Picture Me Dead (14 page)

“I never thought of it before. I believed that Harry was really crazy. And so much time has passed…I don't know what is going on now, Detective Dilessio, but I know that I spoke the truth years ago when I told the police I didn't believe Peter had ever killed anyone. I believed that Harry was responsible. He just acted crazy. One night…I woke up, and he was out by the canal, staring at the water. And he said that Lazarus had risen. That Lazarus had told him to go to the water. I admit, he gave me the creeps. So I left him there and hurried back to the dorm. Would you all like some herbal tea?”

They thanked her and declined. Jake rose and started to reach into his pocket.

“I have your card, Detective, and honestly, if I can remember anything else that might be helpful, I swear I'll call you.” She stood as well, smiled, and gave him a little kiss on his cheek. “I promise. I know you're trying your best.”

“Thanks.”

“You didn't ask me the one question you usually do,” she said.

He arched a brow.

She gazed at him with tremendous empathy. “I swear, I never saw your partner, Detective Dilessio. If she ever came out to the property, I never saw her. And I pray that you believe me. I wouldn't lie. It's against everything in my faith.”

“I know that, Mary,” Jake said. “Thanks. And don't forget—”

“I'll call you. No problem. I like to see you, Detective.”

They left. Marty had turned down tea, but he wanted coffee. Jake agreed. There was a Starbucks down the street. Marty ordered espresso. Jake opted for a double.

“We're not getting anywhere,” Marty said. “Bordon had complete control of that cult. I think those girls were hypnotized. They lived on the property owned by the People for Principle but never saw, heard or spoke any evil.”

“I keep going in circles. There's got to be a straight line in there somewhere, though. And we're going to get to it,” Jake said, a grim look on his face.

 

The class began clapping. Ashley quickly set her pencil down and did the same. To her amazement, they were breaking for the afternoon. Feeling guilty, she clapped hard. When they were dismissed and the class began to rise, she started to join them to file out, then remembered that she wanted to ask Sergeant Brennan if he could get her whatever information there was to be had on Stuart's accident. She wadded up the papers with her sketches and tossed them into the trash can as she approached the front of the room. Murray and Brennan were talking to one another again as she approached, but both men saw her coming and fell silent, awaiting her question.

“Hello. Montague, isn't it?” Captain Murray said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You're more than halfway through. Are you still pleased to be in the academy?”

“Oh, yes, very pleased,” she said.

“Well, good, I'm glad to hear it. Sergeant Brennan says this is one of the best classes he's ever taught.”

“Thank you, on behalf of all of us,” she said.

“Did you have a question about any of the material covered today?” Brennan asked her.

“Actually, I have a question about something that happened a few days ago. There was an accident on I-95. I was traveling north with some friends and went by just a few minutes after it occurred. When I got home, I found out that the man who was struck was an old friend of mine, and the papers have reported that he was apparently high on heroin. That just doesn't sound right to me. I was hoping that maybe one of you could direct me to the officer in charge of the investigation, and that he or she might be willing to talk to me.”

She was glad that neither of them was inclined to inform her that apparently her old friend
had
gotten into drugs. They both continued to stare at her politely. Murray answered.

“Yes, I heard about the incident you're talking about. It was handled by Miami-Dade and FHP. I'll find out what officer was assigned to the investigation. I'm sure that whoever it is won't have a problem discussing the known facts with you. I'll make a few calls and give Sergeant Brennan the information for you.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” she told him.

“No problem.”

She smiled, clutched her books, walked backward for a moment, then turned to exit the room. As she left, she was certain that both men kept their eyes on her. She wondered if they were reflecting on her request—or thinking she had difficulty with punctuality? Or, worse, did they somehow know she had been drawing in class?

Great. So far she had offended a respected homicide officer, made those responsible for her think she might have a problem with timeliness, and maybe they had even realized she spent half of her class time doodling. No…they wouldn't have been so polite, she was certain, if they were about to tell her she wasn't up to par.

As she exited the building, she found herself in the middle of a crowd of people. There were three shifts, or platoons; eight to four, four to midnight, midnight to eight. The “day” shift always left when class broke.

She had come to recognize many people as they made their way to their cars. She had found “waving to” and “smiling at” friends among them. Not people she really knew; just people she saw every day. There was a certain brotherhood to be found at headquarters. Clicking her car open with the remote, she smiled at one of the women from records. The woman smiled back.

That was when Ashley saw him again. And knew now, of course, who he was. Detective Jake Dilessio. He was leaving with another man, and they were carrying on a conversation as they walked across the lot. She hurried on toward her car. But before she could open the door, the detective turned. He looked different in a suit. Taller. Older. More official. More like he could get her into trouble. She quelled the thought and remembered that everyone was entitled to their privacy—even cops. She wasn't sure how that fit with spilling coffee over someone who happened to be standing in
her
doorway, but she still didn't want to turn herself into a cowering little kiss-ass.

With luck, he wouldn't notice her. She was probably just one of a horde of ants to him. Lots of officers didn't take the students seriously until they'd actually graduated from the academy.

He was wearing sunglasses, dark glasses over dark eyes, shielded by a stray thatch of dark hair. He glanced her way but made no acknowledgment whatsoever. He obviously hadn't seen her.

But as she slid into the driver's seat, she was aware that he was still looking in her direction. He
had
seen her.

