Heads You Lose (31 page)

Up in Tulac, Paul lounged around Brandy’s apartment all morning. He picked up that Wittgenstein biography, but lost interest after the introduction. He stuck a bookmark on page three and headed to the Timberline.

At 3:15 in the afternoon, Tate called Lacey’s cell and said, “Your brother’s drunk and out of cash.”
⁴⁵

“We have iddall figged out,” Paul slurred, when Lacey arrived and took a seat next to him and Rafael.

Apparently even just a sliver of a biography on a major philosophical thinker had gotten Paul’s mind working in overdrive. Unfortunately, none of Wittgenstein’s intellect was passed on to Paul. He was as logic-challenged as ever.

“What have you got figured out?” Lacey replied.

“The two docs were innit together.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Most def-in-ite-ly,” Paul replied, forming the word as if for the first time.

“What’s their connection?” Lacey asked.

Paul leaned in close and whispered Budweiser breath into his sister’s ear. “Doc Holland was Doc Egan’s father.”

“What?” Lacey asked, grabbing her brother by the shoulders.

“The fake doc was the father of the dead doc,” Paul said.

“How do you know this?”

“I investigated. I have proof.”

“Then prove it,” Lacey replied.

Paul pulled the photo from his pocket and smacked it on the bar. Lacey picked up the photo and studied the front and back.

“Where did you find this?” Lacey asked.

“In Egan’s closet,” Paul replied.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You don’t need to know everything.”

“What does it mean?” Lacey asked.

It was more of a rhetorical question, but Paul answered anyway.

“I think that the docs were plotting something.”

“What were they plotting?” Lacey asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care. But now that Egan is dead there will be no more murder.”

“Think about it, Paul. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me sleep on it,” Paul replied. “Wake me in fifteen.”

Paul then rested his head on the bar and within moments his distinct snore layered another sound track over the Steve Earle album playing in the background. Lacey ordered a beer and scowled at Rafael.

“How many has he had?” she asked.

“I lost count at eight,” Rafael replied.

Musings on murder suspects now qualified as small talk in Mercer. Rafael proceeded to inform Lacey of all Paul’s theories, both standing and debunked. As Rafael spoke, Lacey’s suspicion of him grew—in part because he was spending too much time with Paul, nosing around their investigation, but also because she had not yet investigated him herself. But Paul insisted that Rafael had an airtight alibi. Or at least a receipt.

Paul’s cell phone rang, which caused him to stir and changed the tone of his snore. But he didn’t wake. Lacey pulled the cell from his pocket and answered.

“Paul’s phone,” she said.

“Lacey?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Big Marv.”

Lacey’s heart skipped a beat when she heard his name. Ever since the verbal land agreement was struck, Lacey had feared the worst.

“What can I do for you?” she said, in an atypically polite tone.

“My lawyer has just drawn up the paperwork. When can you and Paul sign?”

Lacey glanced at her comatose brother.

“Give me an hour.”

Rafael helped Lacey load Paul into the back of his pickup truck. Throughout the ride home, blasts of cold air and carefully targeted potholes jolted him awake. Paul managed to walk without too much assistance into their house, where Lacey plied him with half a pot of coffee and a quart of Gatorade, and then made him perform a round of calisthenics. An intriguing phenomenon with Paul was that when he was stoned you couldn’t get him to budge, but drunk he’d follow orders like a private in boot camp. Once, in high school, when their parents were out of town, Paul drank a six-pack of beer and Lacey dressed him in a jacket and bow tie and had him play her butler until he sobered up and lost interest. “Mr. Paul” made many cups of tea and sandwiches that afternoon.

After Paul had sweated out some of the booze, Lacey told him to take a cold shower, and by the time Paul was finished, he was still drunk but could walk on his own and sign his name. Lacey had him practice a few times to be sure.

On the drive to Marv’s office, Paul started nodding off again. Lacey had brought along a spray bottle for that very eventuality. She used it unremittingly. Paul’s anger proved to be the most sobering elixir yet.

