Murder Deja Vu

pictures, and he threatened to use them. Unfortunately, she had pictures too, taken after he lost his temper for he couldn’t remember what. Probably one of those times she mouthed off. He doubted she would show them and embarrass her sons, but they were good enough for a standoff. He could say he had nothing to do with the bruises, but people liked Dana. They’d believe her. They didn’t like Robert. They were jealous of his success. Of his power.
    Lost in his thoughts, Robert didn’t hear Harris Stroud until the editor set his drink on the table and sat down.
    “Bad day, Robert? Don’t usually see you in here this early.” Harris sipped his drink and leaned back in his chair.
    Robert didn’t feel like a companion, least of all Harris, who’d be sloshed before long and slurring his words. At least he wasn’t a nasty drunk. Harris had made an effort to stay off the booze a few months ago, but it didn’t last. It never did. Robert took a good look at the editor. They’d known each other more than twenty years. Still trim, with only a few strands of gray, Harris hadn’t lost his boyish looks, though the drinking was starting to show. Robert wondered how he managed it. Maybe being drunk allowed him to forget why he drank.
    “I felt like a drink,” Robert said. “Can’t a man have a drink without someone thinking he had a bad day?”
    “Sorry, you’re right. I’m having a drink and I had a wonderful day.”
    “You have a drink every day, good or bad. More than one, in fact.”
    “Just winding down. That’s what the end of the day is for.” Harris polished off his drink and waved for another. “Why so grouchy? Hasn’t Dana come crawling back yet?” He looked at his watch. “Past due, I’d say.”
    Robert felt the heat burn around his neck, flush his cheeks. Damn Harris. Always twisting the knife. “You know goddamn well she’s with that murderer, digging her own grave in the process.”
    “No one’s proved him guilty. In fact, I don’t think he is. I think someone’s setting him up. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
    “What kind of question is that?” First Wright and now Harris, insinuating he knew who set up Daughtry. No, not insinuating. Accusing. He stared at the editor and saw that he was stone-cold sober.
    Harris stared back at him, unflinching. “A dead serious one.”
    “A jury convicted Reece Daughtry of murder twenty-one years ago. He severed a woman’s head from her body. Don’t you think it’s more than a coincidence that another woman is found the same way not thirty miles from him?”
    “Gee, if a reasonably sane man wanted to commit murder, and he’s done it before, do you actually think he’d do it the same way and call attention to himself?”
    “That’s the brilliance,” Robert said. “Who’d think a man like Daughtry, as smart as he’s supposed to be, would copycat his own murder? More than brilliant, if you ask me.”
    Harris peered over the rim of the glass before guzzling his drink. “Typical Robert. Off base as usual. You’re jealous because Dana’s with him. You’d do anything to get him out of the picture.”
    “Dana and I were finished long before Daughtry. Besides, you’re not paid to think. You’re paid to report and write and edit. Daughtry is guilty as sin. Innocent men don’t run away. If he had nothing to hide, he’d have stayed and proved it. I think that should be your lead story in tomorrow’s paper. ‘Beheading Murderer Does It Again.’”
    Harris grimaced. “That won’t be the lead story in any paper I write for. And if you threaten me with the job again, you can have it. I won’t be a party to that kind of journalism. I’m not your champion like when I was young and too innocent to know how you were using me.”
    “I bet your assistant editor would like climbing the corporate ladder.”
    “I bet he would too.” Harris swilled down his drink and stood. “Good evening, Robert.” He headed for the door.
    “So you’ll write the story?”
    Harris turned around and stepped back to the table. He lowered himself to Robert’s face and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll tell you what story I’ll write. About a criminal defense attorney in Charlotte twenty years ago who figured out a way to make the prosecution’s star witness disappear. Why? To insure his drug-dealing, murdering client got off. How would you like that headline under the Regal Falls Banner ?”
    A volcano erupted