Dead Man's Image

by Curry, Edna

  Hell, he didn't want to see Lacey hurt either. But from the look on her face when Ben had arrested him, she was already hurting. And there wasn't much he could do about it in here.

  Hours later, Ben woke Paul from a nap with the gruff announcement, “Wake up, Menns. You got a visitor.”

  Paul was surprised to see his mother, her chin high, standing behind the sheriff.

  They exchanged hellos and smiles, then Nora waited until the sheriff had gone back to his office before she began to talk. “I've changed my mind, Paul. I can't allow you to be here when I know you couldn't have killed that woman in the park. I'm going to tell the sheriff the truth.”

  Relief and caution surged through Paul. Would Ben believe her? “What about your husband? About your reputation if this gets out?”

  She reached out and took his hand. “Lacey assures me I can trust Ben not to tell anyone. But even if it gets out, I have to face the truth.” She closed her eyes. “Pastor Bob helped me understand that. 'Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.' Or something like that.”

  “Yes,” Paul said with a wry grin, giving her hand an assuring squeeze. “From Matthew.”

  She looked at him with an approving smile. “Your parents did give you a good upbringing, then? I mean, you know the Bible?”

  “Yes, Nora. I went to Sunday school as a kid. And I memorized lots of stuff.”

  “That's great. Do you still want to see me, I mean, would you mind if we stayed in touch now and then?”

  “Of course, if you want to. I wouldn't want to cause you any embarrassment,” Paul said.

  Just then the door burst open and Hal Munson strode in, with Ben frowning behind him. “Look here, Mr. Munson, I'm in charge here. You can't just…”

  “She's my wife, Sheriff, I'm entitled to know what she's up to.” He stopped and stared at Nora and Paul whose hands were still linked. “What the hell is going on here, Nora? Who is this guy?”

  Nora stood, moving closer to Paul as though to protect him from her husband's anger. Her face had gone white, but her chin was up and she faced her husband squarely. “He's my son, Hal.”

  “Your SON? Wha…What do you mean?” Hal's belligerence faded and he blanched. “But…but you said you couldn't have any children. All those doctors said so…”

  Nora's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “What they meant was that I couldn't have any MORE children. I had illegitimate twins before I met you. Paul, here and his brother, John, the man who was found murdered up river last week. My parents made me give them up for adoption.”

  The sadness in Nora's voice twisted Paul's gut. Plainly she hadn't wanted to give him away. The bitterness she still felt was evident in the way she said, 'my parents.' His heart ached for her, even though he was the one who'd been at the receiving end of that injustice. Somehow it helped to know that she'd been hurting, too. His adoption had left scars on both of them.

  Hal and Ben stared at Nora, open mouthed and silent.

  “I'm sorry Hal,” she added as he just looked from her to Paul. “I should have told you this years ago. I love you, and I was afraid you couldn't forgive me. Say something, Hal!”

  “Oh, Nora.” Hal stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, no matter what happened in your past. I was afraid you'd found someone else and wanted to leave me.”

  “Someone else? How could you think such a thing? My whole life is wrapped up in you!”

  “Well, you have to admit you've been acting strange lately. So secretive, talking to the pastor behind my back…and then he wouldn't tell me what was going on.”

  “I'm sorry. I was upset, not thinking straight. I didn't …wouldn't explain because I thought…”

  “Well, never mind all that.” Hal cast a nervous eye at Paul and Ben. Let's get out of here. We'll talk about all that at home later.”

  “Not until I tell Ben something.” She looked at the sheriff and said, “Paul was with me at my house all afternoon yesterday. So he couldn't have been at Interstate Park, pushing that birdwatcher off any cliff.”

  “That so?” Ben stared at her, then looked at Paul. “You didn't put her up to saying that, did you?”

  “No way!” Paul snapped.

  Nora snorted indignantly, and Hal put out a restraining hand.

  “My wife doesn't lie, Sheriff. If she says that's where he was, well, you'd better believe it. Besides, I know he was there for hours yesterday because my gardener saw him and reported it to me. That's how I knew she was here today, too.”

