Picture Me Dead (23 page)

She didn't know what happened then, what caused her lips to move or the words to come out. “The best I ever had,” she said.

She could have kicked herself, but since the door was open, she fled, instead.

 

Ashley's morning was mind-boggling, but made pleasant largely because she had been handed over almost immediately to a wonderful woman named Mandy Nightingale, who was warm, friendly and incredibly professional. Mandy—who insisted on being on a first-name basis—explained to her many different areas of forensic expertise and introduced her around the department. She talked about the horrors they often encountered, clearly waiting to make sure Ashley was up for it. Ashley explained that photography was something she had dabbled in, but that she was no expert. That didn't seem to bother Mandy, who promised to take her under her wing and teach her everything she knew.

“I can teach photography,” she said, “but I've seen your drawings. That kind of talent is hard to find.” She went on to explain that Ashley would work as a civilian employee of the Miami-Dade Police Department, and that yes, certainly she would be able to go back and finish the academy at any time. “The thing is, and I'm not trying to twist your arm, positions like this really don't come open that often.”

Ashley nodded, although her mind was pretty much made up already. “The other skill I'm a little worried about is reconstruction. I've never done anything remotely similar.”

“That's something you can learn, as well.”

They talked a while longer. Then, midmorning, Captain Murray returned, and Ashley told him yes, she would like to take the position.

That began several hours of paperwork. After that, Murray told her she was free to take the afternoon off. She would start training with Mandy the following day.

 

Marty called in, apologizing profusely; said he would catch up with Jake later in the day—he hoped. He'd either eaten something bad or picked up a virus, and he wasn't able to stay out of the can for more than fifteen minutes at a time.

Jake missed his partner during the task force meeting, though the other men were good, solid cops. Belk was forty-five, seasoned, reasonable, and had a calm about him under any circumstances that made him all but magic with witnesses. Rosario was just a few years younger; they had worked together for years. Where Belk was calm, Rosario could bluster, and between them, they could glean an incredible amount of information. Rizzo and MacDonald were younger, but still experienced, having both been in homicide for over seven years. Rizzo had a nose for research, while MacDonald could size up a crime scene like few other men. They all discussed their interviews, went through the reports on the door-to-door questioning, and once again, analyzed the medical examiner's report.

Then there was Franklin. Once again, he spoke about his experience with what he considered a far more important agency, but his experience that day seemed to signify only that he should tell them not to neglect the rest of their work, that they had close to zilch to go on, that he had combed the FBI computer and spoken to law enforcement officers across the country, and hadn't found the break they needed. Franklin was tall, dark-haired and considered himself extremely knowledgeable—and suave. He gloried in the fact that he had been asked to share his incredible knowledge on various television shows. “Until we get an I.D. on that girl, we're spinning our wheels,” he said, staring at them all. “We really need an I.D. on her.”

Jake refrained from speaking. He glanced at Rosario and almost grinned, because he was so certain they were thinking the same thing.

Duh, asshole!

“The FBI has no magic solution for this one,” Franklin said. “What it will take is really good police work on your part.”

Jake felt like a dog with his hackles up. To the best of his knowledge, the case was still under the jurisdiction of the county.

Jake stood then, but held his temper.

“Jake?” Captain Blake said, frowning. He was seated on the edge of his desk, since they'd met in his office so he could review their work on the case.

“Special Agent Franklin is correct,” Jake heard himself say politely. “Gentlemen, let's get back to work.”

Blake knew him—knew he didn't have one good thing to say about Franklin. But he had spoken with an almost flattering conviction.

Jake escaped. He made a call to forensics, then to Dr. Gannet. He looked at his watch and knew he had time to head south, even though he would have a long drive back to the morgue.

A moment later, he grabbed his jacket and briefcase and was out the door.

 

“Mr. Bordon?”

“Yes?”

Peter Bordon was sitting outside in the exercise yard, feeling the sun on his face. The guard spoke to him politely. Hell, most of the guards were polite. They had no reason not to be. He was unerringly respectful, truly a model of good behavior.

“There's a phone call for you. You have permission to take it.”

“Who is it?”

“Your cousin Richard. There's an illness in your family, I'm sorry to say.”

“Ah.”

“You'll be out soon, right?” the young guard asked him.

“If the parole board says so.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thank you, Thomas, is it?”

“Yes, Mr. Bordon.”

“Thank you, Thomas.”

He was led to the phone. Peter picked up the receiver. “Peter Bordon.”

“So the cop has been to see you.”

His fingers tensed. He allowed himself no outward expression. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He's got nothing.”

“Let's hope it stays that way.”

“It will.”

“Yeah, we'll see that it does.”

The phone went dead in his hand. His escort was waiting. “Not so bad,” he told the guard. “My nephew is ill, but he's coming around.”

“I'm sorry.”

“He's a tough little guy.”

Back out in the yard, Peter felt the sun again. It wasn't as warm. He thought back to his arrest. The cops were allowed to lie to suspects during interrogation. And Dilessio
had
lied. Because he had known something. Damn him, he'd known something.

But Peter hadn't cracked. He'd taken a lie detector test and passed with flying colors. Even so, he'd wound up in prison for fraud and tax evasion.

