Picture Me Dead

  Lucy smiled, looking very strong for a moment. “Detective Dilessio, everyone I’ve come across so far pities me for not seeming to understand that my son could have become an addict and gotten into very bad things in the matter of a few months. I don’t deny that those things can happen, but my husband and I always enjoyed an exceptional relationship with our son. I’m going to believe in him until someone proves otherwise. And I’m going to believe with my whole heart that he’s going to come out of that coma, and then we’ll all know the truth.”

  “My prayers are with you both,” Dilessio said. “And I certainly hope you’re proven right. I admire your faith.” Ashley was startled when he spoke to her next. “Were you heading home soon, Miss Montague?”

  “I, uh, yes.” She smiled apologetically at Lucy and Nathan. “We start at seven at the academy, I really do need to go,” she told them.

  “Great. Then I can hitch a ride,” Dilessio said.

  She must have looked at him; surprised, because he continued, “Marty dropped me off here. My partner.”

  “Oh. Well, of course I can give you a ride.”

  Nathan kissed her cheek. “Thanks so much for coming, dear.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “You’re so busy, and there’s so little you can do,” Lucy said.

  “I can be here,” Ashley said. She gave Lucy a quick hug. “Well, Detective Dilessio, if you’re ready…?”

  “Good night,” he said to the Fresias.

  “Thank you, thank you again. So much,” Lucy said.

  Ashley started down the hall, moving quickly to keep up with Dilessio’s long steps.

  She turned back to see that Nathan and Lucy were watching them go. Nathan had his arm protectively around his wife’s shoulders. Despite the terrible pain they were in at the moment, Ashley felt a strange little twinge of envy for them. They’d been married so many years, and they had a bond of love and commitment that would help see them through even this terrible time.

  She waved and turned back, brushing against Dilessio. She quickly straightened and put some distance between them.

  “Nice couple,” he said.

  “Very nice. And I was just thinking—” She broke off, flushing again, and angry with herself for it.

  “Thinking what?”

  She shrugged. It would be worse not to answer. “I don’t know. Marriage doesn’t get a lot of respect these days, but despite their heartache, they have one another, someone to lean on through all this.”

  He kept walking. For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to reply, that she had revealed too much to a man she barely knew.

  “I don’t know. My folks were really committed to each other.”

  “Were?”

  “My mother died a few years ago. Now Dad roams around like a lost puppy. I’ve seen a fair number of good relationships. Then again…” He shrugged. “I’ve seen a few pretty rotten ones, too. The Fresias appear to be pretty decent types, devoted to their son as well as to one another.”

  “They are. And if you only knew Stuart…”

  “I warned them. The truth may be that Stuart got caught up in something bad.”

  “I can tell you that isn’t so.”

  “Oh?” He paused, staring at her. “Then what is your scenario?”

  She stood still, lifting her chin slightly, not about to let him patronize her.

  “Let’s start with what we know, Detective. He suddenly appeared, a pedestrian, on a highway with at least four lanes of speeding traffic in both directions. He had to come from somewhere.”

  “Right. A house, an apartment, somewhere near the highway. Or from a car.”

  “Exactly. But if he’d been living in the area, it’s likely someone would have seen him walking around in his underwear, something I’m sure the investigating officer looked into. Someone would have come forward with information. This may be Miami, but men don’t walk along the highway in their underwear every day. I believe he was in a car. That someone let him out or pushed him.”

  “Well, Miss Montague, I actually believe the same thing. Maybe there was an argument, and in his drugged state, he just got out and started walking. Maybe he was with his supplier, and in that case, the guy sure as hell wasn’t going to hang around to see what happened.”

  “Then again, maybe someone pushed him out on the highway, assuming he’d be killed.”

  “A murderer who assumes his victim will be killed?”

  She stood her ground. “I’m sure it’s happened.”

  He turned and started walking again. She followed. “You must have an inkling something was wrong or else you wouldn’t have come here.”

  He stopped again. “It’s a strange enough story. But I wasn’t blowing smoke when I said I have a full plate at the moment. I’ll talk to Carnegie—he’s the lead officer on this case—and find out what I can. But you need to remember this. You’re not even a patrol cop yet. You’re in the academy. Don’t go thinking you’re Detective Sipowicz, okay? You could be walking into danger you’re not experienced enough to deal with.”

  “So,” she said triumphantly, “you do think—”

  He stopped again, impatient. “I think that if he was involved with heavy drugs, you could get yourself in a mess. Remember where we are. A lot of the worst stuff that goes down here goes down because of drugs. So if you want to help your friend, visit him when you can, keep your nose to the grindstone in your classes and leave the investigating to experienced officers.”

  Ashley walked ahead of him. “Yes, sir, Detective Dilessio.” She reached the door to the hospital parking garage. “But since the experienced officers are really busy and don’t believe in Stuart the way that I do, I’ve hit a bit of a wall, haven’t I?”

