A Dark and Lonely Place (37 page)

John’s prepaid cell rang during the trip. “Sorry,” Robby said. “Had the phone off. I’m en route back to the station. What’s your location?”

“On my way up to your neck of the woods. How’s my girl?”

“Snug as a bug, hanging out with Katie, her new BFF. Ma called. Had visitors. Tell you when I see you.”

“I’ll call when I’m close. I’m five to ten away.”

A mile from the substation, John got out and reached for his wallet. The driver held up his beefy hand like a traffic cop and shook his head. Then, surprisingly, he spoke several complete sentences.

“Good luck, pal. If it doesn’t come your way and you need a ride, gimme a call. Watch your back.” He handed John a crumpled business card from a long-defunct Miami auto dealership, a phone number scribbled on the back. “Ask for Tyree,” he said.

John nodded as the cab eased into traffic. He called Robby as he walked through a tiny strip mall, then took a seat in a laundromat with several other customers waiting for their wash. Minutes later Robby’s unmarked rolled slowly past the door.

John got up, sauntered around the corner of the building back to the Dumpsters, and got into Robby’s car.

His brother, working undercover, wore jeans and a black T-shirt with white lettering:
I AM THE PERSON YOUR MOTHER WARNED YOU ABOUT.

John frowned.

“Yeah, ma hates it too.” Robby grinned engagingly.

“She had visitors?”

“Yeah. ’Bout an hour ago, a pair of hangdog detectives with a uniform right behind ’em. Scared the hell out of her. Thought one of us got shot or something. You know how cops’ wives and mothers are—always afraid they’ll answer a knock at the door and see other cops there to break bad news. What the hell’s wrong with those guys? Don’t they have mothers?”

“Probably not. Most crawled out from under rocks. What did they want?”

“You, man. Were looking for you. Must be nice to be so wanted.”

“What’d she tell ’em?”

“To check the station, that you were probably working, like always. They asked when she last heard from you. Said she wasn’t sure. They told her to tell you it would be in your best interests to come down to the station. She asked what for. They said it was serious, then asked for her permission to come in and look around! Can you believe those guys?”

“What’d she say?”

“No way, said she was busy in the kitchen, closed the door on ’em, and called me. Our mother’s small, not stupid.”

John filled him in about the meeting and what he’d learned.

“Holy crap!” Robby said. “What’d I tell you, bro? Virtue is its own punishment. This whole damn thing sounds FUBAR—Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. What the hell is going on?”

Robby’s police radio crackled to life and broadcast a routine countywide BOLO, a Be On the LookOut. But this one was different. The subject being sought was Miami Police sergeant John Ashley. They stared at the radio, as the dispatcher’s cool, ethereal voice gave John’s physical description and date of birth and requested that he be detained for questioning in a homicide. “Be advised,” she warned, “Ashley is armed.”

“Did I hear that right?” Robby said, stunned.

“You heard it too?” John sounded weary. “I hoped I was hallucinating.”

“We should be so lucky,” Robby said.

John felt unexpected comfort at Robby’s use of the word
we.
You’re never alone, he thought, when you have family.

“I never thought I’d hear a BOLO like that in a million years.” Robby’s voice rose. “You’re the Boy Scout, John! The cleanest, most dedicated cop in this county! If they can do this shit to you, nobody’s safe. Nobody! You need a lawyer, bro. Fast. If they put that out on the air, an arrest warrant isn’t far behind.”

“Where’s Laura? I need to see her.”

“She’s hot, John, but believe me, your time is better spent with your lawyer.”

“I don’t want to talk about that now. Where is she, Robby?”

He sighed. “She’s been bugging me too, wants you, asks where you are. She’s with Katie, bro. Think I wouldn’t take good care of her? They’re having the time of their lives at the Sea Spray.”

The name resonated oddly in John’s memory. He blinked. Where had he heard it before? Was it a fast boat?

