Like Father Like Daughter

by Christina Morgan

  Everyone nodded and said “yes” in hushed unison, most of them clearly as intimidated as I was.

  “Take a seat,” the big officer said. “The inmates will be here shortly.”

  I found a seat by the window. The yellow chairs were attached to the matching table, I assumed so no inmate could get upset and use the chair as a weapon. I laid my purse at my feet and sat down on the hard chair.

  As I waited, I looked around at all the people who were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their loved ones. They all looked nervous, in an excited, happy kind of way. But not me; I was only there as a favor to Mom. Just so she’d leave it alone…hopefully for another twenty years.

  The side door opened with a buzz, and the inmates started filing in. Each of their faces lit up when they found their visitor. There must have been over a dozen inmates, and at first I didn’t see Randy. But then again, I wondered how much he had changed in the last twenty years. Maybe I wouldn’t even recognize him.

  But he was at the end of the line. When he saw me, his face lit up too. I just gave a weak wave of my fingers. No smile for Randy. He didn’t deserve it.

  He had changed quite a bit since the last time I had seen him, when I was sixteen years old. I could tell it was him, but he had put on a good deal of weight, mostly muscle, especially in his arms and legs. His face was fuller and covered with a grey beard that matched his full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He was pale, of course, from the lack of sunlight.

  Each inmate had to be unshackled before they were allowed to enter the visitors’ room. When it was Randy’s turn, he rubbed his wrists after the handcuffs were removed. He was wearing a tan-colored jumpsuit with a white t-shirt peeking out at his neck. He shuffled over to the table, where I was waiting, in white socks and tan rubber sandals.

  Randy sat down right across from me, a huge grin spread across his face.

  “Libs,” he said quietly. “I’m so glad you came. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Randy,” was all I could muster.

  “What made you change your mind about coming to visit with me?”

  “Mom made me promise.”

  “Well, I’ll take it. As long as I get to see you. You look beautiful, Libs.”

  “Elizabeth. Thanks.”

  “Listen,” he said as he shifted in his seat and laid his palms face-down on the table between us. “Like I told you on the phone, I’m so sorry for everything that has happened to you. But I want you to know, I believe you are innocent. I know you are innocent.”

  “How can you be so sure? Maybe I’m a killer, just like you.”

  “I just know. And you’re nothing like me. I’m nothing like me. I’ve changed, Libby. I’ve been saved. Again. Washed in the blood of the Lamb. God has forgiven me my transgressions…”

  “Transgressions?” I laughed. “You call what you did ‘transgressions’?”

  “Libby, I know what I did was horrible. I was misguided. I thought I was saving those women. I know how ridiculous that sounds now. But I know now they were people too. Their mistakes didn’t warrant their deaths; we are all sinners in the eyes of God. But He is loving and forgiving and He has forgiven me. I wish you would too.”

  I didn’t say anything. I certainly wasn’t ready to forgive him, but I didn’t want to be rude, either. So I changed the topic.

  “You know I’m being prosecuted for Ryan’s murder? There’s going to be a trial. Probably next January.”

  “I know. Your mom told me.”

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know that too.”

  “You keep saying you know I’m innocent. But how on earth can you possibly know that?” Then I bent down and whispered, “I can’t even remember what happened.”

  I didn’t know why I was confiding in him. Perhaps it was the little girl in me who still missed the father she had known growing up. When I was little, Randy was a great dad. He always took me to football games and movies and bought me ice cream. I had no idea that underneath all that kindness was a monster who was murdering young prostitutes at truck stops up and down I-75.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re innocent. Libby, there’s something I’ve been needing to tell you. Something I need you to know. I love you, kiddo. Always have. No matter what I did all those years ago, I never stopped loving you. You’re still my little girl.”

  “I am not your little girl anymore, Randy.” I knew calling him by his first name rather than “Dad” would sting, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say that word. “I’m a grown woman, and I don’t need you in my life. I don’t want you in my life.”

  “Well, be that as it may, I’ve never stopped caring for you. In fact, I’ve had someone looking after you for a long time.”

  “You what?”

  “An old buddy of mine. He was released on good behavior a couple years ago. He owed me a favor or two, so I asked him to keep an eye on you. I certainly can’t do it from behind bars.”

  It took only a couple of seconds for everything to come together in my mind. Wolf Tattoo. The man in the black truck who’d been following me. I knew he looked a little rough around the edges, but I’d never have guessed in a million years he was a parolee watching me for Randy.

  “You’ve had me followed?”

  “Libs, listen. Just listen to me for a minute.”

  “I can’t believe this! I’ve seen your friend lurking about and following me for nearly two weeks! But now you’re telling me he’s been following me for almost two years? Un-fucking-believable!”

  “I missed watching you turn into a young woman. That’s my own fault. But since I’m never getting out of here, I had to make sure there was someone out there watching over you for me. Someone who could protect you since I can’t.”

  “And you chose a convicted criminal to watch over me? Good thinking, Randy.”

  “Merle would never hurt you. He’s watching out for you as a favor to me. He was being, well, hurt, here in prison, and I was able to stop the bad guys from hurting him. He owes me his life. When he asked what he could do to pay me back, I told him nothing mattered more in this world to me than you, Libs. So he agreed to look after you. He wasn’t supposed to ever be seen, but I guess he blew that one.”

