A Dark and Lonely Place (24 page)

As John walked toward them a hangman’s noose appeared in his mind’s eye. What am I doing? he asked himself. My best friend in this dog fight just warned me to get a lawyer. Now. Robby had said the same thing. Time to listen up and lawyer up.

“Hey, guys.” He tried to look self-assured. “I guess you all want to take my statement, right?”

Their hungry smiles made his decision. They looked like vampires at a blood bank. He checked his watch, frowned, and glanced over his shoulder, looking for a ghost. “My lawyer should be here by now,” he lied, and watched their faces fall. “He must be waiting for me downstairs. I’ll run down to check. Be right back.”

He walked casually out of the office. As he passed Emma’s desk, she spoke, without looking up. “Sergeant, I
have
to talk to you. Meet me in fifteen, at Macy’s on Flagler, in the lingerie department.”

Did he hear right? “Sure,” he murmured. “See you there.” Without slowing his pace, he went on to the elevator.

Macy’s? Lingerie department? Am I crazy or is she?

He nearly passed on it. Lord knows he had other things to do, some of them urgent, but that tiny woman, treated by most detectives as though she were invisible, was no fool. They were friends. When she had no car, he’d volunteer to drive her home, especially when she was called in at night to transcribe statements needed in a hurry.

He had a head start and arrived first. Twice, saleswomen approached him as he perused bras, wired, padded, and apparently inflated, or molded from foam rubber. Racks and racks of bras, acres of them, resembled water wings; they could stand on their own. Women wearing them could be swept off ships in the mid-Atlantic and never sink. There were tiny panties to match, slinky nightgowns, and flowing robes. Like a drowning man, John saw his life flash before his eyes. His reputation was down the toilet, his career and pension circling the drain. He might soon be charged with a major crime. Yet there he stood, in Macy’s lingerie department, fantasizing about how a lacy camisole with silk ribbons and a built-in bra would look on Laura.

He blinked, tried to clear his head, and decided to call Joel Hirschhorn. As he checked his wallet for the number, he saw Emma’s solemn little face, dyed red hair, and big, sad eyes.

They walked to an empty corner near the elevator. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She sounded breathless.

“Why here?”

“Because”—she looked surprised—“we can’t be seen together. And there’s no bakery, coffee, donut, or bagel shop that won’t have a police officer walk in at any moment.”

Her eyes roved nervously, as though she feared SWAT marksmen with laser-sighted high-powered rifles were positioned behind every display. “But remember? You were hunting a fugitive once and told me that sometimes”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“the best place to hide is in plain sight.” The corners of her small red mouth turned up. “I never forgot a thing you told me. I’d write them down at night, after I went home. Plain sight.” She gestured at the racks of intimate items. “Yet no man in our department, and very few female officers, will ever walk in here.”

“How can I help you, Emma?” He sounded weary.

“You can’t!” she said fervently. “I’m here to help you. Thank God you didn’t talk to them! The court reporter was late, so they called me in early.” She paused to stare into his eyes. “They even took a statement from your girlfriend.”

He blinked, mind reeling. “Who?”

“Lucy, Detective Dominguez,” she said. “And your partner.”

“They talked to J. J.?”

“And,” she raised an eyebrow, “that young man from Ron Jon Eagle’s law office, the one who came in and identified the body.”

“Lonstein?” Why him? John wondered.

“Sergeant,” Emma said, “you’re my only real friend.” She began to tear up.

“You have lots of friends, Emma.”

“No. You were the only one from the department who came to my husband’s funeral after I worked there for twenty-seven years. I’ll never forget that. It’s why I’m taking this risk.” Again, her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes darted both ways, like those of a child about to bolt across a forbidden intersection. “Lieutenant Myerson gave his statement too.”

“And?” Made sense. He was among the first responders after he called in the shooting.

“The lieutenant said”—Emma spoke slowly and distinctly—“that he spoke to Captain Politano as they left the station last night. The captain was upset, he said, about you. Said his last words were ‘Ashley’s off the reservation, and I’m gonna find out what the hell he’s up to.’ He said you’d been told to lodge your witness at a certain hotel but didn’t. He checked and found you’d taken her somewhere else instead.

