“He’s dying,” Jake said flatly. “I’m sitting here hoping against hope that he’ll say something before he does.”
“I see. What about that corpse you have on your hands? Think he ordered the execution from prison?”
“I did—once. Now…I don’t know. What I’m sure of is that the food fight was caused to cover the killing of Peter Bordon. And the thing is, I found a sketch Ashley did of the accident that landed Stuart Fresia in the hospital. There’s a figure on the side of the highway, someone wearing a black cape and cowl. That was the uniform worn by members of Bordon’s cult. I’ve also discovered that a former cult member who’d been presumed dead may have survived the plane crash that supposedly killed him. I know. I’m probably stretching things, but there was a reporter hanging around the hospital after Stuart was admitted, and according to Carnegie, the investigator on the case, he isn’t checking out as who he says he is. I keep wondering if he could be the guy from the cult. Anyway, I’m concerned for Ashley.”
“She’s in for the night, I’m certain. I’ll talk to her in the morning, though. It’s all right to tell her what you’ve told me, right?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll keep my eye on her.”
Nick was quiet for a minute. Jake waited, thinking he meant to say more. Or maybe he was waiting for Jake to say something. Finally he filled the silence.
“I’ll be back in Miami as soon as I can. If anything comes up…let me give you Carnegie’s direct number. You know how to reach Marty, and if you can’t reach him…let me give you a few other names.”
“I’ll grab a pen. Damn…where the hell is a pen? Sharon? Shit. There she goes. Sandy, you got a pen there? No…hey, Curtis! Okay, here we go. I got a pen.”
Nick took down the names and numbers Jake gave him. They rang off.
Jake headed back into the hospital room. The prison guard was still standing at the end of the bed. Jake nodded to him and slouched wearily in the chair. A moment later, the doctor came in. He studied his patient, opening his eyes, checking his pulse.
“How’s he doing?”
“I think you can see,” the doctor said with a shrug. “One way or another…I don’t think he has more than ten hours left.”
Ashley’s next move hadn’t been learned at the academy. It had been taught to her at a women’s defense class she had attended with Jan, who thought she should learn what she could since she spent so much time on the road.
It was a good maneuver, a back kick with centered force. And she caught him just where she meant to.
David Wharton released her immediately, howling in sudden pain, falling to the floor in the fetal position.
“What on earth did you do that for?”
Ashley stared down at him. His reaction stunned her. “You attacked me.”
“I didn’t attack you. I was trying to stop you from leaving. I need you to listen to me.”
“Talk, then.”
“I can’t talk. I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying. You’re just hurting a little.”
“A little? I’m in agony.”
“All right, so you’re in agony. It will fade.”
“The hell it will. I’ll never have children.”
“I’m sure you’ll still have children—if you live long enough. If you have something to say to me, you’d better say it fast. I’m going to call the police.”
“You are the police.”
“I can’t haul you off to jail. When I call 9-1-1, they’ll send someone who can.”
“Ashley, please!”
“Talk.”
“I’m trying. Do you have any idea what this feels like? You’ve never been kicked in the balls.” He eyed her with pained reproach. “And I’m starting to think you have them, too.”
“Talk.”
“Yes, Ashley, I own the property next to the commune. I bought it with Stuart.”
“What?”
“He was on to something. He didn’t want to use his name. There were reasons why it was better to use mine. But hell, I didn’t have the money. Stuart did.”
“Why did Stuart want that property?”
“He was investigating the commune.”
“That’s not what you said before.”
“Not exactly.”
“If you have something on those people, why not tell the police.”
He managed to edge himself up against the foot of the bed, gritting his teeth and wincing. “Because if the police go in, they won’t find anything.”
“Perhaps because nothing is going on.”
David Wharton closed his eyes and shook his head. “It only happens on certain nights.”
“What only happens?”
“I don’t know. But I think Stuart does, and that’s why he was drugged to the gills and pushed out on the highway.”
Ashley had been leaning against the door, arms crossed over her chest. There was enough sincerity in his words that she found herself believing him.
She shook her head. “David, this is ridiculous. You’ve got to go to the police. They don’t have to run in like gangbusters—”
“I can’t go to the police, Ashley.”
“Why?”
He stared at her for a long time, then let out a soft sigh.
“Because there’s at least one cop out there who’s dirty.”
It was closing in on one-thirty, when the crowd generally started thinning out. Nick usually gave last call at two on a Friday night, and the place cleared out by two-thirty, three at the latest.
Tonight, one-thirty was still a happening time.
He knew for a fact that Ashley had come home. He’d heard her going through the house. Soon after the phone call from Nick, Sharon had gone in, too, saying she was exhausted. She’d been exhausted an awful lot lately.
He should have felt secure. There was crime in the area, sure, but the marina itself tended to be safe. Boaters looked after boaters. Most of his clientele had been coming in for years. The place was practically a historical monument.