  “You think? I’ve seen him following me for almost two weeks now! He was at the pool the other day, just…staring at me. If you wanted to make me feel safe, well, Randy, you really fucked up this time.”

  “Libs,” he began.

  “I said don’t call me that.”

  “All right, Elizabeth. Listen to me. He won’t hurt you. But if you really want me to call him off, I’ll call him and tell him to back off. But Lib…Elizabeth, think about it. It’s not such a bad thing to have someone looking after you. Especially with what you’re going through right now.”

  “Call him off,” I said very plainly.

  He held up his hands defensively. “All right. All right. I’ll tell him his debt to me is paid.”

  “Is that all?”

  He looked behind him at the clock on the wall. “But we have thirty more minutes.”

  “I have said everything I need to say.” I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest to show him I was done.

  “Elizabeth, please, humor me.”

  “Okay, say what you have to say.”

  I indulged him and stayed the rest of the visit listening to him ramble about how his life had changed and all but begging me to forgive him. I won’t say I gave in, not all the way. But a small part of me gave in just a little. When he reminded me of all the fun things we’d done when I was little, I couldn’t help but reminisce. I missed my father, I had to admit—but not out loud. And what if he truly had changed? People do make mistakes. Sometimes really, really big mistakes. So I agreed to return to visit with him soon. No promises as to when, just soon. I hadn’t forgiven him completely, but it was a start.

  “I wish I could hug you goodbye,” he said after the big burly guard announced visiting time was over.


  “We’re not there yet, Randy,” I said, holding my hand up between us in case he tried to break the rules and reach out to me.

  “That’s another thing. Call me Dad. Please? After all, you used to call me Daddy.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before…”

  “I know. I know. Just think about it, will you?”

  I nodded, said goodbye awkwardly, and left him standing there.

  On the way home I thought about forgiveness. If I could even consider forgiving Randy, what would I have done about Ryan’s…indiscretion if he were still alive? And could I ever possibly forgive Lindsey? No, I thought not. Maybe I could forgive Ryan. After all, we had almost eight years of history together. We were married and in love. But this…woman…knew he was married the whole time and chose to willingly have an affair with a married man. And, she quite possibly murdered him or had him murdered just because he wouldn’t leave me. No, there would be no forgiveness for Lindsey. I would see to it that she paid for everything she had done to me and Ryan.

  I remembered my plan to try to get her to confess, and when I got home, I sent her another Facebook message.

  Libby: Need to meet again. I promise not to hit you this time. I just want to talk about Ryan. Meet me tomorrow at seven at Lake Mingo again. Please. It’s important.

  I still had my pocket voice recorder that I’d used at work from time to time to record witness statements or client interviews. I went to my home office—which we had hoped to one day convert to a nursery—and dug through my top drawer until I found the tiny silver recorder. I set it on the kitchen counter and stood there formulating a plan in my mind.

  I’d turn on the recorder, store it in my purse, and then I’d approach Lindsey in the park tomorrow. I’d humbly pretend to be sorry for losing my cool with her. I’d tell her I forgave her and then try to find some common ground with her regarding our mutual love for Ryan. Then, I figured, I’d talk about how awful he was to me, even though he really wasn’t, and start to build a rapport with her. Maybe not then, but eventually perhaps she’d say something, anything, I could use to clear my name.

  ***

  I spent most of the next day starting to go through the hundreds of pictures in the boxes and trying to organize them so I could put them in photo albums. I found it very difficult not to break down and cry again as I looked at all the pictures of Ryan and me over the last eight years. I choked back tears as I looked at snapshots of Ryan and me at UK football games, concerts, company picnics, Christmas, and summer vacations in the Outer Banks. I lost track of time, and before I knew it, it was ten ’til seven. I knew it took fifteen or twenty minutes to get to town from Elm Fork Road, so I ran to the car and turned the key in the ignition.

  My pulse was racing. I’d never done anything like what I planned to do. I had to play my part perfectly, or she would see right through me and then never tell me what I wanted to know. No, needed to know. Not only did I want to clear my name, I had to know exactly what happened to Ryan, and I truly believed Lindsey held the key to both my freedom and to the answers I was seeking.

  I was fifteen minutes late and prayed she hadn’t given up on me and left. But no sooner had I pulled into the parking lot than I noticed her vehicle parked in the far back corner. I parked the Sorento a few spaces away. Lindsey was in her car, but it looked like she had fallen asleep. Her head was tilted back and lying against the headrest. As I approached her Maxima carefully, I could see her arms were down at her sides.

  How odd, I thought. How could she fall asleep waiting for me to show up? Surely, she would be nervous like I was. Then it hit me. Heroin. I had never done heroin in my life, but I had heard people say sometimes you pass out after your high wears off. She must have gotten high before she came, a little courage in a syringe.

  I walked over to her side of the Maxima and opened the door. She didn’t wake up.

  “Lindsey,” I said quietly at first. Nothing. “Lindsey!” I said louder.