“It’s a new, high-rise oceanfront condo,” Robby said, as he made a U-turn toward the causeway to the beach. “Finished right as the real estate market crashed. Timing is everything. Speculators who signed contracts and made deposits on expensive units walked away, took the hit. It’s less than twenty percent occupied. Way less now because it’s off-season. Snowbirds and foreign investors who use them as second homes are gone for the summer. Listen to this, it’s got a fully equipped gym, spa, Olympic-size, infinity-edge pool, and cabanas, with nobody using ’em, except for our little Katie and your little Laura. Let me tell ya, they’ve been busy on the beach, in the pool, the gym, and the spa.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “What’s Katie’s connection there?”

“Remember her patient, the girl in the plane crash?”

Katie, a registered nurse, had befriended a former patient, a wealthy young Frenchwoman who suffered serious back injuries in a light plane crash that killed her fiancé in the Florida Keys. Slowly recovering after several surgeries, Robby said, she bought an apartment at the Sea Spray to be near her doctors, hospital, and therapists. Now in Europe for the summer, she’d left Katie to house-sit, enjoy the amenities, water her plants, and care for her little dog.

“Isn’t it dangerous for them to be alone in a big, dark complex at night with no neighbors?” John frowned.

“Not to worry. You know Katie—and Laura,” Robby said. “They’re armed to the hilt. And building security isn’t bad, though at some point it’s bound to get hairy with so few owners paying maintenance fees. Luckily, most of the buyers who did close have the bucks to protect their investment and keep the place up until the market revives. Katie says the management company plans to launch a leasing and rental program, that could save the day.”

Robby called ahead but didn’t mention he had company. Katie said they were at the beach, on their way to the pool.

“They’re not neglected,” he told John. “I check on them. Called ’em a couple times last night. Laura’s never alone. Katie’s taking comp time the hospital owes her; you know how much she works. They’re not paying OT because of budget cuts, just giving the staff comp time.”

The lonely monolith was white, tropical, open, and airy. Flaming red and purple bougainvillea draped from latticework, balconies, and gigantic flower boxes bordering the parking garage. The Sea Spray looked like the tropical dreams in glossy real estate brochures sent only to multimillionaires.

They parked, saw no one, and walked through the building. No one at the front desk. The massive marble lobby echoed like an empty museum. The beach was breathtaking, the water a brilliant blue, bluer than the sky. The heavy white lounge chairs all stood empty, as though waiting for the party to begin. But there was no party, nothing to celebrate. Investors had lost their shirts.

But the locale and spectacular structure would endure until things changed. John and Robby walked out onto a huge, elevated pool deck and saw them approaching, two tanned and beautiful girls in bikinis. They’d left their bright sarong-like wraps on beach chairs. They put them on, then spotted Robby. John stood in shadow just inside the slatted door of a cabana.

The cabanas were as lavish as the rest of the building, but the interiors were unfinished. There were hookups for wet bars, HDTVs, stereo systems, mini refrigerators, and microwaves. The basic amenities—half baths with showers, daybeds, couches, card tables, and chairs—had all been installed.

The girls ran up the already weathered wooden steps from the beach to greet Robby on the pool deck. Laughing, their hair loose in the sea breeze, their sun-kissed skin glistening with coconut oil, they looked happy and lighthearted, without a care in the world.

“That,” Robby said softly, over his shoulder, “is how all young girls should always look. Too bad life gets in the way. Remember this moment, John. We don’t have many.”

He’s right, John thought, surprised by Robby’s sudden introspection, so unlike the wild and fearless boy he’d helped raise. This break would be good for both girls, he thought. It gave Katie a brief respite from the sterile, often grim atmosphere of intensive care, and Laura would feel safe from the threat of sudden violence.

The girls hugged Robby; all three laughed and talked at once. John heard his name. “Is he all right? Have you seen him?” Laura asked wistfully. “He hasn’t called.” The sound of her voice made all that had happened that day seem unimportant by comparison.

Robbie walked them back toward the cabana, an arm around each of them. As they passed the cabana, John reached out and swept Laura inside. Katie gasped. “It’s okay,” Robby whispered in her ear. She relaxed and began to laugh.

“She’s really crazy about John,” she told her brother. “I hope I feel that way about a man someday.”

“You will,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully, her green eyes pensive. “What they have is rare. Most people are never that lucky.”

She stopped, her arm around her brother. They looked back at the cabana. The door was closed and they heard Laura’s laugh, a clear and joyous sound.

“Shall we wait for them?” Katie asked.

