Footprints in the Sand (9 page)
Read Footprints in the Sand Online
Authors: Mary Jane Clark
B
rad stood in the shower with his eyes closed, letting the needles of hot spray douse him. It felt good to wash away the tension that gripped his muscles. It had been a hard day.
Seeing Shelley’s body had brought back so many memories. They’d had a good thing going once, but her brother’s death had changed all that. After Colin overdosed on the drugs that Brad had sold him, Shelley had freaked and turned on him. Her testimony had been instrumental in sending Brad to prison.
He picked up the soap and began lathering his body. He rubbed the bar over his forearm and watched as bubbles scattered across his tattoo. The outline of the woman’s face and the tears dripping down her cheeks were dark and distinct—surprising, since the ink had been improvised, using melted rubber from the sole of a shoe.
Tattooing was forbidden in the prison. It was done in secret with makeshift equipment. Staples and paper clips took the place of sterilized needles. Ink could be taken from pens or made using melted plastic or Styrofoam. The risk of infection was great. The risk of getting caught and being sent to solitary confinement for a couple of weeks for giving or receiving a tattoo was even greater. This heightened the thrill.
Brad had studied the classic prison tattoos and their meanings. The clock face without hands signified doing time. Tombstones with numbers on them signified the number of years in jail. The letters SWP stood for “supreme white power.” And 100% PURE was another “white pride” tattoo.
The face of the crying woman meant that the prisoner had a devoted female on the outside waiting for his release. Brad chose that one but had his own interpretation for it. His woman wasn’t crying as she waited for him. His woman was
going
to cry when he got out. Brad had vowed that he was going to make Shelley cry when he saw her again. He was going to make her pay.
P
iper, her parents, and Nora sat in the ER waiting room. They looked up every time the door opened, straining to see into the treatment room. Eventually Dr. Robbins came out to speak with them.
“Thankfully Roz is alive, but she’s delirious,” he said. “She’s pretty banged up.”
“How serious are her injuries, Cryder?” asked Nora.
“At Roz’s age any injury can be a serious one,” said the doctor, unwrapping the stethoscope from around his neck. “We’re going to keep her here for observation. We want to make sure she’s not bleeding internally and doesn’t have a head injury. I don’t like that she’s so confused. We’ll run some tests in the morning.”
“Did she say anything about what happened?” asked Piper.
“Not really,” said Dr. Robbins. “But she keeps asking for Sam.”
“Poor thing,” said Nora. “I should call Roz’s daughter and let her know what happened.”
“She’s already been called,” said Dr. Robbins. “Roz had that contact information in her purse. Roberta is flying down first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good,” said Nora. She gestured toward her brother-in-law. “Vin talked to the police. They think somebody deliberately forced Roz off the road.”
Dr. Robbins looked with concern at Vin. “Do they have any idea who?”
“Some fisherman said he saw a dark-colored car,” said Vin, “but the guy didn’t get a tag or have any other details to offer.”
Dr. Robbins sighed and shook his head. “You’d think after all these years I’d get used to seeing people injured, but I don’t. It’s a little easier, though, when it’s a relative stranger. Roz is such a sweet old gal, it’s especially hard to see her brutalized.”
I
n his small room, Levi lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He had looked everywhere he could think of and still couldn’t find his phone. The only place left to search was the place he most feared to go. Tomorrow he would have to force himself to return to the beach and look for it near Shelley’s grave.
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. For Shelley and for the safety of his sister, Miriam.
He had to head out to Siesta Beach anyway to deliver the hex sign. He hoped Piper would be satisfied. It was unlike any he had ever done.
Some of the symbols he’d chosen were different from ones he’d painted in the past. The heart was obviously appropriate. And the turtles represented the creatures that had brought Kathy and Dan together. The teardrops could be interpreted as the vicissitudes of life that a married couple had to survive. The birds with their red breasts seemed to symbolize spring and rebirth.
It had been cathartic to paint it. Levi was relieved to have expressed something so important with his art. Something that would last well after he was gone.
He was startled by a loud, insistent banging. He could hear his father grumbling on the other side of the bedroom wall as he shuffled down the hallway to answer the front door.
Levi strained to hear the men’s voices. He could make out a few words. Phone. Beach. Son. Then he heard his father’s footsteps coming toward his room. The bedroom door opened.
