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

by Fred Lichtenberg

  We hopped in the car, and when I reached Nick’s block, I slowed down. “Look for a black Ford F-150.”

  “What if Sammy took it?”

  “Let’s hope not.”

  Halfway down the street, JR pointed. “What about that one? Same color anyway.”

  I stopped next to the truck. Luckily, I’d memorized Terry’s plate number when I confronted them in Fort Lauderdale. I then noticed the broken taillight. “That’s it.” I double-parked and put on my emergency flasher.

  JR asked, “Does your detective friend know about the truck? He had to figure Terry arrived in a vehicle.”

  “If he did, he didn’t mention it. And neither did I.” I removed my phone from the console. “What do you think?”

  JR put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s hold off calling him.”

  We shared glances and I nodded. I opened Nick’s glove compartment and removed a few napkins.

  “I see my cousin likes McDonald’s.”

  I handed him a few. “Who doesn’t? “I’ll check the driver’s side door.”

  JR walked around the truck to the passenger side and peeked inside. I met his stare from my side, and we smiled at each other.

  My door was locked, but JR’s was opened, so he reached across, McDonald’s napkin in hand, and opened my side.

  We surveyed the interior. The back seat was strewn with dirty shorts and T-shirts.

  “What pigs! I’d need a tetanus shot if I touched those.”

  JR reached for the glove compartment. “Bingo.” He removed a 9mm by the barrel, took a whiff, then held it up. “Hasn’t been fired lately.”

  “See what other goodies are in there.”

  JR passed me the gun, then poked around and pulled out a vehicle registration certificate.

  He held it up. “Terry Bash, from Miller Falls, New York.”

  “Past tense. Anything else?”

  JR dug around. “Just papers.” He was about to shove them back when a credit card dropped onto his lap.

  “What the hell.”

  “What?”

  JR held it up. “Must be Christmas in January, Hank. I can’t believe the guy was stupid enough to leave a credit card in the glove compartment.” He smiled. “The idiot’s name is Sam Bison.”

  “Sammy, Terry’s sidekick. Any address?”

  JR looked further. “Nope. Maybe Detective Walker can help us out. We don’t have to tell him how we found his name.”

  I handed him back the 9mm. “I’m assuming this gun belongs to Sammy, which makes sense. Terry would have brought his own weapon to Nick’s place. I guarantee ballistics will match the gun found on Nick with that belonging to the vic, so it’ll look like Nick grabbed the gun from Terry and killed him. Highly unlikely.”

  “Meaning the shooter brought his own gun.”

  “Or hers,” I added. “Terry wasn’t about to hand over his weapon unless someone had another one pointed at him. Maybe someone he wouldn’t expect.”

  “Like Sammy.”

  I shrugged. “Elizabeth might have sweet-talked him into becoming her new business partner. Assuming she was able to locate him alone.”

  “Well, Hank, it looks like we need to find Sammy.”

  I peered out the windshield. “In the meantime, let’s give Detective Walker a gift.” I made a call and asked Walker to meet us by Terry’s truck, which we found by accident.

  “It’s parked on Nick’s block. We’ll be here.”

  Walker said, “Did you call before or after you entered the vehicle?” He laughed. “Forget it; I don’t wanna know. Be there in fifteen minutes.”

  I then called Amanda. I’d been thinking about her since I left her and stepped out of earshot from JR.

  “Hey,” I said. “How are you? Any buyer’s remorse from last night?”

  She laughed lightly. “Not on my end. You?”

  I walked a little farther away from my buddy. “None here.”

  “Does that mean we’re an item, Detective Emeritus Reed?”

  “I don’t know,” I said innocently. “It usually takes a while to get to know someone. But I’d like to continue.”

  “Me too. I’m checking out of this rat hole now that Terry’s no longer a threat. The next time you call, I’ll be home, probably preparing a bath. Interested?”

  “In a bath? Always.” I turned to JR, who also was on the phone. His expression was serious, so I doubted he was talking about sharing a bath.

