Tunnel Vision (5 page)

“OK,” said Betty. “I want to know everything.”

NINE

“That’s not going to be possible,” said Andrea.

The moms were holding hands, Ophelia’s over Andrea’s on the tabletop. Betty wondered how long they’d been waiting for this moment. She’d been friends with June since the second grade, they’d gotten their first periods a month apart, and Betty’s moms had known all along that June’s aunt was dead and that June’s parents wanted it all to just go away.

Now Betty found herself pissed off again.
Things like this don’t stay buried forever
,
she said to herself in her seat, fuming, her eyes flitting back and forth between her parents.

“Why not?” she asked, and even though she knew her tone was shitty she kept her eyes locked with Andrea’s.

“Because we still don’t know everything, Betty.”

Exhaustion was evident in Andrea’s voice, and normally Betty would have recognized that and realized that the conversation could wait a day or two, but not this time. Betty wanted to tear the information from their minds, and then get back online and read everything she could on the subject. She wanted to know all there was to know about Duke and Mandy. She wanted to know why Mandy was dead and why people thought Duke was innocent if he’d confessed to the crime. She wanted to know how June could have grown up in the shadow of all of this but was left with no information.

“I don’t understand,” said Betty. “Should I go look online some more, or can you tell me why in the hell no one knows about this?”

“Relax,” said Ophelia. “You’re getting very aggressive about this, but you don’t need to. This wasn’t a case of keeping something from you because we felt that we had to. There was just no reason to tell you about some poor girl that was killed over a decade ago.”

“Why doesn’t June know?” Betty demanded. “Why doesn’t she catch shit for this from the mean girls and write sad papers about her cool dead aunt? Why was all of this a secret?”

“It’s not a secret just because you’re ignorant of it, Betty,” said Andrea. “The information has always been out there. The fact of the matter is this: the man who killed June’s aunt is a drug addict who has been locked up for half his life. His fingerprints were all over the crime scene—all over Mandy—he had a history of violent behavior, and he confessed to the crime. There was just no reason to talk about this. As for June’s mother, well, not telling June was a decision she made when June was very young, and it’s not up to us to decide if that was a good choice or not.”

“What about me?” Betty whined, hating the sound of her voice. “Why couldn’t you tell me?”

“You weren’t but a year old when the poor girl was killed,” said Ophelia, “and they’ve already convicted a man for what happened to her. Would you have even been interested in a story like that?”

“June would have,” spat Betty, “but that’s not even all of it. You saw the flyer for the show that she brought here. Why do so many people think this Duke guy is innocent?” She turned to Andrea. “I know that he confessed, Mom, but the website I found said that the police broke a lot of laws talking to him, and that—”

“How much bullshit have you read online?”

Andrea asked the question so coldly that it stopped Betty’s stream of questions dead. It was all she could do to keep her eyes locked on her mom’s heated gaze. For the first time, Betty wondered if more time researching this subject might have been a good idea before throwing ideas around the dining room table. “A lot, I guess,” said Betty finally, and Andrea nodded.

“There are a lot of groups like this, Betty, and not all of them are trying to help an innocent man. Just because some guy looks cool and there’s circumstantial evidence suggesting that he might be innocent doesn’t really mean a whole lot. Cases of convicted people being exonerated get a lot of press, but believe me, they’re few and far between. The fact of the matter is that it takes a number of gross mistakes for that sort of thing to happen, and—”

“This doesn’t sound like that, Mom.” Betty couldn’t stop herself from interrupting. “Everything about this sounds really, well, interesting, at the very least. And not just because the girl who got killed was June’s aunt. I only read a little bit about Duke, but it does seem possible that he’s innocent.”

“Betty.” Andrea took a breath and sighed it out. “This guy was convicted by twelve of his peers and he’s been in prison ever since. There’s a reason for that, trust me on this. I see children every day that are at real risk of turning out just like that poor girl. Though hopefully they’ll have a better end, there always seems to be someone around them like Duke. Men like that always find someone weak to be with them, someone they can lord over. And far too often, this is the result: a dead girl and a man sitting in prison and trying to figure out why he did what he did.”

“You’re really turning on that feminine charm, Mom,” said Betty with a grin, and to her relief, Andrea smiled wryly back at her.

