Picture Me Dead (39 page)

Jake ended the call, paid for his breakfast and headed out, feeling ill, fighting alternating waves of anger, disappointment and bitterness.

 

For Ashley, the morning was a blur. First she'd gone to hand in her badge and gun. She hated to do it, but it was necessary. She was no longer in the academy.

Then, after signing some papers and meeting with Personnel, she had been sent in to study computer comparisons of bullet striations. She had, however, managed to meet with Mandy Nightingale. She hadn't hesitated but had explained the situation to the woman, and Mandy had listened thoughtfully. First she had said that Ashley shouldn't panic, especially since Karen had called in to work that morning. But she had agreed as well to do a discreet test and let Ashley know if the substance she'd found in the tub was blood or not.

“If Karen doesn't show up tonight, though…”

“Then I'll have to admit that I've already tested the substance for you,” Mandy told her.

Ashley smiled and thanked her.

At lunchtime, Mandy came to tell her that the substance was blood, but that she still shouldn't panic. It was likely that Karen had simply cut herself shaving. There had been no spatter pattern, for one thing. “Then again, sometimes a killer cleans up so thoroughly that even with chemicals and special lighting, it's hard for us to detect any traces. Hey! Don't go pale on me. We're not going to worry yet, remember?”

“We're not going to worry,” Ashley agreed. But her heart was racing and she was trembling with fear.

“You
are
worried,” Mandy said sympathetically. “Ashley, you can go and fill out a missing persons report now, if you want. The department will waive the waiting period for you. But if you do that, her parents will be notified, her place of business will be investigated. And anyone and everyone who has seen her lately will be investigated.”

“We'll wait until tonight.”

Jan called her soon after. “Have you heard from Karen yet?”

“No.”

“Neither have I. I'm going to kill her!”

Ashley kept silent, afraid that her friend might already have met a similar fate.

“Listen,” Jan went on. “I know I told you not to, but I'm going by her place before coming to the restaurant tonight. And if I find her I'm going to beat her senseless, then drag her into the car with me.”

“Sounds good. Because if she doesn't show…”

“If she doesn't show, we won't be celebrating.”

Ashley's phone beeped, indicating she had another call. She told Jan goodbye and answered the incoming call.

“Ashley?”

It was David Wharton.

“David! Why on earth did you take so long to call me back?”

“I've been busy. Did you ask Sharon Dupre about that property?”

“Yes, and she's supposed to be pulling the file for me today.”

“Good. I'll see you tonight, then.”

“No, you won't. I'm having dinner with friends. We're celebrating my new job.”

“I've got to see you. I've got to talk to you.”

“I'll be out late.”

“Then invite me to dinner. I'll be happy to celebrate your good fortune.”

“We may not wind up celebrating. I have another friend who's missing.”

“One of the girls from the hospital? Karen? Or Jan?”

She was surprised he knew both of them by name. But then, he had spent hours there, watching, not to mention that he was a reporter, trained to notice details.

“I don't want to talk about it right now.”

“Fine. But I have a lot to tell you. Please, give me a chance. Let me come with you tonight so I can talk to you.”

She sighed and told him where they were going. She would take a minute and talk to him. If she didn't like what he said, she would have Arne and Gwyn and the others around her. A table full of “almost” cops. And Len, who could even arrest him if he seemed dangerous.

Her lunch hour was over by the time she hung up. She went to spend time with Mandy, who showed her how to photograph a body from different angles and left her taking photos of a mutilated dummy. She spent an hour working on the project and was finishing up what she hoped would be a roll of good shots when Mandy stuck her head in the door. “Phone for you—I think you should take it.” The older woman was smiling.

Ashley hurried to the phone, hoping against hope that it would be Karen. It wasn't, but it was good news. Nathan Fresia was on the phone. He was elated. Stuart wasn't conscious yet, but the scanner monitoring his brain had picked up activity that had given the doctors hope that he might awaken in a matter of days. She told Nathan how delighted she was, then felt a sudden sense of unease. “Nathan…was this knowledge made public?”

“I don't think so. But the hospital staff knows, and whatever cops were on duty.”

“Since even the cops think someone meant him harm, it might be best to keep quiet about this. Let people think there's no chance of a quick recovery.”

“You're right, you're right. I'll see that nothing else is said. I won't leave him for a minute.”

“I'll be by tomorrow,” Ashley promised and rang off.

Five o'clock rolled around. Still no call from Karen, and then, when Ashley tried to get hold of Jan, she couldn't reach her, either.

Len Green, out of uniform, handsomely dressed in khaki trousers and a brown knit shirt, appeared in the small space that had been allotted as her office. “Ready?”

“I have my car here, Len.”

“I know. I'm going to follow you home, then we'll take my car and meet the others at the restaurant.”

“But I can drive myself.”

“Everyone knows you don't drink and drive. And we intend to get you blitzed tonight.”

“I don't want to get blitzed. In fact, I won't be doing anything if Karen doesn't show.”

“You still haven't heard from her? I'm sure it's nothing. She was excited about tonight. I'm sure she'll show.”

“I'm glad you feel so confident.”

He shrugged. “Come on, I'll follow you home.”

“All right. But you'll have to have coffee at the bar or something and wait for me. I want to shower and change.”