  “Carnegie is good,” he said flatly. “Look, Ashley, you go with what you’ve got. It’s not unusual that most people are going to think your friend got into drugs—his bloodstream was filled with heroin when he came in here. So don’t get angry because people look at the case from that angle. Maybe what you’re saying is true. If so, we’ll find that out. We’re not magicians, but we do come up with the answers even in the really tough cases, most of the time. So have a little faith, all right?”

  “Of course,” she said stiffly.

  He opened the door. She led the way to her car, used the remote to spring the locks and got in, all too aware of him sitting next to her. It bugged her to realize she was being incredibly precise with every move she made as a driver, just because he was in the car. She jerked to a stop at the booth to pay, wincing as she did so. Shit. The guy was going to think she wasn’t even capable of driving.

  He hadn’t said a word by the time they reached the road. To break the awkward silence, she asked, “So…how do you like your new slip?”

  “It’s great. Convenient. I’m not much of a cook, so it’s good to have the restaurant right there.”

  “I guess you’ve known Nick a long time.”

  “Seven or eight years.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t know you…. Well, I’d seen you a few times, I guess. You’ve been coming into Nick’s that long?”

  He shrugged. “Sunday afternoons now and then, but not too often, really.”

  “I know most of the cops who come in, and when I was applying to the academy, they were helpful. I’m surprised Nick didn’t tell me to talk to you.”

  “I probably wasn’t around, and if I had been, I might not have encouraged you.”

  “Oh?”

  He didn’t reply. And he’d just started to seem so human.

  “You don’t think women should be on the force?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what are you saying?” she persisted.

  He turned to her, studying her in the shadows, in the flash and glare of the streetlights. “Maybe you’re not the type,” he told her. “You’re persistent—”

  “I’d think that’s a plus,” she murmured.

  “Persistence needs to come wit
h patience. It’s a team effort out there on the streets. You don’t seem too willing to let your teammates carry the ball.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you should keep your nose out of this investigation. Don’t go hanging out in bad neighborhoods thinking you’re going to find the key that unlocks the case. You’re not ready for that kind of investigation. Trust people to do their jobs.”

  She stared straight ahead at the road. “Because that’s how you are, right? That’s why you can’t even eat dinner without a file open in front of you.”

  “I’ve been at this a long time. Ten years,” he told her. “You just missed the turnoff,” he commented.

  “Maybe I go a different way,” she said defensively. But of course he was right. She had missed the turnoff.

  Better to just admit it, and turn around. She did so. To his credit, he didn’t say a word.

  At last they got to Nick’s. She parked in her spot and they got out of the car. “Well,” she said, sounding only a little bit stiff, “I do thank you for taking the time to come down to the hospital.”

  He nodded. “I’ll talk to Sergeant Carnegie and emphasize that your friend really wasn’t the kind of kid to have gotten into that much trouble on his own. Maybe he’ll have some information.”

  “Thanks. And, Detective…?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Stuart isn’t a kid. He’s twenty-five, and he’s always been a responsible guy.”

  “Sure. Good night.”

  He waved a hand her way and started toward his slip. Ashley watched him go.

  She felt tired and drained, more restless than ever about Stuart. Letting herself in through the private kitchen, she hoped the house would be empty. She didn’t feel like talking right now, even with Nick.

  The house was empty. She could hear the sounds of talking and music on her way to her own wing. Obviously Nick was still busy. He would understand if she just came in and went to bed. As would Sharon, if she were there. Which she probably was, as lately she spent most of her nights with Nick.

  In her room, Ashley flicked on the television, brushed her hair, washed her face and got ready for bed while listening to the news. The anchor went from the national news to the local. That evening, there had been a big pile-up in Broward, on 595. A pop star had been arrested for drug possession on the beach. Two visiting movie moguls had been involved in a disturbance at a club.

  There were still no leads on the murder victim discovered Friday in the southwest area of the county, though the police were working hard to discover her identity. The medical examiner and metro homicide departments had released the information that she had been killed in a manner reminiscent of a series of homicides that had taken place five years earlier.

  Ashley set her toothbrush in its holder and left the bathroom, sitting on the foot of the bed to watch the rest of the newscast. The anchor went on to warn women to take extreme care, despite the fact that the previous killings had been associated with a defunct cult and there was no evidence of current danger.

  The anchor went on to report speculation by some citizens at the time that the police and the judicial system had been lacking in the pursuit of the killer, taking the easy way out when a young itinerant had confessed to the slayings before taking his own life.

  He continued speaking over a shot of Peter Bordon, known as Papa Pierre, now in federal prison in the center of the state. The victims of the previous killings had all been associated with his sect, but Bordon had denied any involvement in the deaths. He had been convicted instead of fraud and income tax evasion.

  Then he turned it over to a perky blond weather girl, who spoke about the mild and beautiful evening and days to come.

  Ashley turned off the television, then found herself walking to her private outside door. She stepped outside, gazing at the boats in their slips. Glancing down the length of the dock, she noted the Gwendolyn.

  Detective Dilessio’s boat.

  He was handling the new murder case. Perhaps that was why he was so testy. There had been a few occasions when he had seemed almost human, so it was possible he simply had a lot on his mind.

