Picture Me Dead (29 page)

“You don't even know him.”

“I thought he was your friend. That you liked him.”

“I like him all right. But you don't know him. He's obsessive. Tough. A workaholic. I can admire a man like that, but I don't know if he's right for you. Ashley, there were all kinds of rumors going around—”

“I know about the rumors.”

“Ashley—”

He broke off. Sharon had come in. She was standing hesitantly just inside the room. “Excuse me, you two. I'm sorry. I know this is personal, it's just that…well, I need to get to the bedroom and get out of this robe and into work clothes.”

“Sharon, don't be ridiculous,” Ashley said. “Go right through.”

Sharon gazed at Nick, empathy in her eyes, and she smiled. “Love you both,” she said, and hurried past.

“Young lady,” Nick began, setting his cup on the bar and leaning close. “I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want you getting mixed up with someone who's a great guy from a man's point of view, but maybe a little jaded when it comes to women, I—”

He broke off again. She turned and followed his gaze to the door. She smiled despite the gravity of their talk. Sandy was standing there in bare feet and cutoffs, carrying Ashley's purse.

“Sorry, Dilessio asked me to bring this to you, Ash,” he said.

“Bring it in,” Nick said sighing.

Sandy came over. “You got coffee, Nick?”

Nick and Ashley looked at one another. “Think I could have a dinner date sometime soon, away from here, with my own niece?” he asked her.

She grinned, leaned across the counter and kissed him on the cheek.

“You bet.”

Her cell phone started ringing. In all the excitement she'd forgotten that someone had tried to call her. Were they trying again now? Sandy plopped next to her at the bar as she dug for the phone.

“Ashley? Ashley Montague?”

“Yes?”

“It's me. David Wharton, the guy you met at the hospital. I need to see you. Someone tried to kill Stuart.”

A
shley met with David at the News Café in Coconut Grove. It was his suggestion. They were out in the open, on the sidewalk, in plain view of others and far from alone.

Before she had even returned to her room for a shower, she had gone through twenty minutes of trying to get through to Mr. Fresia at the hospital. A volunteer had given her Stuart's condition as recorded on his records. According to them nothing had changed. The nurse in the unit had refused to put her through to the room. She had finally discovered Nathan Fresia's cell phone number in an old address book, and when she dialed it, she was gratified to find it hadn't changed.

But speaking to Nathan had done little good. He had sounded exhausted, and though he had been as kind as ever, he had insisted that she not come to the hospital—there had been so many people in and out and so much commotion the night before that a plug had been pulled out of the wall, with nearly fatal consequences.

Ashley couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had been the last of their group to visit Stuart, and she knew she hadn't pulled any plugs from the wall. She also knew that Stuart's respirator had been running just fine. When she tried to say that to Nathan, he snapped, telling her that his wife was now hospitalized, and whether she wanted to believe it or not, it had happened. Then he apologized for barking at her but insisted again that they needed to be alone, at least for a few days.

Stunned, she showered, then drove to the Grove to meet David Wharton.

He greeted her cordially and took a seat opposite her. As soon as they had coffee, he started right in. “Word is one of you girls pulled out a plug last night.”

“The hell we did!” she said indignantly. “But you know something and you'd damned well better tell me right now.”

“Hey, I called to talk to you, didn't I? If you don't get rid of that cop attitude fast, I'll walk away right now.”

Ashley sat back, letting out a sigh and staring at him. “We didn't pull any plug. So what happened?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“You were there, apparently.”

“Right. But not in his room. Do you think they'd let me in?” he asked, shaking his head. “But I can tell you this, Lucy Fresia isn't a sicko, losing her mind and longing—somewhere in the deep recesses of her subconscious—to let him go. I may not have been in the room, but I was hanging out awfully darn close, watching the hallways and what was going on. And only his parents and hospital personnel were in and out of that room.”

“How can you be so certain? You didn't go down for coffee once last night?”

He exhaled, staring at her, not about to admit he might have missed something. “I'm pretty darned good at what I set out to do.”

“So someone from the hospital is trying to kill him?”

“I doubt it.”

“Isn't that what you just said?”

“I should have said that only people who
looked
like hospital personnel were in and out of the room.”