When they entered Big Marv’s office, the siblings were introduced to a bespectacled man named Franklin Fisher. Marv referred to him as his lawyer.

“That name rings a bell,” Paul slurred. “How do I know that name?” The memory that eluded him was that he’d heard it during his night of surveillance with Terry, when Jay was asking for a fat check from his patient. Lacey, of course, hadn’t heard the name—it was just one of many pieces of evidence her brother had withheld from her.

“Have we met?” Paul asked Mr. Fisher.

“I don’t believe so,” Fisher replied.

“That name sure rings a bell.”

Lacey smacked Paul on the head. “Has the ringing stopped?”

At the very least, Paul stopped mentioning it.

Lacey waited until the bank confirmed two wire transfers in the amount of $500,000 before she agreed to pick up the pen.

“Sign here and here and here,” Franklin Fisher said.

The siblings passed the gold fountain pen back and forth until they’d worked their way through the inch-thick pile of papers. When they were done, a series of handshakes followed, and some sighs of relief.

“See you around,” Big Marv said with a Cheshire Cat grin.

“We’ll see about that,” Lacey replied, as she and her brother departed.

On the drive home, an awkward silence set in. So much had gone on in the last few weeks, so many ugly thoughts and images that would be forever imprinted in their minds. A deal like this was once in a lifetime, but they both felt empty. Lacey knew her time in Mercer was coming to an end, and yet, if pressed, she couldn’t tell you where she was going.

“I don’t want to go home,” Paul said.

“Where do you want to go?” Lacey asked.

“Take me to Brandy’s.”

“Really?”

“Please, Lace.”

Lacey spun a U-turn on the desolate road and headed up to Tulac. Paul didn’t say a word as he got out of the car.

When Lacey returned home, she collapsed on the couch and fell fast asleep.

The next morning, she turned on her computer and checked her bank balance, as if everything that had happened the previous day had just been a dream. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw her comical bank balance: $500,114.54.

She realized she could go anywhere. It was a soothing thought and yet she stayed put.

Lacey killed most of the morning watching bad television. While making a sandwich, she sorted through the collection of bills, catalogs, and coupons from distant towns until she noticed a blank white envelope in the mix. She cracked the seal and found a note inside, cut and pasted from newspaper and magazine print.

G
E
t
o
UT
n
OW
o
r
N
E
v
e
r

Lacey’s heart raced and within seconds her palms grew sweaty. She slipped on her shoes, grabbed her keys, and made a beeline for the door. She drove straight to the Mercer sheriff’s station.

This time when Doug saw her, he remained seated.

“Lacey.”

“Doug.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I need to see the sheriff.”

“I’ll see if he’s in.”

“He’s in,” Lacey said, striding down the hall and straight into Ed’s office.

The sheriff spun around when he heard the door creak. He put his hand over his heart and said, “You startled me.”

“We need to talk,” Lacey said, taking a seat across from his desk.

“You bring the letter?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s missing; at least I think it’s missing, or maybe I misplaced it.”

Ed leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on his desk. He closed his eyes for a long enough moment that Lacey thought he might have nodded off.

“Ed?”

“Yes?”

“You know why Egan was at Verducci’s yesterday, right?”

“I do.”

“He was meeting Doc Holland.”

“He was meeting Doc Holland because
you
arranged for the meeting.”

“I regret that now. But until we flush out Holland, these murders won’t stop.”

“What’s his motive, Lacey?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why are you in the middle of every single one of these crimes? Your ex-fiancé dies, and lo and behold a life insurance policy turns up in your name. Terry Jakes is murdered and you and your brother inherit some land that turns out to be worth a pretty penny. Paul discovers the body of Harry Lakes. And you discover the corpse of Doc Egan. Remind me, Lacey, why aren’t you my primary suspect?”

“After twenty-eight years, I cut off the head of my former fiancé and dump the rest of the body on my driveway? You don’t really believe that now, do you, Ed?”

Ed sighed and brushed back the flap of thinning hair that covered his bald spot. “No, I know you’re not a murderer, Lacey. But somehow all of this is connected to you.”