“Levi?” called his father as he held up a battery-operated lantern to light the room. “Wake up, son.”
Levi sat up in bed, his heart pounding, his cheeks hot. “What is it, Father?”
“It is the sheriff’s deputies, Levi. They say they found a phone that belongs to you.”
Levi’s mother appeared in the doorway, wrapping her heavy robe tightly around her. Her hair fell long and loose over her shoulders, so different from the bun and bonnet she wore during the day. Her eyes were wide in alarm as she took hold of her husband’s arm.
“What is wrong, Abram?”
“Go back to bed, Fannie.”
“Tell me,” she insisted. “What is wrong?”
“Fannie, please, go back to bed. Levi has to get dressed.”
“Now?” she asked with trepidation. “Why?”
“He has to go with the deputies to the sheriff’s station.”
B
ack in her room at the inn, Piper kicked off her sandals, collapsed on the bed, and called Jack.
“First, I
love
the flowers, Jack,” she said. “They’re beautiful, and my room smells heavenly. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I wish I were down there to see them—and you.”
“Me, too,” said Piper. “But it won’t be long now. It’s crazy down here, Jack.”
As she reviewed the details of the day, she realized how good it felt to unburden herself. She also realized how good it was to hear his voice.
“I’ll make a few calls in the morning and see what I can find out,” said Jack after she recounted the grisly scene on the beach and the old woman’s accident.
“I think the two things must be related, Jack. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Roz was run off the road on the same day as Shelley’s body was found. Roz may have seen Shelley’s killer carrying her body a few nights ago. The killer might know that and want to get rid of the person who could identify him.”
“Did she actually see the man’s face?” asked Jack.
“Not really,” said Piper. “But
he
doesn’t know that.”
“Listen, Pipe. If what you think is true, then you’ve got a dangerous guy lurking around down there. Don’t get any big ideas about getting involved. Let the cops do their thing.”
“You sound just like my father.”
“Smart guy, your dad. Do what he says and stay out of it.”
February 15 . . .
Three Days Until the Wedding
I
n the interrogation room, Levi sat with his head down. His face was flushed and perspiration dotted his forehead. His hands were clasped together on the table in front of him to keep them from shaking.
“I know I lost my phone,” he explained to the detective. “But I did not lose it on the beach. I was not anywhere near the beach. I do not know why you found it there.”
Levi knew it was a sin to lie, yet he had to maintain his innocence. It was obvious now, after several hours of interrogation, that the police thought
he
had killed Shelley. This was all an incredible, horrible nightmare.
“Well, how do you explain it?” asked the detective.
“I have told you over and over!” Levi cried as he rested his head on the table. “I just do not know. Maybe somebody found it and left it there.”
“Why would someone do that?” asked the detective. “Were they trying to set you up?”
“I do not know,” said Levi. He closed his eyes, wishing he could just fall asleep and escape the ceaseless barrage of questions and the sickening feeling he’d carried with him since the night that Shelley was buried.
The detective rose from his chair and left the room. Levi wasn’t sure if the man had taken pity on him and wanted to give him a break or if the detective’s departure was part of a calculated plan to give Levi time to think and reconsider his answers. Whatever the reason, Levi was grateful to be left alone.
He imagined his parents, waiting at home and worried to death. Theirs was a small community, and news spread fast. Soon everyone would know that the police had taken him in for questioning. Everyone would be speculating on Levi’s involvement in a woman’s murder and grotesque burial. His parents would be mortified.
But, again, it was the fate of his sister that concerned Levi more. He loved Miriam and would do anything to protect her. Levi wouldn’t ever be able to reveal what he knew, because doing so could lead to her death. He had no reason to doubt that the murderer would make good on his threat to find a way to kill Miriam if Levi identified him.
The killer wanted nothing more than to eliminate any witnesses; the police wanted to solve their case. As he waited for the detective to return, Levi decided to go through with what he had only been considering before. He could do something that would satisfy both the killer
and
the police.
The detective entered the room. “You can go for now,” he announced. “But don’t leave town. We’re going to want to talk to you again.” He motioned to Levi. “Come on, get up. We’ll drive you home.”
“No thank you,” said Levi, thinking of his parents’ humiliation when a police car dropped off their son. “I can get home on my own.”