  “You had me followed?” Nora turned to Hal, an angry frown creasing her brow.

  “Only because I love you and didn't want to lose you, honey.”

  The sheriff's dark brows dipped. “Then I guess I'll have to let you go, Paul. For now anyway. But don't leave town, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Paul said, feeling greatly relieved.

  “Well, then,” Nora smiled. “How about a cup of coffee to get acquainted with the son you've always wanted, Hal?”

  “Sounds great to me. Paul?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sheriff,” Deputy Tom called, bursting into the room as they were about to leave. “Lacey called. I think she's in trouble.”

  Chapter 13

  Lacey decided to go to see Harold James on her own. She had no idea when or if Paul's new lawyer could get Paul out on bail.

  In the meantime, she would try to find this guy she felt sure was Paul's birth father. Paul wouldn't like it, she knew, but she'd deal with that later.

  She drove into St. Paul. Following the leads she'd found about him in the newspaper articles, she got both his business and home addresses from his vehicle registration information.

  Then she drove back to White Bear Lake and found his law office in a new one-story building in a nice neighborhood. Several offices shared the premises, and she walked down the carpeted hall to his. She walked in, giving the outer office a quick once over. The furniture was elegant, the carpet thick, and gilt-framed landscape prints hung on the walls. Either Harold James had money, or good backing from people who did.

  A thin, middle-aged secretary sat at a desk, working on a computer. She stopped typing, looked up at Lacey with a frown and pushed up the small, wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. “May I help you?”

  “I'd like to talk to Mr. James, please.”

  The secretary looked quizzically at her. “Do you have an appointment?” she asked, her voice cold and patronizing.

  “No. Just give him these, and I think he'll want to see me.” Lacey handed the woman her business card and the clipping from the Tribune of Paul's 'murder' that had the artist's image of Paul in it.

  “He said not to disturb him,” the secretary began, then stared at the picture in the paper. Her eyes widened and she looked questioningly at Lacey.

  Lacey merely smiled and waited. Obviously the secretary recognized something about the picture. Her body language told Lacey so, though the woman hadn't said what. Had John perhaps come here looking up his father? 0r had she seen his picture before? Was there perhaps some family resemblance to Mr. James? Lacey wished she'd found a picture of the man. If she hadn't been in such a hurry, she might have….

  Rising, the secretary walked to the inner door, knocked and walked in, closing the door behind her.

  In a minute she was back, looking flustered. She thrust the clipping back at Lacey saying, “Mr. James says you're to leave. He knows nothing about this at all.”

  “But…”

  “Please, just leave!” The secretary looked nervously at the inner office door.

  Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat. Lacey smiled, and shrugged. “All right. Maybe his wife will have more to say.” She sauntered out, sure the secretary would quickly repeat that information to her boss.

  She went back to her car and looked up Harold's home address in her notes. It was only a short distance away, so she found the street within minutes. A number on a mailbox told her she'd located the address, and
she drove up the narrow, tree-lined driveway and parked.

  The large, older two-story frame house was set well back from the road and surrounded by evergreens for privacy. The nearest neighbor was a quarter of a mile away through a dense stand of pine trees.

  The house looked well kept and had been freshly painted white with green trim. The sweet scent of newly cut grass hung in the air as she walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell.

  A lady with salt and pepper colored hair opened the door. She looked curiously at Lacey, her blue eyes framed by a web of laugh lines.

  “Mrs. James?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm Lacey Waller, a private investigator.” She flashed her ID and slipped it back into her pocket.

  Mrs. James frowned and chewed at her lip. “A private investigator? Does this have something to do with the election? More dirty politics?”

  Lacey shook her head. She pulled out the newspaper clipping and held it up. “No, nothing like that. I was wondering if you'd seen this man before?”

  Mrs. James stared at the picture and her face paled. She gave Lacey a frightened look, then said, “No. I don't know anything about that. Go away and leave me alone.” Then she slammed the door in Lacey's face.

