Picture Me Dead

by Heather Graham

  “That’s up to you, Ms. Palacio,” he said. “What about her work area?”

  “I’ll show you her desk and her computer. But we’ve had other agents working there since she left, of course.”

  “Of course. But anything might be helpful.”

  Minutes later, he had lists of agents and an address, and had been escorted to Cassie Sewell’s former work station. A friendly young assistant with wide eyes and a definite empathy for the dead woman helped him go through the computer and find the properties she had been representing. With another list in his hands, he knew that the legwork and interviews were now going to be endless. Well, they’d wanted something to go on; now they had it.

  He spent much of the morning speaking with Cassie Sewell’s fellow agents. The company wasn’t large, and the people who had worked with her were more than willing to talk to him; unfortunately, they had little to tell him beyond what he had already learned from Rona Palacio. Cassie had been lovely, friendly and yet, in her way, a loner. She had only talked to two of them before she left, telling them what she’d told Rona: that she’d chosen a different life and was leaving the company.

  No one had ever seen her with a friend. She hadn’t even spoken about friends, other than saying she had some in the Miami area.

  Franklin from the FBI called while he was in the middle of a session with one of the real estate agents, and he excused himself. He had to hand it to Franklin; the man had been through endless files, put agents in the middle of the state to work and already knew a great deal about their victim. The national computer had compared their crime to several others around the country, but nothing matched—other than the cases from five years earlier. He’d discovered that Cassie had worked real estate in Orange County as well, and people there had gotten to know her better than her co-workers in Miami had. She had been friendly and thoughtful, religious, and at one time had considered becoming a nun. She had been greatly liked by those with whom she worked. She had resigned, letting everyone knew she was moving down to Miami because she had made some new friends from the area, and thought that she might have a better opportunity to meet the right kind of man in a church group. However, after running through the parishioner lists of several local Catholic churches, they had so far come up with nothing. He decided to visit a number of priests in person that afternoon, bringing the picture with him.

  “Think she got mixed up in something that promised more than Catholicism?” Franklin asked. “Listening to her profile, it seems the obvious conclusion. And since you’re going by the theory that something has been reawakened down here…”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “We’ll get something now that we know who this woman was,” Franklin said.

  “I’ve gotta tell you something, Franklin. I’m impressed with what you’ve discovered in so little time.”

  “You’re a good cop, Jake, and I know you think I’m an asshole. I don’t have your touch with people, it’s true. But I had a masters in criminology before I even entered Quantico. And you can’t imagine the training we go through there. Hell, we spend days learning to fold paper just right so we don’t lose a microfiber while transferring evidence. I’ve worked hard.” He was quiet a minute, then said ruefully, “I don’t mean to be a dickhead.”

  “You’re not a dickhead,” Jake told him, and wondered if he’d ever thought of Franklin with exactly that word.

  “Yeah, well, when it comes to details, I’ve got it covered. The instinct thing…well, that’s your ballpark. So if you get any of those instincts going, let me know. I can work the evidence end of them.”

  “Sure. Though right now, I don’t have squat,” Jake told him. He was lying though. He knew he was missing something. Something in front of him. Smoke and mirrors.

  “Anything else?” Jake asked, breaking his own train of thought.

  “Yeah, just wanted to make sure you knew—Peter Bordon comes up for parole and may be out by the first of next week.”

  “I knew it was coming up. Thanks.”

  They hung up. Jake continued with his interviews. While the young assistant gathered details on the property lists, Jake called forensics and asked an old friend, Skip Conrad, for a favor.

  “Hell, Jake, I can’t get out there until tonight. And your place will be a mess when I’m through. You know that. You certain you want me to do it?”

  “Yes. I don’t care if the place comes out pitch-black. I’ll owe you. And do me another favor—don’t say anything to anyone else. Oh, and if I’m not there, Nick Montague, at the bar, has a key.”

  Skip was quiet for a minute. “You sure Nick hasn’t been in your place?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  “What about Brian Lassiter?”

  “No, I can’t guarantee he hasn’t been in there, either.”

  A moment later, he thanked Skip and hung up. Hell, Skip was bound to find Brian’s prints. The guy had been on his boat, drunk as a skunk, touching everything in sight. Finding Brian’s prints wouldn’t mean a damned thing. He rubbed his temples wearily.

  His phone rang again. It was Marty. “I’m at the last known residence of Cassie Sewell. The place is rented to a family, but they don’t mind us looking around.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Jake gathered the lists and left. In his car, he glanced at the addresses.

  They all bordered the Glades.

  And they were all too damn close to the place where, nearly five years ago, Nancy Lassiter had gone into a canal and died with whatever secrets she might have discovered.

  There were long moments in which Ashley questioned her own sanity as she drove. She didn’t know the man sitting next to her, and she didn’t even really know where she was going—or why. David was definitely a normal enough looking man, a handsome one even, with shrewd eyes and a quick smile. He was in jeans and a knit shirt that day, again, very normal. His hair was worn a little long, but people wore their hair all different lengths these days. As she drove, she noted that for a journalist, he was in great physical shape. He must spend time in the gym to maintain the breadth of his shoulders and chest, tapering to trim hips and long legs.

