A Dark and Lonely Place (42 page)

Inside the ER, Dr. Sander Dubovy, an associate professor of ophthalmology and pathology, greeted Katie. “They said you’d arrived.”

“Sandy,” she said breathlessly, “it’s my brother.”

“Let’s have a look at him.”

As she hoped, John was taken for an immediate scan, then straight to surgery.

“He has a bullet lodged in the orbit of his left eye,” the surgeon told her. “Luckily the globe was undamaged, but blood or bone fragments compressed the optic nerve and caused his loss of vision. If we can
remove the bullet, the bone fragments, and drain the blood inside the orbit, the pressure should be relieved and he stands a good chance of regaining most or all of the vision in that eye. He’s lucky you got him here fast. Otherwise it might have been irreversible.”

Laura prayed, paced, wept, and raged back at the Sea Spray. Katie called when John went to surgery and again to say police had arrived and he was under arrest but would remain briefly at Bascom Palmer for postop care.

“Here’s the
Reader’s Digest
version,” Katie told her. “The eyeball sits inside a bony structure called the orbit. Blood filled the orbit, created pressure on the optic nerve, and caused his loss of sight. Surgeons drained the blood, removed the bullet, and relieved the pressure. They expect the nerve damage to be temporary. They’ll know for sure in the next day or so. It could have been permanent if he hadn’t arrived here as fast as he did. Or if the bullet had been bigger; it was a twenty-two long.”

“The gun looked like a Walther P twenty-two automatic,” Laura said. “Looked like the fool had never fired it, or any other firearm, in his life.”

“Beginner’s luck,” Katie drawled.

“I’d like to wring his scrawny neck,” Laura said.

“Join the club.” Katie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The cops all knew John had been shot, so many witnesses saw it. But nobody knew the bullet had damaged his eye. Cops were at every ER in Miami-Dade and South Broward but never thought of the Eye Institute.”

“Thanks to you,” Laura said.

“You were the ambulance driver, I only helped you navigate. We pulled it off,” Katie said, with relief, and promised to call back, which is why Laura dove for the phone the next time it rang. She answered to dead silence, heard someone breathing, and said hello again.

“Hi, this is Gil. Is John there?”

“No, he isn’t,” Laura said tersely. “You shot him, you moron, remember?”

“No need to cop an attitude,” Lonstein said peevishly. “It wasn’t deliberate.”

“Do you even realize what you’ve done?” She could hardly restrain her anger. “If you had killed him, he’d be dead, deliberate or not.” Her voice rose. “What were you thinking?”

“He isn’t dead,” Lonstein asked cautiously. “Is he?”

“No. No thanks to you. He’s in surgery. The doctors don’t know yet if he’ll ever see out of his left eye again. And he’s been arrested on murder charges, thanks to you.”

“Bummer,” Lonstein said. “Didn’t know I hit him in the eye.”

Laura shuddered, gritting her teeth. “What do you want?”

“All the Eagle documents, and a copy of the official murder case file, if possible.”

“May I ask why?” she said. “Eagle requested that you deliver those documents to John, to help convict his killers. If you wanted copies, why didn’t you make them yourself when you first found them? Why now?”

Lonstein paused for a long moment. “You see, I had no idea how valuable they could be.”

“Gil, if you even think about trying to blackmail any of the criminals or corrupt cops involved, you’re dumber than I thought. It’s dangerous. Don’t do it.”

“Oh, Laura,” he said pettishly, “give me credit for a little common sense. I wouldn’t dream of that.”

“So, what is it?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“Those things are gold,” he said intensely. “Don’t get any ideas now, I’ve got first dibs and a leg up already. A friend of mine with TV and publishing connections has
Forty-Eight Hours, Twenty/Twenty, Prime-time,
and maybe”—he sucked in a deep breath—“even
Sixty Minutes
excited about the story.”

“The story?” Laura resisted the urge to kick the phone like a football. Is he crazy, is the whole world crazy?

“Can’t you see it?” he said. “High-profile murder case, sex, money, powerboat racing, a spectacular crash, dozens injured, beautiful models knocked off, bodies found in burning Dumpsters, a handsome homicide sergeant framed for murder, the victim’s young office manager who investigates on his own and uncovers the clues that break the case. Eagle’s notes to me from beyond the grave are dynamite! Once it’s on TV, a book and/or a movie contract is sure to follow. It’s a gold mine!