“That’s one of my better traits,” Andrea said, “and I thank you for calling attention to it. That said, how’s that paper coming along?”

“All right, all right.” Betty stood and then paused by the table. “Can I tell June about this?”

She watched her mothers exchange glances, and then Ophelia turned to her and said, “That’s up to you, Betty. Just remember, this isn’t going to be just ‘interesting’ or exciting for June. This is probably the biggest skeleton in her family’s closet, and if you act like it’s something to be played with, you’re liable to get burned.”

TEN

I was already pretty familiar with the Mandy Reasoner case before Claire mentioned it in the park, but I knew I needed a refresher to get up to speed, so that’s exactly what I got to work on when I came home.

My office used to always be a mess, but these days I keep it pretty clean, at least by my standards. I’m sure it could still use a good deep cleaning, but I barely even know what that means, so I doubt I’m the right person for the job. That’s OK, though—no one’s been in the house besides me in years, and I like it that way. The house feels like my soul a lot of the time. It’s one of the only things that’s mine, and sharing it could just end up with me getting hurt, or worse. I’ve got experience to back that up: the last time a girl came inside, she broke my heart.

I got right on the hunt as soon as I sat down, even though I was pretty sure I knew what I was going to find. One of the best things about a trial that’s received a lot of publicity is that there is a ton of information out there on it. One of the worst things is that most of that is bullshit. Take any crime tried in the public eye, and you’re going to see a lot of wishful thinking touted as fact. I completely understand not wanting to think the worst of someone, and I fully believe there are a lot of innocent men sitting behind bars. I just don’t think most of the innocent ones are lucky enough to snag a PR campaign.

It becomes apparent immediately that Duke Barnes has picked up even more support since the last time I looked into this mess. Not that I really care much either way. Duke is either guilty or one unlucky son of a bitch, but he’s got public opinion on his side, so it’s really just a matter of time before something happens for him. Granted, that something might not be what he’s hoping for, but a second shot at a trial is still pretty good, especially when the body’s as cold as this one is.

Speaking of the body, the pictures of Mandy blow my mind. When Claire handed me the photo of her daughter, I was struck by her resemblance to the dead girl. But now that I hold the picture up against the screen, I’m dumbfounded. Saying she’s a dead ringer for this poor girl? Probably an understatement. They not only share the same alt look, it’s like some cosmic trickster’s at work. The girl
is
Mandy.

Which is all great, fascinating, even. Except what does it tell me? When Claire first handed over the photo, I was sure that resemblance had a lot to do with why she’d hired me to protect her daughter. But since then I haven’t come a step closer to figuring any of it out.

Start with the facts: June is Mandy’s clone, and at the very least, a blood relative. Could Mandy be her
mother
, and somehow June fell into Claire’s care? Maybe, but highly unlikely. Surely that would’ve come out in the reporting of the case and in the trial.

No, June is Claire’s girl. I feel that in my gut.

So . . . Claire is worried that maybe all of these rock stars and B-list celebrities that hopped onto the Free Duke bandwagon might actually spring the man who killed Mandy. And if Duke killed her once, he wouldn’t be able to pass up the chance to kill her again, a decade and a half later? That’s pretty damned far-fetched, even for a deep cable thriller. And even if that is Claire’s thinking, why would she be so worried
now
, with Duke still safely fenced in?

I have no answer for that, so I move on.

Like she told me, now Claire’s thinking maybe the Free Duke crowd is on to something. Maybe the man who killed Mandy is still free. All right, but if that’s the case, that man’s
been
free all of these years, probably walking the same streets as his victim’s doppelg
ä
nger. So the same question comes up: Why is Claire so suddenly freaked out about the danger?

I’m getting this tiny headache in my temple, like someone’s pressing a sharpened pencil into it. It’s maddening how often my client’s motivations turn out to be the deepest mystery in whatever job they’ve given me.

I just have to focus on doing what she’s paying me to do, and doing it the best I can. She’s paying me to A) do what I can to keep June ignorant of everything to do with Mandy and Duke and the whole mess, and B) keep her safe.

Part A is pretty much a lost cause. I’ve got a nagging suspicion the girl probably knows more than her mother suspects she does. At least according to Claire, June is out of the loop, but even if that’s so, it’s going to change eventually.