  “I think the turnpike is best,” he said as they started out.

  “Probably,” she agreed. “Where exactly did you find this address? And how come it took you so long to find?”

  “Stu left some magazines at my place. They all had articles about the Everglades. When I was flipping through, trying to see what he was actually after, I found a piece of paper. He’d written a few names on it, names I’d already given the police,” he said ruefully. “But when I flipped it over, I saw he had written down an address, as well. Took me some time to see it. He’d written in pencil, and it had smudged.”

  “So are you sure we’re even going to the right place?”

  “Of course,” he said. “I think.” He turned in the seat. “Hey, do you think you ought to try talking to Nathan Fresia again? When those cops show up to play bodyguard, he’s going to wonder why.”

  “All right. I’ll try to get him. Hand me my phone, would you?”

  Nathan sounded somewhat better, but wary, when he came on the line. She talked quickly, explaining that since they were all worried about Stuart, and since she was certain she hadn’t pulled any plugs, she’d thought that having a few off-duty officers guarding Stuart wouldn’t be a bad thing. Nathan told her that the first cop had already arrived, and that he’d assumed Carnegie had set it up. After a moment he thanked Ashley and told her that she was welcome at the hospital, but to please come alone, because he wasn’t sure if they would be letting anyone else in with Stuart for a few days.

  She rang off and looked at David. “The first cop is already there.”

  “You really do know the right people.”

  She decided that she should call Jan and Karen. Even if she couldn’t get them, she could leave messages about the latest events. She called Karen’s school, only to be told that Karen
had called in sick. She didn’t answer at home or on her cell, and Ashley remembered that Len Green had taken her home the night before. So she left a message, then tried Len at his station and was told that he, too, had called in sick.

  “What’s up?” David asked her.

  “A budding romance, I think,” she said, and called Jan. Jan didn’t answer, either, so Ashley left another message.

  “I think we should take this exit,” David said, as they came in sight of a turnoff.

  “Have you been out here before?”

  “Well, I’ve been in the area before.”

  “But you don’t really know where we’re going?”

  “No.”

  He moved forward, adjusting in the seat. His knee hit the glove compartment door, and it popped open. Ashley’s gun and badge were there; she hadn’t had a chance to bring them back down to headquarters and turn them in, as required, since she had accepted the civilian position.

  “Hey, that’s cool. We’re armed and dangerous,” he said.

  “Shut that.”

  “I’ll bet you can use that gun, too.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  He smiled, closing the glove compartment. She felt an edge of unease at his expression and made a mental note to put the gun in her handbag and keep it on her at all times until she turned it in.

  “Are you familiar with guns?” she asked him, trying to sound casual.

  “A crack shot,” he told her. She glanced his way and he shrugged. “ROTC.” He pointed to the right.

  “There…let’s try following west, then turn south.”

  She did as he suggested. They hit a canal and had to turn back.

  “Great directions,” she muttered.

  “Is it my fault we’re practically in a primeval swamp and there are canals everywhere?”

  After a number of false starts, they found a road that went through, and at last reached what they thought was the address. At least, by the numbers, it had to be somewhere within the long expanse of fields they had arrived at.

  Ashley pulled over to the side of the road, which itself was scarcely more than dirt and gravel. Maybe it had been paved once. There seemed to be the remnants of asphalt beneath the tires.

  As she turned off the engine, they both stared out the windows. “It’s a big farm,” Ashley said.

  “I don’t even see a house,” David murmured.

  “Yes…back there. And see…there’s not exactly a barn, but it’s an outbuilding of some kind. Maybe a silo.”

  “A silo? That’s not a silo.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Not a silo. They’re growing strawberries.”

  “What is that building, then?”

  He stared at it and shrugged. What they saw appeared to be a round tower attached to some kind of storage shed or barn.

  “It might be a big tower with a window so that the farmer can watch his strawberries grow,” David said with a sigh. “I don’t know. Wish we could get into it. Wanna look?”

  “It’s not legal for us to go traipsing around on someone’s property, David.”

  He stared at her and grinned slowly. “I’m a journalist. I’m supposed to be heedless of the law. You’re a—an ex-cadet or something.”

  “David, we have no right—”

  He ignored her. “Up farther…closer to the house. That looks like a vegetable garden. That’s a big house. Looks like they grow a lot of food.”

  “David, farmers grow a lot of food. That’s how they make their money,” she said irritably.

  “They have a lot of the place planted…yet look, if you really look across the fields, the back is a big tangle of trees and underbrush.”

  “Amazing,” Ashley said. “They can’t stop the underbrush from growing on what may not be their property.”

  He stared at her. “The place really looks like a farm. They’ve made it look like a farm.”

  “It is a farm. We’ve solved it, and the owners should definitely be arrested,” she murmured sarcastically. “David, listen to yourself. We’ve found a farm that we’re not sure is even the right address. What do we do now that’s legal and makes sense?” Ashley said, more to herself than to David.

