The Edge of Murder (A Hank Reed Mystery, Book 3)

by Fred Lichtenberg

  “You sound like you’re up to something. Maybe—”

  “Be there in thirty.”

  I hung up and looked back at Amanda, who had an impish grin. She held up my shorts. “You might need these.”

  “Right.” I ran over, and she drew me in and whispered, “We’ve been going through a lot lately, Hank. I don’t regret this. I hope you’re not…”

  I kissed her tenderly. I thought about asking if she’d see me again, but that was dumb. Of course, she would, one way or another.

  I grabbed my shorts, finished dressing, and headed for the door. I turned to meet her eyes. “I’ll call you soon.”

  She gave me a devilish look. “I sure hope so.”

  Heading out of the parking lot, I felt upbeat. Amanda was beautiful, tender, and loving. Just what I needed at the moment.

  JR lingered in front of the JetBlue arrivals terminal, dressed in jeans and a casual blue shirt. As I pulled closer to the sidewalk, I lowered the passenger window and honked. He waved, tossed his carry-on in the back seat, and jumped in the front.

  “Hank, you son-of-a-gun, how the hell are you?” He gave me a friendly tap to my shoulder.

  My buddy’s pale face reminded me of winters up north. He sported a short beard.

  I returned the tap and grinned. “Better, now that you’re here. I like the new look.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, it keeps me warm.”

  As I pulled away, he said, “I can’t stop thinking about Nick. An ordinary guy getting caught up in this…hell?” He shook his head. “I found him a lawyer, supposedly one of the best criminal attorneys in South Florida.”

  I turned slightly. “He’s facing a murder rap, so he’ll need a good one.” I circled on the terminal exit road and headed toward the Interstate.

  JR sighed. “This is gonna kill my aunt. I called her before I left, told her I was taking a mini-vacation and would visit in a day or two. She’s worried sick about Nick being in the hospital and frustrated, not knowing what to do for him.” He paused. “She didn’t mention anything about him getting arrested for murder, which I find strange. I mean, she has to watch some news.”

  “Maybe it’s a blessing for now.”

  “Not good, Hank. Not good at all.”

  “You know he won’t get bail. Not for murder. Once they pump him full of meds and get him on track, he’ll be transferred to a county jail cell.”

  “Unless we find the killer first.”

  I said, “Looking back, I wish Nick had been Baker Acted when they brought him in from the beach.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a Florida law that deals with mental illness. If a person’s a danger to themselves or someone else, they can be held involuntarily up to seventy-two hours in a mental health facility.” I half-turned to JR. “In Nick’s case, he would have been safer in the hospital. What I’m saying is this whole setup wouldn’t have taken place, meaning no trumped-up charges against him.”

  “True, but he wasn’t Baker Acted. Let’s hope his attorney can persuade the judge to keep him in the hospital,” he said glumly. “Except…the judge might wonder why his doctor allowed him to leave in the first place. Sorry, devil’s advocate.”

  I nodded. “Let’s hope the devil is wrong.” I then asked about the photo I’d texted him, the one of Nick’s fishing buddy. “Does your aunt know the guy?”

  “Oh, right. She said he really wasn’t a friend. And as far as she knows, he’s dead.”

  “Dead? Did she say what happened to the guy?”

  “No, and I didn’t pursue. Too bad, he might have been helpful.”

  I recalled viewing the photos. They looked friendly enough to me. Oh, well.

  JR removed a Fly Higher cocktail napkin from his back pocket. “The attorney’s name is Charles Wilson. He has a practice in Boca Raton. A buddy of mine recommended him. Says he’s one imposing big teddy bear until he’s in a courtroom. I called him before I left New York. He said he’d heard about the arrest from an online news source and would call the court.”

  “I know it’s late, but how about we call him?”

  JR took out his phone and punched in the number. Wilson picked it up on the first ring.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Wilson, this is JR Greco, Nick Ross’s cousin. We spoke before. I’m sorry to call this late, but I just arrived in Fort Lauderdale. I’m in the car with Hank Reed, the private investigator I told you about, and we’re on speaker. Can you give me an update?”

