Dead Man's Image

by Curry, Edna

  “Right. But he won't find anything because I've never been fingerprinted in my life.”

  “Oh.” She popped the soda and drank.

  “So you really didn't trust me. You weren't sure I was telling you the truth, were you?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I was just doing my job, and protecting myself.” She looked at him warily. “Now Ben also knows the dead man isn't you, Paul, 'cause your dental records don't match his. But he hasn't figured out who the victim is, yet, and he's mad 'cause he thinks I have.”

  “I don't get it.”

  She gave a little laugh. “We go back a long way, Ben and I. He was a good friend of my dad before he died. And when my Uncle Henry was still alive and I stayed with him, he'd bring his card group to our house. I'd bake cookies and fix lunch for them. Ben was in that card group and he still seems to think he should take my uncle's place as my guardian—”

  He frowned. “I thought you said you still have a mother.”

  “I do. Ben knows we don't see much of each other and we both like it that way.”

  “But...”

  “Ben is just being an old mother hen. Don't worry about him, Paul. It's like a family squabble—not important to anyone else.”

  Paul was looking at her. “So Ben thinks he's your substitute family, or what?”

  She laughed. “He's more like the town guard dog, or maybe a mother lion protecting her cubs. No, never mind. It's ancient history. Anyway, he was one of my late Uncle Henry's best friends, so I've known him for years. We're good friends, but there's also a lot of rivalry between us now that I've become a private eye.”

  “Hadn't you better call him, then?”

  Lacey shook her head. “Ben won't know that I've gotten his message before I come back home. Let him stew a while. Maybe after he thinks it over, he'll figure it out, or remember that identical twins have identical fingerprints.”

  “They do?” Paul sounded surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “But if John's prints are the same as mine, any police record he might have would be in their computer, too, wouldn't it? They might just think another name was my alias?”

  She shrugged. “That's the chance we'll have to take. At least if the computer has a record of the prints, they should have another name and address to check out besides yours.”

  Paul clapped a hand to the side of his head and sent her a dark scowl. “Great, Lacey. If this address is in their computer, they might show up here at any time. We'd better get out of here.”

  “I think Ben would have said something about it in his message if he'd learned that, Paul.” Walking to the window, she tipped back her soda can to allow the cold liquid to soothe her dry throat while she stared out at the setting sun. “But you're right. We'd better get back.”

  He downed his soda and said, “Okay. I'm going to take some of these photo albums to look at later.”

  Lacey looked startled. “Paul, maybe we shouldn't take anything from here. You know, because the police will come check this place out as soon as they realize it's John who's dead. The landlord is already going to be mad if they tell him you're not John....”

  “So what? If, as you say, he's my identical twin, I should at least be entitled to look at some of his stuff.”

  “But what if he was killed here? We'd be messing up a crime scene....” This apartment wasn't within Ben's jurisdiction. If the local police found out she'd been here, she might be able to convince them she'd had no idea it was a crime scene. But Ben wouldn't believe that, and would soon tell them different as well.

  “Do you see any evidence of a murder here? A fight? Any blood?”

  Shrugging, she sipped the cool drink as her gaze swung around the apartment. “No, everything looks neat and ordinary to me.”

  “So, I'm taking a few picture albums. Big deal. I'll give them back to his parents after I look at them.”

  She sighed. She understood his loneliness, his need to know anything he could find out about his birth family. “All right.”

  He handed her the one he'd been looking at, and pulled a couple more out of the bookcase. One was a large zippered notebook. He unzipped it, saw some pictures, and grabbed it as well.

  “Okay, let's get out of here.”

  ***

  The watching man sat in his dark-blue pick-up down the street from John Jay Henry's apartment, frowning at the light in the window of John's apartment.

  John should be at work at this hour. He'd said he had no relatives in this area. His adopted parents were now retired and living in Arizona. As far as the man knew, no one had yet figured out that the murdered man, Paul Menns, had a twin, so who was in that apartment?

  The watcher re-lit his pipe, sucking on it as he kept an eye on the lighted apartment window. A young woman came to the window and stood there a moment, looking out, then disappeared. Who was she?

  Damn it, he had to get in there and see if John had left any evidence of their relationship behind for the cops to find. Sooner or later, the cops would figure out that Paul had a twin and they would be here looking for him. Anybody who would brazenly blackmail him like John had done, even daring to come to his office, must have a police record for other stuff.

  The watcher knew eventually, they'd track John down. When they did, they must not find anything in John's apartment to connect John to him.

  The watcher smoked and fidgeted. What was that woman doing there? Was she perhaps a girl friend he’d given a key to?

  The woman came out of the building with a man. The watcher pulled the bill of his cap lower and glanced at them. There was something familiar about the man with her. The man turned to face him as he helped the young woman into the passenger seat of the red Chevy. He handed her something and walked around to get behind the wheel.

  The watcher drew a sharp breath as he realized it was John. He'd assumed John would run after he murdered Paul. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe John thought no one would connect him to Paul's murder. If so, then he'd keep right on with his blackmailing, wouldn't he?

