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

by Fred Lichtenberg

  No, especially when you can buy an Uber decal sign online for ten bucks.

  “Very. And you said they headed south?”

  “Right, like the other driver.”

  I thanked him and left. I headed south again, trying to understand the expensive car thing. I doubted the guy was an Uber driver. I also knew Terry drove an F-150. So, who was the driver? More important, was Elizabeth the rider?

  I called Elizabeth, and again, it went straight to voice mail. I pounded the steering wheel. She was definitely pissing me off. I continued south, but I was sure the fancy BMW would be long gone by now. I called Amanda, gave her the latest, and asked if she knew anyone who drove an X3.

  “Hank, I don’t know what that is.”

  “A BMW.”

  “Nope, not familiar. Oh, well.”

  Oh, well? Her tone turned flat. Heck, if it were my twin, my voice would have cracked like when we spoke before.

  “You sound too cool, Amanda. What’s going on?”

  I got tired of her momentary lapse in conversation and said, “Will I ever get the truth out of you twins?”

  “Hank, that’s silly. Of course, I’m concerned for Elizabeth. She’s my twin sister.”

  “We both know that, but it feels like you’re holding back. Are you, Amanda? Because I can’t do my job if you and Elizabeth are toying with me.”

  She sighed. “I’m just damn tired of what’s been going on. I’m truly sorry for you, and especially Nick, getting involved with Elizabeth. She and I are totally different. Yes, we’re identical, but that’s as far as it goes. I told you, my sister likes bad boys. I don’t. When she popped up again after all these years, I tried forgetting the past. But the past followed her down here. I’m rambling. Please find the truth.”

  Twenty-Four

  Terry woke up with a start. Christ, the interior of his truck felt like an oven! His T-shirt was drenched with sweat, so he started the engine and cranked up the A/C, sticking his head in front of the vent.

  He rubbed his good eye, then checked his watch. Two p.m. He’d been out for—he couldn’t say. And where the hell was Sammy? He glanced around. That shit better not still be inside the strip joint.

  The hell happened? Terry’s head pounded from the booze or drugs or both. Real stupid. He licked his lips for moisture and realized he had to be dehydrated. Then he recalled being kicked out on his ass, which meant he couldn’t go back inside and look for Sammy. So, he called him.

  “I’m out fishing…”

  He hung up. Stupid message. If that bastard was getting laid—

  But then he realized that couldn’t happen. They didn’t allow it. Terry opened the door and struggled out of the truck. He had to pee badly and took a whiz on the front tire.

  “Ah.” He zippered up, then returned to the vehicle, but not before checking his wallet.

  The bitch had ripped him off a hundred bucks, and he hadn’t gotten a happy ending. He shook his head in anger and got dizzy. “Oh, crap.” He held onto the car door, but he still felt loopy and didn’t move for a while. When he did, Terry called Blade. Another voice message: “I’m not here.”

  “What the fuck’s up with you guys?”

  He managed to get back into the truck without falling down and leaned against the steering wheel.

  “Screw it! I need to get some sleep.” He pulled out of the lot and stayed in the right lane. When he reached his motel, he glanced up at his room. This Elizabeth business was wearing him out. She kept outsmarting him.

  “I just need to sleep it off,” he mumbled, staggering over to the stairs and holding onto the rail for support, counting the damn steps until he reached the landing.

  “Never again,” he swore. Looking down at his truck, a thought hit his murky brain: yeah, he wanted her, but hell, he didn’t need her to operate the real business. He could make lots of money without her.

  When he reached the door, he searched his pants pocket for the key card, and after two tries, swiped the door open.

  “Christ! That fucking musty smell.” He stepped over to the air conditioner, cranked it up, then aimed himself toward the bed. Just before he dropped onto the unmade bed, Terry’s thoughts remained constant.

  I’m gonna kill that bitch and everyone with her.

  And then his phone rang.

  Oceanfront Park Beach

  Amanda had said, “Please find the truth.”

