Murder Deja Vu (32 page)

“What’s going to happen to me? Can they put me in jail again?”

“Right now, they can’t prove you had anything to do with Reece leaving Harold County. You drove here in your father’s old pickup to visit Reece’s friend, a dying man. Not logical when you left a nice Jeep at home, but so what. No one saw you and Reece together, and Frank won’t talk.”

“Not very believable, is it?”

“No, but who’s to say you knew you were wanted or that you watched TV or read the papers? Now if Reece had been there, it’d be another story. I’d say you did some pretty quick thinking.”

“Don’t forget, I write suspense novels, but I doubt I could have thought of any scenario like the one I’m involved in now.”

“And to find out you were having an affair with a black man. And a young stud at that.”

“I know they didn’t buy that.”

“Hell, no. But the idea made me smile.” Jeraldine looked around. “Where the fuck are we? There has to be a restaurant nearby. I need a drink. It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

“After today, I could go for one myself.”

Jeraldine flipped open her phone and called Clarence. “Got her out of the hoosegow, babe.” She listened.

Dana watched Jeraldine’s face, whose expression went from elated to deflated. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, God, no,”
Jeraldine
said.

Dana edged on her seat. “What? Tell me.”

Jeraldine motioned Dana to wait. “What are they saying?” She listened, then said, “Call me back when you know something.”

“Something bad,” Dana said. “Reece. Is he all right?”

“Carl shot him. He’s being rushed by ambulance to the hospital. Clarence is on his way.”

Dana gasped for breath. The view out the window blurred, sounds echoed. She felt herself sliding sideways as her body went limp. The car swerved and stopped. The sting of Jeraldine’s hand across her face woke her.

“Don’t you go out on me, hear? Don’t do it.” Jeraldine snatched a bottle of water from the console. “Here. Drink, Dana. Hear me?”

Dana turned her head. Jeraldine pushed a bottle to her mouth. She drank without thinking and choked out a cough when it slithered down her throat the wrong way. That brought her back. Breathing took all her concentration.

“Is he going to—” She couldn’t say it.

“I don’t know.”

“I need to go to him.”

“We’re going. If he can talk, I don’t want the police to get to him without me being there. Clarence is there, but he’s not Reece’s lawyer. He’s good at working with cops, though. Damn, if I needed a drink before, I sure as hell need one now. A double.”

W
hen Clarence arrived at the emergency entrance of Mercy Hospital, the paramedics had already taken Reece into the ER. Two police cars had arrived before him. He parked his car and hurried inside, sick to his stomach at the thought that Reece could have been fatally wounded. He wasn’t a praying man. If he were, he’d be praying now.

The place swarmed with people. Patients, doctors, nurses, and cops milled around the desk. Clarence waited his turn to get the attention of the admitting nurse. “Can you tell me about the man you just brought in?”

“Are you a relative?”

“No, but I’m a close friend.”

“Sorry, I can’t give out any information.”

“Can you tell me if he’s alive?”

She scowled at Clarence and turned to a new arrival flashing his badge. Clarence recognized him as one of the detectives coming out of Daughtry Custom Homes. He moved closer to hear the exchange.

“They called in the best heart surgeon in the area,” the nurse said to the detective. “They’re prepping Mr. Daughtry for surgery as we speak. That’s all I know.”

“Will you tell me as soon as you know something?” the cop said.

“It might be awhile. If I find out anything before I go off duty, I’ll let you know. For now, you can wait over there.” She pointed to a half-filled bank of chairs lining the waiting room wall.

“Thanks.” The cop turned and noticed Clarence.

“Sorry,” Clarence said. “I couldn’t help eavesdrop. She wouldn’t tell me anything.”

He nodded. “Not much to tell right now. Didn’t I see you at the crime scene? The officer outside said you work for Reece Daughtry’s attorney, right?”

“Correct. Clarence Wright. I’m a retired cop. Detroit.” He offered his hand. “Are you the detective who interviewed Carl Daughtry?”