  Well, the perky weather girl had been right. The night was beautiful, with a fresh breeze off the water, enough to make it balmy, not sticky hot, not too cool. She stood outside a while longer, then ducked back when she saw a figure emerge on the bow of the houseboat.

  Dilessio.

  Half in and half out of her doorway, she counted on the shadows to hide her presence. She wondered what he was doing. Maybe he had listened to the perky weather girl, too, and come out to see what the night was like. He’d stripped down to cutoffs. She could see the moonlight glinting on his chest.

  She could just imagine having Karen and Jan with her. He would have been thoroughly assessed by now, legs, butt, face…maybe even feet. Of course, she couldn’t see him all that clearly from here, but…

  Yes, the guy was good-looking. Strong face, deep voice, good eyes and yes, great buns.

  “Hey, Ash, too much work and not enough play,” she murmured to herself. She forced herself to slip into her room, to close and lock the door. What the hell was she thinking?

  For some reason, she didn’t seem able to help herself. She kept thinking about her conversation with Karen.

  Don’t you ever just want to have sex?

  It wasn’t as if she’d just met him, but still, she certainly didn’t know him.

  Still, she found him attractive. Too attractive, especially because he could sure as hell be an overbearing jerk. Not to mention that she was in the academy and he was a detective. It was the stupidest thing she’d ever thought of in her life.

  But then, it didn’t really have a lot to do with thought. She had sat next to him in a car, and her palms had gone damp. Not because he was a detective. Because he’d been next to her.

  She’d seen him just standing on his boat.

  And…

  Okay, he was physically appealing. And she’d been leading a dull life, work, study, work, study, and…he had the right parts, put together quite well, with a voice…

  She groaned. It was getting late. The alarm would ring well before six, and every class was very important. There was a lot she had to prove—to herself, and to others, she suddenly realized.

  She lay on her bed, oddly aware that a man who both infuriated and tempted her was just yards away.

  The Twilight Zone, Nick at Nite, AMC. She needed to watch something entertaining that would capture her mind and then let her sleep.

  She started flicking through the channels. Cooking…no. Alligators in the swamp…not tonight. She went through more of the premium cable stations.

  She stopped, her eyes widening.

  She wasn’t certain when they had started putting soft porn that graphic on television. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, even though she was sitting there alone.

  That wouldn’t help at all. She quickly switched the channel.

  A rerun of I Love Lucy turned up. Much safer. Ashley slammed her pillow, determined that she was going to relax and go to sleep.

  Eventually, she did.

  Jake didn’t always lock the door to the cabin of the Gwendolyn, but he could have sworn he had tonight. But when he’d automatically set the key in the lock, the knob had twisted before the key had been turned.

  He held still for a minute, listening, but there were no sounds other than the lapping of the water against the boat and the distant, blended noises of the bar. He held very still, drew his gun, and flattened himself against the exterior of the cabin as he threw the door open.

  Again…nothing.

  He entered slowly and carefully. The living room, galley, dining area…all empty. He went aft and down, checking the small head, the closets, every crawl space. He traveled back through the main rooms and went into the master cabin, going through the same routine. Nothing.

  Nothing…but a feeling. Someone had been there.

  Puzzled, he paused at his d
esk. Small, compact, neat. There was just space on top for his laptop and a small printer, and the desk itself offered drawers where he stowed files on the cases he was working on. He opened the drawers; everything seemed to be in place. The computer was off, as he had left it.

  Nothing appeared to be out of order….

  Just slightly…different.

  Feeling a sense of invasion that couldn’t be pinpointed, he assured himself that the door was locked—double bolted. In his cabin, he stripped down to a pair of cutoffs and sat at his computer for a moment, drawing up the old files he had been obsessively rereading. Then he hesitated, feeling that his computer had been invaded, as well. Yet nothing was different.

  He went out and stood on deck, searching along the dock and the rows of boats. No one seemed to be stirring. There were still lights on at Nick’s.

  Though barefoot and bare-chested, he sprang to the dock and walked the short distance to the bar. The door remained open, though the Closed sign had been set out. Entering, he found Nick behind the bar, wiping down the old polished wood. Just a few customers remained at the tables, drinking coffee. Nick had a cut-off policy where liquor was concerned; he didn’t intend to be responsible for drunk drivers. An old John Denver song finished playing on the jukebox as Jake approached Nick.

  “Jake, hey. What can I do for you?” Nick asked, surprised to see him. He frowned and teased, “Shirts and shoes required, you know. Florida law.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” Jake said. “Nick, I needed to ask you…that key I asked you to keep—did you use it tonight for any reason?”

  Nick shook his head. “No, it was busy here tonight. I never left.”

  “This is awkward, but…are you sure you keep it in a safe place?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  “It’s not here, accessible to anyone in the bar?”

  Nick glanced across the room. “Hey, y’all!” he called to the remaining customers. “Thanks for coming, but it’s time for you to head out.”

  Jake waited while Nick showed the customers out. When the door was closed and locked, Nick said, “Come on in the house. I’ll make sure the key is exactly where I left it.”