Picture Me Dead (35 page)

Jesse offered him food and drink, since they'd been out a long time.

“What have you got?” Jake asked him.

Jesse laughed. “What are you expecting? Finger porridge—koonti root goop? Nope, sorry, nothing ethnic. I've got ham and cheese, salami and cheese, or corn flakes. I think there's some fruit.”

Jake opted for a sandwich over corn flakes, and made it himself while Jesse dragged out maps of the tip of the state.

Spreading the maps out on the table, Jesse said, “So your meeting with Peter Bordon has gotten you thinking the cult idea is a blind?”

“I think it's an idea. Think about it. We've had men checking out every religious group we can find, giving special attention to any group new to the area. The most we've found are some questionable Santeria groups, but we're looking for people who kill other people, and so far, our Santeria groups are only guilty of chicken sacrifices. So far we haven't found anything that remotely smacks of the kind of cult Bordon was running. And we don't even have any proof that his cult was involved in those killings. Bordon was never indicted for murder.”

“True. Still…most people believe he ordered the killings.”

“I believed it, too.”

“You don't believe it anymore?”

“I believe he was involved. But I'm starting to doubt my conviction that he was the mastermind. The latest victim was a Realtor. Her properties were all on the edge of civilization. Bordon's place was also in that area. The only connection I can think of is that all the properties are along waterways that can be reached through the Everglades. We both know that smugglers, murderers, thieves and worse have taken sanctuary in the Glades. We're talking expanses that no one has ever been able to patrol completely. So I can't help thinking the case has to do with something coming into the country.”

“Drugs? They're the most prevalent. People, smuggled in to get around the INS,” Jesse said. “Arms. The weapons trade is massive.”

Jake nodded. “Running weapons calls for large scale transportation. Same with people. I'm betting on drugs.”

“I'll have my people keep an eye out.”

“My money says we're talking heroin or cocaine, where small packages mean big money.”

“Like I said, we'll be watching.”

“Great, thanks.”

Leaving Jesse's, Jake frowned, checking his phone. It hadn't rung in hours. The damn thing didn't work out in the swamp—no cell towers around. He had to drive east for thirty minutes before he could access his own messages.

Franklin had called in, as had Marty, but nobody had anything to report. Uniformed officers were combing the area with the sketch, trying to find locals who might know something about the victim's last days.

His third message was a startling one. He didn't know the voice, nor did he recognize the name. The man spoke in a hushed and nervous tone.

“I'm calling on behalf of Peter Bordon. He wants to talk to you. Without fanfare, if you know what I mean. Bring a posse and it's off. He'll talk to you and only you.”

That was it. The nervous, unknown caller had hung up.

 

Len was still at the bar, sandwiched between Sandy and Curtis. After a couple of quick hellos, she got to the point. “Len, has Karen called you by any chance?”

He shook his head. “Should she have called me? I just saw her last night.”

“She didn't go to work today, and neither Jan nor I have been able to reach her by phone.”

“I'm sorry, I haven't heard from her.”

“Did she say she had something to do today? That she was going to call in sick?”

“Ashley, I'm sorry, she didn't say anything about it at all.”

“It's all right, thanks. I think I'll go check on her, though.”

She turned away, slipping back through the office and into the house, then out through the kitchen.

In the car, she slipped Karen's house key onto her ring before turning her own key in the ignition, so she wouldn't get there and be scrambling to discover what she'd done with it.

Leaving the marina behind, she told herself that she and Jan were being alarmists. It wasn't an emergency because someone had missed one day of work and didn't seem to be home. And yet, it was true that Karen always returned their calls.

As she passed the lights of the city, she thought for a moment that Miami was truly beautiful by night. Night hid the areas that weren't so nice. Moonlight fell on the waterways and added an aura of soft mystique.

And yet, it was under cover of darkness that so much of the city's crime took place.

First Stuart. Now Karen.

No. She refused to believe that anything had happened to her friend.

But when she drove up to the house, Karen's little Toyota was right where she kept it in the driveway. Both sides of her property line were bordered with cherry hedges. A large poinciana tree took up much of the front lawn. Karen had planted bougainvillea all around the little trellised entrance to her home. Everything looked the same as always. So why wasn't Karen answering her phone?

Ashley stared at the house for several seconds before getting out of the car. There were lights on inside, but they were dim. She got out of the car at last and headed up the walk. The outside light that usually lit up the entrance area was not on. She found herself gritting her teeth as she stared into the shadows of the trellised entryway, silently cursing Karen for not leaving the light on.

She was an almost-cop, as David Wharton had dubbed her. She still had her gun in her shoulder bag.

Before trying the key, she rang the bell, banged on the knocker and called Karen's name. There was no reply. At last, she got out her key and twisted it in the lock. Opening the door, she called out for Karen again. Still no reply.

She went in, deactivated the alarm, then locked the door. Even that act made her a little nervous. What if someone had attacked Karen? What if that someone was still in the house? She might have locked herself in with a predator.

She gave herself a serious mental shake. She and Jan were overreacting to a situation that probably didn't even exist.

“Karen!” she said.

The living room was as charming as ever. She could see both the kitchen area and the little tiled family room behind the dining room. She walked through the living room, noticing that the living room was as organized as Karen always kept it. Neat as a pin. Nothing was disheveled or out of place. On top of a bookcase there were several pictures. Karen with her mom and dad, with her sister and brother. Karen with the large family hound, Otter, taken when the beloved pet had still been alive. Karen, herself and Jan, strapped into bungee cords at the Dade County Youth Fair, several years before.