“We need to find Doc Holland.”

“
We
don’t need to do anything. I’ll handle the police work here. You just stay out of trouble. As for Doc Holland, he’s a dead end for now.”

“What do you mean?” Lacey replied.

“He’s a ghost, Lacey. I wouldn’t get your hopes up about finding him. He impersonated a doctor named Herman Holland for twenty years. Since we don’t know who he really is, he could be anyone or anywhere right now. And while I agree he’s suspicious, I’m not convinced he’s behind these crimes. Remember, he lived among us for twenty years without murdering anyone.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Lacey said.

“Excuse me?”

“I think Doc Holland killed my parents.”

Lacey sunk down in the leather chair and felt a sharp pain in her gut. She was out of theories other than the one that placed Doc Holland behind everything. And if Doc Holland couldn’t be found, then how would the murders ever be solved? She explained to Ed everything she knew about the WINO killings. She couldn’t tell if Ed believed her or not; all she could see was another layer of exhaustion settling over his features. For the first time since all this murdering began, Lacey started to believe that justice would never be served.

Lacey got to her feet and was heading out the door when she heard Deputy Doug mumbling to himself. She closed the door for privacy and whispered.

“Sheriff, what about Doug?”

“What about him?”

“Does he have an alibi for the nights in question?”

“Lacey, Doug’s not your killer.”

“Does he have an alibi?” Lacey insisted.

The sheriff consulted the back of his brain and said, “Sweetheart, you’re pulling at straws here. Doug was working. I bet we even got him on video surveillance.”

“Then why is he acting so suspiciously?” Lacey asked.

“Because, and let’s keep this between you and me, he’s off his meds.”

“Meds?” Lacey asked.

“Doug has some issues.”

“Sheriff, do you think it’s wise to hire an unstable man to carry a gun and act as town deputy?”

“I don’t see anyone else applying for the job, do you?” the sheriff asked.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Lacey asked.

“Take your money and run?” Ed suggested.

Lacey was starting to think that was a good idea. She rushed out of the station, hoping to avoid engaging Doug in any conversation, but that was a fool’s dream.

“Where’s the fire?” Doug said.

“I have to get to the store before it closes.”

“The store? Likely story.”

“We’re out of milk.”

“What do you need milk for?” Doug asked.

“Um, coffee?” Lacey replied, backing toward the door.

“Save your lies for the amateurs,” Doug said.

“Excuse me?” Lacey replied.

“You drink your coffee black.”

“And cereal.”

“Ever try orange juice? Works just fine in a pinch.”

“Okay. See you later, Doug,” Lacey said, practically racing out of the office.

When Lacey returned home, she started packing. If she couldn’t find the murderer, she’d have to leave town soon. At least before Big Marv learned that his land was made of plain old dirt.

Later that evening, she heard the front door unlock and the sound of feet scuffling and unbridled laughter traveling through the house. Paul and Brandy entered with an open bottle of champagne.

Paul shouted Lacey’s name. Then Brandy echoed him. Lacey sheepishly entered the living room.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Brandy chugged straight from the bottle, then passed it to Paul, who took another healthy gulp.

“We’re celebrating,” Paul said, offering the bottle to his sister.

“What are we celebrating?” Lacey asked.

“Show some manners,” Brandy said to Paul as she scavenged the kitchen for a proper glass. There were no champagne flutes to be found, so she grabbed a coffee mug and drained the bottle into it.

Brandy passed the mug to Lacey.

“We’re engaged,” Paul said.

“Engaged?” Lacey asked, as if she didn’t understand the meaning of the word.

“Yeah, we’re gonna get hitched,” Brandy replied.

“Show her the ring,” Paul said.

Brandy flashed something that could only have come out of a gumball machine, made from plastic and an unidentifiable metal that would eventually turn her finger green.

“Nice ring,” Lacey said.

“We have to go to Redding for the real thing,” Paul replied, waiting for his sister to say something nice.

Lacey could feel all eyes on her, so she said the only thing she could.