Dead Run

by Erica Spindler

  A nervous laugh bubbled to her lips. Big bad Liz. Right. If any more butterflies landed in her stomach, she’d throw up.

  Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and started up the police department’s front steps. She hadn’t made an appointment; she had wanted the element of surprise on her side. She imagined Detective Lopez would be anything but happy to see her.

  She entered the building and crossed to the receptionist’s station, located to her left. The woman behind the desk greeted her with a perky smile. Liz figured her to be in her mid-fifties although she dressed more like a teenager, complete with rhinestone-studded butterfly clips in her hair.

  “How can I help you, hon?” she asked.

  Liz forced a confident smile. “I need to see Lieutenant Lopez. Is he in?”

  “Your name?”

  “Elizabeth Ames.”

  She drew her cotton-candy pink lips into a pucker. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. But he’ll know what this is in reference to.”

  “Okay, doll.” She motioned the logbook on the counter. “Sign in. I’ll see if he’s available.”

  Liz did as she requested, heart beginning to race. This was it, the moment of truth. She scrawled her name, turned and crossed to the seating area behind her, though she didn’t sit. From behind her she heard the woman asking someone named Becky if Val was available. As she listened, she stared blankly at the worn vinyl seats, struggling to get a grip on her runaway nerves. She understood cops because professionally she had crossed paths with quite a number of them over the years. That tended to happen when counseling families in crisis and delinquent teens. She had even done a stint at the St. Charles County juvenile detention center. Those six months had been a trial by fire-and had convinced her to go into private practice.

  What she had learned during those months, however, had been invaluable. Including the best way to deal with police officers. They were a proud breed, independent, sometimes arrogant, often stubborn. She had to play this just right. Lieutenant Lopez could make what she had come to Key West to do easy for her…or extremely difficult.

  “Lieutenant Lopez said you should come on up.” Liz turned to face the receptionist. “You know where his office is?”

  “No, I-”

  “It’s a piece of cake. Take the stairs.” She pointed. “Top of the stairs, take a right. His is the one with the Dutch door. And don’t worry, sugar. Unless you’re one of the bad guys, Lieutenant Lopez is a real sweetheart.”

  Unless she was one of the bad guys. Why didn’t she find that comforting?

  Liz followed the woman’s directions. As promised, finding Valentine Lopez’s office posed no difficulty. The upper half of his door was open and she tapped on the casing. “Lieutenant Lopez?” she asked.

  Valentine Lopez looked up and smiled. Liz was struck by two things: how handsome he was, and the fact that his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  The man stood and motioned her in. “Ms. Ames, this is a surprise.”

  “I’m sure it is.” She crossed to him. They shook hands, then sat. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “What brings you to Key West?”

  “That should be obvious.” She heard the angry edge in her voice and worked to quell it. “My sister, Lieutenant.”

  He settled back in his chair. Its aging springs creaked with the movement. “How can I help?”

  “I’d like you to reopen your investigation into her disappearance.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m sorry. Ask me something else.”

  “She didn’t suffer a mental breakdown and run off, Lieutenant. I’m positive she didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  The wording of his question caught her off guard. His slightly confrontational tone didn’t. “I know my sister, Lieutenant Lopez. She’s not given to emotionalism or flights of fancy. In fact, she’s the most stable person I’ve ever known.”

  “That’s an awfully confident claim.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So, you believe her to be alive?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You’re referring to her in the present tense. But if she’s alive and didn’t run off, where is she?”

  Liz felt his words like a blow to her gut. She went cold, then hot. Tears stung her eyes. “No, Lieutenant, I…I’m afraid she’s…”

  She cleared her throat, struggling to find her voice, to speak clearly and confidently. She had to convince him. “I’m afraid she was murdered, Lieutenant Lopez. I’m afraid she uncovered some sort of illegal activities on the island and was murdered because of it. I wish I didn’t think this.”

  For a long moment he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his tone was patient. “If she had uncovered illegal activities on the island, why didn’t she call me?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps she called one of the other detectives?”

  “She didn’t.” He softened his tone. “The most grounded of people can suffer a mental breakdown, it happens all the time. One can be precipitated by extreme stress, uncertainty, even physical conditions such as-”

  “I’m a social worker,” she snapped. “I’m well aware of the kind of influences that can bring about a mental breakdown.”

  “But you’re Rachel’s sister. Often it’s the people closest to us we see with the least clarity.”

  She ignored the truth of that. “I’m her only family. More than three months have passed. If she’s alive, why hasn’t she contacted me?”

  “I can’t answer that with any certainty, Ms. Ames. Perhaps she’s operating under some sort of paranoid delusions. Her behavior certainly suggested something of that sort. As did the claims she made on your answering machine. Or perhaps she’s physically unable to contact you.”

  Liz balled her hands into fists. “Are you suggesting she’s developed amnesia? That phenomenon is extremely rare, much more so than murder, I’m sorry to say.”

  He tossed his pen on the table, expression frustrated. “I’m suggesting nothing, Ms. Ames. I’m offering you possibilities.”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, but in my opinion, they don’t hold water.”