  Wilson came in loud and clear. “Sure, and I go by Charles. You caught me in the tub.”

  I turned to JR and suppressed a laugh.

  “Hold on while I grab a pen and pad.”

  I swore I heard splashing in the background. I turned to JR and shrugged.

  “That’s better. Nick was arrested, and booked, but under the circumstances, being that he was incoherent and in need of medical attention, they brought him back to Coral Springs General for observation. I got to see him for less than five minutes, and during that period, Nick was totally unaware of his surroundings.”

  Wilson went on, “Hank, tell me if I got the timeline right. From what JR told me earlier, this Elizabeth Bash person—the one Nick hired you to find, went to the hospital today and brought Nick back to his apartment. Sometime afterward, the husband showed up, and at some point after that, he was killed. The husband, that is.”

  “It appears that way. When the police arrived at the crime scene, they found Nick sitting in a chair with the murder weapon in his hands. When I arrived, I persuaded one of the detectives to let me see him. They couldn’t get anything out of him. He just sat in some trance-like state. I’d seen it once before with him.”

  “Interesting.” Wilson seemed to have shifted in the tub, causing a slight splash. “Hold on; I’m writing this down.”

  I smiled to myself and continued, “A witness noticed a woman running from Nick’s building—presumably Elizabeth, because she wasn’t in the apartment when the police arrived. And according to the same witness, the woman jumped into a big, white, and fancy car, but she didn’t get the plate number, only the color.”

  “The color of the plate?”

  “Could be New York. The detectives are working that angle.”

  “New York. Interesting.” Wilson thought a moment. “So, we have Elizabeth and the driver as persons of interest.”

  “Looks that way. That’s all I can offer at this time,” I said.

  I heard water splashing in the background, and I assumed Charles Wilson was exiting his sacred tub.

  “Okay then, we have our work cut out for us. Let’s chat tomorrow.”

  JR turned to me, and we broke out laughing.

  I said, “Can you just see Charles-the-teddy-bear-Wilson taking notes, bare assed in a bubble bath?”

  “I prefer sharing my tub with someone who’ll wash my back.”

  We roared.

  It was close to midnight, and too late to visit JR’s aunt, so we decided to go for a few drinks.

  “You know a place around here?”

  I nodded. “Courtney’s. That’s where Nick and Elizabeth met.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Nick’s apartment was no longer a crime scene, so we decided to stay the night. But the next morning, after battling a headache and trying to clear my head from the booze, I popped two Tylenol capsules I’d found in Nick’s medicine cabinet in my mouth.

  “I could use a few of those myself.”

  I handed JR the last two, and soon after, we were out the door, heading to his aunt’s house.

  JR’s aunt lived less than a mile from Nick’s apartment, in a retirement community called Always Summer. After answering a few questions from the gate guard and getting an okay via a phone call to the aunt, we drove to her unit. The grounds were immaculate. We passed a community pool and tennis courts, both busy.

  “I might consider one of these when I retire,” JR said, then grinned. “Maybe set up my own Senior Sex Academy.”


  “You need some R&R, my friend. The cold weather has frosted your brain. Maybe after we solve this case, we’ll both take a vacation.”

  I parked the car in front of unit #450 and got out. JR held off a moment before getting out of the car.

  “You okay?”

  “Not really. Like I said, this is going to kill my aunt. I’m glad you’re with me, Hank. I’m not good at this stuff with relatives.”

  We followed the short walkway, and about halfway to the door, it opened wide.

  “Junior!” called out a spry seventy-something-year-old who hustled over to us. She gave him a hug and kiss, and he reciprocated.

  He turned to me. “Aunt Angie, this is my good friend, Hank, Nick’s PI.”

  She greeted me in the same manner: a hug and kiss on the cheek. She took my hand and thanked me for everything. I smiled wistfully. Aunt Angie was an attractive woman wearing little makeup. Her hair was cut in a short, layered bob. “I’m so happy you came, Junior. How’s your mother?”

