Picture Me Dead (40 page)

So he sat. Exhausted, he tried to adjust his length to the hospital chair. There was no way to get comfortable in it. He'd sat awake many nights. This one just seemed longer than most. And more painful. Last night…

He'd been on the road. But the night before that he'd slept in his own bed. With Ashley at his side. In absolute comfort, red hair teasing his nose, his chest.

She was like a sudden flame in his life. She meant far too much to him, and he worried too much about her. Not that it mattered. She didn't want to see him.

He flicked out her drawing again. The accident, the highway, the body.

The figure in black.

He reminded himself that it was a sketch, a quick sketch at that. But then, that was her talent. A few lines on a piece of paper, and everything seemed to be conveyed. The positions of the cars and the body. The broken, pitiful form on the asphalt.

And the figure in black. Just lines, pencil lines. But what he saw was eerily reminiscent of what he had seen all those years ago, visiting the property that had belonged to the People for Principle.

He stood, stretched, nodded to the prison guard and went out to the hallway. Late again, but Carnegie wouldn't mind. He put through a call to the old cop.

Carnegie answered.

“Still at it?” Jake queried.

“Me? I hear you've been sitting in a hospital all day. It's been all over the news, of course. Papa Pierre, one-time leader of the People for Principle, embezzler, tax evader…connected to the brutal slaying of three women, perhaps the prison mastermind behind the death of a fourth. Bordon still alive?”

“Just barely.”

“You may be wasting your time.”

“Yeah, I may be.”

“Well, I've got some good news from here.”

“Yeah?”

“Doctors say there are indications the Fresia boy might be coming out of it.”

“That's great. Does Ashley Montague know?”

“Nathan Fresia called her, and a few people found out before we got it straight that we didn't want anyone out there knowing his condition was improved. Of course, if one person knows…well, we've got men watching, day in and day out. And I've got an APB out on that so-called David Wharton fellow.”

“Carnegie, I've got something for you, too. It doesn't quite add up yet, but I've got a sketch of the accident. And there's someone standing on the side of the road, someone in a black hooded robe.”

“Jake,” Carnegie said slowly. “You do that sketch yourself? That was how those crazy People for Principle dressed.”

“Right, and I think that one of their members, presumed dead, is walking the streets of Miami. A man named John Mast. He supposedly died in a plane crash, but his body was never found. He might just be your David Wharton.”

“How does it all add up, though? The victims associated with the cult were women, and their throats were slashed. My boy was struck by a car.”

“I don't know how it adds up, but I'm starting to think it just might. Anyway, Bordon may still manage to say something. I'll wait it out. When I get back, I'll start moving heaven and earth to find Mast if he is alive and out there. I don't know why…I can't help thinking they might be one and the same.”

“Gut instinct?” Carnegie said.

“Yep. Gut instinct.”

They rang off. Jake walked back into the hospital room. He sat, watching Bordon die. Once, he would have thought that watching the man die slowly would give him some sense of justice. He couldn't have known then that he would be praying for the man to live.

 

Despite the fact that Ashley felt like an idiot, her party was a success. Every one of her classmates turned out for it. She was lauded with silly toasts. Everyone agreed with Arne's comment that the rest of them would have been fired for coloring in class, but Ashley had been turned into a heroine. Despite the ribbing, she had a great time.

She had wanted to sit at the opposite end of the table from Len, but he had parked himself beside Karen, who was next to her on one side. Jan, across the table from her, had heard the commotion and been profusely apologetic that she hadn't called once she'd gotten Karen to explain their friend was all right, but they would be a little late because of traffic.

The whole story had come out at the table.

“You knew I would show up tonight!” Karen said, looking meaningfully at Len, who, in turn, stared at Ashley, shaking his head.

“I knew where she was. I had promised not to tell,” he said.

“So where were you?” Ashley demanded.

“Lord, try to keep a secret,” Karen murmured. “Well, heck, I should just announce it to the entire restaurant.”

“Karen, do you know that I scraped little specks of something out of your bathtub and had them analyzed, and they were
blood?
”

“Jesus!” Len exclaimed. “I guess I didn't know until this moment how close I came to spending the night in jail.”

