Picture Me Dead

  “Ashley?” she said curiously.

  Ashley didn’t have time to beat around the bush. “Two things. First, what were you really doing in my room? I knew someone had been there, and Nick mentioned that you had brought in some laundry, but…no laundry.”

  Sharon’s cheeks went bloodred. “I lied to him. I’m sorry.”

  “Then…?”

  “I was trying to get to know you a bit better.”

  “We could have gone shopping or had lunch,” Ashley said.

  Sharon shook her head. “Ashley…I have an appointment on Saturday morning. If you’ll just bear with me until then, I’ll explain myself completely, and I hope you’ll understand.”

  “You’re being very mysterious.”

  “Not mysterious. Just a little…well, you’ll understand when I tell you. What was the second thing?”

  “I need to know about a property you sold.”

  Sharon frowned. “A property?”

  “Way southwest. Almost in the Glades.”

  “I’ve sold a number of properties out there. Which one?”

  Ashley gave her the address. Sharon still stared at her blankly.

  “A big house, lots of land and several outbuildings,” Ashley said.

  “That could be a couple of places. I can’t access old files from the house, but I’ll look it up for you once I get to work.”

  “Are you going in? Nick just said you don’t have anything ’til a closing at twelve.”

  “Ashley, if you need information, I’ll make a point to go in and get it for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Anything and everything you can give me.”

  Sharon nodded. “I’ll have it by tonight.”

  “I probably won’t be home until late tonight. I’m supposed to be celebrating with friends.” Of course, she wouldn’t be celebrating if she didn’t find one of her friends by that evening. “If you can, leave whatever you dig up on my bed.”

  “Sure.”

  They stood staring at one another for a moment. “Ashley, I shouldn’t have been in your room, it wasn’t my place, and I’m really sorry, but I hope you’ll understand when I’ve had a chance to tell you…what’s going on.”

  “I hope so, too,” Ashley said. She turned and started to walk away.

  “Ashley?” Sharon called after her. Ashley turned. “You know that Nick adores you. He couldn’t love you more, or be prouder of you, if you were his own child.”

  “He’s everything to me, as well,” Ashley said, curious that Sharon would have stopped her with such a comment. “If you get that information, I’ll be really grateful.”

  “I’ll definitely retrieve the file.”

  Ashley walked back into the kitchen. Nick was looking at her curiously as she headed for the coffeepot. “Is everything all right?”

  “Absolutely,” Ashley said. She set her cup down on the counter and told him a white lie. “I just wanted to thank her for the laundry.”

  “Good,” Nick said. “Hey, your cell phone is ringing.”

  “What?”

  “I can hear it. In the bedroom.”

  Once Nick had said it, she could hear the faint tones of her phone, as well. She thanked him quickly as she went running into her bedroom, digging into her bag for her phone. Jan’s number. She caught it quickly.

  “Jan!” she said breathlessly.

  “Hey. I guess we were being silly about Karen, though why she hasn’t called one of us back yet, I don’t know.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She called in to work again already—still sick.”

  “Then why isn’t she sick at home? And why is her car in the drive?”

  “I don’t know. We can ask her next time we see her, I guess.”

  “I think I’ll run by her place again after work.”

  “You don’t need to bother. She’s supposed to be celebrating your new job with us tonight. If she doesn’t show up for that, it will be time to call in the troops.”

  “You have a point there. All right.” She didn’t mention the scrapings she had taken from Karen’s tub. There was no reason to make her worry needlessly. And if Karen had called in to work again, then she had to be okay.

  Or someone was calling the school on her behalf.

  “See you tonight, then,” Ashley told Jan, and rang off.

  She showered quickly and dressed for work, feeling strange now that she didn’t have to put on her trainee blues in the morning. When she got out to the kitchen, Sharon had apparently given up the idea of going back to sleep; she was with Nick, leaning against him where he sat on a counter stool, both of them gazing at the newspaper.

  “Have a good day, kid,” Nick told her.

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Jake thought he had probably made the drive to the prison in record time, and it still seemed like the longest drive he had made in his life.

  As the first miles had gone by, he’d spent the time being angry, longing to do something physical to shake Ashley and make her understand.

  The second half of the drive, he’d begun to question himself. Was he fanatical? Or did he have a right to be concerned? How do you not care when you’re starting to find that every moment that really matters is with someone who is determined to put her life on the line?

  He arrived far too early and had to find the closest twenty-four-hour restaurant to the prison to sit and nurse eggs and coffee for an hour. As he ate, he jotted down notes on things he’d been thinking of. He drew diagrams of the area in which the bodies had been found. All the bodies. Bordon held the key. He’d always known it. And still, he found himself writing down information. Fact: the cult had existed. Three women associated with it had died. Fact: they had not found another group in any way similar to the People for Principle. Fact: most of the members of the cult had seemed truly oblivious of any wrongdoing, including murder. They had been humiliated and chagrined to discover that they had been fleeced. They had been eager to put the past behind them.

  Fact: another woman was dead.