  Amanda said, “My sister hasn’t called, and I’m afraid if she was involved in Terry’s murder, I might not ever see her again.”

  “She’ll contact you at some point,” I encouraged.

  “Not if she’s running away from a murder,” she countered bluntly.

  Amanda was probably right.

  I changed the subject and said, “How about you call me later when you’re settled in?”

  “Before or after running the water?” she said, suddenly upbeat.

  “Don’t tempt me. See you later.” I hung up. JR was still on the phone when Detective Walker pulled up behind Nick’s car and got out. He was alone, so I didn’t have to deal with his asshole partner.

  “Hank.” We shook hands. JR hung up, and I introduced the detectives. Walker said, “Sorry about your cousin. From one detective to another, I have my doubts he killed the guy, but I need to follow up just the same. I hope you understand.”

  JR nodded. “I have faith in the system.”

  Walker pointed. “That the vehicle?”

  I nodded. “I noticed it when I arrived at Nick’s place. I told you I met the deceased and his partner previously and took down the plate number. I got lucky, I guess.”

  “It sure looks that way. We would have found it sooner or later, but thanks. Turns out, the deceased had a rap sheet, nothing major, and never did time.”

  “What about his carwash business? He liked to wash money as well.”

  “I checked with the Miller Falls police chief. He told me there’d been rumors. And since money laundering is a Federal crime, he suggested I call the FBI.” Walker paused. “He made sure to tell me he wasn’t sad to see Terry Bash leave this Earth.”

  Walker removed a pair of latex gloves from a jacket pocket and opened the passenger side door.

  “It’s not locked.”

  He glanced over at us and mumbled to himself. He kept the driver’s side door open, opened the glove compartment, and removed the pistol. He took a whiff. “Hasn’t been fired.”

  I stuck my head inside. “It belongs to a Sam Bison, the victim’s sidekick.”

  Walker took another whiff then turned his head at me. “You know this how?”

  “He was going to use it on me once. I persuaded him not to.”

  “Right. Well, it’s not the murder weapon.”

  I said, “Detective, I think Sammy Bison can help us.”

  “Yeah, how’s that?”

  “He knows stuff. He wouldn’t go anywhere without Terry. Besides, they only had one vehicle between them.”

  Walker held the weapon between his fingers. “You said he was the sidekick. Where do you think he went?”

  JR chimed, “Depends on whether he helped in the murder.”

  “You’re saying he’d kill his buddy? Why?”

  “Money,” I added without hesitation.

  “Wait here.” Walker walked back to his car and returned five minutes later. “Sam Bison has an alibi. He’s sitting in the Broward County jail. He was arrested for attacking a bouncer at some topless joint. I guess he got more action than he bargained for.” He snorted. “Anyway, he couldn’t come up with the bail money.”

  “I guess we can strike him off our suspect list.” I side-glanced at JR. “That leaves Elizabeth Bash as our main suspect.”

  “Wrong, Hank. You’re not part of the investigation. But I agree, it would appear so. We’ll find out eventually.”

  I recalled Amanda telling me I might not see Elizabeth again.

  “Good luck.”

 
Walker made a call to have Terry’s car impounded, then said he’d be in touch. As we watched him leave, I asked JR, “Now what?”

  “I was on the phone with my aunt. She found out about Nick, and she’s at wits’ end. I tried assuring her it was a mistake. I have to go see her, Hank. Can you drop me off?”

  “Of course, I’ll come inside with you.”

  “No, I need to do this alone.”

  I nodded. “I understand.”

  JR said, “Hank, I’m going to stay in Florida a while, and as much as I’d like to see you, there’s no reason for you to stay. We’ll settle up on fees, and my aunt will write you a check.”

  JR had a glum look on his face like he’d been holding up the world. I knew I couldn’t do anything for him, but I wasn’t about to leave now. “I’m not going anywhere, and that’s final.”

  He gave me a manly hug. “Thanks.”

  “You take the car. Nick’s building is just up the block. If anything changes, I know how to reach you.”

  He nodded.