“No,” Robby said. “They’ve waited so long. And there’s so little time.”

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “I’ll fix you some lunch.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

S
he lay in his arms, the door half open so they could feel the ocean breeze on their skin, see clouds, ships, and blue water, and hear sea-birds and the surf.

Eventually he explained the trouble he faced. She sat yoga-style between his open legs, her eyes never leaving his face.

“No matter what other people think,” she said, when he finished, “we both know you’re innocent. We’ll work through this together. But most important, don’t ever leave me again, John. Katie, well, she’s the sister I always wanted. It’s as if we’ve known each other forever. And Robby is so cool. We’re simpatico. I already love him like a brother. But you and me”—she tossed her lush, long black hair back over her naked sun-kissed shoulder—“we have to stay together no matter what. I’ve never felt more sure about anything in my entire life.”

Despite his relief, he warned her about the dangers, how unfair this might be to her, her career, and her family. What about her family?

“Doesn’t matter; nothing else does.” She shrugged. She’d spoken to her gram, actually her great-grandmother, as she did every day. “She’s fine,” Laura said. “About a hundred years old, she lives alone when I’m away, drives her powder-blue 1985 Oldsmobile Calais with almost thirty-five thousand miles on it to church on Sunday, then has lunch with friends. It’s the high point of her week. She’s lost friends, family, and neighbors over the years, survived two husbands, and sorely misses those who’ve gone ahead. But she lives in the family homestead where she grew up. She’s lived a wonderful life, and still does.”

Laura smiled. “Do you know she never wore shoes till she went to school in a one-room schoolhouse on her granddaddy’s property, with all her cousins and friends? Her granddaddy hired the first teacher. She’s
living history. You’ll love her,” she said, her voice tender as she reached for him.

When the cell phone Robby insisted she keep with her rang, they scrambled, looking for it among their tangled clothes on the floor. It was Katie, inviting them up for supper.

Both were ravenous. John hadn’t eaten all day. Robby had gone, but was just a phone call away should they need him.

Katie had baked sweet potatoes and grilled salmon steaks with lime, spinach, tomatoes, and mushrooms. The beautiful apartment was cool and fragrant with the aromas of good cooking. After the empty halls and vacant, unoccupied space, it gleamed, a jeweled oasis in a barren desert. The sunset from the wraparound terrace was beyond spectacular.

The day that began badly had become so memorable for John and Laura that even the nightly TV news could not diminish their bliss. But it came close. They were still at the dinner table, as Katie poured the last of the wine, when Robby called.

“Check Channel Seven,” he said, tersely. “I’m recording it.”

All four local news outlets led with the same story. Miami’s police chief had grimly announced at a press conference that a first-degree murder warrant had been issued for one of their own. Homicide Sergeant John Ashley was being sought in the murder of his supervisor, Capt. Armando Politano, shot to death at an Aventura motel. The chief, a strip of black mourning tape across his badge, released few details and evaded reporters’ questions. All he’d say was that the investigation was ongoing, with more charges expected.

The press conference had been delayed until after the captain’s swiftly arranged funeral. Police officers from all over the state and even Georgia had come to pay their respects, to honor Politano as a fallen hero, which irked John. Had the captain survived his last act, he could have, should have, lost his job, his certification, his freedom forever, and perhaps even his life. How wrong for a badge-wearing criminal to share space on the same plaque as Officer John R. Riblet and all the other real heroes killed on the job.

Aerial news footage caught hundreds of patrol cars, lights flashing, mounted patrolmen, motorcycles, even a SWAT team van. The
creeping procession stalled traffic for miles. News reports covered the final sign-off on police radio, taps, the twenty-one-gun salute, and the mournful wail of bagpipes. All for a masked man who broke into Laura’s room to ambush and murder them both.

The white-gloved honor guard presented the folded flag to the widow, her children at her side. The TV news report then returned to highlights of the press conference in which John was described as yet another cop gone bad, a cautionary tale, proof again of how tough a cop’s job is, both physically and to the psyche. The chief, who hadn’t uttered more than a dozen words to him in years, now pleaded like an old friend: “For God’s sake, John, surrender like a man, before anyone else is killed or hurt. Come in, for your own safety.”