“Well, he’s here, and he’s—unsettling, I guess.”
“How so?”
“I’m not sure I can explain it. He gives me something I thought I’d never feel again. A sense of comfort and a little tingle every time I think about seeing him.”
“Do you see him a lot?”
“It’s a small island. I see him almost every day. And he has a way of getting in the middle of some of my cases. And he thinks he needs to protect me. I’m a big girl. I don’t need that.”
“The male ego,” said Deanna. “Those old-boy trial lawyers seem to have some sort of genetic disorder that floods their systems with testosterone. That leads to outsized egos. I don’t think they could spend their lives the way they do without it. They’re problem solvers by nature and they think they can fix anything; particularly women in need of protection. And in their fevered little brains, all women need protection.”
J.D. laughed. “You’re a trial lawyer. How do you handle it?”
“I ignore it most of the time. Men like David Parrish are almost courtly. Sometimes he treats me like I’m his daughter, but when it comes to a case, he’s sharp as a spear. And he’s aiming it at me, smiling, and treating me with the utmost respect. But I know, and he knows, that he’s going to gut me if he can.”
“So,” asked J.D., “what’s your take on the way Matt treats me? All protective.”
“I think he sees you in a lot more than a professional light.”
“He’s told me as much.”
“And your response?”
“I told him that he was a very special person to me. We even discussed sleeping together once, but we both decided we weren’t ready for that.”
“And since?” asked Deanna.
“It’s never come up again.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. It’s a small island and I don’t want complications. I’ve only been on the police force here for a year, and the chief is one of Matt’s best friends.”
“You’re going to have to discuss this with Matt sooner or later.”
“I know. I keep putting it off.”
“He hasn’t brought it up again?”
“No. I think he’s too much of a gentleman.”
“Or too scared.”
“Well,” said J.D., chuckling, “there’s that.”
They changed the subject and spent another hour talking about their lives and those of mutual friends in Miami. J.D. didn’t bring up the fact that she had been the target of two murder attempts in the past three days. No sense in putting a wet blanket over the evening.
Deanna looked at her watch. “Good grief,” she said. “It’s almost eleven and I’ve got an early morning with Big Daddy. I’d better get on the road.”
They said their good-byes and hugged. Deanna left by the front door and J.D. went to the bar and spent a few minutes talking to Jill, the night manager. It was nearing midnight when she took her leave and went through the back door, headed for her car and home. She didn’t notice the man hiding in the shadows of the building next door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
J.D. never knew what it was. Maybe a minuscule change in air pressure brought about by the proximity of another person. Perhaps she heard a footstep on the asphalt of the parking lot or a squeak from a running shoe worn by the man in the shadows. An intake of breath, an exhalation, a grunt as he pulled the large KA-BAR knife from its scabbard. Something. Somehow she knew that danger was close, that her life was about to be snuffed out. Whatever it was, it put her on alert and set off the alarm bells in her mind, the ones that she’d honed during her fifteen years of police work and regular workouts with her martial arts master.
She pivoted on the ball of her left foot, coming to rest facing her assailant, her knees bent, her arms up in the strike position. Only a fraction of a second had elapsed since she felt the alert. It was almost enough.
She saw a big man, maybe six two, 220 pounds, a large knife in his left hand, held at waist height in striking position. As she planted herself on the asphalt, the knife was moving toward her midsection. She dodged to her right, putting her weight on her right foot as she felt the knife slice into her left side. She refused to think about it. Her left foot came up in a power kick, catching her assailant off guard, his momentum from the slashing dive still carrying him forward. Her foot impacted with his left rib cage. J.D. knew that bones were broken.