  “I told her I was flying down to see you. She sends her love.”

  “She’s my favorite sister, you know.”

  He smiled. “I believe my mother is your only sister.”

  She returned the smile, then must have realized the real reason for JR’s visit. Her lips turned downward. “Have you seen Nick yet?”

  He eyed me then said, “Not yet. I thought I’d visit you first.”

  Her eyes shifted from JR—who was now Junior, to me. “Come inside; I made muffins.”

  “Junior,” I teased, following him inside.

  He jabbed me in the ribs. “Our secret, Hank.”

  “Sure, Junior.”

  The muffins were warm and filled with blueberries. As we drank coffee and filled our stomachs, his aunt placed several muffins in a brown bag to take along with us. Thank you, Aunt Angie.

  I could see she was eager to talk about Nick, and we encouraged her. She told us about her only son, stuff JR admitted he’d never known. His aunt was in a talkative yet nervous mood. She told us about his marriage, the car accident, and how he lost his wife and baby, leaving out the juicy parts.

  “Nick was depressed for a while, even before the accident—he never mentioned why, and I never pressured him. He started taking anti-depressants. He said he needed to be present for his patients.” She paused, stared at the floor before continuing. “If only I’d known, maybe I could have helped him.” She smiled sadly. “I guess that’s a mother talking.” She looked over at us and sighed.

  “And then one of his patients killed herself soon after a therapy session.” She counted on her fingers. “Wife and child killed in the accident, a patient’s suicide, and whatever else he was holding inside him. It was too much. After that, Nick pretty much stopped seeing patients, and soon after, admitted himself into the hospital for exhaustion.”

  Right, exhaustion. Aunt Angie was being kind.

  She sipped coffee, played with the muffin crumbs, and remained silent. She was obviously holding back, but further questioning made no sense at this point.

  “Anyway, all those events added to…whatever was going on in his head.” She sighed then looked at us. “And now this thing with a woman he just met. It’s been horrible.”

  We both nodded. I wanted to assure her things would get better, that Nick’s life would turn around, but I couldn’t promise her anything.

  She continued, “Another loss. He didn’t offer much except to say he had met the love of his life. And then she disappeared. He said they really connected, and he was certain something had happened to…Elizabeth.”

  I didn’t want to tell Aunt Angie that Elizabeth had returned, killed her husband, then set Nick up. That would tear her apart, and I hoped JR would hold off telling her about the arrest.

  She started tearing, plucked a tissue from her blue cotton apron that read, ‘I’m in Charge Here,’ and dotted her eyes. “Sorry.”

  JR went to her, held her. It was a soft side I’d never witnessed in him. He obviously was fond of his aunt, and when he gazed back at me, his expression was clear.

  We need to fix this.

  I nodded.

  JR remained silent until we returned to the car. “This is very sad. So many misfortunes happening to one person in a short period of time. Hell, I’d have had a breakdown myself.” He looked back at his aunt’s house. She stood at the window, waving with effort. He waved back.

  I said, “Let’s go visit Nick’s doctor.” I pulled out, and after passing the guard house, followed local streets to the Interstate. JR was uncharacteristically quiet. He finally turned to me.

  “What do you think about this?”

  What did I think? I shrugged. “Nick’s been through a lot of emotional pain, and he shut down.”

  “I know that, Hank. But you saw him last. Is he capable of murder?”

  I entered the interstate. “Like I told you on the phone, Nick acted strange the minute I met him. I assumed he had a lot on his mind, but later that day, he went into some sort of mental disappearing act. So, no, I can’t believe Nick’s capable of killing anyone, especially since he was so heavily medicated when the killing took place. Hell, he could barely sit up.”

  I exited at Atlantic Boulevard and continued to Coral Springs, which was about fifteen miles from the Fort Lauderdale strip. Unlike beach pedestrians, folks here didn’t appear to be in a hurry to cross the street unless they were heading to a Publix supermarket.

