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

by Fred Lichtenberg

  I nodded into the phone. “Let’s hope not.”

  Upstairs, I found Nick on his computer researching the hell out of anything related to crime investigations.

  “Don’t make yourself crazy. JR knows a guy who can help us find the source.” I feared saying “victim”. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Like I told you before, it could be nothing. Besides, if a crime had been committed in your condo, it would have been messier.”

  Nick stopped typing.

  “We just need to rule out the obvious.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  I nodded. “I’ll also have the guy dust around for fingerprints. For all we know, the blood belongs to the previous owner. We’ll check that out as well.”

  That seemed to settle him down. He sat back in his chair and watched the ceiling fan spin around. “I never had the floors scraped.”

  “There you go. Did you get a chance to meet the sellers? Or was the closing done by mail?”

  “I met them, nice couple. Both in their late thirties. Ryan and Nicole Lambert. It was a quick sale—motivated sellers, which saved me some money. Anyway, Ryan received a promotion from his company and needed to fly out to Chicago immediately. Nicole requested a transfer with her company and stayed behind with her parents until it came through.”

  I nodded. “Can you reach her, or better still, the broker?”

  Nick thought a moment. “I still have the broker’s business card inside my office. You want me to ask if she noticed blood on the floor?”

  “Stain. You don’t want her to clam up if you’re asking about a possible abuse situation. If she didn’t notice, maybe she can provide the wife’s number.”

  “Got it.” He took off inside. A few minutes later, I heard him on the phone, and when he returned, he said, “The story just changed. Nicole never requested a transfer. Turns out she and the broker are close friends. She was happy to tell me that Nicole filed for divorce and went back to her maiden name. Apparently, the happy couple wasn’t that happy. And as far as joining the creep—her words—in Chicago, that never happened.” Nick continued the saga, his dissatisfaction coming through at the end. “Jerk, I hope he gets what he deserves.”

  Either the Lamberts put on a show for Nick—no red flags—or he was a bad judge of character, which seemed ironic given his profession.

  “And the broker just spilled the beans on the nice couple?”

  “She helped Nicole arrange the sale, including inspection of the premises.” He paused. “But she hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, like stains on the bedroom floor, though, off the record, she admitted there was physical abuse in their marriage. The broker mentioned something about him slamming her against the headboard, so it wouldn’t have surprised her if blood stains existed somewhere.”

  Nick stopped. “So, if that stain is blood, it probably belongs to one of them. I’m guessing the wife.” His face turned grave. “But Elizabeth is still missing.”

  Nine

  I was debating calling JR when he called me. “You’re all set, Hank. You’ll be getting a call from Joe Gallagher. I told him what you needed, and he said he’d see what he could do—within legal limits, of course.”

  “There’s been a development.” I stepped out of earshot.

  “Another development?”

  I explained what we learned about the cute couple who sold their condo to Nick.

  “So, they were happy in appearances only.”

  “Looks that way, and according to the broker, who happens to be the ex-wife’s friend, the husband was rough with her. She moved out and filed for divorce. Probably the reason for the…stain.”

  “If that were the case, the guy would have probably cleaned the place up before the wife took the matter to the cops. I’m assuming the woman is still alive.”

  From the living room window, I noticed a white Mazda sport convertible passing by, loud music blaring from the speakers. “According to the broker, she still lives in the Fort Lauderdale area.”

  JR said, “Okay, I’ll tell Gallagher he’s no longer needed.”

  “Hold off a second. It can’t hurt if he looks around. Just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “Curious, huh, Hank?”

  “You know me, I don’t like loose ends.” I paused. “I know Nick is your cousin, but I find this whole matter odd. Not that I doubt Elizabeth took off on her own, it’s just that I wanna rule out that the blood was hers. And fingerprints.”

  JR paused. “You’re assuming she’s in the system.”

  JR was right. Elizabeth might exist, but if she wasn’t in the system, finding her would be more difficult. Besides, we didn’t have her surname. I would remind Nick the bedroom was off-limits until Gallagher finished investigating.