  “Really.” He cocked an eyebrow. “How about this one? Perhaps she doesn’t wish to contact you. By your own account, you two argued the last time you spoke.”

  Heat flew to Liz’s cheeks. Guilty heat. “Yes, we argued,” she retorted, tone defensive. “But not so bitterly that-”

  “If she was murdered, where’s the blood? The signs of a struggle? The body?” He leaned forward, gaze locked with hers. “We found nothing to indicate your sister met with a violent end. That should be a relief for you to hear, Ms. Ames. I’m a little surprised it isn’t.”

  She ignored the comment, though it hit its mark. Why wasn’t she eager to believe her sister alive? What was wrong with her? “I want you to reopen the case.”

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no evidence to justify my doing so.” He stood, signaling an end to their conversation.

  Reluctantly, Liz followed him to his feet. “I’d like a copy of the police report.”

  “Sorry, can’t help you.” He glanced at his watch. “If there’s nothing else, I have another appointment.”

  She had blown it, she knew. She had marched in here, all demands and accusations. Rachel had always admonished her for being a hothead. “Liz, sweetie, try a little honey next time.”

  Liz swallowed her anger and held a hand out. “Please, Lieutenant Lopez. By your own account, the investigation is closed. Perhaps I’ll see something in the file you overlooked, something-”

  “You won’t.” He met her gaze evenly. “Make no mistake, Ms. Ames, I’m extremely thorough. This is my town, my little slice of heaven on earth, and I take every infraction of the law seriously. I don’t look the other way and I don’t take the easy way. If I had found one shred of evidence indicating your sister was murdered, I would have aggressively pursued the investigation.”

  “And if I find evidence, Lieutenant? W
ill you reopen and aggressively pursue the investigation?”

  “Yes, dammit. Of course I will.”

  “Consider yourself on notice, then. Because I intend to discover what happened to my sister. In fact, I’ve put my life on hold to do it. And I don’t care how long it takes.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the business cards she’d had printed at the Speedy-print over the weekend.

  He glanced at it, then back at her, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I admire your determination. I think it’s misplaced, but hey, I’ve only been a lawman for eleven years. May I ask what your first step is going to be?”

  She shot him what she hoped was a winning smile. “Your report, of course.”

  He stared at her a moment, then tipped back his head and laughed. “All right, you win.” He held up a hand, stopping her thanks. “But you can’t take it from the building or make a copy. And before you try hitting me with the Freedom of Information Act, that act applies most specifically to cases that have already been tried. Since you’ve just told me that I’ll be reopening this case, I guess I better make certain the information isn’t contaminated. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll get you set up in one of the interrogation rooms.”

  She smiled again, relieved. “Thanks, Lieutenant Lopez. I-”

  He cut her off. “A word of warning, Ms. Ames. Key Westers are fiercely loyal to their own. Fiercely…protective. I suggest you tread carefully. Try not to step on too many toes. You won’t like what happens.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Monday, November 5

  1:15 p.m.

  Three hours later, Liz exited the police department, thoughts swirling with what she had read in the police report Valentine Lopez had given her. It seemed he and his detectives had, indeed, done a thorough job investigating Rachel’s disappearance. They had interviewed nearly two dozen members of the congregation at Paradise Christian. All had expressed shock and dismay over their pastor’s disappearance-but not surprise. Pastor Rachel had been behaving strangely, they’d said. Differently from the woman they had chosen to lead their flock. Her sermons had become bizarre, and she had been acting secretive, nervous and jumpy. One woman reported paying a call on Rachel and finding her crying. Several others had reported Rachel stopping by their home unexpectedly to ask questions about their teenage children.

  The police had also spoken with her sister’s housekeeper, the church groundskeeper, secretary and a handful of others Rachel had had contact with in her last days. The report mentioned a teenager in Rachel’s counsel, but not the youngster’s name.

  The police had done a complete search of both the parsonage, church and its grounds. That search had yielded nothing out of the ordinary-and certainly not anything to indicate her sister had been a victim of violence. By that point they had begun to conclude Pastor Rachel had disappeared under her own power, but as a matter of course they had issued a statewide BOLO-police vernacular for Be On the Lookout For-then had contacted all the morgues, hospitals and medical centers in south Florida.

  Their efforts had yielded nothing.

  Soon after they had closed the investigation.

  The scream of tires skidding to a halt startled her out of her thoughts. Liz realized with a shock that she had stepped off the sidewalk and into traffic.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you, lady! You got a death wish or something!”

  Heart thundering, Liz scurried backward. Vivid pink petals from a low-hanging branch of the oleander tree above her fluttered to the ground. The irate driver gunned his engine and pulled past her, shooting her a disgusted look as he did.

  Liz brought a hand to her chest, shaken. What was wrong with her? She could have been killed. If that driver had been distracted or traffic had been heavier…

  She sucked in a shuddering breath, working for calm. Her therapist had warned her she didn’t have the emotional wherewithal for this. He had warned that signs of her fragile state would manifest itself in a number of ways: emotional highs and lows, forgetfulness, feelings of being overwhelmed or confused. Inability to concentrate.