  Well, I guess that answers that. She recognizes something about Paul all right. Had she and Harold discussed this? Had he shown her the picture and admitted it was his son? If not that, how does his wife know whatever it is she knows?

  Lacey hesitated a moment, then started back to her car. She was about to get in when she saw a battered dark blue pickup parked beside the garage.

  She walked back toward it and noted the bashed right fender. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she saw the bright flashes of red paint which showed clearly in the scraped fender. It certainly looked like the same shade of red as her own car. She let out a long sigh of satisfaction as she ran her hand over the smashed fender. She'd found their hit and run vehicle.

  With a shudder, she remembered the scream of tires, the awful blended noises of shattering glass and metal against metal. She and Paul had come so close to dying that night.

  Was it possible that Harold, his own birth father, had intended that fate for them both? What kind of man would do that? Why?

  She glanced at the house and saw a curtain move. Mrs. James was probably still watching her. How much did she know about all this? About the 'accident'?

  Lacey walked back to her rental car, reached in and picked up her cell phone to call the sheriff. Deputy Tom answered and said the sheriff was busy. The snooty tone of his voice left no doubt that he thought they'd scored points on her by arresting Paul. Could she even count on the sheriff and his deputies to help her now? She left Ben an urgent message and hung up.

  As she did so, a large black car swung into the driveway and screamed to a stop, parked sideways across the narrow, tree-lined driveway, effectively cutting off her escape.

  A man stepped out, and at first she felt relieved, thinking it was Paul. But how could that be? Paul was in jail, wasn't he? She'd just talked to Tom and he'd said nothing about releasing him.

  As the man came closer, she saw that although he resembled Paul, the man wasn't Paul. He was older, and at the moment, very angry. He had to be Harold, Paul's father. So the secretary had passed on her message.

  “What the hell do you think you're doing here?” the man yelled at her. “This is private property and you have no right to come here and bother my wife and snoop around, private eye or not.”

  Yes, this was Harold, all right. He certainly did resemble the twins. No wonder his wife and secretary had recognized Paul's picture as a member of Harold's family.

  Her heart pounding in response to the sudden danger, Lacey eased farther behind her open car door. Her purse was lying on the front seat. She began edging closer to see if she could reach it to get her gun without him seeing what she was up to. Why had she left her gun out of reach? Dumb, dumb.

  “I'll be happy to leave if you'll move your car out of the way,” she offered, trying to gain time. No way was this guy going to let her go.

  In answer, and as though reading her thoughts, he drew a gun and aimed it at her. “Yeah, and you'd run right to the sheriff and report you'd found my damaged pickup, wouldn't you? Guess again, lady.”

  Lacey swallowed, then answered, “Too late. I've already reported it. The sheriff will be here any minute. You can't get away with this anymore. Give it up.”

  “You're lying!” he yelled at her. “I ought to kill you just for saying that!”

  “Nooooo!” his wife screamed, flying off the porch toward them. “No, Harold! No more violence, do you hear me?”

  “Get back in the house, Martha, and mind your own business. This has nothing to do with you,” Harold said, tossing his wife a quick glance.

  Her heart pounding, Lacey took that split second to dive across the seat and get her gun from her purse. As she pulled it out, a bullet slammed into her car, then another. Keeping behind the door as much as possible, Lacey punched nine, one, one on her cell phone, reported a gunfight and gave their location.

  Saying a prayer that backup would arrive in time, she lifted her head enough to return fire, then ducked back down.

  Another car pulled into the driveway. The big guy she'd met in Paul's apartment, Hank, stepped out, and another man opened the passenger door. Both had pistols aimed at her. She saw Hank fire, but there was no noise. They were using silencers!

  The guy with Hank yelled, “You're as good as dead, Paul. You're all through taking away my business, you son-of-a-bitch. And I've hired away your best driver. He's on my side, now.”