  Fact: Nancy Lassiter, his partner, had been on the case. Had died during the investigation, though she had never been out to the property. Not that he knew about, anyway.

  Fact: she had left his boat alive. And she hadn’t been seen again until her car had been discovered in a canal weeks later.

  In a canal, near the property.

  Fact…

  He’d always felt that, of the members, if anyone could tell them anything, it would have been John Mast, who had vehemently denied any knowledge of any of the deaths, but who had admitted that he didn’t understand a great deal of the bookkeeping in the office he was supposed to manage. Mast had known something.

  Fact: Mast was dead. He had perished in a plane crash. Or had he?

  He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed headquarters. Marty wouldn’t be at work yet; he might well still be sleeping. But one of the task force would be available.

  He was connected with Belk, who assured him that he would investigate the plane crash immediately and find out if all the bodies had been positively identified.

  He turned back the page of his notepad, rereading the note Ashley had left him. She was right. They needed to back off. He did want to stop her from becoming a cop, and he knew she still meant to go back and finish up at the academy someday. He couldn’t remember the exact figures, but he knew that somewhere in the United States, a law enforcement official was killed around every fifty-eight hours. Part of the job. He didn’t want her to be part of that job. Even if he was himself.

  Idly, he flipped the notebook to the top page. There was a briefly executed but excellent drawing of an accident.

  The accident she had passed on the highway, the one that had left Stuart Fresia in a coma. He frowned, studying the drawing. There was a figure in black, staring at the road. At the accident. A figure in black…

&n
bsp; Black, like the members of People for Principle had worn.

  As he stared at the drawing, his cell phone rang. To his surprise, it was the warden from the prison. His face grew grave as he listened.

  “Is he dead?” he asked, his tongue thick as he formed the words.

  “Living, but barely,” the warden replied. “They’re rushing him into surgery. I know how important you felt this meeting was. Come straight to the hospital. The doctors don’t give him much chance. He hasn’t been conscious and he may never be conscious again, but I’ll let you sit with him once he’s out of surgery, just in case.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jake ended the call, paid for his breakfast and headed out, feeling ill, fighting alternating waves of anger, disappointment and bitterness.

  For Ashley, the morning was a blur. First she’d gone to hand in her badge and gun. She hated to do it, but it was necessary. She was no longer in the academy.

  Then, after signing some papers and meeting with Personnel, she had been sent in to study computer comparisons of bullet striations. She had, however, managed to meet with Mandy Nightingale. She hadn’t hesitated but had explained the situation to the woman, and Mandy had listened thoughtfully. First she had said that Ashley shouldn’t panic, especially since Karen had called in to work that morning. But she had agreed as well to do a discreet test and let Ashley know if the substance she’d found in the tub was blood or not.

  “If Karen doesn’t show up tonight, though…”

  “Then I’ll have to admit that I’ve already tested the substance for you,” Mandy told her.

  Ashley smiled and thanked her.

  At lunchtime, Mandy came to tell her that the substance was blood, but that she still shouldn’t panic. It was likely that Karen had simply cut herself shaving. There had been no spatter pattern, for one thing. “Then again, sometimes a killer cleans up so thoroughly that even with chemicals and special lighting, it’s hard for us to detect any traces. Hey! Don’t go pale on me. We’re not going to worry yet, remember?”

  “We’re not going to worry,” Ashley agreed. But her heart was racing and she was trembling with fear.

  “You are worried,” Mandy said sympathetically. “Ashley, you can go and fill out a missing persons report now, if you want. The department will waive the waiting period for you. But if you do that, her parents will be notified, her place of business will be investigated. And anyone and everyone who has seen her lately will be investigated.”

  “We’ll wait until tonight.”

  Jan called her soon after. “Have you heard from Karen yet?”

  “No.”

  “Neither have I. I’m going to kill her!”

  Ashley kept silent, afraid that her friend might already have met a similar fate.

  “Listen,” Jan went on. “I know I told you not to, but I’m going by her place before coming to the restaurant tonight. And if I find her I’m going to beat her senseless, then drag her into the car with me.”

  “Sounds good. Because if she doesn’t show…”

  “If she doesn’t show, we won’t be celebrating.”

  Ashley’s phone beeped, indicating she had another call. She told Jan goodbye and answered the incoming call.

  “Ashley?”

  It was David Wharton.

  “David! Why on earth did you take so long to call me back?”

  “I’ve been busy. Did you ask Sharon Dupre about that property?”

  “Yes, and she’s supposed to be pulling the file for me today.”

  “Good. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m having dinner with friends. We’re celebrating my new job.”

  “I’ve got to see you. I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be out late.”

  “Then invite me to dinner. I’ll be happy to celebrate your good fortune.”

  “We may not wind up celebrating. I have another friend who’s missing.”

  “One of the girls from the hospital? Karen? Or Jan?”

  She was surprised he knew both of them by name. But then, he had spent hours there, watching, not to mention that he was a reporter, trained to notice details.

  “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  “Fine. But I have a lot to tell you. Please, give me a chance. Let me come with you tonight so I can talk to you.”

