Picture Me Dead (4 page)

“I don't think he was in one of the cars,” Ashley said, remembering the relative positions of the cars, and the body.

“So he was walking across the highway in his underwear?” Jan said.

“Maybe there will be something on the news,” Karen said, switching the radio channel from the popular rock frequency they'd had on to the twenty-four-hour news station. The commentator was giving a rundown of events in Washington, but then switched over to local traffic.

“There's been an accident on I-95, northbound, a pedestrian struck by oncoming traffic,” a pleasant female voice said over the airwaves. “Both left-hand lanes are now closed, so use caution and slow down while approaching the turnpike interchange. For all you folks traveling from north Dade and Broward on your way to work in the downtown Miami area, be on the alert for slowing traffic on the southbound side. The turnpike is still running smoothly to that point, but to the south, we've got an accident on the off ramp from the Palmetto to Miller Drive.”

The traffic report ended, and then a different newscaster came on to give a report about boating conditions.

By then they had reached the entrance to the turnpike. Ashley threw her coins into the bucket at the toll booth and moved into traffic, aware that Karen was staring at her.

“We're going to put it out of our minds and have a good time,” Karen insisted firmly.

Ashley nodded. She tried to keep silent, then said, “It's just too bizarre. What was a man doing running across the highway in his underwear?”

“He must have been doped up,” Jan said from the back.

“That must be it,” Karen agreed. “Why the hell else would you try to cross at least ten lanes of traffic—dressed to the teeth
or
half-naked?”

“Ashley, when you go back to the academy Monday morning, I'm sure you'll be able to find someone who knows something about it,” Jan said.

“Yeah, you're right.”

“And until then, there's nothing you can do,” Karen said.

“Yes, there is,” Ashley said.

“What's that?”

“Stop at the first rest station, buy a big cappuccino, a horrible, greasy breakfast sandwich and stop shaking,” Ashley said.

“All right, I'm up for that,” Jan said. “I'll stick with regular coffee and these cookies, though.”

They reached the service plaza less than thirty miles later, still subdued, but trying to rekindle the light mood that had been with them as they'd started out. While Ashley and Jan stood in line for coffee and food, Karen gathered brochures for Orlando and its multitude of tourist attractions. When they were finally seated, Jan pounced on the brochure for Arabian Knights. “I've never been there. I loved Medieval Times, though, and this place has horses, too.”

“And
men
,” Karen said. “But I thought we were going to go dancing? You know, to Pleasure Island or someplace like that.”

“One night dancing, one night watching gorgeous men on horseback,” Jan said.

Ashley was barely listening. She had taken out a pencil and was sketching on her napkin.

A hand fell over hers, stopping the movement of her pencil mid-slide. She looked up and met Karen's. “That's chilling—too close to what we just saw,” Karen said.

Jan drew the napkin from her and shuddered. “What are we going to do, Ashley? You've got to let it drop.” She gazed down at the sketch again. “Thank God I was busy looking at pants that would look good on people with fat thighs,” she said, trying to draw a smile. “I'm haunted just by the picture.”

“You should have stayed in art school,” Karen said. “A drawing on a napkin…and it's just like the real thing. Please, Ashley…”

Ashley crumpled up the napkin. “Sorry,” she murmured guiltily. Her friends were right. There was nothing she could do about what had happened.

And she was destined to see much worse during her career as a cop.

“You haven't really given up on art, have you?” Jan asked her. “I mean, you're good. Really good. I've never seen anyone who can sketch people so well.”

“I'll never give it up,” Ashley said. “I love to draw. It's just that…”

“She likes the concept of a paycheck,” Karen told Jan with a sigh.

“You could have gotten a paycheck as an artist. I know it,” Jan said.

“Art school just cost too much,” Ashley said.

“You didn't take that scholarship because you were too afraid Nick would want to help you and he couldn't afford it,” Karen mused sagely.

“Nick would never stop me from pursuing any dream,” Ashley said a little defensively. And it was true. She knew Nick had been disappointed when she turned down the scholarship that had been offered to her by a prestigious Manhattan art college. But even with the scholarship, the money necessary to live and study in New York—even in a dorm—would have been too much. She could have gotten a part-time job, but it wouldn't have been enough. Nick would have tried to help, but with tourism suffering, he would probably have just about sent himself into bankruptcy.