The big man fell forward and to his right, the blow from J.D.’s foot pushing him off balance, the pain of the broken ribs already flooding his system. J.D. brought her left foot to the ground, shifting her weight onto it as she pivoted again. The man was hitting the ground, his knees bending to catch himself, his arms outstretched to break his fall, the knife skittering across the surface of the parking lot. He was hurt badly, moaning as he landed on his knees. His hands had slid along the rough surface, but his knees held. He was in a position not unlike that of Muslim men praying, his legs slightly splayed. J.D. finished her pivot almost directly behind the man. She aimed her right foot between his legs and delivered a powerful blow to his scrotum.
The man yelled in pain, turned on his side and drew his legs up in a fetal position. J.D. sidestepped and kicked him in the face, just for the hell of it, and because the adrenalin rush was still in full force, giving her more energy than she’d ever felt.
Then, the pain hit her. She felt her side. Her blouse was wet and sticky with blood. She was armed only with a cell phone. She looked down at the man writhing in agony on the pavement. “Look, buddy,” she said, “I know you’re hurt. I’m calling the medics, but if you move a muscle, I’m going to kick you in the face again. Understand?”
The man on the ground nodded. Blood was running from his nose and mouth, but his hands were still in his crotch, holding onto what he probably considered his most important body part. J.D. dialed 911.
“This is Detective J. D. Duncan, Longboat PD. I’m in the parking lot behind Lynches Pub on St. Armands. I’ve been attacked, but I have the assailant under control. I need two ambulances and backup ASAP.”
“On the way, Detective. Are you hurt?”
“Yes. He got me with a knife.”
A couple of minutes after she hung up, she heard a siren and saw the blue lights of a police cruiser rushing into the lot. She wasn’t surprised at the quick response. She knew that the Sarasota Police Department always had a unit near the Circle. It allayed the fears of the tourists who sometimes kept the bars open until the wee hours of the morning.
The cop behind the wheel came running, his pistol drawn. He recognized J.D. and said, “Are you okay?”
“I got a knife in the side. I don’t know how bad it is, but it’s bleeding.”
“Let me take a look.”
“Secure that asshole first,” she said pointing at the man on the ground.
“I don’t think he’s going anywhere. Did you search him?”
“Not yet.” She smiled to let him know she wasn’t angry at the question.
The Sarasota officer did a quick pat down of the assailant and then pulled his arms behind him and cuffed his wrists. J.D. heard another siren and looked up to see a Sarasota Fire Department ambulance pulling into the parking lot. She thought it was probably from the St. Armands station three blocks away.
A paramedic rushed over. “Who’s hurt?” he asked.
“This dirtbag can wait. Check on Detective Duncan first. She’s bleeding,” said the Sarasota cop.
The sirens had brought Jill and a cook out of Lynches’ back door. Jill sat on the pavement next to J.D. and put her arm around J.D.’s shoulders. “She’s bleeding pretty badly,” Jill told the medic.
“I’m okay, I think,” said J.D. “I don’t think he got me too bad.”
“What’d he get you with?” asked the medic.
“A knife. In the left side. I don’t think it’s too deep.”
“Let me take a look,” said the medic. He placed his kit on the pavement
and knelt beside J.D. “I’m going to have to cut your blouse.”
J.D. nodded that it was okay. The medic pulled a pair of scissors from his kit and began to cut the side of the blouse. The Sarasota cop called over. “Detective Duncan, your department has been notified. Your chief is on his way.”
“Thanks,” said J.D.
“What do we do with this idiot?” the cop asked the medic.
“Another ambulance is on its way,” said the paramedic. “From the Longboat South station, I think. It’s the closest one to us. Is he hurt bad?”
“I don’t think so. It looks like the detective broke his nose and kicked his nuts up into his chest, but I think he’ll live.”
“You’ll want a statement from me,” said J.D.
“Yeah, but we’ll wait until your chief gets here.”
“Doesn’t look too bad,” said the medic. “It’s just a slash, no puncture, but I think we’d better transport you. You’ll probably need some stitches.”
J.D. looked down at her side. “There goes the bikini,” she said.