“I’m out of work, woman. This could launch my new career. Show biz! A franchise based on sexy high-profile murder cases. Could be the best thing that ever happened to me! Admittedly,” he conceded, “it’s at the expense of others, but shit happens. Not my fault. It takes a smart and savvy guy to salvage something good out of it, to spin shit into gold.”

Laura slumped, exhausted, into a chair, listening in open-mouthed disbelief.

“Play your cards right, Laura, and you might play yourself in the movie. The big screen,” he said reverently. “If I’m executive producer, I might put in a good word for you. I mean, you are a goddamn model, pretty enough to play yourself. All you need is a crash course in drama training.”

“I have enough drama in my life already, thank you. And those models who were ‘knocked off,’ as you put it, were friends.”

“What’d I just say, Laura? Drop the attitude. Golden opportunities don’t come often. When lightning strikes, you have to seize the moment. It may never come again.”

“Is that why you shot John?”

“I told you, that was an accident. Faced with a high-hazard mission, I armed myself. All Americans have that right. Bought the gun but didn’t have time enough to completely acquaint myself with its operation before I needed it. Now, where and when can I pick up copies of my papers?” he asked persistently.

“I swear, if you so much as cross my path, I will slap the snot out of you, you inept, impossibly stupid, wannabe warrior! What you really are is a pitiful, small-time wuss who probably still sucks his thumb and wets the bed!”

“No movie role for you,” he sang out maliciously. “You just blew your chance! Those personal notes from Eagle belong to me! Nobody else! The attorney I consulted confirmed it!” Lonstein shouted angrily, as she hung up.

She wondered, with a sinking feeling, how many people he’d talked to, and shook her head.

“He’s nuts,” said Robby, who called a short time later. “He has a lot more important things to think about. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that
the Miami police haven’t talked to him yet? That’s ominous. He did business, signed papers in that bank. Surveillance cameras caught him inside and outside. Witnesses and the cameras saw him, his car and tag. They know who he is, where he lives, and what he looks like. Strange, isn’t it, that all these hours later, no cop has pulled him over or knocked on his door? I wouldn’t want to stand next to the man in a public place right now,” Robby said.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

K
atie feared she’d be followed when she left the hospital, so she went to her North Miami townhouse instead of the Sea Spray. The police had grilled her for more than an hour.

She switched on all the lights, sorted her mail, paid a few bills, then showered, dressed, and turned out the lights, as though she’d gone to bed. Thirty minutes later Robby arrived at the back door and drove her to the Sea Spray.

“Thank God we came through for John today.” Robby looked and sounded bone weary.

“Of course.” Katie nudged his arm. “Ashleys always stick together, no matter what.”

“Damn straight.” He smiled for the first time that day.

“Have you eaten, Rob?”

He thought for a moment. “Not since breakfast on the run.”

“You need more meat on your bones, boy. Come on up, I’ll throw some burgers in the broiler. Betcha Laura’s awake and hasn’t eaten either.”

She was right.

Laura had never even tried to sleep. After Lonstein’s call, she copied the Eagle papers on the copy machine/printer in the apartment’s small office. As she stapled six copies, she muttered, “And not a single one for you, Mr. Lonstein. Sorrrry.”

She ran to open the door when she heard Katie’s key in the lock.

“They’re giving him high doses of steroids to reduce inflammation around the optic nerve,” Katie said. “First thing he asked when he woke up was if you were safe. I said, ‘What? Who? I thought you were still seeing that fat-ass cop, you know, the big-mouthed Latina.’ Shoulda seen
his face. Then I winked. They had a cop, a really creepy big guy, parked in a chair on John’s blind side.

“His eye is bandaged shut. The doctors will know more in the mornin’. But I tell you, girl, I’m optimistic. So’s the surgeon.”

That was good news. The bad news was that John was handcuffed to his bed, with a tug-of-war under way between Miami homicide lieutenant Mac Myerson, who demanded that John be moved to the county prison ward at once, and doctors who preferred that he have a few days of postop care at the institute.

The patient’s brother, sister, and sweetheart dined on medium-rare cheeseburgers with homemade slaw at 2:30 a.m. Only Françoise, the absent owner’s little shih tzu, ate with gusto. She ravenously finished her own and some of theirs.

