Picture Me Dead (17 page)

Ashley sat back, frowning. “Did you tell this to the police?”

“Of course.”

“And they still think he just got himself involved with a bad crowd?”

“I don't know what they think. They've promised that they're looking into the situation. So…” He ran his thumb over the rim of his coffee cup, staring at the coffee, then up at her. “So if there's anything you can find out, his mother and I would greatly appreciate the help.”

“I'm not even a rookie,” she told him.

“You must have friends higher up in the force?” he said hopefully.

“I do. And I swear, I'll do all I can.”

“Let's go!” Nathan said, suddenly sounding angry.

“What's the matter?” Ashley said, looking around. Then she noticed the man who had gotten Nathan so upset. He was the man about her own age who'd had his head buried in the newspaper in the waiting room. Dark-haired, light-eyed, he looked like a decent sort. But then again, the most decent appearing people could be the slimiest.

“That leech—another would-be reporter. Claims he knew Stuart. But he can't seem to give us anything. They talked to him at first, and he came up with a bunch of wild stories. The police asked questions, and he did nothing but infuriate a lot of important people and make it harder for them to take Stu's mom seriously. The media people have been obnoxious, trying to prove we're unfit parents or something, and that tragedy of Stuart's upbringing caused his descent into the pitfalls of drugs. I've gotten rid of them time after time, and one of the fellows on the case, Sergeant Carnegie, has been great, warning them away from us. This guy is trying to get a story out of us, and I don't intend to turn Stuart's trauma into a sensational headline.”

Ashley rose along with Nathan. When they reached the hall, she told him that she was going to go home and get some sleep, but that she would be back the following night.

“Ashley, that's kind of you. Come on up for just a minute. We can get you in for a second, I'm certain.”

She went back upstairs with Nathan. When they reached Stuart's room and looked through the window, Lucy was by his bed, holding his hand.

Tears welled in Ashley's eyes as she saw her friend. He was connected to several monitors. There were tubes in his nose and mouth. An IV line dripped fluids into his veins. His face was bluish and swollen. A bandage was around his head.

And yet his hand…

The hand his mother held looked so incredibly normal. Stuart had beautiful hands, with long fingers and neatly clipped nails. Strong, masculine hands.

Lucy glanced up and saw them. She rose and came to the door. “Ashley, I'll get you a smock, then you can go in for a few minutes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I said you're my niece, our closest relative…go in, dear. Talk to Stuart.”

Ashley nodded, because it seemed to mean so much to Lucy. She didn't think Stuart would even know she was there.

At Stuart's side, just as Lucy had, she sat and held his hand. He seemed cold, cold as death, she thought, then forced herself to banish the idea. It was awkward at first, but then she began to talk to him. “Listen, you stuck-up little would-be literary giant, you hang in there. You've got everything in the world, including the world's most wonderful parents. I mean, Nick is great, but…We've talked about this before, but I like to imagine that my parents would have been like yours. And I'm going to find out what the heck you were up to, Stu, so help me. I know you're not a junkie, and I'm going to prove it, I swear.”

She thought she felt a squeeze. The slightest squeeze. She stared at his monitors. She didn't know how to read them, but she was certain that nothing had changed.

Neither had he. With the help of a machine, his breath rose and fell.

And yet…

Had she felt…something? Maybe they were right, and maybe he did hear her.

She decided not to say anything. She didn't want to hurt Lucy or Nathan with anything that resembled false hope.

She stood, kissed his forehead and whispered that she'd been a lousy friend, but she did love him.

She looked toward the door. Neither Lucy nor Nathan was there. The nurse noticed her, though, and slipped in, telling her that the Fresias were back out in the hallway, talking to one of the police officers.

When Ashley got in sight of them, she nearly stopped dead in her tracks.

The officer they were speaking to was none other than Jake Dilessio.

D
ilessio's grave nod indicated acknowledgment. Lucy turned to her with hope written all over her face.

“Ashley, thank you so much. I see that you've used your position to get us some more assistance,” she said.

Ashley instantly felt her cheeks grow pink. She had no position, and she was more surprised than they were to find this particular detective showing an interest in the case.

“I can't promise you anything,” Dilessio told them. “I'll speak with the investigating officers and do whatever I can to find out why your son was out there. I'll tell you whatever I find out. But you have to be prepared for the fact that you may not like the answers.”

Lucy smiled, looking very strong for a moment. “Detective Dilessio, everyone I've come across so far pities me for not seeming to understand that my son could have become an addict and gotten into very bad things in the matter of a few months. I don't deny that those things can happen, but my husband and I always enjoyed an exceptional relationship with our son. I'm going to believe in him until someone proves otherwise.
And
I'm going to believe with my whole heart that he's going to come out of that coma, and then we'll all know the truth.”