The medic smiled. “Maybe they’ll be able to use some butterfly bandages and it’ll heal without a scar. How’s your pain?”
“Not too bad.”
“You want something for it?”
“No, thanks. I think I’d better keep my wits about me.”
Another ambulance came into the parking lot, its blue-and-red flashers alive. J.D. saw the Longboat Key Fire Rescue logo on its side and felt oddly relieved. It was nice to have the home team there.
The Longboat Key paramedic went to the man who lay groaning on the pavement, squatted down and looked closely at his face. They spoke quietly and then the paramedic stood. “Guy says you kicked him in the face, J.D.”
“I sure did. Right after he knifed me.”
“You did good,” said the Longboat Key medic. “Took out a couple of teeth and broke his nose.”
J.D. grinned. “I don’t think that’s all I broke.”
The medic laughed. “He’ll be walking gingerly for a while.”
The back door of Lynches swung open and a man ran toward J.D. The cop moved forward to intercept him, but J.D. waved him off. “He’s okay,” she said.
The man knelt beside her, looked at her slit blouse and the bandage on her side. He pulled her toward him and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little cut. Probably won’t even leave a scar.”
He held her, his cheek to her forehead. “Goddamnit, J.D.,” he said. “Goddamnit it.”
She reached up and put her hand gently on his cheek, and said quietly, “I’m okay, Matt. I’m okay.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jock, Logan and I had a couple of drinks at the bar at Tommy Bahama’s and then moved to a booth for dinner. From there we walked to Cha Cha Coconuts for a couple more drinks, sitting at one of the sidewalk tables, enjoying the soft air of a November evening. I was into Diet Coke, since I didn’t want to run the risk of a DUI, or a hangover, for that matter. Our conversation was not at all memorable, just the idle talk of three people enjoying a pleasant evening on the island.
“Sure you don’t want to go across the street to Lynches?” Jock asked at some point in the evening.
“Certain,” I said.
“What’s wrong with Lynches?” asked Logan. “I thought that was one of your hangouts.”
“J.D.’s there with a friend,” I said. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Matt’s afraid it might be a man,” Jock said.
“Ah,” said Logan, grinning. “Want me to go check him out?”
“Keep your seat,” I said, forcing a frown.
“Is that his serious face?” asked Logan.
“I think so,” said Jock. “Or maybe he’s got to pee.”
“Have your sport,” I said. “Man or woman, it makes no difference to me.”
“Now that’s his lying face,” Logan said.
“That it is,” said Jock.
“I think I’ll go take a peek,” said Logan.
I looked at my watch. It was almost midnight. “The trollies have stopped running,” I said. “That’ll be a long walk back to your place.”
Logan laughed and raised his glass. “Point taken,” he said.
I heard a siren and watched a Sarasota Police cruiser rush down Boulevard of the Presidents and turn left onto Madison Drive. “A little excitement for the cops,” said Logan. “Those guys spend the whole night sitting in their cars listening to talk radio. They all hate Circle duty.”
“Can’t blame them,” I said. “I guess it gets pretty boring.”
More sirens, and an ambulance roared west on Madison Drive and crossed Boulevard of the Presidents. Just as it disappeared from sight behind the building on the southwest corner of the streets, the siren stopped. Another police car came by, lights flashing, but no siren.
“Looks like the same place the other cops went,” said Jock.
“Wonder what that’s all about?” asked Logan.
“Probably somebody had a heart attack,” I said. “There’s a lot of that around here.”
“I hope whoever it is, is okay.” Logan said.
We went back to our conversation.
Another ambulance came from the north, a Longboat Key ambulance this time. It turned right onto Madison and then cut its siren.
“What’s Longboat Key Rescue doing down here?” Jock asked.
“It’s the closest firehouse to St. Armands, other than the one around the corner,” I said. “They probably only have one ambulance there, so Longboat covers. It’s some kind of mutual assistance agreement between the city of Sarasota and the Town of Longboat Key.”
