Picture Me Dead (41 page)

“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 vacuum.”

“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….”

“So am I,” she said softly. “Good night, then. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Stuart was fine. His parents wouldn't leave him. Not even a cop could slip in and harm him, not with the hospital personnel around and Stuart's folks keeping vigil. It was still hard to believe a cop could be involved in his situation.

Why? Cops were people, too.

She was going to head straight to the hospital the next morning. And while she was there, she would make her decision about what to do with the information David Wharton had given her.

Her heart quickened. Jake would be back….

Maybe. Peter Bordon might linger for days.

Maybe she should go to the hospital right now. She would close her eyes for just a second, then get up and go in.

 

Mary Simmons was on breakfast duty. She enjoyed baking bread. While she kneaded the dough, she thought about the world and the peace she longed to find.

Her life was good here. Quiet. And she prayed as she worked.

She was startled when Ross, a young member of the Krishnas, came in to find her. “You have a visitor, Mary. He says it's urgent.”

“The cop?” she asked.

Ross shook his head. “No. He's—”

He broke off. The visitor had followed him in. She stared at him and gasped.

“Mary?” Ross said uncertainly.

“It's—it's all right.”

“Can we speak privately?” the man asked.

“Yes, of course. Ross…?”

Ross nodded warily but left them.

“John!” Mary said incredulously.

He strode over to her, going down on one knee, taking both her hands. “Mary, dear Mary, I'm so sorry to come here…to disturb you. You've found what you wanted, haven't you?”

“I think so,” she said, gently moving her fingers through his hair. “I thought you were dead.”

“I was very close,” he admitted. “And then…letting the world think I was dead seemed like a good idea.”

“But, John…”

“Mary, I need your help.”

“I can't help you. I can't help anyone.”

“You
can
help me. You're the only one who can.”

“John, I have a life here.”

“Mary, you need peace, and you'll never have it unless you help me. I'm close…so close to those scumbags who nearly destroyed all our lives. You've got to help me.”

“John…I can't!”

“Mary, for the love of God! Don't you want…revenge? Justice against those who used us—all of us?”

“John…I don't want to go to jail. Do you want me to do something…illegal?”

He looked into her eyes. “Yes. Illegal, but necessary.”

She sighed, closing her eyes.

Then she removed the apron she had tied around her waist.

“I guess you have a car?”

“Better than a car,” he assured her, his engaging grin coming into place.

 

“I found God.”

Jake jerked his head up. He wondered if he had imagined the words. Peter Bordon hadn't moved. His eyes remained closed.

Then he saw the man's lips move.

“I found God. I found God.”

Jake leaned closer. The words were little more than a whisper. His eyes opened, but he was staring straight ahead, as if seeing nothing. “I found God,” he suddenly cried out. “Dear God, have you found me? Forgive me!”

Jake looked up at Dr. Matthews who shrugged. “The man is dying,” he mouthed, then added in a whisper, “He's delirious. It probably won't do you any good, but try asking your questions.”

“Peter, it's Jake Dilessio. You needed to talk to me.”

Bordon's lips twitched. “Jake.” He tried to turn to look at Jake but couldn't quite manage the feat. “Pain…pills…can't think. God…they say God forgives.”

“Peter, I need you to help me.”

“Didn't kill…I didn't kill…but I…knew.”

“Peter, who did the killing? Let us stop him. Peter, they say that God forgives. Help us. In the name of God.”

“Something in me…pills, not pills, couldn't swallow pills…but the pain…oh, God, it will be good not to feel the pain. God…I found God…has God found me?”