“Oh, you wouldn't have gone to jail—you just would have had to tell the truth,” Karen said.

“What
is
the truth?” Ashley demanded.

“Liposuction.”

“What?” Ashley said incredulously.

“Well, you know, I've always thought my butt was way too fat. And I knew that if I told you and Jan, you'd give me a speech about plastic surgery being stupid and dangerous and say that my thighs weren't really fat.”

“But it's an outpatient procedure,” Ashley said. “Why didn't you go home last night?”

“I did go home. Late. And I didn't answer any calls because I was popping pain pills, not being the kind to enjoy suffering. And don't let anyone fool you. I have on this ridiculous…girdle thing, and the only reason you can't tell is because I'm wearing a skirt.”

Ashley was still staring at her incredulously. “You told Len that you were having liposuction, but you didn't tell Jan or me?”

“I didn't mean to tell him.” Karen glanced at Len and smiled warmly. “We just got to talking, and it came out.”

“You go, girl!” Gwyn applauded from the other side of the table.

“Well, now you all know,” Karen said lightly. “I should have just taken out an ad in the
Herald.
But seriously, it's wonderful that you guys care about me enough to worry.”

“She'd better suck up to us both,” Jan said, and everyone at the table laughed, and then the conversation moved on.

Ashley opted for three margaritas in a row—she wasn't driving. It had turned out to be a great night. Stuart was starting to recover. Karen was fine. All was well, except….

She had never felt more alone. Maybe because she had never felt quite as
together
as when she'd been with Jake.

He'd said he would be back tonight, but his plans had changed. Her classmates had brought the news. Peter Bordon had been knifed in a prison fight. He was dying and Jake was staying by his side.

She sipped her margarita and watched Karen and Len. They were laughing. Their eyes were alive when they looked at one another. Karen's surgery had probably curtailed her sex life for a while, but Ashley suspected Karen hadn't wasted any time the night Len had driven her home. No wonder he had seemed to know her house so intimately.

Maybe Len had harbored a real crush on her for a while, but now his arm was angled over Karen's chair. His smile for her appeared both warm and sincere. She was happy for them both. Just lonely for herself.

At last time wound away and the party began to break up. Ashley had been so relieved to see Karen that she had forgotten David Wharton's insistence that she tell him where she was going to be, but now she realized he'd never shown up. Too bad. The party was over and Jan was going to take her home.

Karen was going with Len. Being Karen, she took a minute to whisper to Ashley and Jan when they rose to go. “Can you believe I went through with this surgery
now?
He was amazing in bed! I have to admit, I've never been so vocal in my life, but he's built like Atlas. I was screaming from the minute I saw him.”

“Spare us the details,” Jan said firmly.

“No problem, because we're leaving. Len?”

“Good night all,” Len said, waving as he and Karen started toward the door, hand in hand.

“Doesn't that just beat all?” Jan said. She yawned. “We need to get going, too.”

“Right. Thank you, everyone,” Ashley said, as Jan grabbed her arm.

But when they stepped outside the restaurant, David Wharton was there. Ashley nearly crashed into him.

“Hi. Boy, I'm really late, aren't I? The party is over, I see.”

Ashley introduced him to whoever was still around and of course to Jan, who seemed more than appreciative.

“Hey—did your other friend show up?” he asked Ashley.

“Yes, she did, she was fine.”

“That's a relief,” he said. “What happened to her?”

“A long story,” Ashley said.

“Liposuction,” Jan told him, then turned away for a moment as Gwyn asked her something.

David grinned. “Can I give you a ride home, Ashley? We can talk.”

She hesitated. He lowered his head, his voice low. “C'mon. I can hardly be planning to do you in when at least half a dozen would-be cops know you're leaving with me.”

“All right. Jan, you're off the hook,” she called out. “David is going to drive me.”

“Okay. Good night, then.” As Jan hugged her, she said, “Ash, my Lord, first Len and now him? How do you do it?”

“It's not what you think.”

“Hey, I'm not Karen. How do you know what I'm thinking?” Jan winked at her, told David it was a pleasure to meet him and waved to the others. Ashley started across the lot with David Wharton. They reached his car, and she climbed in the passenger seat. After he had put the car in gear and reached the road, she stared at him, frowning.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“A great deal. Did you know that Stuart is showing signs of improvement?”

