Picture Me Dead

by Heather Graham

  Then Stuart and Mary might die, as well, and all their efforts would have been in vain. Their killer knew how to fix a crime scene. It would look as if Ashley had fought them, killed them…but not before they had killed her in return. And the murder of Cassie Sewell would be credited to him.

  The gun…just an inch away now.

  “Hello, Marty,” Ashley replied. She wondered whether to try to fake it out or not and decided to give it a shot. “Thank God you’re here. Is Jake with you?”

  “Well done, Ms. Montague. If you hadn’t been so gung-ho on being a cop, you could have tried out for the silver screen.”

  She nodded. Well, she’d had to try. “If you’re going to shoot me, this looks like as good a time as any.”

  “It would be. Except that you’re going to get me into that room where Stuart Fresia is lying. I could try to shoot through the door, of course. But they’ve got the place barricaded, don’t they?”

  “Yup.” She was amazed that she sounded so calm. Her heart was thundering with terror, with remorse. This was it. Any minute now, he would fire. His aim would be true. She knew what a bullet looked like once it had exited the human body. Now she would know what it felt like entering.

  “Come on, Ashley. Up.”

  He caught her by the arm. She gritted her teeth. He was powerful, far more powerful than his laid-back act had made her expect. His fingers bit into the flesh of her upper arm. Since her foot was still caught, it felt as if he had dislocated her shoulder.

  “The wire, Marty,” she said. “Sorry, but I can’t go anywhere with you while I’m still caught.”

  He bent down to undo the wire and gave her the only chance she was going to get.

  He still had the gun. She had nothing but desperation.

  She brought her knee up, slamming it against his groin with all her strength. The blow had the desired effect. He wheezed out a cry of pain, falling forward.

  And she moved. Like lightning. She somehow tore her foot free, and she ran.

  The first bullet must have missed her head by inches. She heard the whine as it passed her by and went thudding into a tree. In agony or not, he was up. More shots came flying into the trees. He was on the move. And she had no idea where she was running, except into the darkness.

  She surged forward and discovered that the trees were beginning to thin, the ground turning soft and boggy under her feet. With every step, her feet sank deeper. She was grateful for her jeans and sneakers—she had entered an area with sporadic patches of sawgrass. And here, as the water rose around her, she could come across all kinds of creatures that were no longer common in the city, driven away by concrete and civilization.

  Water moccasins dwelt in these waters. Alligators. And the darkness…

  She stumbled upward. Ground, solid ground beneath her feet. A little hammock stretching stalwartly into the canal.

  Another bullet sped by her, only the sound telling her that he was still close, too close, behind.

  Then, out of the darkness, something reached for her. Terror leapt into her throat. She opened her mouth to scream.

  “Shush!” A hand closed over her mouth; strong arms embraced her. Filthy, soaked, covered in mud, she blinked and stared at a man who was as filthy as she was.

  The hand loosened on her mouth.

  “Jake?” She mouthed the word incredulously.

  “Get behind me. Behind those trees.”

  She pulled back, shaking her head. “Jake, it’s—it’s Marty,” she whispered.

  “I know.”

  Then, to her amazement, he stepped forward. “Marty!”

  There was silence for a moment. Ashley swallowed hard. Jake had given away his position. Marty could shoot him easily.

  “Jake?”

  In the almost pitch darkness, she made out Marty’s form as he moved forward. He’d shed the black he’d been wearing. He was in his typical work suit.

  It was oddly lacking in mud stains. “Jake, man, I’m sorry. It’s Nick’s niece. She must have gotten into drugs or something. She helped pull off the kidnapping at the hospital. She’s in on this whole thing.”

