Dead Run

by Erica Spindler

  And if he somehow had, why not confront her? He didn’t seem the kind of man who would practice that kind of duplicity.

  Uncertain what to do, she decided to play this out as she had begun it. She stood. “I’m sure they are.” She held out her hand. “I’ve taken enough of your time, Pastor. Thank you for seeing me.”

  He followed her to her feet and took her hand. “You’re welcome. I will definitely speak to the teenager’s parents. I suspect you’ll hear from them. They’re good people, Liz. I hope you can help them.”

  “Me, too.” She thanked him again, then walked to the door. There, she looked back at him. “How long does that tour last?”

  He glanced at his watch. “You should be able to catch the tail end. They’ll be in the walled garden.”

  He gave her directions and, sure enough, she found the group in the garden and joined them. The church, parsonage and grounds, she discovered, occupied two full blocks of valuable Key West land. The Catholic archdiocese had sold the church property after the devastating hurricane of 1935 destroyed Henry Flagler’s railroad, and the city of Key West, once the wealthiest city in America, went bankrupt. No doubt they were kicking themselves now.

  Liz moved her gaze over the lush garden, awed, a feeling of peace settling over her. Although the church structures had been destroyed twice, the garden had been spared. The ancient banyan trees, with their vertical roots that grew from the branches to the ground, created a kind of organic jail. Liz felt as if she had fallen through the rabbit hole and landed in a surreal fantasy land of bars, flowers and foliage.

  The teenage guide discussed various pieces of statuary, one of the Blessed Virgin that dated back to the original days of the church and another of St. Francis. She pointed out the church parsonage, located at the back left of the church grounds and the small cemetery at the right. The burial ground, with its stacked tombs, Liz learned, housed the remains of a number of Key West ’s early, influential citizens and religious leaders.

  At the conclusion of the tour, the guide showed the group out, using the entrance that faced Duval Street. As Liz exited, she spied Bikinis & Things across the street and started toward it. She had wanted to stop in and thank the woman again for coming to her aid.

  Liz stepped into the shop, realizing quickly that it was one of those trendy little boutiques, the kind that carried the latest and most fashionable. She saw immediately that the store catered to young people and wealthy tourists: the bathing suits were skimpy, the prices outrageous. Other than beachwear, the shop carried the work of Key West artists and artisans, including some beautiful silver and stone jewelry.

  The shop was empty save for several teenagers flipping through the Just Arrived rack and exclaiming at what they saw.

  “Hi, can I help you?”

  Liz turned. Her Good Samaritan stood behind her, mouth curved into a warm smile. Liz returned the smile. “Heather, right?”

  “Heather Ferguson. How can I-”

  “I’m the woman from the church bench. You brought me a bottle of water.”

  Recognition crossed her features. “Of course. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, now. Thanks.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She glanced over her shoulder at the group of teenagers. “You girls need some help?” They replied that they didn’t, and she turned back to Liz. “Are you looking for anything special today?”

  “Actually, no. I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for coming to my aid.”

  “I was happy to help.” She glanced at the girls again, then back at Liz. “How long are you in town for?”

  “A while, actually.” Her lips lifted. “I know I seem like a tourist, but I’m a new resident.” She held out a hand. “I’m Elizabeth Ames. I opened a family counseling practice just down the street.”

  “No kidding?” Heather smiled and shook her hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “Go ahead and help them,” Liz murmured. “I’ll wait.”

  The other woman murmured her gratitude and scurried off to catch the girls before they entered the dressing room. As Liz watched, Heather carefully counted the bathing suits, then ushered them into a fitting room.

  Liz understood the woman’s caution. She had worked with enough teens to know that shoplifting among adolescents had reached epidemic proportions. A number of the teens she had counseled had come her way after having been caught. Only then had their parents realized their children needed help.

  A moment later, Heather returned. “Thanks, you can’t turn your back on these kids. You wouldn’t believe the number of suits that walk out of here without being rung up.”

  “Actually, I would. In my practice, I’ve worked with quite a number of teens with sticky fingers.”

  “Nice way to put it.” Heather laughed. “I use ‘thieving yuppie larvae.’”

  Liz shook her head, liking the other woman. She was not only kind, but honest and funny as well. Rachel would have liked her, Liz thought. She wondered if she and Rachel had known each other.

  The bell over the shop’s door tinkled as another group of young women entered. “I really have to go, Liz. But let’s have lunch sometime. I’ll fill you in on all the dos and don’ts of Key West.”

  Liz laughed. “The island’s so small, surely there can’t be that many.”

  “Are you kidding? The smaller the place, the greater the number of rules.”

  “Sounds intimidating.”

  “Not if you have an old pro like me to help you through. Give me your number and I’ll give you a call.”

  Liz gave the woman her card and exited the shop. As she did she glanced toward Paradise Christian. And found Pastor Collins standing in the open doorway, staring her way. When she lifted her hand, he turned and disappeared into the church without returning the greeting.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wednesday, November 7

  9:30 a.m.