“Karen!” she called out again, and moved into the kitchen. Nothing out of order. Dishes done, put away. She was definitely the neatest and most organized of the three of them.

Ashley ducked her head into the small hallway bath. Empty. She forced herself at last into the guest bedroom, which Karen used as a computer room. Clean and neat, every paper in its place, her incoming and outgoing boxes filled, but even the envelopes in them aligned.

Ashley's feet were dragging as she headed for Karen's bedroom door.

It was shut.

“Karen?” she called out softly. Still no reply. She put her hand on the knob. But before she could twist it, she was startled by a loud and violent pounding on the front door. She jumped. As she pulled back, the knob twisted in her hand. The door squealed on its hinges and inched ajar.

The room was dark.

The pounding came again….

Ashley ignored the noise, and turned on the light.

 

Sunsets on the road were often glorious. The sky turned to incredible pastel shades, with streaks of gold flashing through them as the last rays of day disappeared. When darkness came, though, it felt infinite, especially out in the Everglades.

Night had long fallen. The world had boiled down to nothing but the lights of approaching cars and those of the vehicles that followed behind Jake.

Then, ahead of him, the world became bathed in the glow of the city again as he neared the Miccosukee casino and crossed back over to an area that was increasingly more inhabited. If he kept going long enough, he would reach the strip where too many prostitutes had once plied their trade. Many of them had wound up strangled, their mangled bodies usually discovered within days. They had been killed by a man who had made mistakes, not as clever, as he'd thought he was. He had given himself away and been caught. Farther down, closing in on downtown, the street would lose its English orientation and become known as Calle Ocho. Crimes closer to downtown often had to do with passion or with deals gone sour. There were often witnesses to street violence, and clues aplenty.

There were always clues. No crime was perfect. Even so, despite the best efforts of law enforcement and modern forensics, some crimes went unsolved.

Not this one. He felt he had something. All the pieces to a jigsaw puzzle. They just had to be put together.

Tomorrow he would be taking a long drive. The call might have been a hoax, but thanks to caller identification, he knew that at least it had come from the prison.

His instinct told him that the call had indeed been made at Bordon's request. Bordon had always had the answers. Until now, he hadn't been willing to give them, to admit to anything.

Had he changed his mind? If so, why?

Fear? Of someone on the outside? Or the inside?

Then again, Bordon was a master manipulator. There were no guarantees. The man might enjoy the prospect of having the power to bring him north time and again, working him like a yo-yo.

There was no sense of going insane now. He would make a call to the prison later, and head up first thing in the morning. Waiting would be a bitch.

Once in town, Jake didn't take the left that would have brought him to police headquarters, nor did he continue on to the marina. Despite the time, and the fact that he would arrive unannounced, he had decided to pay another visit to Mary Simmons.

The Hare Krishna building was a nice one, off a street near a dog park, where the residents had always enjoyed their lush foliage, an asset of the area that was maintained vigilantly. The shrubs and trees were not as manicured as they tended to be in Coral Gables, but they had a defiant charm all their own. At night, just blocks down, the area came alive with its shops, restaurants and clubs. The Krishnas often chanted their way down those populated streets, gathering what donations they could along the way.

When he arrived, though, the building itself seemed quiet. He was welcomed at the door by a fellow whose head was entirely shaved, except for the long tail of hair that grew from his pate. He was young, with idealistic eyes and the manner of one who had decided that he was going to be at peace with the world, whether he really understood his doctrine or not. He was polite and eager to help Jake, even before Jake showed him his badge.

He went to retrieve Mary.

She didn't seem too surprised to see Jake, and welcomed him, telling him that they could talk outside. He joined her in a little garden area and got right to the point. “Mary, I understand Bordon had whichever woman he chose each night and that there wasn't any jealousy, that the women could also sleep with others, if they chose.”

She nodded, then gave him something of a sad smile. “We all wanted Peter, of course. It's hard to describe to someone else how a man could…could make women want him that much when they were sharing him. There were other men. John Mast, for one.” She sighed, pleating the folds of the long orange robe she was wearing. “John is dead. I know that, of course.” She looked up, suddenly vehement. “And don't go thinking that John Mast had those women killed because he was jealous of Peter. John was a believer. A true believer in what we were doing, in sharing the good of God's earth…in loving one another. He was a good man. Smart. I think he knew he was eventually going to get in trouble over the finances, because I heard him argue with Peter a few times. He was always worried. But Peter didn't listen to him. And John wasn't invited around when the doors were closed. I feel very badly about John. He went to prison without saying a word, just for doing what he'd been told. And then he died.”

“I'm sorry, too, Mary. But I didn't come here to talk to you because I'm convinced one of your…friends was evil. I think something else was going on. Something maybe none of you knew about.”

She shrugged. “Well, that could be. But whatever was going on, Peter would have known. He told us when we had to be in, and when we had to be out, working.”

“Did boats ever come through the canals?”

“Sure. Every day.” She smiled. “I'm sure lots of boats are still going by. Little boats. Canoes, rowboats, small motorboats. That's why people like to live along the waterways, Detective Dilessio.”

He smiled back. “Of course, Mary. Did any of those boats ever pull up at the back of the property? Did Peter Bordon have anything delivered that way?”