Jake’s phone call, though, had unnerved him. He pulled his keys from his pocket and opened the safe behind the bar that held a .45. It was right where it belonged. The gun was always under lock and key, because he would rather be robbed a thousand times over than have one of his employees shot in an attempt to defend the place.
Curtis was with Sandy at the bar. Nick had let Katie go early that night; she’d been serving as manager often enough lately that she deserved an early night.
“Hey, guys, keep an eye on the place for a minute, huh?” Nick was certain they were three sheets to the wind already, but they could manage the bar for a few minutes.
He slipped into the house. He checked his own room first. Sharon was in bed, apparently asleep. He walked through the house to Ashley’s door. He knocked tentatively.
“Ashley?”
The door swung open. Ashley stood before him, smiling. “Hey, Nick, what is it?”
He felt a little foolish. “Just making sure you’re all right.”
“I’m fine. Just a little…tired.” She yawned, and he noticed that her eyes were slightly unfocused.
“Had a few drinks, huh?”
“Three.” She showed him with her fingers. She smiled. “I’m going to get some sleep.”
“Talk to me in the morning, okay?”
“Sure.”
He kissed her on the forehead. She caught his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Uncle Nick,” she told him.
“Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He hadn’t said that in years. She grinned. “I won’t.”
She closed the door. He heard it lock.
Strange…Ashley had never locked her door before.
Ashley waited for several moments, listening at the door, until she was sure Nick had gone on. Then she turned back to David Wharton. He was still on the floor; however, color seemed to be returning to his cheeks.
“You?
??re full of it,” she told him icily. “And I am going to see you arrested.”
“Ashley, think of Stuart.”
“I am thinking of him.”
“There was an attempt on his life. He’s in danger. Real danger.”
“What on earth makes you think there’s a dirty cop involved in this whole thing?”
He hesitated. “I heard someone talking once. But no one would believe me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why? Look, Ashley, I know how dedicated you are. I know your father was probably a great cop. I know that ninety-nine percent of the guys on the force are honest. But hell, cops are people, too. There are temptations. And there are clever crooks. And where better to hide than behind a uniform?”
“You still haven’t given me one solid thing to go on.”
He hesitated for a second, then plunged in. “All right, let me try to explain. Along with big business, Stuart started looking into weird religion cults, trying to find out how many people really sacrificed chickens and why there were so many bizarre offshoots of established practices.”
“Caleb Harrison said they weren’t a religious cult.”
“Trust me, he’s practicing a brand of religion. A few other guys work that property, but it’s mainly women.”
“David, if he owns the property and they want to live there and work it, I’m not sure there are any laws against it.”
“Probably not—not laws that are enforced, at any rate. There are some oddities still on the books, you know.”
“You better keep talking, because I’m still lost.”
“Stuart got into the commune. Someone had recommended it to him as a modern-day form of ancient living. He became convinced that Caleb Harrison hadn’t bought the place with his own money, and that Harrison himself didn’t really know what was going on. We bought the land next to them to watch what was going on.”
“And what was going on?”
“Boats…at night. But you never knew which nights. They seemed to be random.”
“It’s not illegal to have a boat in a canal,” she snapped.
“It is if the boats are being used for illegal activities.”
“What illegal activities?”
He shook his head. “Can’t be marijuana—the goods are too small. Probably heroin. What I’m sure of is that it’s a bigger operation, but really well handled. Small planes slipping under the radar, coming in from South America and making drops in the Everglades. Then someone picks up the goods, and they’re brought in little by little.”
“You need to tell this to the police.”
“You’re not listening to me! If the police go in, Caleb Harrison will show them his prize tomatoes. Maybe they’ll meet a few people living and working there. They won’t find anything else, because Harrison himself is probably in the dark. Hey, he’s got the lifestyle he wants. Why would he question a benefactor who asked him to do nothing but live on the property and grow produce?”
“The cops—”
“You can’t call in the cops, I told you that! There’s definitely a cop in on it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I told you—I heard talking.”
“All right, just what do you suggest?”
“I want to catch them in the act.”
“Catch them in the act—how? You don’t know when anything goes down, assuming you’re right and someone is smuggling drugs. Why not put the police on the alert, have them stopped before they ever reach the property?”
“No! Not even if you’re sure you’re talking to an honest cop. If you stop the drugs coming through the Everglades, you’ve done nothing but stop some small-timers who don’t know a damn thing. You’re not going to get the mastermind behind what’s going on—the person with enough power and influence to seize Stuart, shoot him up with heroin and throw him out on the highway.”
“David, we’ve got to bring someone in on it. You must know that. You came to me.”
“I came to you because we have to figure out a way to get Stuart out of that hospital before he’s killed.”