The cop gripped Clarence’s hand. “No, but I was in there. Dennis Tobey.” Tobey directed Clarence away from the admittance desk. “Carl and I have a history. I only observed.”

Clarence didn’t know what Tobey meant by history and made a mental note to pursue it later. Now he wanted to know about Reece. “Did Reece have a gun?”

“Not that we’ve found. Forensics is still at the scene. We’ll know more when they finish.” Tobey pointed to two men drinking from Styrofoam cups. “Let’s ask the paramedics. They know more about Reece’s condition than anyone right now.”

Clarence followed Tobey to the two men huddled in conversation in the waiting room. The young guy looked like he’d just graduated from high school, the other like he’d been around the block a few times. Probably a military medic, Clarence guessed. They both looked up.

“What’s the story, Matt?” Tobey asked the older one.

“I don’t know. We had him stabilized when we brought him in. I can tell you one thing, if he didn’t have this in his shirt pocket, he’d’ve been dead for sure, even from a .22.” He extracted a mangled piece of silver metal from his pocket and handed it to the detective. “I’ve been waiting to give this to you. We ripped his shirt open in the office, then this fell to the floor in the ambulance.”

Tobey took the twisted fragment and turned it in his hand. Clarence looked at it more closely. In spite of the damage, he knew what it was. Elated and disheartened at the same time, Clarence realized that Reece had done exactly what he should have—record his conversation with Carl. Except the recorder wouldn’t tell the story of what went on between the Daughtry brothers. Clarence hoped at least the recorder saved Reece’s life.

“What else did Carl Daughtry say, Detective?” Clarence asked.

“You know I can’t talk about that.”

“Reece Daughtry’s future is at stake. If he lives.”

The cop twisted his mouth into an unreadable expression. “I went to school with Reece. None of this makes sense. It didn’t make sense twenty years ago.”

“Come on, Detective. I need to keep Reece from taking another fall. Help me out here.”

Tobey pulled Clarence aside. “Carl said Reece told him he went crazy and killed those women in North Carolina. Reece wanted Carl to help him get to Canada. When Carl refused, Reece went for the gun their father kept in the desk drawer, and it accidentally went off while they wrestled for it.”

“That’s bullshit,” Clarence said under his breath. “That twisted piece of metal you have in your hand?” Clarence pointed to the digital recorder. “Reece went to his brother’s office to get him to confess to killing not only the girl in North Carolina but the woman in Boston. My guess is Reece got it all on this recorder. Once Carl confessed, he couldn’t let Reece leave, so he shot him in cold blood.”

“That’s a lot of guessing, Mr. Wright,” Tobey said. “Even if Reece pulls through, it’s his word against his brother’s. Carl has a lot of friends in Portland, and with Reece’s history, whatever he says will be suspect.”

Clarence couldn’t argue. That’s probably how it would play out. “Shit.” He wondered what made Reece zero in on Carl to buy the recorder in the first place. After Reece spoke to both Cabrini and Yarrow, he’d obviously eliminated them, but Jordan Kraus still remained a possibility.

So what did he learn and from whom did he learn it? Only one answer made sense. Thom Daughtry. He was the old anger Reece wanted to rid from his heart. Clarence knew the patriarch had suffered a major heart attack and had been moved to a private nursing home. He checked his watch. It’d be awhile before they released news of Reece’s condition.

“You know which nursing home Daughtry senior is at?” he asked Tobey.

“The Willows. Why? You going to see him?”

“Yeah, about some old anger,” Clarence said, and left Tobey scratching his head. On the way out, he asked the guard at the door for directions to the nursing home. It took him twenty minutes to get there. When he arrived, he learned that Thom Daughtry had suffered a massive heart attack and passed away not ten minutes
before
.

“There was nothing anyone could do,” the receptionist said.

D
ana stared out the window on the drive to Portland, seeing nothing but a colorless blur, hearing only the steady hum of the road. Jeraldine left her alone, and Dana silently thanked her.