  When we arrived at the hospital, I punched in Powers’s number.

  He picked up immediately.

  “Hello, doctor, it’s Hank Reed.”

  When he didn’t respond immediately, I said, “You there?”

  “Yes, sorry. I’ve been so concerned about Nick, and when I heard your voice…Hank, I’m so worried. They’re saying Nick killed someone. That’s impossible.”

  “I’m outside the hospital. We need to talk.”

  “Yes, of course. Come inside. I’ll inform the front desk that I’m expecting you.” He hung up.

  I turned to JR. “He’s not taking it very well.”

  We met Powers inside his office. I introduced him to JR. They shook hands quickly, and then he motioned us to sit. He settled at his desk, then wiped his brow.

  “Hank, I don’t understand what happened. I’d taken most of the day off—an emergency—and when I returned that night, Nick was gone.” He shook his head. “He discharged himself, which he could because he wasn’t under a court order to stay. I didn’t think he was capable of making that decision by himself.”

  “Looks like he might have had help,” I said.

  He sighed, then nodded. “I hate to say it, but it could have been Elizabeth. A staff member tried calling me but, like I said, I had an emergency and didn’t pick up for anyone. My wife…” He gave us a long look, hoping we wouldn’t pursue a line of questioning.

  JR said, “And this staff member, he was sure the woman was Elizabeth?”

  “A she, yes, because Elizabeth had been here before.” He turned to me. “With you.”

  “And she just let him go?” I asked.

  Another wipe across the forehead. “We couldn’t hold him if we wanted to. Apparently, Elizabeth was very persuasive and told Judy—my staff member—that she would make an appointment with me in a day or two. A follow-up. Look, had I been here, I would have strongly discouraged him leaving, but even that might not have worked.” Powers searched my face for encouragement.

  I didn’t provide any.

  He turned to JR. “I’m glad the police realized Nick was too ill to be placed in a jail cell, at least for now. He belongs here where he can get help. I pray they find the real killer quickly.” He searched our expression, which must have shown relief. “When Nick arrived, he was rambling about nothing, so I gave him a shot of Haldol, and he went to sleep soon after. Quite honestly, I have no idea what to expect when he wakes up.”

  “It’s obvious my cousin wasn’t capable of killing anyone. You know that, Do
ctor.”

  Powers responded, “I wasn’t at the scene, but from my prior sessions with him, I can’t imagine Nick would hurt anyone, let alone fire a weapon. I can only speculate that someone placed the gun in his hand afterward. You don’t have to be a professional to think the guy—they said it was a guy—would have acted faster and overpowered Nick.”

  “I agree,” JR said. “I hope you told the cops that.”

  “Of course. I spoke to a Detective Walker, I believe that was his name, and got the impression he realized it too. As for his partner, he seemed more interested in getting the case over with.”

  I described Detective Smith.

  He nodded. “Him. The guy was an arrogant SOB. Sorry. He thought my evaluation was wrong. At least his partner was more civil and leaned toward my observation.”

  JR said, “Please update us with Nick’s condition.”

  “Of course. They placed a uniformed policeman outside his door, so I have no authority to let you see him.” He shook his head in defeat. “I’m really sorry about this. I need to bring Nick back to health.” He then asked, “What about Elizabeth? Was she part of the shooting?”

  I side-glanced at JR and then to Powers. “We’ll let you know when we find her.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Outside the hospital, I said, “Detective Walker told me he was putting out an APB on Elizabeth. She’s obviously not running away from Terry anymore, but if she had anything to do with his murder, she’d be on the run. My question again is why would she set Nick up?”

  “I don’t have an answer, Hank. And we won’t know until we find her.” He paused. “You mentioned Terry’s sidekick. Sammy. How can we find him?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t even know his last name—” I stopped.

  “What?”

  “Terry’s truck. That’s where Sammy was going for his weapon when I confronted him. Who knows what else we might find in the glove compartment?”

  “Okay, but where’s the truck?”

  I smiled. “If Terry was going to confront Nick, he’d need transportation.”