  “I’m going to give you one warning, Marty,” Jake said softly. “I wanted to just haul off and shoot you, but…well, truthfully, I haven’t figured out yet who your partner is. You’re not the one who’s been on the Gwendolyn, and I want to know who was. When I realized you’d killed Nancy, I wanted to shoot you in both kneecaps, then rip your heart out. But…”

  “But what?” Marty said. “But I have a gun, maybe? Maybe you’re the big hotshot detective, Jake, but I do just fine on the target range, and now I’ve got the drop on you. Everyone admires Jake, respects him. He’s the guy with the instincts, the one who can sift through the garbage, and find the golden clue. I can’t tell you what it’s been like, watching you day after day, working with you, watching you eat your heart out over Nancy Lassiter. But you didn’t figure it out, Jake.”

  “Well, Marty, actually, I did. A little late, I grant you, but—here I am. Will it make you feel better to hear it? I do feel like an idiot. Bordon did give me something the first time out, without really saying anything. Smoke and mirrors. The cult meant nothing. And then, when he was dying, he kept saying ‘your partner.’ At first I thought he meant Nancy, of course. But then I began to realize he might have meant someone else. So I went home, pulled up a few records. The thing that cinched it was the newspaper report on the day Nancy was found and her car was pulled from the canal. You were the first cop on the scene. You were a vice cop back then, so I had to ask myself what you were doing there. Are you the one who actually killed the women, Marty, or your partner?”

  Marty grinned and shrugged. “You still don’t know who that is, do you, Jake?”

  “I have a hunch.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Did you kill the women, Marty?”

  “Yeah, Jake, I killed them. Nosy women. Their own fault. They shouldn’t have been snooping around.”

  “The last victim…she showed up at the commune next door and saw something she shouldn’t have, right?”

  “Jake, you’re just brilliant,” Marty said sarcastically.

  “And Nancy? You killed her, too, didn’t you?”

  “You should have seen her face when she saw me in that house, Jake. She was stunned. Smart girl. She caught on quick. Too bad for her. I killed her. And when I finish with you, I’m going after your little redhead. Now, she’s a problem. Those drawings of hers…I had to get her out of the way whether you came into the picture or not. That picture of Cassie Sewell was…hell, it was scary. And who the hell would have thought she’d be a friend of that idiot reporter I drugged up and threw on the road? Go figure,” he said casually.

  “I hate to say it, Marty,” Jake said, his voice extremely quiet. “I hope they give you the death penalty.”

  “They haven’t got me yet, Lone Ranger.”

  “You’re under arrest, Marty. And you will go to trial.”

  “You’ve got a gun, Jake. I’ve got a gun. Let’s count to three. But what if you shoot me? What happens when I’m dead? You’ll still be searching, Jake. Because there’s still someone else out there.”

  “I’m not going to kill you, Marty.”

  “Right. I’m going to kill you.” He laughed bitterly. “Look at you, Jake. Out here alone again. Blake gets pissed at you all the time, you know. Hell, I think he feels sorry for me, working with you. ‘That Jake,’ he’ll say. ‘He was such a loner. We had a whole task force, but Jake thought he could solve it all himself.’ Well, guess what, Jake? Dumb move this time.”

  “Marty, put the gun down.”

  “Jake, you’re going down. I think I can take you, and if I can’t, well, see you in hell.”

  “Drop your weapon.”

  “What, no warning shot?”

  “Drop your weapon. You’re under arrest. You have the right—” Jake began.

  Marty pulled his .38. He was fast. Jake was faster. The shots were
deafening. For long seconds Ashley grasped the tree in a death grip. Long seconds that seemed an eternity of smoke and left both men still standing.

  Then Marty fell, face first, into the muck.

  The world seemed frozen. Ashley wanted to run to Jake but she heard movement in the brush behind her and started to swing around instead. A man was standing there, with ink-dark long hair, his face smeared with muck, just as Jake’s had been. Hazel eyes, the only brightness about his face, peered steadily at her. Panic seared through her. An arm fell on her shoulder. She tensed, ready to fight.

  “It’s all right, Ms. Montague,” he said, his voice as soft as a whisper on the breeze. “Leave him be. Just for a minute. There’s someone to see you.”