  Rick strolled into police headquarters, cutting across to the receptionist. Luanne Leoni had occupied the City Hall receptionist seat since well before his time on the force. A sweet-natured grandma with the fashion sense of a teenager and a heart as big as all Key West, she remained one of his favorite people in all the world. Her tears at his son’s funeral had meant more to him than she would ever know.

  “Hey there, sweet thing,” he murmured, leaning against the counter and ducking his head to bring it level with hers. “Miss me?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Oh sure. My cat ran off, too. And now I don’t itch no more.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Luanne. You really are.”

  “You’re a very bad boy, you know that?”

  “Yeah?” He flashed her a quick smile. “But I could be worse, if you’d let me. You still married to that old fart?”

  “You know I am. Me and my Sonny, we’re going to the grave together.” She laughed. “Though I don’t know who’s going to kill who first.”

  “I’m going up to see Val.” He started toward the stairs, then stopped and glanced back at her. “If you kill Sonny first let me know. I’ll be waiting.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m old enough to be your grandmother, you wicked man. You’d better be gone before I get a notion to take you up on that outrageous offer.”

  Rick headed up. He didn’t often visit Val here because it brought back painful memories. And because he invariably ran into his old partner, Carla Chapman.

  When he returned to Key West from Miami, Val had partnered him with Carla. Carla had been new to the force as well, an inexperienced cop who hadn’t yet honed her instincts. But she had been energetic and eager to learn. Rick, an experienced, streetwise cop with crackerjack instincts, had been emotionally dazed from his wife’s death and his sudden single-parent status.

  They had worked well together, playing to each other’s strengths and shoring up the other’s weaknesses. They had become friends.

  And during the terrible time after Sam’s death, she had stuck by him. She had cared for him when
he had given up caring for himself; she had bullied him into eating, sleeping, sobering up.

  And she had been there when he had needed physical solace, the kind of solace a man can only find in a woman’s arms-and bed. They had become lovers, though the relationship had been ridiculously lopsided. He had gotten everything from it, she had gotten nothing.

  Carla, he had realized too late, had fallen in love with him.

  With that realization had come another-their friendship was over.

  He hated having hurt her and regretted having lost their friendship. He wished to God he had never laid a hand on her.

  Rick reached the second floor and braced himself for seeing her-he had to pass her office to reach Val’s. If he didn’t stop and she learned he had been in the building, the bad feelings between them would only intensify.

  She sat at her desk. She looked up when he approached, a flicker of some strong emotion crossing her face. She looked away and he silently swore.

  He wasn’t about to let her get away with that. “Hello, Carla.”

  She lifted her face. “Hello, Rick. What’s brings you down to the department?”

  “Just stopped by to see Val.”

  “He’s not in. I’ll tell him you were here.”

  She snatched up some papers and started to stand. He stopped her. “Can’t we get past this, Carla? Can’t we talk about it?”

  She jerked up her chin. “What’s there to talk about, Rick?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then took a step into her office. “What do you think? About us, what happened.”

  A flush spread across her cheeks. “It’s over,” she said, tone brittle. “What happened between us is ancient history.”

  He lowered his voice, not wanting anyone to overhear them. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Carla.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I hate that we’re not…I miss your friendship. If we could start over, if we could forget the past-”

  She cut him off. “You know what hurts the most? Knowing how little you thought of me. How little you respected me.”

  “Carla, that’s not true.”

  “It is,” she hissed. “Pretty but dim, that’s what you thought of me. It’s the way you treated me.”

  “The problem was me. It is me.” He lowered his voice more, to a strained whisper. “I couldn’t love you or anyone else, Carla. I still can’t.”

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” Val came up behind Rick and clapped him on the shoulder. “To what do we owe this honor?”

  “It’s been a couple days since I saw your ugly mug, and I figured I needed a good dose of gratitude this morning.”

  “Kiss mine, buddy.”

  “No thanks.” Rick grinned. “Unlike cops, us bartenders have standards.”

  “Would you two mind taking your boys’ club elsewhere?” Carla interrupted. “All this testosterone’s making me queasy. Besides, I’ve got a murder to solve.”

  Rick cocked an eyebrow. “A murder? On Key West?”

  “Carla-”

  She ignored her superior’s warning. “Larry Bernhardt.”

  Rick shifted his gaze to Val. His friend looked annoyed. “I thought Bernhardt killed himself.”

  “He might not have,” Carla piped in before Val could respond, her tone self-important. “Trace evidence found at the scene suggests he wasn’t alone the night of his death. The ME placed his TOD between 11:00 p.m. and 1:00 a.m. According to friends Bernhardt dined with that night, he parted their company in high spirits around eight. Between then and the time of his death, he managed to have sex.”

  “Which proves Bernhardt was a lucky guy,” Rick murmured, falling into the role he had played when he and Carla were partners. “What else have you got?”

  Carla made a sound of irritation. “What else do I have? What else do I need? Whoever was there that night was most probably the last person to see Larry Bernhardt alive. I want to know who she was and what time she left.”

  “What you should want to know,” Rick corrected, “is whether the man was alive when she left.”

  Her cheeks flooded with color. “That’s what I meant.”