I open another window on my computer, hop on over to Facebook, and get to work. I keep up on all of this social media nonsense, because in my work it can be good business. Want some advice? Keep your kids off of this crap. Not only will they tell any thief within a few hundred miles when the house is going to be empty, but they usually set themselves up for identity theft as well. Of course, that’s the tip of the iceberg. Much worse things can happen. Trust me.

I find June on Facebook after just a few minutes of clicking. It’s always easier than it should be. I open a new window, log out of my work account, then start a new profile on Facebook. I populate it with a picture of a cute boy I find on an image search, then send out a few dozen friend requests. I’ve done this enough times that I usually get requests from myself in my inbox as all of these little webs come together. I always include my former profiles in this stuff. After all, my other identities are already friends with most of these kids, and it just makes things look that much more legit when they see how many mutual buddies we have.

Friends pour in like they always do, and June responds to my friend request like the rest of the sheep. I give her profile the once-over, see nothing out of the ordinary, and then move on to her friends, the real ones. No one has time to go through the whole list, but it’s easy enough to see who the real buddies are, and that’s what I do. Two boys and one girl later, I get a hit. A big one.

Her name is Betty Martinez, and excuse me for saying so, but she’s pretty cute, and I feel like I’ve met her somewhere before. I try not to think about that stuff—it’s easier that way—but I’m not going to hold everything in.

Still, cute or not, Betty has some pretty damning June-related evidence on her page, and I’m already thinking I need to call Claire. Stuck down among all of the comments and other crap is a picture for a flyer to an upcoming punk rock concert. The lineup is pretty good, almost good enough to make me briefly consider going out of the house for it, but that’s not what’s really interesting. Lo and behold, the concert is a benefit for Duke Barnes.

The Free Duke folks are back to work again, and judging by the string of comments under the flyer, this event will at least get Duke’s defense some money. Probably not all they need—nothing bleeds a wallet like a team of lawyers working on an appeal—but maybe enough to get some of the boots off their throats.

I push back from the keyboard, giving the screen a frustrated look, but no dice: it’s still got the same crap that I don’t want to see on there. This is a loser’s game, and I need to accept that my easy paycheck has just about gone up in smoke. June either knows or will know soon, so there goes half my scope of work with Claire. Part A is dust.

Which leaves me with Part B: keeping June safe from whoever might have the dead girl’s double in his crosshairs.

There’s only one way to move ahead on this half, and that’s to look into the one man besides Duke Barnes I can think of who might have done it. It’s a long shot, but I need to cross it off the list if I’m going to take Claire’s cash in good conscience.

And if he does end up looking bad, Claire and her family are going to have a lot more on their plate than she already thinks they do.

ELEVEN

“This better be good,” said June as they walked across the lawn to fourth period. “I’m serious. You sent me like five texts last night after I was asleep, and I woke up thinking something bad had happened.” June grinned. “Not to mention, you know how impatient I am.”

“How far are you on your paper for Mr. Evans?”

“Pretty far,” said June. “I mean, I still have to find some sources, but most of the actual writing is done. I sort of think the paper sucks, though. I mean, what was I thinking? The class divides and death ratios on the
Titanic
isn’t even that interesting a subject. It’s really kind of obvious. Like, of course there were more poor people that died. Most of their rooms were below the waterline on the boat, and there were way more of them than there were rich people.” She sighed. “I’ll probably give it another look tonight, scrape together sources, and then turn it in early. Maybe that’ll get me some points.”

“I think we should ditch the papers that we have now and talk to Mr. Evans about setting up a project with special circumstances, maybe even letting us extend the deadline.”

June stopped and stared at her. “You’re crazy. In a new way, but still crazy. I’ve put a ton of time into that paper, I’ve got math coming out of my ass, and don’t get me started on this Biology 2 bullshit.”

“Look at this.” June crowded her as she took her phone from her purse and pulled up the preloaded Duke website. When Betty had looked at it in the morning, she’d set it up for exactly this moment, with the picture of Mandy Reasoner centered on the screen.

“Is this some sort of weird joke, Betty?”

“Look again.” The girls bent to the phone again. “That’s not you. It’s your aunt.”

“I don’t have an aunt,” said June without looking at Betty. “You know that. This lady does look like me, though. It’s kind of creepy.”