  The watcher closed his eyes in despair and frustration. When would all of this be over? A man shouldn't have to keep paying and paying the rest of his life for a mistake made in his foolish youth. It wasn't right. He had to be free of him.

  He opened his eyes again. Making up his mind, he started his truck.

  Watching the little red Chevrolet pull out from the curb, he slowly eased his beat-up pickup truck out to follow it. He followed them through the streets and out onto I35. He stayed close, but not close enough to make them suspicious. He memorized their license number so he could find out who the woman was in case it was her car.

  He knew where Paul lived, now, thanks to the article in the Tribune. Funny, for thirty-five years he'd relaxed, thinking he'd was free of the problem. Then, at the worst possible time for his career, John had shown up to blackmail him, saying he needed cash and would tell his story to the newspapers if he didn't get it. He was so unlucky!

  He noted with relief that the sun had set leaving a gorgeous multicolored glow in the west. They drove north for most of an hour in heavy rush-hour traffic. Twilight dimmed. It would soon be dark enough for cover, so John wouldn't recognize him.

  It was just after dark when they turned off the interstate onto a winding, two-lane blacktop. He grinned. He knew this road, it had plenty of hills, curves and lakes. In fact, there was one spot in particular that was dangerous. That spot was a sharp curve overlooking a steep valley of the St. Croix River. It would be perfect. No one would suspect that it wasn't an accident.

  The traffic was less heavy now, though on this curvy road, no one was trying to pass. Damn, ahead of him to the east, a full moon slipped up slowly over the hills, shedding its pale glow over the valley. Well, it wouldn't give enough light to matter.

  As they neared the dangerous curve, he stayed fairly close to the red Chevy. He wasn't taking any chances on losing them.

  He stepped on the gas to get closer, then as they rounded the
curve, he suddenly raced alongside and forced the little Chevy off the road. He sped on, catching a glimpse of the red top in his rear-view mirror. Then he rounded the curve and couldn't see them any more. Heart pounding, he hoped that had solved his problem. If not, he'd have to figure out something else.

  He wished he could go back to make sure he'd succeeded. He didn't want to leave any witnesses, but he knew that if he stopped to make sure he'd taken care of them, he might make someone suspicious or leave evidence behind him.

  Biting his lip in frustration, he took another road as he headed back to search John's apartment as he'd planned to do earlier.

  Martha was going to be mad if he was late for supper again, but business came first. The public didn't like scandals of any kind. Like the one he'd just taken care of.

  ***

  As they pulled out into the street in front of John's apartment, Lacey rested her head back, half-dozing. It felt so good to be able to relax and have Paul do the driving. She hated rush hour traffic with a vengeance. He seemed lost in thought, no doubt thinking about the new details they'd learned about his brother.

  An hour later, dozing, she was aware that they were now off the freeway. He'd started around a curve when he suddenly swore and jerked the wheel hard and slammed on his brakes.

  “Drunken fool!”

  Hearing squealing brakes amid the grating sound of metal against metal and breaking glass, Lacey jerked to attention, opening her eyes and reaching out to brace herself against the dashboard as the car was slammed forward. A scream burst from her suddenly dry throat.

  “Hold on!” Paul yelled at her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a large, dark-colored pickup truck weaving on the road just ahead of them. Knuckles white, she held on as pebbles of glass rained onto her lap. The car bounced and wove off the road. When she looked again, the pick-up had disappeared around the curve. If only she'd seen the license number!

  Paul gripped the steering wheel hard as he glanced after the pickup, and fought to control the car. There was a loud grating sound as they bounced to a stop. He turned to look at Lacey.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, white faced and tight-lipped.

  Lacey wet her stiff lips and nodded. Her car was tipped at a crazy angle, and she was wedged against her door by her own weight. She released her seatbelt to try to right herself. “Yes, At least, I...I think so.”

  “Thank God!”

  She tried to open her door, but it refused to budge. “The door's jammed against a large rock, maybe I can get out of the broken window.”

  But beyond the rock, the moonlight showed her nothing but air. Looking down, she saw the twinkling lights of the little town reflected on the curve of water far below. She gasped, realizing where they were. It was a couple hundred feet straight down the valley to the St. Croix River. “Paul,” she said, her stomach suddenly queasy. “We almost went over the cliff.”

  “I know. But we didn't.” His voice was strained. He released his seat belt and climbed carefully out of the car.

  A car stopped on the blacktop above and behind them. A middle-aged couple rushed over to the edge of the road and looked down at them, both talking at once. “What happened?”

  “Can we help? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “No,” Paul called to them.

  She could barely see the couple in the moonlight, standing there helplessly watching them, as the traffic whizzed on by. A strong odor seemed to surround them.

  “Oh, no,” Lacey exclaimed. “Gasoline! What if it starts on fire? We've got to get out!”

  Paul's voice came to her in the darkness, reassuring and strong. “Come out this way. Careful, now.” She felt his hand grip her coat. She grabbed her purse and climbed over the gearbox to follow him. He helped her up the steep bank to the side of the road.

  “Are you sure you're all right?” The man played a flashlight over them. Lacey squinted, and raised a hand to shield her eyes from their bright car lights.

  “Yes, I'm fine. How about you, Paul?”