  “We get out and look around.”

  “We can’t just walk around on private property.”

  “I can.”

  “Listen, we need more information, David.”

  “Yes, and I intend to get it.”

  Ashley was startled when he opened the car door and got out. She swore, starting to open her own door to follow him. But there was one thing she and David Wharton agreed on, and that was the fact that Stuart hadn’t wound up half-dead on the highway of his own volition.

  She opened her glove compartment, knowing that her police-issue gun should have been turned in and definitely shouldn’t be in service.

  She was glad to have it anyway, she thought as she pulled it from the glove compartment and put it into her leather over-the-shoulder handbag.

  David was already moving along the front edge of the property. At the moment, she thought, they could easily be seen across the low growing fields.

  “David, where the hell are you going?” she demanded.

  “To that line of trees.”

  “We’re sneaking up on someone, right? David, if someone is looking right now, we’re pretty damn obvious.”

  “Then get down.”

  “The car is visible.”

  He stopped dead. “Right. Go back and get it. Pull up behind those trees there, on the property line. Hurry.”

  “You’re insane. No wonder the police are furious at you. I should just drive away.”

  “But you won’t. You won’t leave me—and you know that Stuart was on to something.”

  He lengthened his stride as he headed for the cover of the trees. Ashley swore and went back for the car, moving as quickly as she could. She cursed thinking that if anyone was watching, they looked incredibly suspicious.

  She quickly moved the car down the road. What was apparently the far east line of the property had a stretch of fence along it, and the fence was bordered by trees and foliage. She exited the car, looking at the long line of trees.

  “David?” she said, and realized she was whispering. As far as she could tell, no one was anywhere nearby. “David?” she said again, louder, her tone almost angry.

  Gritting her teeth, she started walking along the line of trees, moving quickly. The fence was barbed wire, but she saw no sign of it being electrified. In fact, it seemed to be no more than a marker. Trees and foliage grew on both sides of the barrier. As she kept walking southward, the property line made a sudden jog to the right. After that, the neat rows of field suddenly disappeared, and it seemed as if she was in an overgrown jungle. A mosquito buzzed around her cheek. Swearing, she slapped at it.

  “David, you damned idiot,” she snapped angrily, twisting around to head back. She was going to leave him. Her sense of responsibility didn’t cover maniacs who dragged her into something, and then deserted her.

  She turned back in what she thought was the right direction. A moment later, she found herself in a field. Tomatoes. There was a man bent over a plant working, wearing jeans and a denim work shirt with the sleeves cut off. A cotton kerchief was tied around his neck, and he wore a baseball cap against the sun. Before Ashley could duck back into the trees, the man straightened. He was young; as he lifted his cap to wipe his brow, she saw that his hair was sandy-colored and short-cropped. He smiled at her. “Well, hey. Where did you come from?”

  “I…wow…I’m sorry. I’m lost.”

  His smile became one of polite skepticism. “You’re lost in the back of a field of tomatoes?”

  He started walking toward her. There was nothing threatening in his behavior; he kept smiling. She noted that there was a basket containing bright red tomatoes where he had been standing. There was a bulge just below his hip. She was tempted to call out in Mae West fashion, Is that a pistol in your pocket, or
are you just happy to see me?

  It was a knife. He came close enough for her to realize that he had a leather sheath attached to his belt. It looked like a big knife.

  It was daylight. The sun was streaming down on a stretch of lazy farmland. The man was about her own age, smiling, apparently pleasant, and not alarmed at a trespassing visitor, merely amused.

  She was still glad of the .38-caliber gun in her shoulder bag.

  “So you’re lost…well, welcome anyway. Do you need to use a phone? Would you like to come up to the house for a glass of water or anything?”

  “I have a cell phone, thanks.”

  He nodded. “Can I get you something to drink? The sun can be brutal out here.”

  No! All she wanted to do was get the hell away. She was torn between feeling like an idiot and suffering from a tremendous sense of unease. But if anything terrible was going on around here, it was unlikely that the young man would have invited her in for a glass of water.

  And what an opportunity. She could talk to the man and see inside the house.

  “I’m really sorry to have bothered you,” she said quickly. “I was looking for some property, and out here, well, finding a street address is nearly impossible. I’d thought that maybe, if I followed the fence…I thought the place next door might be the address I was looking for.”

  “I doubt that,” the young man said. He extended a hand to her. “I’m Caleb. Caleb Harrison. Come on up to the house. It looks like a trek, but it’s not really so far.”

  “Really, I don’t mean to bother you.”

  “You’re not bothering me. Living way out here, I don’t see too many people, so I’m glad for the interruption. This is a back-to-basics kind of life. A lot of hard work, but time to smell the roses, too, you know?”

  “Yes.” She was standing dead still, reminding herself that she had a gun, and she knew how to use it. And she would be an idiot to miss a chance to see the property.

  She extended a hand. “I’m Monica Shipping,” she said, using the first name that came into her mind. “And thanks, I’d love a glass of water.”