  Maybe she already knew the truth. Especially, after this last stunt. My guess: Elizabeth was no longer running from Terry.

  Damn you, Elizabeth, you’re on your own!

  I looked out at the ocean. The waves had calmed, producing an almost mirror-like setting. What I could use right now. Breathing in the balmy salt air, common sense told me to get the hell out of Florida.

  In spite of Elizabeth taking off, I had accomplished my mission. But I owed it to Nick to explain my decision before heading home. Let him figure out what to do with his perfect woman, assuming he was capable of it, which no doubt, wasn’t any time soon.

  As I scanned the serene ocean, seagulls squawked and dived at minnows. I’d return for a little R&R another time for sure.

  I took a breath before calling JR. “I’m done here,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. “There’s nothing more I can do, and my expenses are piling up.”

  It took a few moments for JR to respond. “You sound frustrated.”

  “Frustrated! She took off again. From me! The woman’s a total whack job. There’s no reason for me to stick around. Once I pay Nick and your aunt a visit, I’m outta here.”

  JR must have been pondering my decision, so when he held off, I said, “You there?”

  “I’m here, Hank. You’re right, there’s no reason to stick around. I’m hoping Elizabeth will disappear for good. Too bad my cousin fell for her.”

  Three bikini-clad women strolled by and smiled. I offered one back, then walked under a queen palm for relief from the imposing sun. “I’m sorry about all this, JR. I hope you understand.”

  “Believe me, I’d do the same if I were in your predicament.” He paused. “Could you do me a favor and stay another day, maybe get some sun? I’ll catch a flight tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. I think it’s best if I’m with you when we talk to my aunt. She’s up in age, and I know she’ll need my support. Then we’ll visit Nick.”

  “Anything for you,” I agreed without hesitation. Two more bathing beauties walked past and smiled. Waiting another day wouldn’t be so bad. “I’m kinda glad you’re coming. It would be nice if we could persuade Terry to leave Fort Lauderdale. I’d feel better about going back home.”

  “My exact thoughts. I’ll call you when I book a flight.”

  I disconnected and took a breath. I found a towel and blanket in Nick’s trunk and headed back to the beach. I drifted to the far side, away from the crowd, spread the blanket, and lied down. As the sun warmed me, and a cool breeze wafted over me, it didn’t take long before I drifted off.

  My phone trilled from my pants pocket, jolting me from a nap, my eyes opening to the sun. I shielded my face and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello.” My mouth was dry and my face felt hot, which I was sure I would pay for later.

  “Hank, it’s Amanda. You sound out of it. Where are you?” Her voice raced on—.

  “Whoa, slow down. You’re not making sense. What’s going on?”

  “It’s about Elizabeth. She called rambling about Nick and Terry and about something bad happened. I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying. She begged me to call you, said you would know what to do.”

  I stood and looked around, my head fuzzy from the nap. “How would I know what to do if I don’t know where she is? Did she say where she is?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  I clenched my fist. “Then how the hell am I supposed to help?”

  “Call her. Maybe you can make sense of what’s going on.”

  “Damn it, if she had stayed put, we wouldn’t be having th
is conversation.”

  “I know and I’m sorry. I just didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Okay, stay where you are.” I hung up and punched in Elizabeth’s number.

  Straight to voice mail.

  “Call me ASAP,” I demanded, then hung up.

  I called Amanda back. “She’s not answering. What was the gist of the conversation?” I tried keeping my tone even as my frustration mounted.

  “She said something about visiting Nick. I thought you guys already saw him today.”

  “We did. So, why would she return without me? We agreed on visiting Nick tomorrow. What the hell is she up to?”

  “You can never tell with her. She’s irrational at times.”

  “Obviously.” I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to clear my head, then grabbed the towel and blanket and started for the car. “How the hell can I help if I have no idea where she is?” I stopped. “Wait a second, you said Nick and Terry.”

  “Right.”