She thought about how dramatically her life had changed in such a short time, how it would change again if Reece were no longer part of it. She pushed everything from her mind, but Reece flooded back in visual and sensory flashes—his gentle touch on her shoulders, his warm breath on her breasts. She pictured his lean, muscular body stretched catlike on the bed, listening to her every word, enthralled by her stories. If she closed her eyes, she felt his aura surround her. She didn’t realize tears were crawling down her cheeks until Jeraldine reached across the console to hand her a tissue, and she heard her own sobs.

“Don’t think the worst,” Jeraldine said. “That’s when bad things happen.”

“I’m trying not to, but Reece is so vivid in my mind.”

“In mine too.” Jeraldine’s cell chirped, and she glanced at the readout. “Clarence.” She punched the talk button. “Tell me something good, honey.” She listened. “We’re halfway there. Should be pulling into Portland in another hour or so. See you then.”

“How is he?”

“Clarence doesn’t know. Reece is still in surgery, but he’s alive. Fucker brother shot him in the chest. Seems Reece went into Carl’s office with a digital recorder in his breast pocket. The damn thing saved his life, but no one will ever hear what he recorded.”

“So if he survives, they’ll arrest him.”

“We don’t know that, Dana. Clarence thinks there are enough holes in Carl’s story to prod the police to investigate. He doesn’t know all the facts, and only one cop talked to him. Bad part, honey, is he wondered if Reece’s father may have said something that turned Reece onto Carl, but when Clarence went to talk to the old man, he’d just died.”

“Oh, no. Now if Reece—” She covered her mouth to keep the dreaded words from spilling out.

“He won’t. He’s been through too much to give up now. He’s learned to be a fighter. It’s built into his character.”

Dana knew Jeraldine’s words were meant to comfort her, but wishes and positive thinking wouldn’t stop a bullet from robbing her of Reece. And if Clarence couldn’t find the truth and Reece died, he’d forever be branded a murderer. Dana couldn’t stand that.

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Clarence met them at the hospital. Dana searched his face for any sign of bad news, but she couldn’t read him.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked.

Clarence pecked Jeraldine’s cheek and snaked his arm around Dana’s shoulder. “He’s out of surgery. Looks like he’s going to make it. It’s not as bad as they first thought, thanks to the recorder.”

Dana gulped down a sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Had she been alone, she would have broken down completely. “Thank God.”

“I’ve reserved a couple of hotel rooms nearby. They won’t let anyone see him until tomorrow anyway. I heard there’s a guard on Reece’s door. That’s not a good sign.”

“You mean they believe Carl’s story?”

“There’s no reason for the police not to. Carl’s a well-thought of member of the community.”

“What did Carl say exactly?” Jeraldine asked.

“That Reece asked him for help to cross the border into Canada. If Reece were guilty, that would be a logical thing to do. Carl said he refused. Then Reece went for the gun his father kept in the drawer. They fought over it and the gun went off.”

“Never happened,” Jeraldine said. “Reece would never resort to using a gun.”

“Exactly what I said, almost verbatim,” Clarence said. “I don’t think forensics will support Carl’s story unless Reece went after the gun to protect himself after Carl pulled it. We’ll have to wait and see. But Reece is wanted for double murder. Going for the gun would be the act of a desperate man, and desperate men resort to desperate measures. Believable to anyone who didn’t know him.”

“Well, shit.” Jeraldine put her arm around Dana. “Come on, honey. If Clarence says Carl’s story won’t hold water, it won’t.”

Dana marveled at Jeraldine’s confidence, but nothing Dana heard made her feel any better. Reece lay in a hospital bed with a guard at his door. The police or the FBI were probably ready to charge him with both murders to close the case and look like heroes.

“I know he made an effort not to show preference,” Clarence said, “but the one cop I talked to went to school with Reece. If I had to judge, I think he’d be on our side. ’Course that means shit. They’ll go with the facts, and right now Reece looks guilty as sin.”