  She sighed and told him where they were going. She would take a minute and talk to him. If she didn’t like what he said, she would have Arne and Gwyn and the others around her. A table full of “almost” cops. And Len, who could even arrest him if he seemed dangerous.

  Her lunch hour was over by the time she hung up. She went to spend time with Mandy, who showed her how to photograph a body from different angles and left her taking photos of a mutilated dummy. She spent an hour working on the project and was finishing up what she hoped would be a roll of good shots when Mandy stuck her head in the door. “Phone for you—I think you should take it.” The older woman was smiling.

  Ashley hurried to the phone, hoping against hope that it would be Karen. It wasn’t, but it was good news. Nathan Fresia was on the phone. He was elated. Stuart wasn’t conscious yet, but the scanner monitoring his brain had picked up activity that had given the doctors hope that he might awaken in a matter of days. She told Nathan how delighted she was, then felt a sudden sense of unease. “Nathan…was this knowledge made public?”

  “I don’t think so. But the hospital staff knows, and whatever cops were on duty.”

  “Since even the cops think someone meant him harm, it might be best to keep quiet about this. Let people think there’s no chance of a quick recovery.”

  “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll see that nothing else is said. I won’t leave him for a minute.”

  “I’ll be by tomorrow,” Ashley promised and rang off.

  Five o’clock rolled around. Still no call from Karen, and then, when Ashley tried to get hold of Jan, she couldn’t reach her, either.

  Len Green, out of uniform, handsomely dressed in khaki trousers and a brown knit shirt, appeared in the small space that had been allotted as her office. “Ready?”

  “I have my car here, Len.”

  “I know. I’m going to follow you home, then we’ll take my car and meet the others at the restaurant.”

  “But I can drive myself.”

  “Everyone knows you don’t drink and drive. And we intend to get you blitzed tonight.”

  “I don’t want to get blitzed. In fact, I won’t be doing anything if Karen doesn’t show.”

  “You still haven’t heard from her? I’m sure it’s nothing. She was excited about tonight. I’m sure she’ll show.”

  “I’m glad you feel so confident.”

  He shrugged. “Come on, I’ll follow you home.”

  “All right. But you’ll have to have coffee at the bar or something and wait for me. I want to shower and change.”

  “I’ll wait forever,” he told her.

  Friday evening, and Bordon remained unconscious.

  Jake refused to break his vigil at the man’s side. He’d had a number of talks with the surgeon, who had given him an extensive list of the man’s injuries. The liver, pancreas, stomach and intestines had all been damaged. Bordon had lost an incredible amount of blood, and then there had been internal bleeding. They had done all they could, but the man had little more than a ten percent chance of surviving the next forty-eight hours. He could regain consciousness any time, or he might never regain it.

  Jake had to go on the chance that he might.

  The other inmates were questioned extensively during the day. Every one of them denied wanting to harm Bordon. Despite strip searches and a thorough search of the cafeteria, the weapon that had inflicted such heavy damage had not been found.

  During the long hours of the day, Jake had taken a few minutes here and there to walk out in the hall and get in contact with the force in Miami-Dade. The night shift had given way to day, and Mar
ty had come on duty.

  “So Bordon was practically skewered, and he’s still hanging in,” Marty had said. Jake could imagine his partner shaking his head over the irony that a criminal might survive, while innocent people died every day.

  “He’s hanging in—barely.”

  “Well, I’ve got things covered here,” Marty told him, and began to tell him all he had learned. Skip Conrad had found prints belonging to Jake, Marty, Nick, Ashley and a number of other people whose prints were on file, all of whom had had reason to be on the boat. Skip had also commented on the lack of prints in many places, which might well have meant that someone had been painstaking in their efforts to make sure no incriminating fingerprints were found.

  Marty had seemed puzzled about his request regarding John Mast and the plane crash, but he promised to get the information and did so quickly, calling Jake back within the half hour. There was excitement in his voice when he called. The reports issued out of Haiti, where the plane had gone down, had stated that there were no survivors. And that was the assumption. But only eighty of the plane’s eighty-eight passengers and crew members had been retrieved from the ocean. John Mast’s body had not been one of those identified. Because of the circumstances of the crash, he and his fellow unidentified passengers had been presumed dead.

  “He’s out there, somewhere, Marty, I know it,” Jake said.

  “Maybe, Jake. Maybe. You going to stay up there until Bordon dies?”

  “I have to wait it out, Marty.”

  “I understand. But listen, I’ll keep going with the property investigations. If you need me, call.”

  “Right.”

  He’d let his partner go, realized that he’d forgotten to tell him to keep Franklin and the others up to date on the information, so he made a call to the FBI man, who promised to get right on a search for John Mast, and to Blake, who would see that a report was written out and circulated. When he finished speaking with Blake, he started back toward Bordon’s bedside. Then he hesitated and put a call through to Ashley’s cell phone. She didn’t pick up. He called the bar. Katie answered. Nick and Sharon were out, as was Ashley. “She came home, showered and left again. Big celebration tonight for her promotion,” Katie told him.