He smiled, lifting his chin. He didn't mind so much. He'd determined from the beginning not to plan any stupid escape attempts, just to do his time. And now he was glad.

After all, he'd found God.

He just wished he'd found a little more courage, as well. Dilessio was still out there. And he was like a damned terrier with a bone. The others didn't quite get it yet. He would never let go.

Unless he was dead.

 

Outside the building, Ashley called Karen to tell her about Stuart and about her own change in direction. Karen insisted that she wanted to go to the hospital that night herself, and said she would call Jan. At the very least, they could give more moral support to the Fresias. Ashley agreed. After that, Karen allowed her happiness for Ashley to burst through.

“It's perfect. You're with the police—”

“I'll be a civilian employee, until I go back and finish up at the academy.”

“You'll still be with the police. But you'll be using your artistic talent, learning so much,
and
getting paid. Well paid.”

“That's a definite plus. I intend to go back and finish the academy, though.” She hesitated. “Homicide detectives and some of the other specialists can do even better.”

“But that could well be ten years or so down the road. And if you decide at some point that you want to apply for homicide or whatever, you'll have this incredible body of experience behind you.”

Ashley had to agree. She ended the call, telling Karen she would be by for her around six.

Just as she hit the “end” button, she felt a whoosh of air coming from behind her. Startled, she gave a little cry and spun around. Arne and Gwyn had come up behind her. Arne threw her into the air as if she weighed no more than ten pounds, then caught her on the way down. Gwyn caught her face and kissed her on both cheeks.

“Hey, promotion girl!” Arne said.

“We heard it was official, that you've put in the paperwork and you're going to become a forensic artist,” Gwyn told her.

Ashley nodded. “It did seem like an offer I couldn't refuse.”

“Refuse? Do you know many people apply for a position like that?” Arne said, shaking his head. “We want to take you out to celebrate.”

“That's great of you guys. I'd love it.”

“Tonight?” Gwyn asked her.

“Not tonight, I just promised to go to the hospital with a couple of friends.”

“Has there been any change in your friend's condition?” Arne asked.

Ashley shook her head. “No, but I feel so much better, getting to see his folks.”

As she spoke, she felt arms curl around her waist. She turned, surprised to see Len Green.

“Hey, boy!” she teased. “Did you give up your patrol car?”

“No, young lady, not at all. I'm just in one of those paperwork hell places that come along now and then. And, actually, I'm glad of that for once. I just heard about your promotion.”

“Well, it's not exactly a promotion—” Ashley began.

“Like hell!” He waved a hand in the air. “It's incredible. You still going to talk to a lowly patrolman now that you've soared past me?”

She laughed. “I didn't soar past anyone,” she protested. “I changed course.”

“However you want to look at it, it's wonderful,” he told her sincerely.

“More training than ever,” she heard herself say hastily.

“We're going to get the class squad together and take her out to celebrate,” Arne told Len. “You want to join us?”

“Sure, of course, if I can. When?” Len asked.

“We're working on that right now,” Gwyn said.

“How about Friday, Ash?” Arne said.

“Friday sounds good. Unless…well, unless, you know, something happens with Stuart.”

“Hey,” Gwyn said. “You can't move in there, you know. You said his parents are there around the clock. But they're his parents. You can't let yourself get obsessed with this.”

“I know that. But I do feel I'm doing some good. But, yes, Friday night celebration. That sounds wonderful,” Ashley said. “I think I'll bring a few friends. You remember Karen and Jan.”

“He knows Karen and Jan?” Arne said.

“Len was up in Orlando when we were there,” Ashley explained. She shrugged, watching Len's reaction. She wished so badly that he would focus on Karen. “He met them then.”

Arne made a teasing, disgruntled sound.

“They cute?”

“Well, hell, yes, my friends are cute,” she told him.

“Then I'm glad I'll get to meet them Friday night. The more the merrier.”

“Great,” she said, and looked at Len.

She couldn't read anything in his expression, but he told her, “Good. I'll look forward to it—and of course to seeing the girls again. Do we know where we're going?”

“Bennigans, out on US1. It's good, it's fun, and it's affordable—since we're not all getting raises,” Gwyn said.

“I'll treat you guys,” Ashley told her.

“Hell, no, you won't. We're going to suck up big-time, just in case you become one of those famous people on
America's Most Wanted
or something like that,” Gwyn said. “We do still get paychecks, you know.”

Ashley laughed. “Sounds great.”

“We have to get back to class,” Arne warned. “Since we're just poor slobs who would have gotten our asses fired if we'd been caught drawing in class.”

“Quit that,” Ashley protested, but they were both grinning at her. They were new friends, but good ones. They sincerely wished her well.

“I have to get back, too,” Len said. “I just saw you here and couldn't leave without stopping to say congratulations.”

“Don't you have to go draw something?” Gwyn asked.

Ashley laughed. “No, I have the afternoon off.”

“Well, isn't she special?” Gwyn joked, shaking her head.

“I don't think you're off anymore,” Len said, staring over Ashley's head toward the entrance of the building.

She spun around. Captain Murray was walking toward her. A pleasant, cordial man who drew respect despite his easy manner and low voice, he greeted the others, who voiced their pleasure that Ashley had ended up in a perfect place.