  In police work, precision was paramount. A precisely worded question could make the difference in breaking a case and not. “Bernhardt lived on Sunset Key,” he murmured. “If you haven’t questioned the ferryboat captains, I suggest you do. I’d also suggest-”

  “That’s enough, Rick,” Val muttered. “Unless, of course, you’re here to rejoin the force?” He shifted his attention to Carla, his irritation with her loose talk obvious. “Have you followed up on that attempted rape from last night? I’m still waiting to see your report.”

  “You’ll have it by lunch.”

  “Good.” He turned to Rick and motioned toward his office. “Shall we?”

  A minute later, Val shut the door behind them. “If Carla would spend a little more time on the work she’s assigned and a little less time on her fantasies, she’d make my life a hell of a lot easier.”

  “Carla’s a good cop,” Rick countered, defending the woman as much from habit as from a real belief in her abilities. “She’s as loyal as they come and she works her butt off for you. And you know it.”

  Val sighed. “True. I’m just a little frustrated with her right now.” He took a seat, then indicated to Rick that he should do the same. “The last couple days she’s been walking around here acting like she’s Miss Supercop. She thinks she’s uncovered a murder.” Val said the last word in a melodramatic whisper.

  “Obviously, you don’t think she has.”

  “Let’s put it this way, you were the talent in that partnership and I sure could use you back.”

  Rick ignored that. “So, what’s the deal with Bernhardt?”

  Val looked at him, his gaze measured. “What brought you in here today? Truth, Rick. No bullshit.”

  “Bernhardt’s suicide.”

  “Just curious? Or do you have some information for me?”

  “I thought it was interesting, the way Island National lost two employees in a matter of forty-eight hours. First Naomi Pearson, then Bernhardt. I wondered what the connection was.”

  “You’re so sure there is a connection?”

  “I don’t like coincidences. And Pearson and Bernhardt both taking unexpected leave of Island National, so close together, is a huge coincidence.”

  Val leaned back in his chair, measured gaze never leaving Rick’s. “I always say, you can take the cop out of the job but you can’t take the job out of the cop.”

  Rick grinned, pleased. “So, I was right? There is a connection.”

  Val leaned forward; his chair screeched protest. “First, let me remind you, officially you’re not a cop. And until such time as you realize what a monumental mistake you’re making and decide to come back, you’ll get your news the same way the rest of the civilians do-from the newspaper, radio and five o’clock news.”

  “And second?”

  “Seeing as this particular news will be breaking tonight at five, I’ll fill you in.”

  “I appreciate that, Val.”

  “I knew you would.” His lips twitched. “As Island National’s senior loan officer, Bernhardt wrote corporate loans in the one-hundred-thousand-plus category. It was his job to verify the applicant’s financial information, then present the loan application to the bank’s board. With Bernhardt’s stamp of approval, the board okayed the loans.”

  “I’m smelling a rat here,” Rick murmured, intrigued.

  “A big-time rat. It seems Bernhardt began writing loans for nonexistent corporations, bilking the bank of more than a million bucks.”

  Rick cocked his head, fitting the pieces of the scenario together. “And since he was in charge of verifying the corporations’ financial information, he simply created it, using his banking knowledge to tailor the dummy corporations’ numbers.”

  “Correct.” Val’s lips lifted in a grim smile. “He was able to fool the bank so long b
ecause he had an accomplice in the bank’s processing center.”

  “Naomi Pearson,” Rick murmured. “I knew the coincidence was too much to swallow.”

  “Yup. She scanned in bogus payments for nonexistent corporations. For a hefty cut, no doubt.”

  Rick thought a moment. “Bernhardt suddenly got wealthy and the bank didn’t get suspicious? From what I’ve heard, this guy didn’t live like a pauper.”

  “Inheritance, or so he said. From an uncle. Nobody checked it out. Why should they? He was a well-respected bank officer.” Val’s lips twisted. “Apparently, he even took time off to fly to Philadelphia for the funeral.”

  “So, why’d he kill himself? Seems like he had a pretty sweet deal going. One he could have strung out a while.”

  “I can only speculate, of course. My opinion is, Naomi told him she wanted out. Without her, he’s left holding a fistful of dummy loans and nowhere to go but down.”

  Rick frowned. “Why not just take the money and run before it all came crashing down on him?”

  Val leaned toward him. “Maybe crooked old Bernhardt thought the gravy train would never end. Maybe he blew all the money on girls, that house and drugs. The guy had one hell of a lifestyle, drugs, sex and rock ’n’ roll.”

  “And the visitor he had the night of his death?”

  “If I planned to end it all, how do you think I’d want to spend my final hours?”

  “Doing the horizontal mambo?”

  “Without a doubt.” Val looked away, then back at Rick, expression disgusted. “From what I saw, having it all wasn’t enough for Bernhardt. The greedy bastard wanted to live like a king.”

  Much later Rick found himself thinking of what Val had said and wondering at his friend’s seeming naïveté at Bernhardt’s motivations. Greed destroyed lives. Desire for more drove people to unbelievable acts of selfishness and cruelty, even against those they loved. It was a sad fact of human nature Rick had seen play out in one way or another in nearly every case he had worked. It was one of the things he didn’t miss about being a cop.

  CHAPTER 12

  Wednesday, November 7