweating, Carl. Why? It’s cool in here. Downright chilly, in fact. Must be sixty.”

  Carl pulled his shirt away from his neck and rotated his head. “Seems hot. I’m wearing a suit and tie. Hate the damn things.”

  Reece marveled at his own composure, words steady and unrushed. “Then why wear them? You’re the boss. You can do anything you want.”

  “Dad insisted. I got into the habit.”

  “Seems like you got into the habit of lying too. You lied to everyone. To me, to Dad, to the court. You’re lying now. Why? What did I ever do to turn you against me?”

  “You have to stop this.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “What you think I did is ludicrous. You’re my brother, for crissakes.”

  Reece moved toward the visitor’s chair. Carl stood. His hand lurched toward the desk drawer. Reece had forgotten his father kept a .22 revolver there. He never understood why. No one robbed a business like Daughtry Custom Homes. They never kept cash, only checks in large amounts�
��large enough to make the Daughtrys rich beyond the comprehension of most people, with an estate on the coveted Maine coastline.

  Carl yanked the gun from the drawer and waved it at Reece with a shaky hand. A few months ago Reece wouldn’t have cared if Carl shot him. But he cared now. He had carved out a life and had someone he wanted to share it with. He pictured Dana and knew he didn’t want to die. “Are you going to shoot me?”

  “I could. No one would blame me.”

  Reece took another step forward. “No, they wouldn’t. I’m wanted for two murders in North Carolina I know nothing about. And I think you committed one of them, maybe both. Tell me I’m wrong.” He didn’t move. “Please, Carl. Tell me.”

  Carl swallowed and shook his head. He brushed the back of his left hand under his nose to wipe away the moisture. “I know nothing about the second one. It wasn’t me.”

  Reece’s stomach rolled over. The second one. Which meant Carl knew about the first—the poor beheaded girl in Corley. Ever since he heard his father’s words incriminating Carl, Reece retained a small glimmer of hope that there had been a misunderstanding. An old man’s lapse of memory. Something. Now he knew differently.

  He debated going for the gun. He’d always been stronger than Carl. Certainly now more so. Carl looked soft. The result of the good life. Reece wasn’t soft. Prison had toughened him, turned him hard in more ways than physically.

  But he couldn’t beat a bullet.

  If he charged to take away the gun, his brother would pull the trigger. Everyone would applaud and say You rid the world of a murderer, Carl, and give him a medal. They might learn the truth from the recorder unless Carl found it first and destroyed it. Then Reece Daughtry would go to his grave a murderer, and the world would never know what really happened. He stumbled to the chair and collapsed into it. He needed time.

  “After spending a third of my life in prison, I have a right to know why you killed her. Then you can shoot me if you want.” He crossed his calf over his thigh, the guise of appearing relaxed, the recorder in his breast pocket, listening. “Why, Carl?”