  “Nick’s supposed to be in the hospital—”

  “Oh, no. You think Elizabeth went to get him out? Why would she do that? Isn’t he sick?” Her voice shot up a few octaves.

  “Who knows with Elizabeth? I’ll call when I get some news.”

  “Okay, please hurry.”

  I hung up. My mind raced, trying to decide what to do next. I checked the time. Christ, I’d been out almost two hours. Anything could have happened in that time.

  I jumped in the car and called Doctor Powers. I reached his voicemail. “This is Hank Reed. Urgent.”

  I left the beach and took the side streets to I-95, then headed south. Coral Springs General was about twenty minutes away, and when I arrived, the parking lot was full.

  Damn sick people. I squeezed into the last spot at the edge of the lot and ran inside. Doctor Powers still hadn’t returned my call, and that troubled me. When I reached the reception desk, a woman retiree type smiled.

  “I need a visitor’s pass to see Nick Ross. He’s a patient.”

  Of course he was a patient. Slow down.

  While waiting for the pass, I surveyed the area. Standing room only, with chairs arranged in fours, opposite each other, and large screen TVs hanging on the walls like a sports bar. Yet, for a crowded place, it was eerily quiet.

  “I’m afraid he’s been discharged.”

  I turned back to her and frowned. “That can’t be. I was just here this morning visiting him.”

  Another quick smile, then back to the computer. “He definitely checked out.” The woman offered a sympathetic expression. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  Definitely not good.

  “When was he discharged? It couldn’t have been that long ago.”

  She sighed. “Sorry, I’m not at liberty to give you that information.”

  My face burned from the sun, or was it aggravation? “Okay, I need to see Doctor Powers.”

  Again, at the computer. “He’s off today.” She caught herself as though she’d violated a privacy rule.

  I ran for the exit, almost knocking over a guy on crutches. Elizabeth’s crazy message to Amanda now made sense.

  Twenty-Five

  Back in the car, I called Amanda.

  “Nick checked out of the hospital,” I said, my tone harsh. “Who do you think assisted him? Let me guess: the same woman who took off on me again. What the hell for?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, he’s sick.”

  “Of course, he’s sick. Apparently, your sister is equally sick, trying a stunt like that. I’m guessing you haven’t heard from her.”

  “Not yet.” She stopped. “Oh, God! That’s what Elizabeth was mumbling about.”

  Smart thinking.

  “She has to be with Nick.”

  “And Terry. If you heard right through her gibberish, Terry’s with them. Not good, Amanda.”

  “Maybe he grabbed them right out of the hospital.”

  “Doubt it. Terry had no idea she’d be there. Hell, neither did I. He obviously found out somehow.”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting I called Terry. That’s crazy, I hate the guy. Besides, I thought Elizabeth was with you.”

  She was right, of course. All roads pointed to Elizabeth and her disturbing need to hire a hit man. But Nick?

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were involved in his release, but until I find them, I have no way of knowing if there was foul play.”

  “We have to call the police,” she finally admitted.

  “Hold off. I’m heading over to Nick’s place now. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay. And Hank, stay safe.”

  “I intend to.”

  I hung up and ran for the car. Heading crosstown, I buzzed JR and told him what I’d found.

  “This is crazy! Listen, I’m booked on the six-thirty JetBlue flight tonight. I’ll call when I arrive.”

  I stopped for a red light. “Okay, good.” I hung up, dropped the phone on the seat, then squeezed the steering wheel. “Come on!”

  When I arrived on Nick’s street, the area was cordoned off with ominous yellow crime-scene tape, and patrol and unmarked cars angling about. I found a spot at the beginning of the block and charged for Nick’s building. Not good: a fire and rescue vehicle stood in front, lights flashing.

  Christ, Terry killed Nick or Elizabeth, or both. I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. “What happened?” I yelled to no one in particular.

  “Looks like maybe a murder. Scary.”

  I pulled out my wallet and held up my expired detective shield before lifting the tape, walking slowly toward a uniform.