But he sure as hell hadn't waved or begun to crack anything like a casual-acquaintance smile.

He'd stared.

Wishing she could slide beneath her seat, she slid her glasses on, buckled her seat belt, switched on the ignition and eased her car from the lot.

Once on the road, she recalled that Sandy had told her that the detective had just moved his houseboat to Nick's marina.

It wasn't Nick's marina, of course. It belonged to the city. People just called it Nick's marina because Nick's restaurant had been there so long.

As she drove homeward, she realized that the detective's car was behind her own for quite some time. She recognized him in her rearview mirror. Then, somewhere on the highway, he turned off.

She entered the house through the kitchen door and could tell that it was a busy afternoon at Nick's; she could hear voices and laughter even over the sound of the jukebox. She made her way through the house to her own wing and stripped out of her uniform, jumped quickly into the shower and let the hot water pour over her for a long time. She wished she could stop thinking about Stuart Fresia, but she couldn't. She wondered if it was guilt—she hadn't kept up with old friends the way she should have. She wondered, too, if it was just that what people claimed had happened was so jarring that she simply couldn't put it aside.

Showered, somewhat refreshed, yet dolefully aware that her long weekend and its late hours was beginning to tell on her, she went through the back entrance into the restaurant. Nick was behind the bar, helping out Betsy, the weeknight bartender. The place was jumping—odd for a Monday night.

“Hey, kid!” Nick called to her. “You bushed? Or can you give me a hand for a few minutes? Kara called in sick, so I've only got David out on the floor. There's a food pickup for table twenty-four. Can you grab it?”

“Sure.”

She moved to the counter that separated the kitchen from the service area. The food pickup was just one plate, broiled snapper, with baked potatoes and broccoli. She set the plate on a tray, added a few lemons and a paper cup of tartar sauce, and headed to the outside porch area, where tables eighteen to twenty-six could be found.

Table twenty-four was a two-seater, off around the L of the porch, often chosen by those in a romantic mood—those who knew of its existence, of course. As she walked around the corner, she saw that, as expected, tonight there was only a single occupant at the table. A man, dark-haired, head bent low, intensely interested in whatever he was reading.

As she set the plate down, she went into waitress mode by rote.

“Good evening. Here's your broiled snapper. Can I get you anything else?”

He looked up. She froze for a moment, recognizing the customer in the chair. Detective Dilessio. Since leaving police headquarters, he had changed into swim trunks and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was dry; his dark hair was wet. He'd been in the water, apparently, or maybe he'd just showered and dressed down, the same as she had. He hadn't left work altogether, though, or so it seemed. What had apparently demanded such grave attention from him was a manila file filled with papers.

He recognized her, as well, his eyes running from the top of her red head to the sandals she had slipped into.

“Anything else?” he murmured. “Hmm. The snapper is safely on the table. Dare I ask for coffee? Not to wear, to drink.”

She flushed slightly. “I can do my best to safely set a cup in front of you,” she assured him. He was still watching her. He didn't appear angry, only slightly amused. She hesitated. “You're Jake Dilessio, right? Detective Dilessio? Miami-Dade?”

“Yep. Why, were you going to apologize now that you know who I am?”

She felt a sizzle of temper rise, then tamped it down, determined to hold her own. “Because of who you are? Really, Detective, I'm taught on a daily basis that my function will be to protect and serve, not intimidate the public and expect special treatment. Actually, I was merely going to introduce myself. But if you were interested in apologizing for barging into me on my own doorstep, I'm certainly happy to listen.”

“Ah, that's right. You're in the academy, I understand,” he said.

“Yes. Are you suggesting I shouldn't be?”

“Not in the least. And if that comment meant, was I going to try to get you kicked out for scalding me, the answer is no. For one thing, if you're good, your future is far beyond any power of mine to control. I have to say, though, as you mentioned, our motto is protect and serve. Not to bully. I hope you are a bit…calmer with the law-abiding citizens of our county.”

“I try. But they haven't set me loose on the streets yet, you know.”

“Ah, well, then, there's time—and hope.”

“I guess I should be grateful that you didn't decide to bring me in for attacking an officer of the law.”

“Well, you're Nick's niece, right?”

“I wouldn't want favors from anyone because I'm Nick's niece.”

“In truth, you wouldn't get any.”

“Ah! So that means I was in the right.”

“I don't recall saying that.”

“But I was,” she insisted, then wondered what the hell she was doing, standing out here arguing with him. She didn't seem to be able to leave without having the last word. And she didn't seem to be able to draw herself away, to stop studying the man, either. He was definitely interesting. No pretty-boy good looks to him, but something beyond that. Very strong bone structure. Weathered, in good shape. He had an arresting appearance, and she could well imagine that if he looked at suspects with that darkly intense stare of his, he could make them tell the truth simply because they might believe he was seeing right through them.

The way he was staring at her now.

She suddenly felt awkward.

He smiled slowly. The action changed his face. He wasn't just arresting; he was as attractive as all hell.

“Is there more?” he inquired.

“We…we could wind up on
The People's Court
. Take the matter to Judge Judy or something like that,” she said lightly.

“Either that, or you could just bring me my coffee.”

“Yes, I guess I could.”

So much for his smile.

Ass!
she thought.

Too bad she was going to have to just deliver the coffee. She would have loved to dump a full pot over his head.