  “He's not Paul, Hank,” Lacey yelled. “You've got the wrong man!”

  “I've got eyes, you dumb Lady PI. You ain't foolin' me with that story. Stay out of this or you'll get shot, too.”

  Good grief, they must have followed her here from Paul's apartment. They thought Harold was Paul and she'd led them to him.

  “He's not Paul!” she shouted again, trying to stay protected behind her car.

  Harold took a look at those two men and ran a zigzagged path to her. Would Harold shoot her? Yikes, she was badly outnumbered now. But he joined her behind her car and was watching the other men. “Who the hell are they? And why do they want to kill Paul?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure what's going on. But the big guy used to be Paul's employee, and it sounds like the other is a rival trucker. They think you're Paul.”

  Harold lifted his head and saw his wife still coming toward them across the lawn. “Go back to the house, Martha,” Harold shouted. “They have guns!”

  But Martha continued toward them.

  Lacey fired at Hank, then ducked again as he returned fire. Hank and his friend continued firing, swearing at them both as they ducked behind their own car for protection.

  “Oh ow,” Harold said and grabbed his shoulder, then sank to the ground beside her.

  She turned to look at him. “Are you hurt bad?”

  “No, ah, just my shoulder, I think. I'm okay, but I can't use my gun arm. Where's Martha? Did she go back to the house?”

  Lacey lifted her head, then shook it. “No, she didn't,” she said to Harold, then yelled, “Stay back, Martha!”

  Dimly, Lacey was aware of a siren blaring, but kept her eyes on the guy with Hank. He was behind Harold's car now, and made a poor target as he fired at her, then ducked and swayed and fired again.

  Lacey returned fire and he screamed and grabbed his side.

  Martha ran straight toward them, evidently having spotted Harold with her, then Lacey saw Hank fire at Martha. With a cry, Martha dropped onto the gravel.

  Damn, Martha's been hit. Why hadn't she listened to them?

  Lacey turned to tell Harold, but he’d collapsed. She bent to check him. He was out cold.

  Behind Harold and Hank's cars, Lacey saw a police car with sirens screaming turn into the gravel driveway and brake to a stop amid a cloud of yellow dust. A
nother police car was right behind it.

  The noise of the sirens seemed to push Hank's friend over the edge. He swore, and turned to fire at the police car. Then Hank fell and Lacey realized the police had fired as well.

  With both men down, Ben, Tom and Paul emerged from behind the police car and came toward them.

  Ben and Tom stood over Hank and his friend, guns aimed at them, while Paul raced toward Lacey.

  “You okay, Lacey?” he called.

  Lacey called to Paul, “Yeah, I'm fine.” Then she dived for her cell phone, punching nine, one, one with shaking fingers.

  Paul's arms went around her for a quick hug.

  She gave directions into the phone for the ambulance, then they both moved to help the woman on the ground.

  Martha was unconscious, and Lacey saw her chest was bleeding profusely.

  Quickly Lacey tried to tear off part of her blouse-tail to make a pressure bandage. It refused to tear.

  Paul pulled out his pocketknife and cut the blouse tail for her and held it tightly against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

  “How's she doing?” Ben asked, appearing beside them.

  “I don't know,” Lacey said. “She's out, but her pulse is strong and I think we have the bleeding under control. Where's that ambulance?”

  “Right behind us. Let me put this blanket around her, so she doesn't go into shock.”

  Without releasing her hold on the pressure bandage, Lacey moved aside so he could tuck the blanket around Martha.

  “Are you okay, Lacey?” Ben asked, meeting her eyes. “You didn't get hit?”

  She shook her head. “I'm fine, Ben.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are to confront these guys alone, Superwoman? Haven't I taught you to always have back-up when you go into a dangerous situation?”

  Ben's voice sounded angry, but his eyes were concerned. Lacey's heart swelled. She knew Ben cared about her and felt responsible for her in a way.

  “I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't expect things to get violent, I guess. I just wanted to talk to Harold and find out what he knew.”