  “Whoa, you can’t come in here.” The guy approached me, his hand on his holster. “Even if you live in the building.”

  “What happened?” I asked, shoving my shield in his face.

  He scrutinized it. “You’re not from here.”

  No kidding!

  “I’m not in the business anymore, but I am a private investigator and my client lives in that building. I got a call that there might have been foul play.”

  He studied me a moment. “Hold on.” Tall and pale, he looked like he’d recently graduated from the police academy. He called over a suit, a mean-looking African-American guy. He spoke a moment and nodded in my direction.

  The detective waved me over. He introduced himself as Detective Walker. “What’s this about your client?”

  I took a breath. “Nick Ross. Can you tell me if this has anything to do with him?” I handed him my business card and shield. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and I don’t expect any favors, but I’d like to know if he’s okay.”

  He handed back my shield. “Suffolk County. Interesting. Who would I contact to confirm who you are?”

  My heart shifted a beat. I opened my phone and showed him Jimmy Stanton’s title and number. “I know stuff and believe I can help you.”

  Walker said nothing. He took out his phone, made a mental note of Stanton’s phone number, and walked a few feet from me. A few minutes later, he said, “Come with me.”

  I surveyed the crowd, my eyes catching a worried-looking Mrs. Burke with Tiger. She noticed me and offered a nervous wave. I nodded to her.

  Inside Nick’s building, a half-dozen law enforcement folks were milling around, so Walker brought me over to a quiet corner. I wondered how many other investigators were in whosever unit the crime took place.

  He turned to me. “I wouldn’t normally do this, but if you have information I need, I’m willing to take a chance. Stanton confirmed that you were former Homicide Detective Hank Reed. He told me to tell you to stay out of trouble.” He smiled. “Sounds like it’s too late for that.”

  No funny retorts.

  “There’s been a murder. Seems your client was the shooter.”

  “Nick?” My eyebrows furrowed. “That’s impossible. I just visited him this morning at Coral Springs General.”

  “You mean he was a patient?”

  Tread lightly, Hank. “As far as I kno
w, he was heavily medicated, so I can’t imagine why he was released. Or capable of killing anyone.” I paused. “And as far as I know, Nick Ross doesn’t own a gun.”

  Walker mulled over my comments. He finally said, “When we arrived, he was sitting in a chair with a Walther P22 in his hand. He posed no threat to us because his eyes were closed and his body slack.”

  “Well, there you go. Like I said, he’d been heavily sedated at the hospital. And the way you described his appearance, the killer must have planted the weapon in his hand afterward.”

  Walker shrugged. “Maybe. My partner is upstairs with him. We’ll soon find out.”

  I asked, “Who’s the vic?”

  His eyes swept the floor, then to me. “Don’t know. He didn’t have any ID on him. That’s where you might come in handy.”

  “A he?”

  “Right.”

  “He wouldn’t happen to be white, late thirties, with a nasty dragon tattoo on his left arm? And a patch over one eye? Well, maybe the patch is gone by now.”

  Walker wrinkled his forehead. “So, you do know the guy.”

  I nodded. “His name is Terry Bash, and he’s from Miller Falls, New York. He’s in the car washing business, with an emphasis on wash.” I grinned nervously. “Could be connected to the business.”

  While Walker took notes, I said, “Look, my client is a well-respected psychologist and doesn’t wash cars. He’s never had as much as a speeding ticket.” I didn’t know if that were true, but it sounded good.

  He nodded absently, kept writing. “Maybe, but your client must have known the vic. It’s too much of a coincidence that he was killed in Ross’s apartment.”

  I ignored his response and explained, “Nick Ross hired me to find someone, and I did.”

  Walker lifted an eyebrow. “Not the vic, I hope.”

  “The guy’s wife. She was running away from him, only my client didn’t know she was married at the time—nor now, for that matter.” I crossed my fingers.

  More thinking. “Okay, then why are you still here, P.I. Reed? To collect your fee?”