  I had an eerie feeling I wasn’t alone, and when I turned, Nick stood at the doorway. He looked…possessed. His eyes were glazed over, as though looking through me, like he was in a hypnotic trance.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  But then, he turned and disappeared into the next room. I followed and watched as he hopped back on the computer, rapidly typing away, like he was reanimated. I stood behind him. A website appeared: Find Missing Person. He entered Elizabeth, nurse, New York, and then he described her.

  I’d never heard of the site and wondered how he’d found it. Then again, Nick had been searching the internet since I arrived.

  “Any luck?”

  He stopped typing and shook his head in slow motion like he was exiting a trance. “Not yet.” His speech sounded slurred. “I’ve tried everything.” His words were dragging out.

  “You looked like you were in a trance. Do you get that way often?” I asked, concerned.

  He shook his head. “What? No. It happens when I’m concentrating. I was concentrating.”

  I nodded, but I knew the difference between a trance and concentrating.

  A moment later, after returning to normal, he said, “You must be hungry.”

  I checked my fitness tracker. Wow, it was almost five-thirty. With little to do until Gallagher called, I said, “Now’s good. How about we go to Courtney’s? I’d like to look around, get a sense of where you met Elizabeth. And check with the bartender.”

  Nick held off.

  “Or any place for that matter.”

  “Courtney’s is good.” He pushed away from his desk and rose, as though thoroughly out of his trance.

  Wanting to get a sense of the neighborhood, I asked if it was within walking distance.

  “About twenty minutes, if that’s okay.”

  Sounded good. I needed to exercise my legs. “I’m ready when you are.”

  He got up from the computer and gave the room a quick sweep with his eyes. “Let’s roll.”

  Courtney’s Bar and Grille was located on Las Olas Boulevard, a main east/west road, the east leading to Fort Lauderdale Beach. I’d have to remember that if I had extra time for R&R.

  Weekdays in January were normally busy, but at six o’clock, we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

  Inside, he looked around and shrugged. “The place looks different when the band isn’t playing. Fewer people, very quiet.” He pointed to the near-empty bar. “Funny, that couple is sitting where we sat.” He sighed.

  My eyes closed in on the bar. “Is that the bartender who served you Saturday night?”

  Nick peered over. “That’s him.”

  I followed Nick over to the bartender, who was wiping down the bar. He looked up and smiled. “Hey, Doc.”

  Nick returned it then introduced him to me.

  “What can I get you guys?”

  Except for the couple, the bar was empty, so it was easy to ask questions. I let Nick start.

  “Patrick, do you remember me being here with a woman last Saturday night?”

  He nodded. “I think you were here first. It’s hard to remember because the place was buzzing. I recall you were here a couple of hours.” He looked at Nick, then me. “Is everything okay?”

&nb
sp; I asked, “Did they leave together?”

  Patrick looked concerned and asked again, “Is everything okay, Doc?”

  I let Nick answer. “She’s missing.”

  Patrick blinked a few times, glanced around the bar. “Did you call the cops?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Do you recall if they left together?”

  He looked at Nick for encouragement and Nick nodded.

  “Well, I think they left separately.” Back to Nick. “How do you know she’s missing?”

  That would have been my next question.

  Nick held off a moment. “We met outside. She said she wanted to freshen up first. We went back to my place and the next morning, she was gone.”

  He leaned closer. “You mean she skipped out in the middle of the night? That sucks.”

  Nick was about to continue when I said, “Thanks, Patrick, we appreciate your help.” I handed him my business card and asked him to call if he remembered anything else.

  He mulled over the card and nodded. “Sure.”

  I’d assume Patrick would get the idea from our questions. Turning to Nick, I suggested, “Okay, then, let’s get a bite to eat.”

  We walked over to the restaurant side and were greeted by a college-aged woman named Ashley. She brought her own friendly smile and then guided us to our table.