“Yes. How do
you
know?”

“I have my ways,” he told her. “And Peter Bordon was seriously injured in a prison brawl.”

“Yes, I heard. What does that have to do with Stuart?”

He stared at the road and swore softly at a car that cut him off. “Let's wait until we get to your place. Did you find out about the property?”

“Not yet. Sharon hadn't been back yet when I went home to shower, but the files should be in my room by now. She was going to leave it for me.”

“When we see it, I'll explain what's going on.”

“David, this mystery stuff is getting annoying.”

“We're almost there.”

He parked at Nick's. It was Friday night, and the place was jumping. He hesitated in the car.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

“I don't want to be seen.”

She sighed. “We can go in through the house entrance, though Sharon and my uncle may be around.”

“Let's chance it.”

“Why don't you want to be seen?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Because Nick's is always full of cops, and you know I'm persona non grata with them.”

They went through the house. As Sharon had promised, the file was on Ashley's bed. David picked it up, not noticing that there was a second one underneath. He sat on Ashley's bed, eagerly looking through the papers. “Caleb Harrison was the buyer,” he said, perplexed.

Ashley studied the information in the other file. A chill swept over her, along with a surge of fury. She stared at him, and he must have felt the anger emanating from her, because he looked up, too. As he did, something hard settled over his features.

“Ashley—”

“You son of a bitch! You own the property next door!”

She was furious, but something about the way he looked alarmed her. She turned to head out of her room.

She didn't reach the door. He was behind her instantly, grabbing her around the waist with one hand, strangling the scream that would have torn from her lips with the other.

M
idnight. Jake dozed and woke, dozed and woke. His muscles stiffened and cramped each time he sat in one position too long.

Still Bordon clung to life.

Jake stared at the clock for a while, then watched Bordon's face. Little tubes ran into his nose, keeping oxygen flowing through his lungs. An IV dripped life-sustaining fluid into his bloodstream. Neither was going to save his life. The gray pallor of his features was proof of that.

Twelve-thirty. He went to walk in the corridor to loosen up his muscles. He was nervous every time he did so, afraid that Bordon would awaken for the few seconds he was gone. But having spent endless hours by the bed, time in which to think, wonder and rationalize, he was becoming increasingly certain that events that seemingly had no connection just might be an interlocking key, the solution to both mysteries.

Despite the hour, he called Skip. No surprise, Skip had been sleeping, and he had to think for several minutes—and Jake had to repeat himself several times—before he seemed to understand Jake's questions. “Yeah…the computer was an area that seemed to be wiped clean of prints. Oh, yeah, and your phone and the answering machine.”

Jake thanked him, apologizing for the hour. Skip told him no problem, a statement that obviously wasn't entirely sincere.

Jake started to head back to his chair, then hesitated and called Nick's place.

He was glad when Nick answered the phone himself.

“Nick's.”

“Nick, it's Jake Dilessio.”

“Yes?” Nick said carefully. His niece might be twenty-five, but Nick couldn't help feeling like a protective father. “You want to talk to Ashley? You can call her on her cell. But I guess you know that.”

Jake hesitated. He wasn't sure that Ashley would answer her cell phone if she saw he was calling. But he wasn't certain he wanted to talk to her right then, anyway. On the one hand, he was still feeling frustrated and incredibly angry. He was also wondering if he was slightly insane to feel such a proprietary sense of protection and concern, as if she were in his care. As if he had the right to know her every movement.

“I don't need to speak with her, Nick. I just wanted to…make sure she was home. That she was all right.”

“She's a big girl, Jake. She stays out as late as she wants. But I guess you know that.”

“Nick—”

“She's home, Jake. I heard her going through the house about twenty minutes ago.”

Jake hesitated. “Thanks,” he said. He wasn't certain what to say to Nick. He didn't want to worry an old friend needlessly. “Listen, Nick, this is the situation. I'm up here in the center of the state.”

“I heard. The Bordon incident has been on the news all day. Reports have his condition as critical.”

“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.”