“I'll wait forever,” he told her.

 

Friday evening, and Bordon remained unconscious.

Jake refused to break his vigil at the man's side. He'd had a number of talks with the surgeon, who had given him an extensive list of the man's injuries. The liver, pancreas, stomach and intestines had all been damaged. Bordon had lost an incredible amount of blood, and then there had been internal bleeding. They had done all they could, but the man had little more than a ten percent chance of surviving the next forty-eight hours. He could regain consciousness any time, or he might never regain it.

Jake had to go on the chance that he might.

The other inmates were questioned extensively during the day. Every one of them denied wanting to harm Bordon. Despite strip searches and a thorough search of the cafeteria, the weapon that had inflicted such heavy damage had not been found.

During the long hours of the day, Jake had taken a few minutes here and there to walk out in the hall and get in contact with the force in Miami-Dade. The night shift had given way to day, and Marty had come on duty.

“So Bordon was practically skewered, and he's still hanging in,” Marty had said. Jake could imagine his partner shaking his head over the irony that a criminal might survive, while innocent people died every day.

“He's hanging in—barely.”

“Well, I've got things covered here,” Marty told him, and began to tell him all he had learned. Skip Conrad had found prints belonging to Jake, Marty, Nick, Ashley and a number of other people whose prints were on file, all of whom had had reason to be on the boat. Skip had also commented on the lack of prints in many places, which might well have meant that someone had been painstaking in their efforts to make sure no incriminating fingerprints were found.

Marty had seemed puzzled about his request regarding John Mast and the plane crash, but he promised to get the information and did so quickly, calling Jake back within the half hour. There was excitement in his voice when he called. The reports issued out of Haiti, where the plane had gone down, had stated that there were no survivors. And that was the assumption. But only eighty of the plane's eighty-eight passengers and crew members had been retrieved from the ocean. John Mast's body had not been one of those identified. Because of the circumstances of the crash, he and his fellow unidentified passengers had been presumed dead.

“He's out there, somewhere, Marty, I know it,” Jake said.

“Maybe, Jake. Maybe. You going to stay up there until Bordon dies?”

“I have to wait it out, Marty.”

“I understand. But listen, I'll keep going with the property investigations. If you need me, call.”

“Right.”

He'd let his partner go, realized that he'd forgotten to tell him to keep Franklin and the others up to date on the information, so he made a call to the FBI man, who promised to get right on a search for John Mast, and to Blake, who would see that a report was written out and circulated. When he finished speaking with Blake, he started back toward Bordon's bedside. Then he hesitated and put a call through to Ashley's cell phone. She didn't pick up. He called the bar. Katie answered. Nick and Sharon were out, as was Ashley. “She came home, showered and left again. Big celebration tonight for her promotion,” Katie told him.

“Yes, of course.”

“I'll tell her you called.”

“No, that's all right. I'll catch her later.”

He hung up and returned to Bordon's side. He glanced at the priest, who had come into the room and was saying prayers.

The priest had told Jake that Bordon had, indeed, been to church regularly.

“Father, has he told you—”

“No. He wasn't much for confession. Not that I could tell you even if he
had
said something, but no, he didn't tell me about any crimes.”

“Thanks.”

“Pray for him, Detective. That's what I'm doing. He did find a love for God, you know, in the last few months.”

Jake nodded. He prayed, but he knew his prayers were different from those of the priest. He prayed only for Peter Bordon to live long enough to give justice a few answers.

 

At seven, Ashley could stand it no longer. She left Arne, Gwyn and the others at the table and went outside. Neither Jan nor Karen had arrived yet.

She felt someone standing behind her. Len. Unease swept over her as niggling suspicion found root.

“You know where she is! Len, you left with Karen from the hospital parking, you brought her home. You were in her house, and then you followed me when I went out there. Because you were afraid that I'd find something.” She was startled to find that she was having a hard time controlling her temper. She continued more evenly. “You touched everything in that house when you were in it with me, and that way, when her disappearance was investigated, there would be a reason your fingerprints were on everything. Where the hell is she, Len?
What did you do to my friend?
”

“What?” Len said, stiff and tense.

Other customers were arriving. People stopped to stare at her, and at Len. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

“Len, think about it. You look suspicious. Where is Karen, what did you do with her, where is her bo—
where is she?
”

Something in his eyes changed then.

And she thought that it was guilt. Fury and guilt. There was nothing he could do to
her,
because they were in a very public place.

“If you hurt her, you are one sick slime!” she accused him.

Then she felt the tap on her shoulder. She spun around and to her amazement, saw that Karen, as red-faced as Len, was staring at her.

“Ashley, I'm right here.”

 

Almost nine o'clock. Bordon remained unconscious. Jake rubbed the back of his neck. A different prison guard came in. Dr. Matthews had just been there, reading the chart, checking the IV. Bordon was still breathing; his heart was still beating.

Warden Thompson came through. “Detective, maybe you should get a hotel room for the night. Get yourself some real sleep for a few hours. If there's any change at all, someone can call you.”

“If there's any change at all and someone has to call me, it may be too late.”

Thompson nodded. “I understand.” He hesitated. “There will be a guard with you all night. If you need anything…”

“Thank you.”