Picture Me Dead (19 page)

“We having a party in here?” Sharon inquired, smiling but obviously a little confused.

“Just tea,” Nick told her. He kissed her on the forehead. “Sorry we woke you. Cops. Everything is a drama, you know.”

“Cops? Did we have a problem?” she asked.

“No, a lack of communication,” Nick said, smiling. “And now we're all awake. Like I said, sorry.”

“It's okay, I don't have to be anywhere until eleven. But, Ashley,” she said, concern on her features. “You have to be in class at seven.”

“Oh, she's all right. She told me she's still young enough to go without sleep,” Nick informed her cheerfully. “Hey, we're in good shape, Sharon. We have Miami-Dade's finest stalking one another in our kitchen.”

The kettle began to whistle.

“I'll get milk and sugar,” Sharon offered. “There's hot chocolate, too, if anyone would rather have that. Jake, would you like herbal tea?”

“No, thank you. I'm just going to head back.”

“The water's boiled, and we're all here,” Sharon said.

“Just tea then, thank you, regular tea.”

“Okay, one black tea. Ashley, here you go, and the sugar and milk. She takes loads of both,” Sharon told Jake, smiling.

“Two cops,” Nick murmured, getting his own cup. “We're lucky you two didn't shoot each other!”

“Hey, speaking of business,” Sharon said. “Jake, it was nice of you to go to the hospital tonight. That was your partner who picked you up earlier, right? Marty?”

“He comes in and talks to Sandy now and then. Sandy loves to keep up on what's going on in his city.”

“Sandy is a bright old guy.”

“Is there anything you can do to help Ashley's friend?” Sharon asked anxiously.

“I can ask a few questions, find out how the investigation is going,” Jake told her. “But it's not my case, not even my area.”

“Still, it's nice of you to help,” Sharon said, then stretched and yawned and looked at Nick affectionately. “Busy night, huh? Oh, Ashley, a few friends of yours came by, too.”

Ashley frowned, remembering that she should have called Karen and Jan, and brought them up to date on Stuart's situation. But would they have come by Nick's?

“From the academy,” Sharon said.

“No, the one kid is already a cop,” Nick corrected her. “What's his name? Len Green, I think. Officer Green. He was here with that really big, good-looking black fellow, Arne.”

“Did they want anything?” Ashley asked.

“Hamburgers,” Nick said.

“Nick, I meant—”

“They asked for you,” Sharon said, smiling. “I guess they were just hungry, and figured they might be able to get a bite to eat and pay a social call at the same time. Anyway, I explained that you'd gone to the hospital to see a friend.”

“Thanks. Well, if they needed anything, I'll see them tomorrow. Arne, at least. I don't see Len Green every day—he works down south. But if there was anything important, Arne will tell me.”

“Nice guys,” Sharon commented. “They spent some time talking with Sandy, too. He seemed to enjoy them.”

“Good,” Ashley murmured, feeling a little uncomfortable that Jake was listening to the conversation. It was such a casual conversation, surely it couldn't matter. She still felt uncomfortable.

He set down his empty cup. “Thanks for the tea, and sorry for the disruption,” he said. “Good night, all. I'll let everyone get some sleep.” He started out the side door, then turned back. Ashley thought he might be about to apologize for tackling her. He wasn't. “I will see what I can find out about your friend's case,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He exited, and Nick rose to secure the door.

“I guess I'd better go and get what sleep I can,” Ashley murmured.

“Of course. Good night, dear,” Sharon said.

Ashley blew Nick a kiss and started back through the house. She should have been exhausted, but she felt wired instead, and found herself wondering why Nick had brought Jake into the house at that hour of the night. Neither of them had explained.

Her television was still on, and Lucy and Ethel were at it again.

She plunged into bed, then rose and went back to the window to the right of the door. Pulling back the drapes, she looked out.

Detective Dilessio was standing on the deck of his houseboat again, hands on his hips, studying the bar.

Why?

She watched him for a few moments, once again noticing the way the moonlight fell on him. She gritted her teeth and gave herself a mental shake. He was the last man on earth to whom she should feel the slightest attraction.