  He nodded. “But the car isn't.”

  She followed his gaze toward her car. Besides the broken windshield and side window, the driver's door was bashed in, the front tire was flat and the wheel looked bent as well.

  “It's off the road so it's not a hazard. Should we stay here and report the accident?”

  She shrugged. “I think we can get by with just calling it in as long as my car was the only one involved and no one was hurt.”

  The man offered, “Do you live around here? We could give you a lift home. Or take you to a station to get a tow truck.”

  “Certainly,” the woman seconded his offer graciously. “No problem.”

  “Lacey?” Paul looked at her for a decision.

  She nodded. “Thank you. A ride into town might be best. My friend, Marion, lives here. I'll call a tow truck from her house.”

  She watched as Paul got his sunglasses and the albums that he'd taken from John's house from the back seat of her car. He put the glasses on and pulled his cap lower over his eyes. Was he worried that this couple might recognize him from the news reports? She and Paul climbed into the back seat of the couple's car.

  As they started off, she said, “Just drop us at the restaurant on the corner by the stoplight. I'll call my friend from there.”

  Paul put his arm around her to cuddle her close. “I'm so sorry, Lacey,” he murmured into her hair. “That pickup seemed to come out of nowhere.”

  “Don't worry about it,” she said. “We're okay, that's all that matters.” She shivered.

  “Cold?” He opened his coat and pulled her against his side to take advantage of their combined body heat, then wrapped his coat around them both.

  “It must be reaction to the accident. It's not that cold outside.”

  “We'll be there in a minute, and we'll get you something hot to drink.”

  She nodded, recognizing the town just ahead. The streets were crowded with cars and people filled the sidewalks. “Damn, I forgot it was Spring Festival week,” she said.

  They drove up the crowded street and their rescuer stopped as near to the restaurant as he could. Climbing out, Paul and Lacey thanked the couple profusely. He opened the restaurant door for her with one hand while cradling the albums in the other.

  She noticed that Paul limped as they walked inside. “You are hurt.”

  “It's nothing,” Paul insisted. He sat down in the nearest empty booth and laid the albums down beside him.

  “Are you sure?” Frowning, she sat opposite him. Nodding, he ordered coffee.

  She watched the waitress set out cups. The way Paul was trying to take care of her reminded Lacey of the night she'd done the same for him when he'd been in shock after they'd seen his brother's body. Was that only last night?

  She drank the hot coffee gratefully. It tasted delicious, and she allowed him to order sandwiches for them as well. While they waited for their order, she went to the pay phone in the entrance to call her friend, Marion. No answer. So much for staying at Marion's house.

  Now what? Could she possibly find anyone she knew in this festival crowd? With a sinking heart, she acknowledged that the chances were slim to none.

  She called the motel and booked the last room in town, and went back to the booth. Their sandwiches had arrived.

  Paul looked up at her over a fat, juicy burger. “No luck reaching Marion?”

  “No.”

  “Want to wait a bit and try again? She might be back in a little while.”

  Lacey shook her head and picked up her club sandwich. “I doubt that. It's not surprising, with the festival on. Marion owns a dress shop in town, so she's usually deep into committee work for the Chamber of Commerce whenever they put on something like this. It'll probably be hours before she's back home.”

  “So, what'll we do? We're what, twenty miles from your house? There's no taxi service here, is there?”

  She shook her head, swallowing a big bite of sand
wich before she answered. “I've booked us a room in the motel. You need to stay out of sight. We're too visible here.” She certainly didn't need to spend time alone with him in a motel room. Her hormones were humming at the very thought of sharing such an intimate space. But what choice did she have? They could hardly walk that far, or sit outside Marion's house half the night until she returned home.

  She ordered more coffee to go, and after the waitress brought it, said, “Come on. Let's go.”

  Paul dropped some money on the table to pay for their meal, grabbed the albums, and followed her out into the crowded street.

  Music from a small live band on the bar roof bounced between the buildings. Some couples were dancing on a cleared area in the blacktopped parking lot behind the bar. A group of teenagers jostled them, joking and laughing as they headed into the restaurant.

  Paul took her arm protectively and they wove their way to the motel in the next block and stepped into the small lobby next to the bar.

  “Wait here,” she said, handing him the covered cups of coffee. She went into the office alone.

  A few moments later, she returned with a key and led the way up the stairs and down a long, carpeted hall. Loud music blared from a room to their right, and laughter echoed off the walls.

  “Parties go with the festival days, I guess.” She stopped at the end of the hall and unlocked the door of last room.

  Reaching inside, she snapped on the light and went inside, her stomach curling in embarrassment.

  The room held one large queen-sized bed, a couple of upholstered chairs, and little else.

  She glanced at him. Heat climbed up her cheeks and slid through her. “It was the only room they had left.”

  Chapter 8

  “Sharing a bed is fine with me,” Paul said with a grin. He stepped inside, dropped the albums on the bed, then pressed down the mattress with one hand. “Feels comfortable.”

  Lacey glared at him, closed the door and handed him her coffee so she could take off her jacket. The room seemed to close in, and the memory of their near death encounter hummed between them.