“The lieutenant said he offered to go check it out himself, then urged
the captain to give it to Internal Affairs, but the captain said he didn’t want to write you up until he knew for sure what was going on. It was on his way home, he said, so he’d find out himself.” She paused, out of breath, as he stared in disbelief. “John, they say the captain confronted you, you two argued, and you shot him.”

“Did he mention the part where the captain broke into the witness’s room through a window, waited in the dark, dressed like a goddamn ninja, in a black hood and gloves, and opened fire on us when we walked in?”

She shook her head solemnly. “A hood? None of that came up. Lieutenant Myerson said evidence shows that the captain tried to defend himself, got off some shots, but was killed. He got emotional. Said he saw the captain’s body and knew ‘It coulda been me lying there.’ “

The news, the magnitude of the lies, staggered John, as he tried to explain. “The captain suggested I take Laura to the hotel in Doral.”

She frowned. “You didn’t trust him?”

“I didn’t trust anybody. My job was to keep the witness safe. The fewer people who knew where she was, the better.”

“I could lose my job for this,” Emma whispered. “But I know you, John. I don’t believe what they’re saying. But you’re in big trouble.” Her words sounded accusatory.

“I am, Emma. But it’s easily explained and straightened out. I swear, I did nothing wrong.”

“But what about the Indian?” Her eyes misted. “Why did you shoot Ron Jon Eagle?”

“What? That’s crazy. Eagle’s my case, Emma! You know that. I’m trying to solve it along with the murder of Summer Smith, the dead girl in the Dumpster. Lucy knows. She’ll confirm that we were together on the beach for more than an hour before Eagle’s boat came flying ashore. There’s no way I could have had anything to do with that.” He heard his own words and wondered. Did he protest too much? Deny too vigorously? Did he sound like Officer Mona Stratton?

“Lucy gave a statement,” Emma said. “I took it down verbatim. It broke her heart because you two are engaged, she said, but she had to tell the truth under oath. She couldn’t give you an alibi, doesn’t know where you were. Said she fell asleep on the beach and you might have been gone, had access to other boats, before Eagle came ashore.”

“Lies,” he said helplessly. “How can she say that?”

“Think this will break you two up?” Emma asked sadly.

“We’re not engaged,” he said. “We called it off.”

“Well.” Emma’s eyelashes fluttered, her expression dubious. “She didn’t mention that. She was wearing your ring. Couldn’t miss it, kept twirling it on her finger during her statement.”

He sighed. “Believe me, Emma. I called it off the other night. She didn’t want to give the ring back, so I said keep it.”

Emma fell silent for a moment. “There’s something else.” Her eyes watered.

What now? he wondered.

“The lieutenant and Captain Paulson from IA agreed that you should have taken yourself off Eagle’s case, transferred it to another team, because of bad blood between you and the victim.”

“Bad blood?” John rolled his eyes. “Sure, I busted him years ago. He deserved it; it was a righteous bust. How was I to know about all his connections? They immediately unarrested him, but Eagle had an ego. Stayed pissed off forever. I was pissed too, for about twenty minutes, then didn’t give a damn. Literally. But the Indian wouldn’t quit. Wanted to hang me.” His last four words reverberated like an echo in his head.
Wanted to hang me. Wanted to hang me.
Was he losing it?

“I was a rookie, still on probation, but he couldn’t hurt me, because I generated some good press for the department, which, as we both know, is rare.”

“I remember,” Emma said, “that lovely English girl . . .”

He nodded. “I didn’t care about Eagle one way or the other, but I am the right man to work his case because I knew him, his lifestyle, and what he was capable of doing. Had he been a suspect, sure, somebody else should have handled it so he couldn’t appeal a conviction on grounds that he was framed by a detective with a grudge. But Eagle was a victim, Emma. Why hand off the case?”

“They say you killed him as payback for an old feud.”

“Payback?” He looked her straight in the eye. “That man wasn’t even a blip on my radar. How many homicides did I work after that? I was too busy. He never crossed my mind.”

“The young man from his office—”

“Lonstein?”

She nodded. “Said Eagle had an enemies list with you at the top. And your witness, that beautiful girl?”

“Laura?” His stomach flipped when he said her name.