  I watched him drive away then started for Nick’s building. Like Walker said, finding the killer, if it wasn’t Nick, wasn’t my problem, and yet, I knew I couldn’t let my client down. Walker promised to fill in the spaces, assuming there were any. But that meant finding Elizabeth, and according to Amanda, that might never happen.

  I also had another reason to stay: Amanda. I called and asked if she’d mind me sticking around a few days, reminding her it was her idea that we should hang out. Or would I complicate matters if her husband returned home?

  “Not a problem, Hank. I essentially kicked him out. The divorce papers are in the mail.”

  I smiled to myself.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I then called JR and told him where I’d be for a while.

  “Lucky you, Hank. I was about to say I’m here if you need me, but that would be foolish. Have fun.”

  After looking around Nick’s apartment, I grabbed my carry-on and headed out the door. The CSU had completed its job, including removing Nick’s computer from the apartment. The only reminder of a crime was Terry’s blood, now dried up.

  Under the circumstances, Amanda appeared to be thrilled I’d decided to stay, and when I arrived at her white, single-story house by taxi, she greeted me with a wide smile. Unlike last time at the motel, she was fully clothed in blue jeans and a casual white top.

  She reached for me and we shared a lingering kiss. What would the neighbors think? She pulled me inside and shut the door.

  “I’m so glad you decided to stay, Hank. I really missed you.” Then after a devilish smile, she said, “I have a little secret: I’ve only been with two men in my life, you and my husband. By far, you’re a much better lover.” She giggled. With that, she took my hand, and we started for the bedroom. When we arrived at her bed, she turned, drew me into her, mouth open. We kissed passionately, tearing at each other’s clothes, until we stood with little more than smiles, and continued where we’d left off at the motel.

  Thirty

  Romance and lust! We didn’t leave the house for two days, most of the time spent in the bedroom, except when Amanda slid out of bed—reluctantly—to feed us or replenish our wine glasses. I’d been on a honeymoon years ago with my former wife, Susan. We were young and inexperienced, but we were in love and couldn’t get enough of each other.

  Amanda had been married once as well, and she, too, recalled the blissful early days of their marriage. And while I had had a few relationships afterward, being with Amanda brought my sex life up a notch. Okay, it was only a few days, but I was smitten. She told me she felt the same. We were in sync in every way, particularly with sex.

  After the second night, I was spent. We’d fallen asleep in the late afternoon, and when I awoke, darkness hovered over us. For a moment, I’d forgotten I was in paradise, until the rhythm of Amanda’s soft breathing brought me back to reality. I touched her slender arm and smiled. My lover was fast asleep, and as much as I would have liked waking her for another round of lovemaking, water was the answer to my parched mouth.

  I crawled out of bed, slipped on my jeans, and tiptoed into the kitchen. Finding the light switch, I turned it on and searched for a glass. Amanda’s kitchen was spotless. She either was a neat freak or rarely cooked. I found a glass in one of the cabinets, filled it up from the refrigerator dispenser, and took a much-needed gulp. I could get used to this life of making love and sunshine.

  I filled the glass again, crossed the kitchen, and entered the living room. I hadn’t been in Amanda’s house before and was curious what my new lover’s place looked like. I flipped on the light switch and found the room tastefully decorated. She was a minimalist, with two white sofas facing each other, a round coffee table, and an end table on one side of the sofas. What caught my interest, though, was the walnut console table by the window, or rather several five-by-seven picture frames perched on top of it.

  As I eased closer, the photos came into view: one of Amanda and Elizabeth, I’m guessing as teenagers, and smiling. A backyard landscape with trees, plants and lots of flowers.

  I picked up the wooden frame. Obviously, better times. Maybe Amanda kept them out of sentimentality. I set it back then selected another photo, this one of a man, handsome, early forties, clean shaven. I assumed it was her soon- to-be ex-husband. I felt a pang of jealousy. But then, Amanda had admitted, I was a better lover.

  I chugged down the water and stared at the last photo of Amanda standing next to a woman, around the same age, and smiling in front of a Caribbean resort backdrop.