  At Ashley’s suggestion, I ordered a local craft beer, Blue Monkey, and a burger, medium-well with cheddar. They threw in fries, so that made me happy. Nick ordered the same.

  Ashley’s long blonde hair and blue eyes may have reminded Nick of a younger Elizabeth. He smiled wistfully.

  “Do you work weekends?” I asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “How about last Saturday night? I hear the band was loud.”

  “Very loud. I was here. Lots of good tippers.” She smiled. “It helps pay my tuition.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “Did you notice my friend here at the bar? He was with a woman in her thirties with strawberry-blonde hair.”

  She studied Nick a moment. “It was crazy busy. I can’t say I did. Is it important? I mean, I can ask around. Do you have a photo?” She stopped. “Are you guys cops?”

  I drew a smile. “No, but it turns out my friend had a few too many and lost her phone number. I told him he’s got to rethink the way he goes about meeting women.”

  Ashley smiled. “I totally get it. She must be hot if you’re still looking.” She leaned closer. “If you take a selfie and text it to me, I’ll ask around. You never know.” She scribbled her number on a napkin. “You seem like nice guys.”

  “We are,” I assured.

  She kept her smile. “I’ll be back with your order.”

  “Gee, Hank, did you have to make up a story like that? I know what you were trying to do, but…”

  “Okay, maybe I should have said tipsy. Look, if it helps us get closer to finding Elizabeth, isn’t it worthwhile?”

  He pressed his lips. “I guess.”

  I was beginning to think this was a boondoggle and wanted to be upfront with Nick.

  “If we don’t get results soon, I don’t want to waste your money.”

  Ten

  At nine that night, Gallagher called and told me he’d be stopping by first thing in the morning with his equipment. And did I need anything else?

  Only results.

  I fell asleep on the living room sofa, watching a Friends rerun. Still funny. Around 1:00 a.m., I got up for my usual once-a-night pee. The place was still, dark, and unfamiliar, and as a result, I entered Nick’s office by mistake. He must have fallen asleep on his daybed.

  I was met with the sounds of light snoring, but then Nick began talking gibberish, followed by heavier snoring. Wide awake, I was about to leave when he cried out, “I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me.” At least, that was what I interpreted. One helluva nightmare. I waited, wondering if Nick would become more confessional. But after a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal.

  I closed the door, took a pee, and went back to the sofa. Only I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I kept thinking about Nick’s nightmare, wondering if it was just that.

  Gallagher showed up at 9:00 a.m. sharp, equipment in hand. He was average height, mid-fifties, with gray hair and a friendly smile. After exchanging a few pleasantries—and some cop stories—I brought him to the bedroom. Nick was sitting on the bed, hands folded, eyes glued to the stain.

  Gallagher looked at me, and I shrugged. After a quick introduction, he surveyed the room, dropped his equipment on the floor and asked us to leave. Two hours later, he had completed his investigation and said he’d get back soon and left.

  Gallagher called late that afternoon to tell me the stain was indeed blood, O-negative—fairly rare type, and that we would have to wait for DNA results. As far as fingerprints, Gallagher matched only Nick’s. He found another in a few places, including the bathroom, but they weren’t in the system.

  When I told Nick, he made one of those confused expressions again. “What about Elizabeth? Surely, she touched something in the apartment. I know she used the bathroom.”

  I shrugged. “She’s not in the system. Let’s wait for the DNA results to come back, but I have to tell you, if Elizabeth isn’t in the system, we’re back to square one.”

  Apparently, Nick didn’t care for my straightforward response and went into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and a prescription pill bottle of something. He removed a pill and eagerly tossed it in his mouth, then washed it down.

  “It calms me.”

  I could use one of those myself, but he didn’t offer one.

  I needed to be alone for a while and asked to borrow his car.

  Fort Lauderdale Beach was active: runners, bathers, cyclists, and anyone else wanting to escape the north in January. Nick had a few beach chairs in the trunk, but I needed to walk and think. With the beach to my right, I headed north, passing familiar chain-branded hotels.