“He’s being guarded. His parents are there all the time.”
“He’s being guarded by cops.”
“There’s got to be someone we can trust.”
“Ashley, even if you go to the higher-ups the word could filter down. Don’t you understand? We have to find out what is going on, before Stuart winds up dead.” He fell silent suddenly, then rose, walking toward the door to the outside.
“Someone is out there,” he said softly.
“David, this is a bar on a busy Friday night. There are probably lots of people out there.”
He shook his head. “No,” he mouthed. “There was someone…listening to us.”
“All right, let’s go and have a look. There are always a few cops in the bar.”
“No cops,” he insisted.
“All right, I’ll get my uncle Nick.”
She turned toward her door. He caught her shoulder. “Ashley, wait. I’ve got to get out of here. You get your uncle, and you look around the place, and then you lock up like Fort Knox before you go to sleep.”
“David, just wait. I’ll make sure no one is slinking around. My uncle was in the army. He was the first person to take me to the shooting range. He’ll get his gun, we’ll walk around, make sure everything is safe, all right?”
“Ashley, I’m begging you to believe me. We have to figure out what to do or Stuart will wind up dead. Please…trust no one.”
“I shouldn’t trust sworn officers of the law, but I should trust you?”
“I’m trying to keep Stuart alive. Look, I promise, I’ll get more information. I swear, I’ll do whatever it takes. Give me another day. And if I can’t come up with something substantial, you can go to someone you really trust. And then, God help us all.”
“All right, sit tight. I’m going to get Nick. We’ll look around.”
She left David Wharton in her room, wondering if she was insane to trust him. She couldn’t help but feel he was telling the truth, at least as he believed it to be.
But a bad cop…?
Cops were people. It could happen.
She walked through the house and into the bar. There were a few people finishing their last drinks.
“Nick?”
“Ashley, you’re still awake.”
“Yeah…just barely. Can we take a walk around the place?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I heard noises.”
“It’s Friday night.”
“Humor me, please?”
“Sure.”
Nick opened the safe and took out his gun. He held it close to his thigh so as not to draw attention to the weapon as he escorted her out to the terrace and around the circumference of the property.
“What did you hear, exactly?” he asked, when they discovered nothing and no one.
She shrugged. “Oh, rustling, I guess. Nothing, really. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“You haven’t bothered me. You’ve never bothered me. But I think we need to talk. Really talk.”
She nodded. Her head was pounding. She didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t anymore. She should be calling the cops right now. But what if David Wharton was telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? She could be endangering Stuart’s life….
They had reached her outer door. Nick turned the knob. To Ashley’s surprise the door opened. Then she knew. David Wharton had bolted. He probably didn’t trust her any more than she trusted him.
“Ash, you’re worried that someone is outside, and you left the door open?”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said sheepishly.
He stepped inside, gun drawn, motioning her back. He quickly discovered that her bedroom bathroom and closet were empty. He even looked under the bed.
“Find anything?”
“Dust bunnies,” he told her.
She grimaced. “I need to v
acuum.”
“I need to check out the rest of the house.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“I’ve got the gun, and I still have three or four cops out there. I’ll be fine. But you lock yourself in. Both doors.”
“I won’t sleep unless I go through the house with you.”
He sighed and shrugged. “All right.”
They went through the house slowly, checking every closet, every nook—Nick even looked under his own bed, which woke Sharon.
“Anything wrong?” she asked sleepily.
“No, baby. Go back to sleep,” Nick told her.
She gave him a half smile and closed her eyes again.
“Well, no one here,” Nick said. “Ashley…”
“Thanks!” she said softly, then gave him a hug and returned to her room. She desperately needed some sleep. She couldn’t even think straight anymore. Every bit of her training and knowledge screamed that she needed to talk to someone.
And yet…
Instinct. Instinct was holding her back.
She locked herself in her room, but before going to bed, she stared at her phone. She sighed, bit her lip and decided on one call.
Nathan Fresia answered, sounding exhausted.
“Nathan, hi. It’s Ashley.”
“Ashley…do you know what time it is?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. You’re with Stuart, right?”
“Yup. Lucy is doing great, though. She’ll be here in…in just a few hours.”
“Nathan, this is strange, but humor me, please. Make sure that one of you is with Stuart every second. Unless his doctor is there or…just stay with him every second. Even when—even when the cops are around.”
“What is it, Ashley?”
“There’s no one who loves Stuart as much as you two do. So…?”
“We won’t leave him, Ashley.”
“Not for a minute. Okay? I’ll be in tomorrow, all right?”
“All right. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be here. That would be wonderful.”
“Yes, yes it would.” She hesitated. “You’re certain Stuart is fine?”
“I’m staring at him right now. His color is good.” Despite his exhaustion, Nathan sounded excited. “Ashley, I’m praying….”