Murder Deja Vu by Polly Iyer Page B

going to call this friend of yours?”
    “Yes, but not from around here.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Frank Vance.”
    “Isn’t he—?”
    Reece smiled. “So, Jeraldine told you. I figured she would.”
    Vance was from the second part of Reece’s life. The part he’d promised to tell her but never did because the police hauled him off to jail. “We have a long drive. Tell me about him.”
    Reece drew a deep breath. “Sure you want to know?”
    “There’s nothing you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you.”
    He reached across the divide and wrapped his rough-skinned hand around her neck. “Maybe it’ll be easier to talk about if I don’t have to look at you. Let me think how to start.”
    “Start at the beginning.” She watched Reece’s face contort and braced herself for what she was going to hear.
    * * * * *
    R eece inhaled a deep breath, then let it out. Again. In and out. Slow and steady. He started with the trial and the fear and disbelief that settled on him as the lack of convincing evidence became secondary to pinning the vicious murder on someone—anyone—and closing the case.
    “I sat there when they read the verdict thinking this couldn’t be happening. This is a mistake. Where’s the justice? I’m innocent. Innocent people don’t go to prison for a murder they didn’t commit.” He turned to Dana. “But they do.
    “Jeraldine promised she’d pursue other avenues, appeal the verdict. But off I went. To Norfolk, a medium security prison south of Boston. I arrived, dazed, and went through the stuff all new prisoners go through—strip search, exam—both physical and psychological, got my clothes, and listened while some guy told us what life would be like in prison and how we’d better accept it. They called it orientation. I called it ‘—scare the new guy into shitting his pants.’”
    This is where you’re going to spend the rest of your life, buddy. Get used to it.
    “My stomach tightened like this.” He fisted his hand. “You know my life until then. You said it yourself—boring. That first week, I lay on the thin mattress in my small cubicle, listening to the sounds, wondering how many more nights I could go without sleeping. I must have dozed occasionally, but not much. I heard crying and laughing; I heard otherworldly voices. I waited for a guard to come in, because I’d heard some were as bad as the cons. I waited, but no one ever came. I wondered if I could make it. A week later, I doubted I would.”
    “If you don’t want to tell me this part, don’t.”
    “Why? Have you figured it out?”
    She didn’t answer. Reece assumed she’d heard stories. She’d been married to a lawyer for twenty years. But he wanted her to know. They’d shared so much. Bad enough the label of murderer hung on him like a scarlet M—if she didn’t know what happened to him in prison, she’d always wonder who lay beside her in bed.
    “Jeraldine warned me what could happen, but because of my size she doubted anyone would take me on. Cons went for the weak ones, she said. Small, helpless boys, not guys six-three and weighing two-twenty.” He glanced at Dana, then quickly fixed his focus on the road. “She was wrong, but it took four of them to do it, all as big or bigger than me.”
    Reece couldn’t tell her everything. How could he convey the rancid smell of body odor fermenting in the humidity of the showers? Or the sound of his kneecaps cracking as they pushed him hard to the shower floor, his palms sliding on the slick tile? Strong hands digging into his backside while they held him down?
    “I fought them, but two of them batted me down every time I tried to get up.” His muscles tensed as he recalled the cold shank biting into his throat, forcing him to suck dick while another penetrated him from behind, pumping and pumping, until the son of a bitch shot his wad.
    How do you like this, frat boy? Bet you never had it this good.
    “The pain shot through my