  Nick’s depressed state didn’t help my mood, and I was glad to get out for a while. Normally, at this time, Nick would be seeing patients, but he told me he’d cancelled all sessions, and I assumed it had to do with Elizabeth’s disappearance. I left him at his computer researching god-knows-what.

  I was troubled by his recent nightmare. “I didn’t mean it. Please forgive me.” Was he talking about the patient who killed herself? That he should have seen the red flags? Or was it someone else? Elizabeth?

  That bothered me more. If he was responsible for her disappearance, why hire me?

  After a half mile walk, I crossed the street and found an outdoor stool at a local bar called Sonny’s. I ordered a Peroni. I was getting hooked. The bartender returned with a frosty glass and bottle.

  “Another great day on the beach, huh?” I said with a smile. I needed small talk, and bartenders make the best therapists.

  “Where in New York are you from?” he asked.

  I smiled. “That noticeable?”

  “Nah, it’s just that most people I meet around here are from the New York area. Hell, I’m from the Big Apple. Left ten years ago.” He stuck out his hand. “Jake.”

  “Hank.” I shook his. “Eastpoint, Long Island. Actually, I’m in transition.” I whipped out a business card. “If you’re looking for a missing person, I’m your guy.”

  He took the card, studied it a moment. “A New York PI. I wish my ex was missing. Not that I’d hire you.” He cracked a smile. “So, are you here for work or just soaking up the sun?”

  I thought a moment. “Mostly the former.” I poured beer into my glass and took a sip. “Today, I’m enjoying the beach.”

  Jake placed my card in his pants pocket. “Well, you enjoy, Hank.”

  I watched cars drive by, some looking for a parking spot, which was a luxury on the strip. I took another sip and looked out at the street. A red Mustang passed slowly, the driver’s window open. A strawberry blonde? I blinked hard and took off for the street.

  “Elizabeth?” I
called out.

  The car came to a complete stop, but as I approached, she stepped on the accelerator and sped around a car before I could get her plate number.

  Excited, I called Nick to tell him I might have seen Elizabeth’s car driving north on the strip. I got his voice message, which was typically addressed, except for an addendum, “If this is Elizabeth, please leave a detailed message. I miss you.”

  Jesus, the guy sounded unhinged.

  I found the message bizarre, considering Nick told me they’d never exchanged phone numbers. I shook my head and left a message. “I’m at the beach. I think I might have spotted Elizabeth’s car. Couldn’t get the plate number, but, at least, it’s something.”

  At the beach. What was I thinking?

  I rushed back to the bar, paid the tab, and returned to Nick’s car, eagerly waiting a response. But when he didn’t return the call, I drove back to his house. He didn’t answer my knock, so I used a spare key he’d provided.

  “Nick,” I called out, but the silence told me he was either napping, in a trance, or had gone out. I entered his office and found a note on his desk. “Got a lead on Elizabeth’s whereabouts. Be in touch.”

  Well, that wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I punched in his cell number again and got the same message, including, “Elizabeth leave a damn message already.” Okay, maybe not that, but where the hell was he heading without a car, and what was he expecting me to do in the meantime?

  I took a beer from the refrigerator and sat down in front of his computer. Fortunately, there was no password protection. When the screensaver popped up, it showed Nick fishing off a boat. Out of curiosity, I went into his photo file. Nick took lots of pictures. There were a few of him and his wife; at least, I assumed it was her.

  Scrolling down the file, I discovered several of him and a buddy taken on a boat, or fishing from a pier. Interesting, one friend. I forwarded a photo to my cell.

  I then checked his internet history, hoping to get an idea of his whereabouts, but none appeared helpful. As part of his search, Nick had included one on me. I snickered. What was Nick hoping to discover, that I walked on water? Hell, he already knew that. I didn’t have a website yet, so he might have found a few newspaper articles about murders I’d worked on over the past couple of years. That would have given him pause.