When he walked out of the station, the sun was just coming up. As he headed toward Pinecraft, Levi’s resolve strengthened. Though he hated to saddle his parents with the stigma and pain, he wanted to protect Miriam. He also ached to be released from the mental agony he was enduring. The thought of an entire lifetime of this ahead—of looking over his shoulder, of worrying about the killer harming his sister—filled him with dread. It would be better all around to end the whole thing.
He
would take responsibility for Shelley’s murder.
T
he alarm went off way too early. Cryder instantly remembered the late night at the hospital. Before he went in for office hours, he wanted to check on Roz.
With his eyes still closed, Cryder reached out beside him and felt the empty space. Umiko had already gone for her morning walk. She very rarely missed it.
He had to hand it to his wife. She was incredibly disciplined. With her exercise, with her diet, with her housekeeping and careful budgeting. Even when his practice had been young, Umiko had managed to create a seemingly more affluent lifestyle than their income warranted. Now, though they had much more money, she didn’t want to move to a bigger or more luxurious place. Umiko was very satisfied with their two-bedroom, one-and-a-half-bath town house. It was their magnificent view of the Gulf of Mexico that she loved and never wanted to leave. Her parents must have sensed that when they named her: Umiko means “child of the sea.”
Location, location, location.
Umiko recited the real-estate chant whenever he brought up the subject of selling the place to Walter Engel. Cryder was more than willing to take the profit they would realize and find something else. Maybe an all-on-one-level condo downtown in a high-rise with a marina view. Something newer, with more space, and closer to his office would suit him just fine.
But Umiko was adamantly against selling. She wept whenever he mentioned the subject. Cryder wasn’t going to insist that his wife give up the place that made her so happy. He owed her that much. Umiko had already followed him around the world. It hadn’t always been easy for her.
But Walter Engel was persistent. He was determined to persuade the Robbinses and everyone else in the complex to sell their places to him. Cryder knew that Roz Golubock was also one of the holdouts.
Getting out of bed, he went to the picture window. He stared out, trying to spot Umiko. He recognized her wide-brimmed hat and slim figure down on the beach where Shelley Hart’s body had been found the day before. Cryder was certain that even a murder wasn’t going to convince Umiko to sell.
P
ropping the pillows behind her, Piper sat up in bed, grabbed her phone, and went straight to her Facebook page. She read through the comments that friends had written in response to the picture of the crime scene she’d posted the day before. Most of the twenty-odd comments advised her to be careful. A few asked who the shirtless beefcake was standing at the right side of the photo. One person even commented on Brad’s tattoo:
AS A TATTOO LOVER MYSELF, I ZOOMED IN TO SEE WHAT WAS ON THE HUNK’S ARM. MY BET IS THAT GUY HAS DONE TIME. HE GOT THAT TAT IN PRISON.
Good catch,
thought Piper. She was reminded again of how increasingly difficult it was to get away with anything, what with better and better technology and a global village watching.
She clicked on the television in time to hear the weatherman describing what people on Florida’s western coast could expect. Another day of sunshine with temperatures in the seventies.
It had amused her years ago to notice how local news broadcasts here led with the weather forecast. She eventually realized that this was because the weather was so important to almost every Sarasota viewer. The threat of rain or an upcoming cold snap was of immense interest both to farmers and to businesses that depended on tourism. And of course tourists were interested, too.
But it was the story after the weather that Piper wanted to hear. The only new detail being revealed to the public was the identity of the woman’s body found on Siesta Beach. Shelley Hart was described as a lifelong Sarasota resident. Police were asking anyone with information on the case to come forward.
The following item wasn’t an actual edited news package. It was merely video voiced over by the anchorperson. The pictures showed a mangled yellow convertible being lifted onto a flatbed truck.
“Also on Siesta Key, a car driven by an Ocean Boulevard homeowner crashed at the base of the North Bridge last night. The driver, eighty-seven-year-old Roz Golubock, was taken to Memorial Hospital. Police say the convertible may have been deliberately run off the road by another car. They are looking for witnesses.”
Piper turned off the set. Shelley’s sandy grave, Roz’s treacherous crash. Would the police be able to solve the cases only if witnesses came forward with something they had seen?
As she got out of bed, Piper instinctively felt that there was just one person who knew all the details of each case. The person responsible for both.