He fell silent because their waitress was coming to take their breakfast order. Ashley had been planning to stick with coffee, but she suddenly realized she was starving. She ordered a large breakfast, while her companion opted for orange juice and toast. He seemed somewhat amused by her appetite.

“You eat like that all the time?”

“Only when I'm hungry.” The waitress had moved away. She didn't really need to lean forward, but she did. “In other words, you think someone dressed like a doctor or a nurse and went into Stuart's room and pulled the plug.”

“Yes, that's exactly what I mean. And don't go telling me I've seen too many movies, okay?”

“I wasn't about to say that.” She believed him. Completely. Just as she believed she had been stalked through the parking lot by someone dressed like a doctor. “I believe you, which scares the hell out of me. So someone in scrubs went in and pulled the plug. But wouldn't Lucy have noticed?”

“Not if she was sound asleep in the chair by the bed.”

“She'd wake up.”

“There's no guarantee of that. The poor woman must be exhausted beyond the breaking point. And whoever is doing this is good, slips in looking like anyone else, and wouldn't be noticed. He or she has it down pat.”

Ashley was silent for a moment. It sounded very far-fetched, but she knew that it had also seemed far-fetched when she tried to convince the police she had been stalked in the parking garage. And if the one was true, the other could certainly be true, as well.

“If what you're saying is true, Stuart is in danger even as we speak.”

“I know. But it's daylight—more people around. And his father is in there right now. Besides, I thought that you could go back to the hospital.”

Ashley shook her head. “Nathan Fresia thinks Karen, Jan or I pulled out the plug by accident.”

“Maybe if you talked to him.”

“Maybe if we got to the truth.” She leaned toward him. “The other night you said you knew something, that you have something. What is it?”

He hesitated. “If I talk to you, you have to promise to find evidence to support what I have to tell you before officially bringing it before the police.”

“But if you have something solid…”

“I don't know what I have. I gave them as much information as I had on what Stu was doing. There is a state congresswoman he's sure is in bed with the special interests, but when the cops checked her out, she was furious and reminded them that every citizen has a right to an opinion about the importance of business over the ecosystem or vice versa. She checked out clean.” He shrugged. “From what police could find out, she hadn't done anything illegal in any way.” He hesitated. “She also lost a child to drugs a few years ago, so she's a real crusader against drug abuse in the county. There were a few other ideas picked up from Stu's notes. The police checked out a major hotshot with one of the sugar companies, but they couldn't come up with anything there, either. So you see, so far I've come off as nothing but a major troublemaker. The police aren't about to listen to anything else I have to say.” He stared at her, drumming his fingers on the table. “Sure, I want a story out of this, I'd be lying to say otherwise. But I'm telling you the truth. Stu really is a friend. Hell, I've done nothing but bug the cops and stake out the hospital since he was hit.”

Ashley digested the information he had given her, sipping her coffee slowly. She shook her head. “I don't know what I can do.”

“I've got an address. You can check it out. Hell,
we
can check it out.”

“An address? An address for what? And if you had an address, why didn't you give it to the police?”

“I just found it, going through some more notes of Stu's I uncovered. And I haven't had a chance to get out there yet. Also, since last night…well, hell, I don't know what to do. Me sitting at the hospital doesn't seem to do any good, but I'm afraid of what will happen now that I'm not there.”

“Where is this address?”

“The far southwest. Farm country.”

Ashley stared at him. What could it hurt to take a drive? And yet he was right. She couldn't set aside the idea that Stuart might be in real danger.

“I'm not sure what to do, either,” he murmured.

She was startled when he reached across the table, gently touching her hand. “Okay, you're not a cop anymore. But…surely, you can do something, get someone to listen.”

She hesitated. In his way, Jake listened. Maybe he only listened to her because he felt obligated to do so, though, seeing as they were sleeping together.

She didn't want anyone feeling obligated to her. But she also didn't want her pride to get in the way of helping Stuart. Especially when there was a possibility that he was in real danger.

Dilessio wasn't going to want to speak to her today. His victim had been identified. He would be busy, like a bloodhound out on a trail.

Still…she needed his help.

She realized she had no idea how to get hold of Jake when he was away from his desk, but at least she knew people who would.