  It wasn’t until I looked closely at her that I noticed the bruising around her neck. Holy shit. She wasn’t sleeping. She was dead. And not from a drug overdose, either. Someone had clearly strangled her with their bare hands, for I could see the purple and blue thumbprints right at the nape of her neck.

  I closed her car door and thought about calling 911. But I didn’t. I knew either way they were going to suspect me of her murder. Especially considering there was electronic proof I had invited her to meet me here at the park. Not to mention my threatening texts to her the day before. Thanks to my experience as a criminal defense paralegal, I knew I had to erase all traces of my presence at a murder scene. I tugged on the bottom of my tank top and used it to wipe down the doorknob, removing my fingerprints from the shiny chrome.

  I walked briskly back to my car, got in, and drove away, leaving my husband’s mistress’s body for someone else to find.

  Chapter 14

  The next morning when I woke up around ten, I turned on the television. Rachael Ray. The View. Not really many choices. I checked Headline News to see if Ryan’s murder had made it big-time, but after watching for about half an hour, when they started looping the news stories from the beginning, I changed it back to Rachael Ray. She always aggravated the snot out of me, that one. Cute as a button, but fully aware of it. Her taglines like “delish” and “EVOO”—extra virgin olive oil…why not just say it?—grated on my nerves. But I had to hand it to the gal, she sure could cook. I never really mastered the art, so Ryan and I ate a lot of takeout and frozen meals. Every once in a blue moon, I’d decide to try one of Rachael’s recipes, but they were almost always utter failures.

  I cleaned the kitchen as I listened to her interviewing Channing Tatum about his new movie. I unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded it with the few cups and utensils I had used since returning home. I always used paper plates—force of habit. Just then, I heard the familiar sound of the Channel 18 News jingle playing in the background. I wiped my hands on a purple kitchen towel and looked around the corner at the TV.

  “Breaking news out of Nicholasville…the body of twenty-nine-year-old Lindsey Unser was found at Lake Mingo Park late last night…no word yet on cause of death…NPD spokesman Harold Schifner would only tell Channel 18 News that foul play was suspected…” A somewhat flattering picture of Lindsey was displayed across the screen. It wasn’t one I’d seen on her Facebook account. It probably came from her parents. “…sources have confirmed that Miss Unser was romantically linked to Ryan Carter, who was also found dead two weeks ago…stay tuned for more information.”

  Immediately, my cell phone rang and vibrated on the kitchen counter. It was Dave.

  “Libby, we have a problem.”

  “I know. I just saw it on the news.”

  “Detective Dorne has asked you to come down to the station to answer some questions. I told him it was up to you.”

  “I figured that would happen. What should I do?” I was leaning against the granite countertops that I had talked Ryan into buying to replace his mother’s ugly green Formica when we moved in.

  “You don’t have to answer their questions, but I would highly recommend you go. With me, of course. If you don’t, it will look like you have something to hide.”

  “Dave, I swear, I had nothing to do with her death.”

  “I know. This could be a good thing for your case, though. If the police can clear you of her murder and prove someone else killed Lindsey, it casts a very dark shadow of doubt on their case against you in Ryan’s murder. It’s obviously not a coincidence that both of them were murdered. So if we can find out who murdered Lindsey, we have a new suspect in Ryan’s death too. I can maybe get you out of this thing. But first, we have to cooperate with the police.”

  “All right. When should I go in?”

  “Today would be best. Libby, I know you didn’t kill Lindsey, but you need to tell me now…is there anything I need to know? I don’t want to be blindsided when we speak with them.”

  I let
out a deep sigh and fessed up. I told him about my Facebook messages to Lindsey a couple of days before her murder. Told him I warned her she would “pay.” I admitted I had sent the text message asking her to meet me at Lake Mingo—the cops would have that info soon, if they didn’t already. But I left out the bit about finding her body. I prayed no one had seen me there at the park. I hadn’t really seen anyone else. When he asked why I didn’t go after asking her to meet me there, I lied and said I had chickened out. I felt bad about lying to my attorney but things already looked bad enough for me as it was; if anyone learned I had actually found her body, I’d be in big trouble.

  As soon as I hung up with Dave, my phone rang again. This time it was Paul. I ignored it. He called again. I ignored it. Then, I got a notification that I had a new voicemail. I clicked on the voicemail icon and held the phone to my ear.

  “Hi, Libby, it’s Paul. Remember me? Yes, I know who you are now. I just saw you on the news. They said the girl who was found murdered in the park was romantically linked to the guy they found murdered last week in Nicholasville. And guess whose picture they showed when they mentioned that his wife was the prime suspect. That’s right. It was you, Libby. Why didn’t you tell me the truth? I would have understood. I thought we had something special. I thought we connected. Guess I was wrong. Good luck with your case. Have a nice life.”

  I almost dropped the phone but caught it with my other hand. I hadn’t thought about Paul in days. I had so much going on. I assumed he had given up and moved on. But his tone was very angry, a little hurt, even. I felt bad for leading him on…that was never my intention. I just wanted to forget my real life, if only for one night. Now, on top of everything else, I had a scorned, pissed-off man on my hands. But what could I do?