  She looked past him. For a moment she thought she had stepped into a horror movie. Night of the Swamp Men. Other figures were moving toward her. They seemed completely confident and at home, moving silently through the water and along the embankment. Amazingly, she recognized one of them.

  “Uncle Nick?”

  “You bet, Ash.”

  She ran, or rather, stumbled to him and found herself caught up in his arms. He held her closely. Neither spoke. The others—five, she counted—hovered in back, silent. And then she heard a noise and turned.

  Jake was walking toward the body of his fallen partner. He knelt down, placing his fingers against the man’s throat. He stayed down for several seconds; then he rose. “He’s dead,” he said wearily, walking back toward them.

  Ashley wanted to scream. She wanted him to realize it was better that Marty was dead than he was.

  “He’s dead,” she managed to say quietly instead. “But there are drug smugglers. I saw them. I—”

  “It’s all right, Ashley,” Jake said. His voice still sounded as dead as Marty was. “Marty was wrong about one thing. I knew I couldn’t be the Lone Ranger. That’s Jesse Crane behind you. And some of his men, Miccosukee police.”

  The hazel-eyed man gravely nodded an acknowledgment. Something about his solemn demeanor reassured Ashley, and suddenly her mind started working again.

  “We need an ambulance. David—John Mast has been shot. He may be dead. I don’t know. And Stuart Fresia and a woman named Mary are barricaded in the house.”

  “I’ll radio in, get an ambulance out immediately,” Jesse Crane said.

  Jake had already started moving, running hard despite the foliage. Ashley took off in his wake, Nick and a number of the others behind her.

  When she reached the rear of the house, the kitchen door was standing open. Jake had already gone tearing in. She raced after him, reaching the entry just behind him.

  “John, no!” Ashley cried quickly. “It’s me! And Jake Dilessio. And more cops. Good cops.”

  Bloody fingers eased off the gun as John Mast struggled to stay upright. Jake hunkered down at his side. John looked up, groaning.

  “Dilessio. It’s you. Oh, Jesus. Ashley will tell you. I kidnapped her and Stuart, but I swear to you, I was trying to protect him.”

  “Shut up, kid,” Jake said. “Save your strength.” John winced as Jake tore at his shirt, looking for the wound, trying to stanch the flow of blood.

  “What are you going to do to me this time?” John said.

  “Nothing, except get you an ambulance. And maybe take you out for one hell of a night on the town—assuming you survive, of course.”

  John stared at Jake, then slowly smiled. “I’ll survive, Detective. I’ll survive—just to take you up on that invitation.”

  “I thought you might say that.”

  John frowned suddenly. “Are you sure I’m not dead already? I hear music. A hymn, I think.”

  Ashley listened, then smiled.

  “It’s the sing-along next door,” she said, shaking her head.

  The people of the commune were keeping their covenant, singing away at the appointed time.

  They would see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Maybe they had sensed it was the only way to stay alive.

  The singing would stop soon. The place would be swarming with police.

  4:00 a.m.

  The place had been swarming with cops for hours. The sirens had screamed; lights had blazed; rescue vehicles had come and gone. Both John and Stuart had been rushed to the hospital. Mary Simmons, shaken, had still calmly answered every question with steadfast honesty. She’d admitted to her part in the kidnapping, apologizing profusely. It didn’t matter if she went to jail or not, she said. She’d done what she had to. Her beliefs compelled her to act to save Stuart’s life, because she knew the killers wouldn’t stop trying to get him.

  Despite her part in the affair—and the fact that, at a later date, the D.A.’s office might press charges—Mary Simmons was at last allowed to return home.

  Jake seemed to have more explaining to do than Mary. Ashley heard some of it, though not all. He was taken to task for not informing his own captain of his intended actions, and he explained over and over again that the only way he could be certain he wasn’t bringing in one of the very men who meant to kill Stuart Fresia was by reaching outside the department.