“June, you had an aunt,” said Betty. “This is her. Her name was Mandy Reasoner and she died when we were about a year old.”

“That’s not funny anymore, Betty.” June glared at her. “Who is this really?”

“I’m serious, June. This is your aunt. She was murdered by the guy on that punk show flyer. That’s why Ophelia got all weird and why your mom freaked out. This whole thing is a big secret for some reason, but the other crazy thing is that the guy who got arrested for this might not have done it. That’s why all those big bands are playing. That’s why Old Croix Road is playing. They think the guy who was convicted of killing your aunt is innocent.”

“I need to sit for a second,” said June, who promptly sat down. “Are you serious, Betty? You promise you’re not fucking with me?”

“Scout’s honor,” said Betty, holding up two pinched-together fingers. “It wouldn’t be a funny joke, and I’m not that mean. Just think about what I said about the project. I mean, I know this is a lot to take in, but who else has the chance to research something this crazy?”

“All right,” said June as she stood and dusted herself off. “I feel sort of like I’m dreaming, but I think I’m in. I do want to know everything about this, but if my mom didn’t want me to know about her, she must think she has a pretty good reason. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my mouth shut around her, but I want in.” June frowned. “What exactly are we going to tell Mr. Evans? Even worse, what if he tells my mom what we’re up to?”

“I’ll handle that,” said Betty. “You just follow my lead.” Betty and June snapped their heads at the faraway sound of a buzzer going off in the school, and then they took off running across the campus. Asking Mr. Evans for a change in subject as well as an extension was going to be tough enough without being late, too.

Betty waited until the end of class to make her way to Mr. Evans’s desk, June doing what she had asked of her and following at her heels. Mr. Evans was discussing something with another student, a nice but nerdy boy named Robert Hellman, and when the two were done Mr. Evans smiled at them and said, “Ladies, how are we doing on this fine April afternoon?”

“Pretty good,” said Betty. “We have some questions for you. June and I were wondering if we could change the topics for our research papers, and then work together on a new one. We’d need an extension, probably like three extra weeks, but I think we could actually do something cool, instead of just regurgitating ideas from books.”

“Convince me,” said Mr. Evans. “You girls are smart. Show me what you want me to see. I just hope this isn’t a letdown.”

“My aunt was murdered fifteen years ago,” blurted June.
So much for following my lead
, Betty thought. But Mr. Evans had gone from bored-looking teacher to very interested friend in a matter of seconds, so she let June roll. “It’s some family secret or something, I guess,” she continued. “I never knew about it until today. Betty found out last night, and she just told me on the way here.”

“Her aunt’s name was Mandy Reasoner,” said Betty. “She looked just like June, and she liked punk rock like we do.”

“I’ll need more than her iPod track list,” said Mr. Evans, “but I’m about halfway there, so keep going.”

“She was murdered by her boyfriend,” said Betty, filling in some of the facts she hadn’t had time to share with June. “He’s locked up in Jackson right now, but there are a ton of people that don’t think he did it. There’s going to be a show in a month or so with a bunch of huge bands playing it—even Old Croix Road is playing, and they never play anymore. Anyway, the reason for the show is that they’re trying to get the guy who was convicted of killing her aunt a new trial. He confessed to the police, but it sounds like he changed his story later, and they broke the law when they were questioning him. There’s a bunch of other stuff, too.

“We want to tell Mandy’s story—that’s June’s aunt—but we also want to look at as much evidence as we can to try and prove whether or not the guy who’s in prison really killed her. My mom works at the police station sometimes, and I think with a little work we might even be able to talk to some of the cops that were working back then.”

“Consider me convinced,” said Mr. Evans. “This is very compelling stuff.” Mr. Evans shuffled papers on his desk and then raised his head. “I’m going to grade this the way I would a college paper, ladies. Do a good job, don’t add a bunch of padding, and keep me updated. If you’re going to really work for this thing, we don’t even need to set a due date, but I want to be in the loop.” He turned to June. “Are you sure you’re up for this, Ms. Derricks? There could be some ugly family history buried somewhere.”

“I know,” said June. “I just want to know more about my aunt, and this seems like a good way.”

Mr. Evans nodded and smiled. “All right, then. Keep me up to date, and get out of my sight. I won’t have you late to your next class on my account.”