When Robby was ready to leave, Katie picked up the dog’s leash. “She needs a walk. I’ll go downstairs with you.”

“I’ll come too.” Laura slipped on her shoes.

“No way,” Robby said emphatically. “It’s too late, too dark, too deserted. Nobody else knows that you’re here, as far as we know. But we can’t count on that.”

“But Françoise has to go out,” Katie protested, “to pee, poop, get some fresh air and exercise.”

“Walk her out on the terrace in the dark. No lights,” he said. “Clean up after her. Do what you have to. Before you turn on any lights after dark, close the drapes tight. When the rest of the building’s dark any light in here stands out like a beacon, a neon sign. We have to take extra precautions because it’s tough to tell the good guys from the bad. Don’t count on anything or anybody. It’s just us. I brought you another car. The Camry’s gone,” he told Laura. “It’s in the same space as the Camry but two levels up. The keys are on the right front tire.”

He hated to go. “I should stay,” he said. “But Ann Lee worries when I’m out all night. She’s either scared I’ve been shot on the job or that I’m with another woman. She’d rather I get shot.” He flashed his boyish grin. “Early tomorrow, I’m having breakfast at Morningside with Mom and Pop. The rest of the kids will be there so I can fill them in without repeating myself and talking too much over the phone. All I said tonight was that John’ll be all right.”

“Kiss ’em all for me,” Katie said. “Tell ’em I love ’em and I’ll be at the hospital first thing in the morning.”

Robby hugged them both and left.

They walked Françoise up and down the big wraparound terrace in the dark. Katie carried a plastic bag and paper towels.

“You always take Robby’s advice?” Laura asked.

“Most of the time. He’s my brother; he’s got my back. They all do. The one I
always
listen to is John. He’s the best, the brightest, always does the right thing. He’s solid gold, the real deal. We all, even our parents, look up to John. But now, with him indisposed, I turn to Robby. I’d be stupid not to. I can’t help but think of him as a kid, ’cuz he is the youngest and I remember him learning to walk, but he’s a real man—a little wilder, but smart, quick, and resourceful like John.”

“Runs in the family,” Laura said. “You were so cool, spitting out split-second decisions when we needed them. You brought us through it.”

“I’m so glad you’re gonna be an Ashley too,” Katie said. “Welcome to the family.”

They gazed down at quiet Collins Avenue from the darkened terrace. A convertible cruised by, top down, its stereo blasting Phil Collins’s “In the Air Tonight.” A man was driving. The blond hair of the woman close beside him whipped like a banner in the wind.

“Honeymooners, I bet,” Katie said, wistfully. “It must feel good to be that free together in this mellow night, with the sea breeze and the music washing over you . . .”

They went to bed, still restless after the adrenaline-charged events of the day. Each dozed fitfully in separate rooms, until Françoise, the fluffy little black and white shih tzu, began to bark frantically in the dark. She jumped off Katie’s bed and ran out, growled viciously, and hurled herself at the front door.

Katie and Laura nearly collided moments later, dazed, hair tousled, in their nightgowns in the dark outside their rooms. Each held a loaded revolver pointed at the floor.

“Think someone’s out there?” Laura whispered.

“For sure,” Katie whispered back. “She never acts that way for no reason.”

“Maybe it’s a neighbor coming home late.”

Katie shook her head. “No other neighbors on this floor.”

Laura inhaled deeply. “The owner?” she breathed hopefully. “Maybe she’s back from Europe.”

“She called from Switzerland this morning, having a wonderful time, asked me to send some of her things.”

“Crap,” Laura whispered.

As Katie edged along the wall toward the door, the knob slowly turned. The dog erupted in a frenzy of wild barking.

“Get out of here!” Katie shouted fiercely. “My husband’s got a gun! The police are on the way!”

The little dog growled, her body stiff. She dove at the doorsill and, still growling, began to dig furiously as though trying to burrow beneath it to reach her prey.

“Good dog,” Laura murmured.

Françoise turned and stared at them, her shiny button eyes mournful in the night, then raised her head and emitted a shiver-inducing, eerily high-pitched, brokenhearted howl.

“She never did that before either,” Katie said, trembling.

“Oh my God!” Laura gasped. “She may sense something.”

“If she does, it’s not good luck coming our way.” Katie’s big, luminous eyes looked haunted in the filtered moonlight from the terrace.