“Look, I love art, but I always wanted to be a cop. My dad was a cop, remember?”

“None of us really
remembers,
” Karen said. “It was so long ago.”

“I remember that I loved my folks and admired my dad,” Ashley said. “And police work is fascinating.”

“Yeah, real fascinating. You're going to be in a patrol car, trying to chase down speeders, like Karen,” Jan said.

“Cute, Jan, really cute,” Karen said.

“Sorry.”

“Honest to God, I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing,” Ashley said.

“So, horses or dancing tonight?” Karen said.

“Let's just flip a coin—we'll fit them both in,” she promised. She crumpled up the wrapper from her sandwich along with the napkin on which she'd been drawing. “Ready to hit the road?”

“Want me to drive?” Karen asked.

“Good God, no!” Jan piped in. “She'll be arresting you—or giving you a warning speech, at the very least—from the passenger seat. Hey, can you write a ticket if you're sitting next to someone who's driving your own car?”

“Jan,” Karen said firmly. “I'm going to throttle you in a minute. Your precious little throat will be wounded, and you'll sound like a dying 'gator rather than a songbird.”

“Hey, you heard that—she's threatening me!” Jan said.

“Oh, will you two please stop?” Ashley begged, a smile twitching her lips.

“Seriously, want one of us to drive?” Karen said.

Ashley shook her head. “No, I'm fine.”

As far as driving went, she
was
fine.

But…

It felt as if the body on the highway would be etched into her mind forever.

N
ick was behind the bar, washing glasses, when Sharon Dupre returned. She hurried in, hoping he wasn't going to ask about where she'd been. She had said that she would arrive to help with the lunch crowd, but she hadn't managed to get back in time.

He didn't question her. She should have known he wouldn't, she thought as he looked up at her with his customary grin. Nick wasn't the jealous type. If she wasn't enjoying his company and wanted out, she was welcome to leave at any time. If she was happy with him, well, then, she should be there, and he would be delighted.

“Hey, how was your day?” he asked.

“Great.”

“Sell anything?”

“Showed two expensive places, but I don't have any bites—yet.”

“It takes time.”

“Has Ashley called? Did the girls reach their hotel yet?”

Nick shook his head. “She won't call me today unless there's a problem. I'll probably hear from her tomorrow. Hey, she loved the cookies. She'll tell you herself, when she gets back.”

“Good, I'm glad.”

She set her purse down behind the bar and gave him a kiss, wishing she didn't feel so nervous. It wasn't like her. She was never uneasy. Never. She was always in control.

She started to leave, but he pulled her back, giving her a stronger, much more suggestive kiss. When he released her, she flushed. “Sandy Reilly just came in, and he's staring at us!”

“Sandy's as old as the hills, and we're stirring memories of adventure and excitement and raw sexual thrills for him,” Nick replied.

“Chill, you two,” Sandy called out. “And break it up. Let's have some service around this place. The old-as-the-hills guy has perfect hearing, and he needs a beer.”

Sharon and Nick broke apart, both of them laughing. Nick called out, “Beer's on the house, Sandy.”

“Thank the good Lord for some things in life,” Sandy said, shaking his white head. “I could really use a cold one.”

“You sound desperate, Sandy.”

“I am. Now I know why I stick to boats. Just went to pay some bills, and it felt as if I were on the road forever. The traffic sucks.”

“Worse than usual?” Nick said.

“Hell yes, seems like every psycho in the world is out there today, and I ain't driving again. Line 'em up for me, Nick. Line 'em up.”

 

Beneath the water, Jake Dilessio could hear the sound of the scraper against the boat. Strange sound, more like rubbing than scratching. He finished with the last of the stubborn barnacles just as his air was giving out. He rose the few feet to the surface, grabbed the
Gwendolyn
's back ladder, inhaled a deep breath and drew his mask from his face in a single fluid motion. Dripping, he climbed the ladder and stepped onto his houseboat.

He sensed the whirl of motion before his attacker came after him. Tension, years of training and a rush of adrenaline kicked in.