“I wonder why they need two ambulances,” said Logan.
My cell phone rattled in my pocket. I took it out and looked at the caller ID. “Bill Lester,” I said. “What’s he calling about this time of night?”
I opened the phone. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I asked.
“J.D.’s been stabbed. In the parking lot behind Lynches. I’m on my way now.”
“How bad?”
“Don’t know yet. Paramedics are on the scene. I just got the call.”
I hung up and stood abruptly, pushing my chair backward. “J.D.’s hurt,” I said as I began to sprint across the street toward Lynches. As I stepped off the curb and into the northbound lane of Boulevard of the Presidents, my peripheral vision picked up a car headed north toward Longboat, coming at high speed. I was committed, too far into it to stop. I hoped the guy had good brakes. But I don’t think he even saw me. If anything, he was picking up speed, coming faster. I sprinted toward the grassy median that separated the lanes. I leapt across the last few feet and landed in the median as the oncoming car brushed past me. I felt the air displaced by its passing against my back. I crossed the median and the southbound lane and into the front door of Lynches. Only one waitress was there, standing behind the bar. “Out back, Matt,” she said as I rushed through.
I hit the back door at full gallop. My first visual was of a man lying on the ground curled into a fetal position, J.D. with blood on her side, and a cop moving toward me. Paramedics were at work, one hovering close to J.D., another working on the man. Jill sat on the pavement next to J.D., but was moving away as I came to a stop and kneeled on the pavement. I thought she was dying, until I saw the smile. But that moment or two, when all I saw was blood and J.D. on the ground, would remain seared on my brain like some ugly scar.
I put my arms around her. Appearance be damned. I held her tightly, my cheek was pressed against her forehead. She put her hand on my other cheek, a gesture that seemed so intimate that I wanted to bawl. “I’m okay, Matt,” she said quietly. “I’m okay.”
I pulled back a little to see her face. “Are you sure?” I asked.
“I’m sure,” she said, and kissed me on the lips. She held it for a second or two. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but it sure as hell wasn�
��t just a friendly one either. “Will you ride to the hospital with me?”
“I’m not going to let you out of my sight,” I said.
She grinned. “I’ll probably have to undress,” she said. “You know, it being an emergency room and all.”
“I’ll just have to suffer through it,” I said.
She pulled my head down and hugged me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Jock and Logan came through the back door at a run. “Is she okay?” Jock called.
“She’s fine,” I said.
“Then you can let her go,” said Logan. “She might suffocate.”
I realized I was still hugging J.D. and I loosened my grip. The Sarasota medics were putting the bad guy into their ambulance. The Longboat Key medics were waiting with a stretcher to load J.D. She stood and climbed aboard the gurney on her own. “Can Matt go with me?” she asked the medic.
“Sure, J.D.,” he said.
Another car came into the parking lot, and Bill Lester scrambled out. “Is J.D. okay?” he asked.
“She’s fine, chief,” said the medic. “We’re taking her to Sarasota Memorial for a doc to take a look. She might have to have her side stitched up, but she’ll be good as new in a couple of days.”
“Good to know,” said Bill. “Our workers’ comp premiums are already too high.” He was already bleeding off the tension, trying a little humor to put us all at ease. He came over and talked for a minute to J.D. He patted her hand and waved to the medics. They loaded her into their ambulance. “Coming, Matt?” one of the medics asked. I nodded, told Bill I’d see him at the hospital, and started toward the ambulance.
“Hey, Matt,” Jock said. “I need the keys to your car. We’ll head on home. Looks like you’ve got everything in hand.” A grin was plastered on his face.
I threw him the keys, gave him the finger, and climbed aboard the ambulance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Sarasota County jail stands six stories tall and sits next to the courthouse in downtown Sarasota. If not for the small windows spaced symmetrically in the façade, one would think it another of the high-rise condos that had sprouted in the downtown area.
Fatal Decree Page 11
