Murder Deja Vu

didn’t say it, of course. Christ, he broke my heart all over again.”
    Dana swallowed the lump in her throat. “What happened when he left prison?”
    “He had trouble adjusting. Happens a lot with ex-cons. Every place he went, people pointed him out as the man who had decapitated a woman and got off. He was angry. He’d lost his life, his career, his family, and he couldn’t deal with the fallout. After a few months, he spent some time in therapy at my suggestion. I don’t know if it helped. I think it did.”
    “He still has moods, he says.”
    “Yes, he does. He was in one today, and I suspect it won’t go away quickly.”
    This time Jeraldine’s eyes did fill. Dana had a hard enough time holding back the tears herself.
    “No one wanted him around, and no place was safe, so he came down here, bought that nice piece of land, and built his house. He doubted anyone would hire him as an architect, no license for one thing, so he took a job building a whole wall around a fireplace for this rich guy in Tennessee. Then another, and word got around. The way he designs them, those things are goddamn beautiful. But he’d really pulled into himself, and I still worried.”
    Dana didn’t want to hear all this, but at the same time she wanted to hear every word. She likened it to watching a horror movie through splayed fingers. She didn’t want to see it, but she didn’t want to miss anything either. “I know one thing. He’s not a murderer.”
    “No, honey, he isn’t. That’s the one thing I’m sure of too. But I’m afraid he’ll spend the rest of his life defending himself. The only way that will cease is if they find out who killed Karen Sitton, and if the Cambridge police haven’t found the real killer by now, I doubt they ever will. Six years ago, they said they’d reopen the case, but if they did, I haven’t heard about it, and they don’t want to answer my questions. Clarence has been poking around for the last few months in his spare time, digging deeper. If anyone can find what went undiscovered twenty-one years ago, Clarence can. He worked cold cases when he was a cop in Detroit. I met him there when I attended a lawyer’s symposium and convinced him to come work for me.”
    “Why, after all these years, did you look back into the case?”
    “Call it unfinished business, call it personal guilt, call it I had a crack investigator for the first time. But the real reason is I wanted Reece cleared once and for all so he could put that ugly chapter of his life behind him and move on. He’s been in limbo. Now, with the murder here, it’s not only my wish any more, it’s a necessity.”
    “Someone killed a woman and made it look like Reece did it. Why?”
    “Beats the shit out of me. But I’m wondering if it’s something else. If Clarence’s poking into Karen Sitton’s murder set someone off.” Jeraldine polished off the last of her drink. “I’d feel responsible if a girl died, but a murder with the same M.O. incriminating Reece all over again would sure draw the police away from the real killer, wouldn’t it?”
    “I never thought of that.”
    “We’ll see what happens.” She pushed away her drink. “I’ve had enough. Good thing I’m staying here. I don’t have far to go. Okay, honey, so tell me, how in hell did you marry a prick like Robert Minette? He makes Attila the Hun seem like Mr. Rogers. Were you fucking drunk?”
    Dana laughed for the first time that day. “A moment of bad judgment, I’m afraid. But I didn’t know it until a long time later. It’s hard to believe now, but Robert can be charming when it suits his needs.”
    “I’ve known men like him. He’s a coward and a bully, and I bet he beat up on you too. I’m not asking you to tell me, but he’s the type. Fuck him.”
    “Jesus, Jeraldine. The last thing I want to do is fuck Robert Minette.”
    Jeraldine burst into laughter that almost shook her bosom out of her jacket. “Honey, you’re gonna do fine.” She waved her hand in the air and called, “Chaz, honey. Come on over here, darling, and take our order.”

Chapter Thirteen
The Bombshell

    C larence started out late Monday morning, hoping Rudy’s Bar opened for lunch. Old Micah was right about Emory. It wasn’t much more than the blink of an eye with only small print on an I-26 exit sign en route to Asheville. The main street consisted of a couple of city blocks, with mill houses lining the side streets. The surrounding area was pretty,