As a fist shot out, he ducked, then bolted straight up, sending out his own left jab. Luck was with him, and he caught his mystery opponent straight in the jaw.

To his amazement, the man—wearing a tailored white dress shirt, tie, seamed navy pants and leather loafers—stayed down, something like a sob escaping him as he heaved in a breath and balanced on one hand and his knees, rubbing his jaw.

“Ah, hell,” Jake muttered softly. “Brian?”

“You were sleeping with her,” the man said.

Jake reached down, helping his attacker to his feet. The man was almost his height, slim, well built and usually attractive, a blue-eyed, blond surfer type, the kind of guy to whom women tended to flock. Right now, however, his blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffed up from crying, and his jaw was swelling, disrupting the usual classic line of his features.

“Brian, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked quietly. The adrenaline had ebbed from his body as if he'd been deflated. “Come inside, I'll get some ice for your jaw.”

Brian Lassiter started to pull away, then followed Jake into the living room of his houseboat. Efficiently designed, the
Gwendolyn
offered a broad main room/kitchen/dining room area all in one, while a set of stairs led down to an aft cabin and another few steps led up to the main cabin at the fore.

He drew Brian in, setting him on a bar stool, and opened the freezer to get ice. He wrapped a number of cubes in a bar towel and walked over to his visitor, shoving the bundle at him. “Here, put this on your jaw. I'll make coffee.”

“I don't need coffee.”

“You sure as hell do.”

“As if you've never had a few too many to drink.”

“I've had a few too many to drink a few too many times.
And
I've done some stupid ass stuff. But coming at me like that…hell, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I just wanted to deck you once,” Brian said. His voice dropped to a whisper-like sob. “Just once. You were sleeping with her.”

Jake had started brewing coffee. He flicked the switch on the machine hard and turned around. “Brian, I wasn't sleeping with her. And she never told you I was.”

“You're lying. There's no reason for you to tell me the truth now, because Nancy is dead.”

“That's right,” Jake said, his voice lethally quiet. “Nancy is dead.”

“And if you
had
been sleeping with her, you'd never tell me, 'cause now there's no way I could know for sure.”

Jake held his temper. “I think we both remember the inquest. It was a nasty, dirty affair. But it proved one thing, Brian. She wasn't with me that night.” She'd had what the medical examiner had deemed consensual sex with someone that night. He'd volunteered to be tested, proving that it hadn't been with him.

“She sure as hell wasn't with me,” Brian responded bitterly. “But even if she wasn't with you that night, she loved you.”

“We were friends, Brian.”

“Friends. Yeah.” He was silent for a moment. “
You
still think
I
was responsible.”

“I never said that.”

“You never said that? Like hell. Every time you looked at me during the inquest, you fucking accused me with your eyes.”

Brian really had been drinking heavily. Jake shook his head. He understood the feeling. Now and then, he still felt like heading out on a major bender himself.

“Brian, you're wrong. You couldn't be more wrong.”

“Accident. They said it was an accident. But you…you never believed that.”

“Brian, I think you were responsible for being a real idiot now and then, but not for your wife's death, all right?”

“I didn't make her do shit, man. I never made her do drugs, and when we were together, we never got plastered.”

“Brian, you're on a crying jag of a drunk right now. You're not thinking straight. No one ever suggested that you made anyone do anything. You were an ass, and hell yes, she was mad at you a lot. But she loved you, got it? Jesus, Brian, it was all a long time ago now. What the hell brought this on?”

“You don't know? Man, how could you have forgotten?”

Jake stared at Brian. He knew. He knew every damn year. “Her birthday,” he said softly.

“Yeah. She'd have been thirty, Jake. Thirty. Shit. She was twenty-five.”

Jake leaned against the counter, feeling as if hot wire were coiling in his stomach. “Twenty-five, and there's not a damned thing either of us can do about it now. She's been dead for nearly five years, Brian. And if I've heard right, you've been living for the past two of those years with a flight attendant.”