  He didn’t seem to mind explaining, and he kept his temper. Perhaps because everyone realized that a brutal murderer had at last been brought to justice in the swamps, and a major drug ring busted, he was only verbally reprimanded.

  There were a few moments when he sat at the back of a police wagon with Ashley and said, “What I really dread now is the paperwork.”

  She set a hand on his knee, telling him, “I’m so sorry.”

  He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “I really didn’t want to kill him. Not just because we’re still not sure who his partner, the one with all the money, is, but because…I always thought that if I found the person who killed Nancy, I’d want to rip his throat out. But Nancy believed in the law. And I found out tonight that I do, too. I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted him to stand trial for what he did. I’m sick at the thought that a man the public trusted, a man I worked with day in and day out, could be so brutal, so devious. Now there will be an inquest, this will all be in the papers, and good cops will suffer because one cop was bad.” He met her eyes, his expression haunted.

  “Cops have gone bad before, and I know they’ll go bad again. But it’s not the norm. And I hate that people will think it is. And when I think about it, I’m sick all over again, because if anyone should have been able to see Marty for what he was, to recognize him…it was me.”

  She had a feeling there was nothing she could say that would make him feel any better regarding Marty. She curled her fingers around his. “You saved my life. Your timing was incredible.”

  His fingers closed around hers. A half smile curved his lips. “I hate to admit it, but you were doing pretty well on your own.”

  “I couldn’t have outrun him forever. He had a gun, I didn’t.”

  He was quiet for a long time. “You know, eventually you really should finish at the academy.”

  She smiled, but she had no chance to respond, because Captain Blake was back; he needed Jake again.

  It was another hour before they were able to leave. Marty’s body had been removed to the morgue, and the drug smugglers had been taken to headquarters where they would be questioned for hours.

  She was glad to see that, despite the fact that there was still a piece of the puzzle missing, Jake was determined to leave things to the other members of the department, and especially to the men in the task force.

  He drove his own car. Nick was in the back; Ashley sat up front with Jake. When they reached home at last, Nick got out of the car first, and when Ashley and Jake crawled out more slowly, Nick said to no one in particular, “Okay, even I know this is one weird request.” He turned and looked at Jake. “Just sleep in my house tonight, will you? I’d like to know you’re both close.” He stepped ahead of them then, twisting his key in the lock and entering the house.

  Ashley felt a cool breeze stir her hair. It would still be a while until
sunrise. She wished she weren’t so exhausted, that she could make it to watch morning come.

  “So…what do you say? Mind sleeping in the house?” she asked. “It’s not that I’m the nervous type, but hey…there’s nothing like backup.”

  “Everyone needs backup,” he said softly. “Besides, the opportunity to see your room is a definite temptation. Hey, do I get the first shower?”

  “Um,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not that magnanimous. How about sharing the first shower?”

  “It’ll do.”

  As it happened, they were both sporting a number of bruises and sawgrass cuts. They pointed them out to one another, then did things to make them feel better. When they emerged, the laughter stopped suddenly, and they stared at one another for several long moments.

  “So…this is your bed, huh?”

  “This is it.”

  “Ashley.”

  “Hmm?”

  He wound his arms around her, buried his face against her neck, held her tightly. And began to move.

  She had thought she was exhausted, but it was amazing just how awake, aware and vehemently energetic she could become.

  Later, they remained together, side by side, yet curled together as one. She felt his fingers against her hair, gently smoothing it back.

  “I have to admit, I’m probably always going to be a bit of a chauvinist asshole where you’re concerned.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll just keep putting you in your place.”

  “Just so long as you know.”

  She sat up suddenly, looking toward the windows.

  “The sun is about to rise.”

  “It rises every morning.”

  “This morning, I’d like to see it.”

  Jake’s clothing was caked with muck; he had to resort to one of her bathrobes, but he did so with only a slight grimace.

  They sat on the dock together. She leaned against his shoulder. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen that shade between gold and red before.”

  “I have.”

  “Oh?”

  “It’s the color of your hair.”