  “Ms. Ames? Are you all right?”

  Liz glanced over her shoulder. Lieutenant Lopez stood in the KWPD doorway, expression concerned. Obviously, he had seen her boneheaded waltz into oncoming traffic. Dammit. The last thing she wanted him to know was just how thin an emotional thread she was hanging by.

  She forced a smile. “Fine. Thanks for asking.”

  “You need to be more careful. Traffic in this town can be pretty unforgiving.”

  She stared at him a moment, unsettled. She found something vaguely threatening in his tone, his conciliatory expression. Just as she had earlier, when he had warned her about stepping on Key Westers’ toes.

  Sweat beaded across her upper lip. She opened her mouth to speak, the voice that passed her lips was hardly her own, high and frightened sounding. She cringed at it, imagining his amusement. All but hearing his thoughts:

  A family of fruit loops. Her and her sister both.

  Liz turned and hurried toward Duval Street, concentrating on walking with purpose and confidence, shoulders back, head held high. She felt his gaze on her and fought glancing back.

  If she did, he would know. He would see.

  She was losing her mind.

  Liz put one foot in front of the other, again and again. Sweat pooled under her arms and rolled down her spine. Light-headed, she focused on breathing deeply, on filling her lungs. Oxygen in. Garbage out.

  People streamed around her. She sensed their curious glances. Her heart beat faster, out of control. She struggled to breathe, to keep moving blindly forward, to maintain.

  Liz knew what was happening to her. A panic attack. Brought on by stress, by extreme anxiety. She had suffered a number of them in recent months, her first the afternoon she’d caught her husband in bed with her so-called best friend, the second a week later when one of her clients, a teenager named Shera, attempted to kill herself by taking a handful of pills.

  She couldn’t think about that, those things, not now. A bench. She needed to find a place to sit. Frantic, Liz darted her gaze from left to right, searching.

  Finally, she located one. She collapsed onto it and dropped her head to her knees. She breathed deeply and slowly, as her therapist had instructed.

  Oxygen in. Garbage out.

  Let it go. It was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right.

  Little by little, her heart slowed, her skin cooled. The attack that had held her in its clammy grip passed. Still she sat, face cradled in her hands. Dear Lord, how could she help others, when she was falling apart herself? How could she find her sister’s killer, when she couldn’t even talk to one of the good guys without sliding into an abyss of anxiety?

  Liz lifted her head. And realized where she was. Where her subconscious had led her.

  Paradise Christian Church.

  Calm poured over and through her. A sense of focus, of purpose.

  Rachel.

  Gooseflesh raced up Liz’s arms. She whispered her sister’s name, her thoughts and senses flooded with her. She felt her presence so keenly, she fully expected to see her emerge from the church. Rachel would smile, wave and cross over in that goofy loping gait of hers, the one more like a golden retriever’s than a grown woman’s. She would enfold Liz in her arms for a big warm hug.

  And everything would be okay.

  “Are you all right?”

  With a start, Liz jerked her gaze from the church entrance. A woman she had never seen before stood in front of her, expression concerned.

  Liz blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

  The woman held out a bottle of water. “I own the store across the street. You look like you could use this.”

  “Thanks. I really could.” Liz managed a weak smile and took the bottle. She cracked the seal and took a long drink. She felt better immediately.

  “This heat is vicious. I tell visitors to keep water
with them at all times. Staying hydrated is the key.”

  The woman smiled again and Liz realized this was the most beautiful woman she had ever met. A natural blonde, the way some very young children are, with eyes the color of a perfect summer sky.

  Liz returned her smile. “What do I owe you for the water?”

  She waved aside the offer. “My treat.”

  “A real Good Samaritan. In this day and age no less.”

  “Go figure.” The woman looked over her shoulder. “I better get back to the shop. Bikinis & Things.” She pointed. “Stop by, I’ve got some real cute bathing suits.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  A couple of teens zipped by on bicycles. One of them twisted around and waved. “Hey, Heather!”

  “Hey, Melanie,” she called back. “Got a new shipment of suits in.”

  “Awesome.”

  The woman turned back to Liz. “Nice meeting you. Remember, stop by.”

  “Wait!” Liz launched to her feet. “I didn’t say thanks.”

  “You didn’t have to.” She wiggled her fingers. “Ciao.”

  Liz watched the other woman walk away, feeling for the first time like maybe not everyone on Key West was her adversary.

  CHAPTER 9

  Tuesday, November 6

  Noon

  Carla sat at her desk, staring at the fax she had received only moments before. It was the facsimile of an e-ticket, one-way, to the Cayman Islands. The name on the ticket: Larry Bernhardt. The travel date: November 9, 2001.

  This coming Friday. A week to the day after he had leaped out his bedroom window.

  She might not be an ace detective, but that didn’t make sense to her.

  But then, much of the information she had amassed in the past twenty-four hours hadn’t. Bernhardt had been well thought of at Island National, liked and respected both by his co-workers and superiors. His boss believed he had come into a sizable inheritance this past January, though he hadn’t known from where. That’s when he had bought the oceanfront home.