“My prayers are with you both,” Dilessio said. “And I certainly hope you're proven right. I admire your faith.” Ashley was startled when he spoke to her next. “Were you heading home soon, Miss Montague?”

“I, uh, yes.” She smiled apologetically at Lucy and Nathan. “We start at seven at the academy, I really do need to go,” she told them.

“Great. Then I can hitch a ride,” Dilessio said.

She must have looked at him; surprised, because he continued, “Marty dropped me off here. My partner.”

“Oh. Well, of course I can give you a ride.”

Nathan kissed her cheek. “Thanks so much for coming, dear.”

“I'll be back.”

“You're so busy, and there's so little you can do,” Lucy said.

“I can be here,” Ashley said. She gave Lucy a quick hug. “Well, Detective Dilessio, if you're ready…?”

“Good night,” he said to the Fresias.

“Thank you, thank you again. So much,” Lucy said.

Ashley started down the hall, moving quickly to keep up with Dilessio's long steps.

She turned back to see that Nathan and Lucy were watching them go. Nathan had his arm protectively around his wife's shoulders. Despite the terrible pain they were in at the moment, Ashley felt a strange little twinge of envy for them. They'd been married so many years, and they had a bond of love and commitment that would help see them through even this terrible time.

She waved and turned back, brushing against Dilessio. She quickly straightened and put some distance between them.

“Nice couple,” he said.

“Very nice. And I was just thinking—” She broke off, flushing again, and angry with herself for it.

“Thinking what?”

She shrugged. It would be worse not to answer. “I don't know. Marriage doesn't get a lot of respect these days, but despite their heartache, they have one another, someone to lean on through all this.”

He kept walking. For a moment she thought he wasn't going to reply, that she had revealed too much to a man she barely knew.

“I don't know. My folks were really committed to each other.”

“Were?”

“My mother died a few years ago. Now Dad roams around like a lost puppy. I've seen a fair number of good relationships. Then again…” He shrugged. “I've seen a few pretty rotten ones, too. The Fresias appear to be pretty decent types, devoted to their son as well as to one another.”

“They are. And if you only knew Stuart…”

“I warned them. The truth may be that Stuart got caught up in something bad.”

“I can tell you that isn't so.”

“Oh?” He paused, staring at her. “Then what is your scenario?”

She stood still, lifting her chin slightly, not about to let him patronize her.

“Let's start with what we know, Detective. He suddenly appeared, a pedestrian, on a highway with at least four lanes of speeding traffic in both directions. He had to come from somewhere.”

“Right. A house, an apartment, somewhere near the highway. Or from a car.”

“Exactly. But if he'd been living in the area, it's likely someone would have seen him walking around in his underwear, something I'm sure the investigating officer looked into. Someone would have come forward with information. This may be Miami, but men don't walk along the highway in their underwear every day. I believe he was in a car. That someone let him out or pushed him.”

“Well, Miss Montague, I actually believe the same thing. Maybe there was an argument, and in his drugged state, he just got out and started walking. Maybe he was with his supplier, and in that case, the guy sure as hell wasn't going to hang around to see what happened.”

“Then again, maybe someone pushed him out on the highway, assuming he'd be killed.”

“A murderer who
assumes
his victim will be killed?”

She stood her ground. “I'm sure it's happened.”

He turned and started walking again. She followed. “You must have an inkling something was wrong or else you wouldn't have come here.”

He stopped again. “It's a strange enough story. But I wasn't blowing smoke when I said I have a full plate at the moment. I'll talk to Carnegie—he's the lead officer on this case—and find out what I can. But you need to remember this. You're not even a patrol cop yet. You're in the academy. Don't go thinking you're Detective Sipowicz, okay? You could be walking into danger you're not experienced enough to deal with.”

“So,” she said triumphantly, “you
do
think—”

He stopped again, impatient. “I think that if he was involved with heavy drugs, you could get yourself in a mess. Remember where we are. A lot of the worst stuff that goes down here goes down because of drugs. So if you want to help your friend, visit him when you can, keep your nose to the grindstone in your classes and leave the investigating to experienced officers.”

Ashley walked ahead of him. “Yes, sir, Detective Dilessio.” She reached the door to the hospital parking garage. “But since the experienced officers are really busy and don't believe in Stuart the way that I do, I've hit a bit of a wall, haven't I?”

“Carnegie is good,” he said flatly. “Look, Ashley, you go with what you've got. It's not unusual that most people are going to think your friend got into drugs—his bloodstream was filled with heroin when he came in here. So don't get angry because people look at the case from that angle. Maybe what you're saying
is
true. If so, we'll find that out. We're not magicians, but we do come up with the answers even in the really tough cases, most of the time. So have a little faith, all right?”