She nodded. “J. J. and Lucy both swore that it obviously wasn’t your first hello. You weren’t strangers. You two knew each other before he caught her fleeing to the airport.”

“I never laid eyes on Laura till the day Eagle was killed. She didn’t ‘flee.’ She was going home.” How and when had it all become so twisted?

Emma bit her lower lip. “I shouldn’t tell you this. They’re asking for a search warrant based on info from a CI who says you have the murder weapon, the gun used to kill Eagle.”

He sighed. “Of course, I don’t.” Only because he had addressed it to his brother and dropped it in a FedEx box.

“You were walking into a minefield this morning,” Emma said. “I was so relieved when you left.”

“I won’t forget this, Emma. I’m grateful. I’ll never admit we talked.”

“Please don’t.” She looked frightened. “I’d be arrested for interfering with an investigation, to say nothing of losing my job and pension. But I believe you, John. And I’m grateful to you. You’ve always been a good friend when I needed one.”

They kept moving as they talked and were now back in the lingerie department. She must have seen him looking at the lacy camisole again. “Don’t use a credit card, Sergeant.”

He looked at that tiny, lonely, and wise little woman with new eyes.

“Remember,” she warned, “what you always say about leaving paper trails.”

She’s right, he thought. He had to change his thinking, pay attention to his own words. What he knew about finding fugitives might help him survive as one, should it come down to that.

“The prosecutor, Salazar,” Emma said. “She fought for you, but they finally convinced her that you’re guilty. They even questioned whether Laura’s alive or if you killed her too, because she knew too much.”

“For Pete’s sake, Emma. She’s a witness I protected, but I do care for her. The first time we saw each other . . . It’s why I called off the engagement.
Laura came to Miami to work, met Eagle through another model, then he was killed. I met her that day. That’s it.”

“Lucy’s story is so different.” Emma face scrunched up as though wondering what to believe.

Leon was right. Beware the woman scorned.

“Keep your ears open,” John said. “You kept me from making a huge mistake. Knowledge is power, and what I know now, thanks to you, puts everything in a new light.”

“God bless, John. You know how to reach me.”

He took the escalator, and she boarded the elevator to the first floor. They left through different exits, onto different streets. He walked beneath a blazing sun back to the parking lot where he’d left his car. He’d backed it into a space, so the tag wasn’t visible from the street. Not enough.

A black-and-white was pulled up into the lot. The patrolman was looking at his license tag and speaking to the parking attendant.

John turned to walk the other way and saw a second patrol car coming east, in his direction.

He had to think fast. His survival instinct kicked in and he thought clearly. First he had to disappear off this street, then find Laura. He felt elation, almost relief, as though this was what he’d been waiting for all his life. Somehow he’d always known this day would come. Time to run. He felt as though he had done it before.

PART SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

J
ohn and Laura left Palm Beach two nights later, giddy with anticipation about the adventure ahead. Their departure was bittersweet. Leugenia wept. Joe’s eyes grew shiny. Bobby begged to go with them, to no avail.

“There comes a time when the wind shifts,” John told Laura that night they took to the road. “And this is it, girl. No regrets, no fear of the future, we’ll just live for the moment. Today is all we need.”

The road led to New Orleans. They gave themselves new names. John found work on a fishing boat and quickly advanced to captain. They fell in love with music like none they’d ever heard before. He played guitar, they sang, and they grew to love Cajun food and an entirely new and different lifestyle.

New Orleans wasn’t home, but it was the next best thing—until Mardi Gras.

They danced with abandon in the street, lost in the music, high on the moon and the moment. Which was why, though they now answered to other names, both responded to shouts out of the crowd: “John! John Ashley! Hey, Laura!”

They wheeled around and saw familiar faces from their past. Henry Choice Price, Georgia cotton planter, wartime blockade runner, Florida orange grower, and Miami hotelier. Price bobbed, as big as life, a swimmer in a sea of revelry. He called again, waving enthusiastically. His wife beamed and clung to his arm, mouthing a friendly greeting they couldn’t hear above the noise. She waved as well.

“Look,” Laura said, eyes alight. “Look who’s here!”

John took her elbow and steered her away, submerging them both in the tidal wave of partyers.