But she did. It wasn't physically possible, but she could still feel where his body had been against hers in those few moments when they had been locked in a fierce embrace on the kitchen floor.

She had always been the practical one among her friends. If it isn't good for you, don't do it. Don't take a puff of a cigarette. Why start, when you know it's bad? Don't take a chance on a guy you know is bad news. If you don't start…

She wasn't starting anything. She went back to bed and stared at the television. Once again, she eventually drifted back to sleep.

Not even sleep could help her over-exhaustion. She started dreaming again, knowing she was dreaming….

She was there again, on his houseboat. They were discussing white briefs, though once again he wasn't wearing any. She kept trying to look into his eyes, to keep her gaze from dropping downward….

She wanted to talk to him about something very important, but she couldn't remember what it was, because she couldn't keep her eyes on his.

The alarm rang. She was jerked out of the dream, still painfully aware of it, the vision of him clear in her mind.

She bolted upright, miserable, feeling as if she'd never gone to sleep. Shit!

She just knew it was going to be a wretched day.

T
he room wasn't small, but it felt confining. Stifling. There was a brown table. The walls were a sanitarium green—two different shades of sanitarium green. There was nothing in the room other than the table and two chairs.

Peter Bordon sat in one, staring across the table at Jake, who sat in the other. A guard was right outside the door. Jake didn't think he'd be crying out for backup—Bordon wasn't impressive in any physical sense. He was about five feet ten inches tall, and no more than a hundred and eighty. He was tight and compact, but not in any way heavily muscled.

Even now, so many years later, he had that strange power in his eyes. Scary, in a way. Very creepy. He had smiled with secretive amusement when he first saw Jake, and the guard had promised he would be just outside the door.

“Guess he doesn't know
you
once beat the shit out of
me,
” Bordon said.

“I didn't beat the shit out of you,” Jake countered.

Bordon inclined his head to the side, shrugging off the comment. “Sorry, you were strangling me, I think.”

“You look alive and well to me.”

“I
am
well. Very well, thanks.”

Only a few hints of gray teased at his light brown hair. Those strange eyes were hazel, and it often seemed as if Bordon could lighten and darken them at will. He had an ability to focus on a person that was almost hypnotic. His voice was low, but full. He was soft-spoken, but there was a strength in his tone that could cover tremendous distance.

“Maybe I shouldn't call you Jake? Is that too personal? Me, using your first name? I should be calling you Detective Dilessio. But then, I feel that I came to know you so well. I know you'd be pleased if I was dying of a slow and painful disease, choking daily on my own vomit. There's so much anger and hatred in your heart. But I forgive you.”

“Fuck your forgiveness,” Jake said, then gritted his teeth. Bordon was baiting him, a talent of his. Jake swore then that he wasn't going to rise to that bait again.

He reached into his jacket and drew out one of the crime scene photos of the dead girl, sliding it in front of Bordon. “How'd she die, Peter? And why?”

Bordon looked dispassionately at the photograph, then met Jake's eyes again. He slowly made the sign of the cross. “Obviously, Detective, she was murdered or you wouldn't be here. Why, I don't know. I will pray for her soul, though.”

“Peter, her throat was slit and her ears were slashed. The tips of her fingers were cut away. She died in agony. Just like those women who died five years ago.”

“I never killed anyone.”

“You ordered the killings.”

“No, Detective, you're wrong. I would never order one human being to take the life of another.”

Jake shook his head. “We might not have had proof, but everyone knows you conspired to commit murder.”

“Perhaps I was angry with the women who died…or perhaps I didn't particularly like them, and though, in my deep belief, I would try not to let my feelings show, perhaps others saw my disappointment in the women, and therefore…they died.”

Jake leaned forward. “Papa Pierre. That's what they called you. The foolish and the lost gathered around you, hanging on your every word, your sermons or the bliss of immortality for those who learned the true Word during their time on earth. For those who gave their all to the church—your church—and themselves—all of themselves, of course—over to you.”