“Yeah, I've been living with a flight attendant,” Brian agreed. He shook his head. “Nice girl. I should marry her. But every time I get too close….” His words trailed off, and a pained expression having nothing to do with his swollen jaw crossed his features. “Well, hell, I start to wonder if Nancy will live with me forever, if I won't keep on waking up nights and thinking she's staring at me, thinking that if…Well, hell.”

The coffee was ready. Jake turned away from Brian and poured him a cup. Brian had hit a nail right on the head—for the two of them, though Brian couldn't know that.

Jake felt the same. As if something of Nancy continued to haunt him, as well, after all these years.

He brought Brian the coffee. “Brian, nothing is going to bring Nancy back. And get a grip. Do you know how much time has passed? No one thinks you killed her.”

“No. Not that I killed her. That I made her kill herself.”

“She didn't kill herself.
I
know it, and
you
know it.”

Brian lowered his head and inhaled deeply. “You know, Jake, there are people out there who think you're one heck of a big shit and not the great distinguished powerhouse you always look like in the press.”

“There's not a damned thing I can do about what people think, Brian,” Jake said evenly.

“Yeah, that's right. You can't arrest them for thinking you're a shit, can you?”

“Brian, drink your coffee, and please tell me you didn't drive down here.”

“Why, you gonna arrest me for that?” Brian said belligerently, staring at him.

“No, I'm just going to pray there aren't any broken bodies along the way.”

Brian lowered his head. “No, I didn't drive. I had a few drinks at a bar downtown and got a ride to Nick's from a friend. Sat out on the porch and had another few beers there. I didn't drive.”

“Good. Finish that and I'll take you home.”

Brian stared at him, shaking his head. “I know that Nancy came to you all the time. So sometimes I wonder…hell, with everything she must have said…why don't you just go ahead and tear me to pieces?”

“It would be illegal for me to kill you. And I'm a cop. That would make it really bad.”

Brian tried to form a smile; it came out more like a grimace.

“Yeah, but you could beat the shit out of me. Self-defense. I've given you cause a time or two. Why don't you do it? Would it make you feel guilty?”

“No,” Jake said flatly.

“Then…?”

“Because she loved you. And I loved her.” The other man looked up, startled, and Jake hastened to add, “I didn't say that I'd slept with her, Brian, just that I loved her. And she always believed there was something decent in you. Damned if I can see it, but it must be there. So…finish that coffee and I'll get you home.”

Brian stared at him, bowed his head again and nodded. He drank the coffee and quietly asked for another cup. After that, he went into the head and cleaned himself up a bit.

Brian had left his jacket at Nick's; they stopped for it.

Nick was behind the bar, working with Sharon, the woman he'd been dating for nearly a year, and with whom, Nick had informed Jake, he'd fallen in love. At his age. Love. She tolerated his almost twenty-four-hour work schedule. In fact, it was fine with her, since she was into real estate. She put in long days herself, sometimes—sometimes followed by days and days with little or nothing to do. She liked politics, though, and was planning on learning a lot more. She wanted to run for local office.

They hadn't seemed like a pair to hit it off so well. But then, who the hell was he to tell?

Nick arched a brow when Jake walked in with Brian. “Everything all right?”

“Just fine.”

“Couldn't be better,” Brian said.

“You didn't come for another drink?” Sharon asked Brian warily.

“I'm going to drive Brian home. He left his jacket here. We just came to pick it up.”

“Oh,” Nick said, looking from one of them to the other.

“I can drive him, if you like, Jake,” Sharon offered quietly.

“No, thanks, I'll get him back home.”

Brian threw an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, we're fine. Jake and me, we're like brothers.” He grinned. “I'd get him home if he'd had a few too many. You know—share and share alike.”

“Let's go, Brian.”

Luckily, Brian remembered directions, since he was in a new apartment. The flight attendant's name was Norma. She seemed like a decent woman, coming to the door with concern in her eyes when Brian couldn't quite work the key. Brian managed to introduce Jake without making snide comments. She was nothing like Nancy. Norma was short, fair and incredibly soft-spoken. Jake realized that he'd met her once on a trip upstate; she laughed and told him she remembered him, as well.

“Well, hell, why not?” Brian muttered. Those words brought a frown of confusion to the young woman's brow, and Jake was tempted to deck him again.