“Of course,” she said stiffly.

He opened the door. She led the way to her car, used the remote to spring the locks and got in, all too aware of him sitting next to her. It bugged her to realize she was being incredibly precise with every move she made as a driver, just because he was in the car. She jerked to a stop at the booth to pay, wincing as she did so. Shit. The guy was going to think she wasn't even capable of driving.

He hadn't said a word by the time they reached the road. To break the awkward silence, she asked, “So…how do you like your new slip?”

“It's great. Convenient. I'm not much of a cook, so it's good to have the restaurant right there.”

“I guess you've known Nick a long time.”

“Seven or eight years.”

“I'm surprised I didn't know you…. Well, I'd seen you a few times, I guess. You've been coming into Nick's that long?”

He shrugged. “Sunday afternoons now and then, but not too often, really.”

“I know most of the cops who come in, and when I was applying to the academy, they were helpful. I'm surprised Nick didn't tell me to talk to you.”

“I probably wasn't around, and if I had been, I might not have encouraged you.”

“Oh?”

He didn't reply. And he'd just started to seem so human.

“You don't think women should be on the force?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Then what
are
you saying?” she persisted.

He turned to her, studying her in the shadows, in the flash and glare of the streetlights. “Maybe
you're
not the type,” he told her. “You're persistent—”

“I'd think that's a plus,” she murmured.

“Persistence needs to come with patience. It's a team effort out there on the streets. You don't seem too willing to let your teammates carry the ball.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you should keep your nose out of this investigation. Don't go hanging out in bad neighborhoods thinking you're going to find the key that unlocks the case. You're not ready for that kind of investigation. Trust people to do their jobs.”

She stared straight ahead at the road. “Because that's how you are, right? That's why you can't even eat dinner without a file open in front of you.”

“I've been at this a long time. Ten years,” he told her. “You just missed the turnoff,” he commented.

“Maybe I go a different way,” she said defensively. But of course he was right. She
had
missed the turnoff.

Better to just admit it, and turn around. She did so. To his credit, he didn't say a word.

At last they got to Nick's. She parked in her spot and they got out of the car. “Well,” she said, sounding only a little bit stiff, “I do thank you for taking the time to come down to the hospital.”

He nodded. “I'll talk to Sergeant Carnegie and emphasize that your friend really wasn't the kind of kid to have gotten into that much trouble on his own. Maybe he'll have some information.”

“Thanks. And, Detective…?”

“Yeah?”

“Stuart isn't a kid. He's twenty-five, and he's always been a responsible guy.”

“Sure. Good night.”

He waved a hand her way and started toward his slip. Ashley watched him go.

She felt tired and drained, more restless than ever about Stuart. Letting herself in through the private kitchen, she hoped the house would be empty. She didn't feel like talking right now, even with Nick.

The house
was
empty. She could hear the sounds of talking and music on her way to her own wing. Obviously Nick was still busy. He would understand if she just came in and went to bed. As would Sharon, if she were there. Which she probably was, as lately she spent most of her nights with Nick.

In her room, Ashley flicked on the television, brushed her hair, washed her face and got ready for bed while listening to the news. The anchor went from the national news to the local. That evening, there had been a big pile-up in Broward, on 595. A pop star had been arrested for drug possession on the beach. Two visiting movie moguls had been involved in a disturbance at a club.

There were still no leads on the murder victim discovered Friday in the southwest area of the county, though the police were working hard to discover her identity. The medical examiner and metro homicide departments had released the information that she had been killed in a manner reminiscent of a series of homicides that had taken place five years earlier.

Ashley set her toothbrush in its holder and left the bathroom, sitting on the foot of the bed to watch the rest of the newscast. The anchor went on to warn women to take extreme care, despite the fact that the previous killings had been associated with a defunct cult and there was no evidence of current danger.

The anchor went on to report speculation by some citizens at the time that the police and the judicial system had been lacking in the pursuit of the killer, taking the easy way out when a young itinerant had confessed to the slayings before taking his own life.

He continued speaking over a shot of Peter Bordon, known as Papa Pierre, now in federal prison in the center of the state. The victims of the previous killings had all been associated with his sect, but Bordon had denied any involvement in the deaths. He had been convicted instead of fraud and income tax evasion.

Then he turned it over to a perky blond weather girl, who spoke about the mild and beautiful evening and days to come.

Ashley turned off the television, then found herself walking to her private outside door. She stepped outside, gazing at the boats in their slips. Glancing down the length of the dock, she noted the
Gwendolyn.

Detective Dilessio's boat.

He was handling the new murder case. Perhaps that was why he was so testy. There had been a few occasions when he had seemed almost human, so it was possible he simply had a lot on his mind.