  Upon further observation, I had the strangest feeling. The friend looked familiar, though I was sure we’d never met. I picked up the frame and flipped it over to glimpse the names and dates, but there weren’t any. My stare lingered a few moments longer.

  “It’s a small collection.”

  I turned and smiled. “But nice.”

  She walked over and yanked the photo out of my hand. Her eyes fixated on it, followed by a sigh.

  “You okay?”

  She remained silent, then placed the photo back on the table, her hand shaking slightly. She turned to me with a feigned smile. “Better days.”

  She recovered, then pointed at the photo of the man. She frowned. “That’s going soon. It should have disappeared a long time ago.”

  “Your husband?”

  “I left it for posterity. It’ll get burned once the divorce is finalized.” Her tone reeked with sarcasm.

  “Anyway,” I said, “I couldn’t sleep, and I was thirsty—”

  “You hungry?” she asked with a smile.

  “Hungry? Well, I guess I could manage a snack, but it’s kinda late for dinner.”

  She took my hand. “I wasn’t thinking food, silly.”

  After a few days of contentment, I innocently brought up Terry’s murder. And while I didn’t mention Elizabeth, Nick or Terry by name, Amanda’s mood changed from happiness to gloom. Perhaps she wanted to continue in a state of euphoria, forgetting the past, and I got that. Given her acceptance that Elizabeth had vanished, and was probably responsible for Terry’s murder, why would she want to engage in a painful conversation surrounding her twin? After all, they were of one egg.

  Our lovemaking had turned mundane. Amanda went through the motions, the caresses, the kisses, but her deep breaths and primal sounds all but disappeared. I wanted to ask if it was me, but I knew it wasn’t. Something had changed on her end.

  The next day, at my suggestion, we went to Fort Lauderdale beach. I hoped the sun and breezy ocean would change her mood, but it hadn’t, and we returned to her place a few hours later. I admonished myself for bringing up the murder and sabotaging a potentially enduring relationship.

  Damn you, Hank!

  Back at her house, we showered, removed the sand from our bodies, and when I attempted to get intimate, Amanda said she was tired from the sun.

  She smiled wearily. “Maybe later.”

  By the end of the day,
I realized our budding relationship had fizzled. We’d been sitting for hours, streaming Homeland, when Amanda got up and walked into the kitchen. When she returned with a glass of water, her expression turned crestfallen, and I knew I had to leave. I stood and said, “I don’t know what’s suddenly happened between us, but if it’s me—”

  “It’s me, Hank!” she blurted. “Me.” She pressed her lips, placed the glass on a coaster, and offered me a hug. Trembling, she said, “I guess this whole episode with Elizabeth has really got me down. I’m not good at hiding it.” She sighed. “I think I need to be alone a while. I hope you understand.”

  I suppose I did.

  She sighed. “I really enjoyed us being together, and I want to continue. But right now, I’m afraid until this…business is over with my sister, I can’t make you happy. And I dearly want to.” She smiled wistfully, and I returned it.

  “Me too.”

  We stood in awkward silence for a moment, until I asked if I could use her computer to book a flight back home.

  “Of course. The computer is on the coffee table. It’s not locked, so you won’t need a password to get in. In the meantime, I’ll whip us up something to eat.”

  All of a sudden, she sounded upbeat. Strange woman.

  I lifted the laptop open, knowing I wasn’t about to book a flight. I just didn’t want Amanda to know. When her screensaver appeared, the photo of her and her friend showed up. Screensavers are generally used for decorative or entertainment purposes: personal. What was so personal about their friendship? Better days was how Amanda had put it.

  I kept studying the face, the smile, and then it clicked: a birthmark on her friend’s left cheek. Again, I wondered: where had I seen that face?

  “Hey.”

  My eyes shifted to the kitchen door. “Any luck finding a flight, or am I stuck with you a few more days?” Her laugh was off.

  “Not on the site yet.”

  She crossed the room and looked at the photo, then quickly clicked Google, her hands trembling again.

  “I generally use Kayak; they’re a good travel site. Let me help.” When she arrived at the site, she said, “All yours.”