“Hang on a minute,” she told David, rising.

She was getting truly paranoid, she realized with dismay. She was suddenly afraid that anyone around her might be listening in on her conversation. She walked to the corner, put through a call to the forensics department and asked to speak with Mandy Nightingale. She was put on hold for several moments, and then Mandy answered, so full of congratulations for the success of the sketch in the paper that Ashley couldn't even manage to say hello. After that, though, she was able to give Ashley Jake's cell phone number.

Jake's phone rang several times before he answered, barking “Dilessio” as if he were impatient with the very fact that his phone had rung.

“Jake, it's Ashley.”

“Ashley.” For a moment it seemed as if he didn't recognize the name. Then he said quickly, “Yes, Ashley, what? I'm really busy.”

“I know, I know…I'll talk quickly. I'm asking a lot, but…Stuart nearly died last night. Not because of his injuries,” she said quickly, “but because his respirator was unplugged. The hospital blames it on too many people going in and out, but I know—I
know—
we didn't pull that plug out of the wall. I believe Stuart is in real danger. Is there any way, any way at all—I mean, if you use off-duty guys, I'll pay them myself—you can get a couple of guys in there to watch his room? And to make sure any hospital personnel going in really
are
hospital personnel?”

There was silence for a minute. “Ashley, I'm in the middle of a murder investigation.”

“I know that, Jake. But I'm not a silly paranoid seeing spooks in the closet. I'm trying to prevent another murder. Jake, please! Remember how we talked about the fact that you can
know
things about people just because you know those particular people? Please, I don't know where else to turn. Look, I know what you're up against. I wouldn't bother you if I weren't desperate. Help me.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

He hung up before she could say more. She stared at the phone, biting her lip, not at all sure what direction she should take now.

But even as she turned back toward the table where David was still sitting, she received a return call.

It wasn't Jake, but Marty. He wanted the particulars, needed to hear the story again. She gave it to him as best she could, and he promised to set up three shifts of off-duty officers, and that he would talk to Carnegie and Nathan Fresia himself.

“Ashley, the off-duty guys will do it cheap for another cop—and because they might want recommendations from a couple of homicide guys sometime—but it's still going to cost.”

“I know.” She hesitated. “Don't worry. We'll pay it.” He was silent on the other end for a minute, so she went on. “Listen, Marty, I'm sorry…I'm sorry to bother you with this.”

“That's not it, Ashley. We take care of our own. I wish we could do it for nothing, there's no way we can get anyone to approve the manpower when the physicians are convinced a careless visitor pulled the plug. So private is the way to go—if you're certain the danger exists.”

“I understand, Marty. And I just have a feeling about this.”

She could hear him snort, though she was certain he didn't realize she heard. She thanked him and hung up. The Fresias might not be millionaires, but they were comfortable, and once she explained the situation she was sure they would be willing to help pay for security. She had a small savings account, and once her paperwork went through, she would be making a decent salary, so she could help, too. It would work out.

She walked back to the table and sank into her chair, feeling oddly exhausted already.

“I've got off-duty cops doing guard duty,” she said.

David arched a brow, looking at her as if she had performed a miracle. Then he frowned. “Did you warn them about hospital personnel?”

“Yes.”

He leaned back, smiling. “Then I think we ought to take a ride south together. You want to drive, or you want me to? I'm in the mall garage across the street.”

“I'm at a meter—with the time probably about to run out. We'll take my car.”

 

Rona Palacio had been one of several people who called police headquarters the moment she'd seen the drawing of her one-time employee in the newspaper. When Jake arrived, she was eager to talk, distressed to know that such a horrible thing had happened to one of her people—and devoid of answers.

“She was barely here at all,” Rona said, sitting behind her desk, nervously tapping the eraser end of a pencil. “When she came in, she was lovely, bright, vivacious, willing to work all hours, and she seemed a perfect addition to the company. You certainly don't have to be attractive to sell real estate—I mean, people want someone efficient who can get answers, who knows codes and is capable—but as pretty as she was, with so much energy…well, it didn't hurt.” Rona Palacio was an attractive woman herself, Jake thought. Middle-aged, with perfectly coifed silver hair, slim and handsomely dressed in designer attire. Appearances definitely counted in her book.