Bordon grinned, suddenly down to earth, the practiced hypnotic quality of his eyes and voice gone. “I fleeced a few people. I was guilty of fraud and income tax evasion. I'm serving my time. And yes, I had sex with a few women. All right. Lots of women. Lots of beautiful women. Jealous, Jake? You don't have to be, you know. You reek of testosterone. Women must practically reach out to grab you when you walk by. So don't begrudge me a little carnal amusement, Jake. We both know that there's no law against consensual sex between adults.”

Jake sat back. Bordon hadn't changed a hair. He was calm and serene through every word, every lie, he spoke. He met Bordon's stare and waited a long moment. “What happened to Nancy?” he demanded, his voice as soft, as deadly, as Bordon's could ever be.

Bordon stared at him, shaking his head. “Jake, Jake, Jake. You're like a tired-out old record player. She was your partner, but she didn't come with you when you came out to harass me. I knew about her, though. She was a computer whiz, right? And at the trial, it came out that she was the one who suggested investigating me for crimes other than murder. But I don't know what happened to her. I know they found her in her car in a canal, but that's all I know. Seriously, Jake, get a grip on yourself. I'm a smart man. I can read between the lines. I know what was going on with your partner. Hell, I made a business out of knowing what people's weaknesses were. You come up here, the determined, compassionate cop, afraid that this new victim is just the first of more to come…but you don't really give a rat's ass about that girl, do you? After all this time, you still want to wrap your fingers around my neck and kill me, because maybe that will let you believe that your lover didn't kill herself because she was miserable, between her two-timing husband and you.”

This time, Jake held his temper. “Nancy didn't kill herself, Bordon. She was my partner, not my lover, but that's really not the point. She was a strong woman, and she wouldn't have killed herself over me, her husband or any other man. She was murdered. And no matter what you say, I believe you ordered her murder, because she knew something.
What was it that she knew, Peter?
Whatever it was, it is the key to what is happening now. You and I both know it.”

“What's happening now? Other than that you've got a new body on your hands?”

“There's something going on. More than we've seen yet. I think that you know something, something that could prevent more deaths.”

“You have another dead girl. What makes you think there's some kind of conspiracy? People die down there all the time.”

“But the victims aren't usually found with their fingertips gone and their throat—and ears slashed. And there's something else, Peter. I think you're conspiring with someone who's still out there. Someone who was on my boat last night.”

“Breaking and entering? What was taken?”

“Nothing.”

“Maybe you're losing it, Jake. Imagining this conspiracy thing. Maybe no one was there.”

“No, Peter. Someone was on my boat. Looking for something.”

“Well, let's see, you're the detective. Couldn't have been me—the guards will swear to that. So who could it have been? I'll just bet that late partner of yours had a key to your houseboat.”

Jake gasped, and Bordon smiled in satisfaction.

“She did, I knew it. Maybe you'd better look into that husband of hers.”

“I talked to Nancy's husband. He says he doesn't know a thing about the key.”

“You know, you make a cuckold out of a guy, and it's not surprising if he's out to get you for the rest of his life.”

“Actually, I think he's out to get
you.
And he isn't sworn to uphold the law or anything like that. He could get a gun and shoot you dead on the spot, then claim temporary insanity because grief has haunted his life all these years.”

“Maybe you ought to find out more about that young man, Jake. Maybe he's crazier than I am.”

“It would help if you told me what you know about the victim we just discovered—and about Nancy. You'll never convince me that she didn't disappear because of what went down five years ago.”

Bordon kept his eyes on Jake, never blinking. He shook his head sadly. “She disappeared while you were busy harassing me and my group. You want to associate the two things, but you've got no reason for doing so. I'll bet your superiors agree. Poor Jake, he wants to believe there's a reason, that it's anyone's fault but his own. You know accidents happen. Bad roads, bad weather. Sometimes people, even cops, drive too fast. People can be distraught, not themselves. There are dozens of possibilities. But you know what, Jake? I really am sorry.”

“I see. You'd help me if you could.”

Bordon drummed his fingers on the table, his expression never wavering. “Do you ever go to magic shows, Jake?”

“What?”

“You know, a magic show. It's all smoke and mirrors. Sleight of hand. People don't see what's really happening, because their vision is drawn a different way. You see the magician, you see the beautiful, skimpily clad assistant at his side.”

“Bordon, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, I've spent my time here doing a lot of reading. I've counseled some of the other prisoners.” For a moment his gaze flickered and a rueful smile touched his lips. “I've found God and the simple beauty of life itself.”

“You've
found
God? You were a preacher, with a loyal-unto-
death
following. But now you've found God?”

Bordon waved a hand in the air. “I fleeced people out of a lot of money. I'm a charismatic man. A magician, if you will, a showman. But now…well, I just want to live, Jake. I'm getting out of here soon. It's almost a guarantee. I've been a model prisoner—but I'm sure you know that.”

“You know I'd do anything in my power to throw you right back in here.”

“Thankfully, you're a detective, not a judge and jury. Funny thing is, I like you, Jake. And you're good, you know. Maybe too good. I'm not frightened of you myself, but…you can be a damned scary man. Watch yourself, Jake.”

“Are you threatening me, Bordon?”

“Me? No, not at all. We both know I never killed anyone. That's truer than you can begin to accept. I'm just saying you're a good detective, that's all. But no one wins every time, Jake. Maybe you should accept that.”

Jake shook his head. “Not every time, but I don't intend to lose this one.”

“Well, Jake, you're sitting here barking up the wrong tree with me. I've been locked up a long time now.” He shrugged. “Hell, who knows if that wiped-out kid, Harry Tennant, killed those girls five years ago or not. I saw him a few times, and I thought I had one really sad bastard on my hands. He wanted to find meaning in life so badly, and he was furious with the girls who didn't seem to be as committed to a way of life as he was. Or maybe he was impotent, and hated anyone who could lead a normal life. Maybe he was psychotic.”

“I don't think he was bright enough to be as organized as the killer,” Jake said. “The killer was smart—removing fingertips, delaying identification of the victims. Hiding them in the deepest muck in the city, letting nature do her work on the corpses and any hope of trace evidence. That took someone with cunning and knowledge. That points to you, I'd say.”

“If you're hoping for a belated confession, that I'm going to break down and tell you, hell yes I did it, I've kept a thriving group going in my absence, and I control the hearts and minds of men and women far away—you're veering way off course. I told you, I've spent my time repenting my evil ways. I've found God.”

“Oh, yeah, right, Bordon. If you found God, you'd be confessing anything you knew, trying to make sure more people weren't brutally murdered.”

Bordon stared at him. “Smoke and mirrors, Jake. The world is full of smoke and mirrors.”

To Jake's surprise, Bordon looked upset after making that last statement. “I don't want to talk anymore. I won't talk anymore. I don't have to talk to you.”

“Wrong. You're in prison, and I have the warden's permission to be here.”

“I'm not accused of anything more. I'm serving my time. I just want to live, Jake. And I want a lawyer before I say another word to you.”

“Guilty, are you?”

Bordon's cool fell back around him like a cloak. “I'm doing my time, Jake, just doing my time. I've said everything to you that I can. You're the detective. You take it from here.”

Jake was disappointed. Bordon had put an end to the interview. He wasn't sure what he'd thought he could get the man to say. Maybe he hadn't expected him to say anything. He'd just been certain that if he saw Bordon, he would know. Know if the man was somehow involved again from behind bars.

Instead, he found himself no more certain than he had been before.

He pulled a card from his pocket. “If you decide you want to talk to me…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Bordon said. He stared at the card in Jake's hand for a minute, then reached out and took it. He stared at Jake. Jake waited.

“Sure. Maybe I'll call you sometime, Detective. As I said before, I actually kind of like you. Watch it driving home. It's a long way. Over two hundred miles. How long did it take you to get here? Four, five hours? Or are Miami-Dade cops allowed to speed through other counties?”