"¡Ay, cono carajo!" His knees buckled.
"Dammit, get up!"
His face was sweaty. His right arm hung by his side, blood dripping off the fingers. He leaned on her. ''Bueno. ''
They walked. Slowly around trees, his feet shuffling. She felt the blood on her shirt. Warm, sticky. Her back trembled with the strain of his weight.
"How did you know?"
"Carlos .. . couldn't have. I knew him." Anthony was breathing in shallow gasps. "You were right. Dave didn't. Panther ... no motive. It had to be someone . . . who knew her . . . intimately. I considered the judge . . . days ago. Because I knew Renee. What she was like."
"You didn't tell me."
"I didn't know. Until . . . Carlos. And I thought . . . he could have. When I knew you were alone with him—"
"Who told you?"
"Edith Newell. I called your office . . . your secretary. You cancelled your appointment. Ray didn't know why." Anthony stumbled and she steadied him.
"Why didn't you call the police?"
"I wasn't sure. But you were here—" Anthony sank to his knees.
"Get up!"
Gail could see open ground now. Her car. And Anthony's. Two dark mounds lay beside it. Dogs. Anthony must have shot them. And the third one earlier, closer to the cabin.
"Si me muero antes de—"
"Shut up! You're not going to die!"
"Gail . . . preciosa. Tu sabes que te amo."
"Yes, yes, I love you too. Now please, get up. The car is right there, I promise."
He murmured things to her in Spanish as they stumbled along the last few yards. She leaned Anthony against the side of her car, held him up with a shoulder in his chest, felt in her pocket. Nothing. "Oh, God. My keys are in the book bag!"
Gail slid her hand down Anthony's thigh and felt the bump of a key chain. She reached inside.
"We're taking your car," she said, putting his arm over her shoulder. "I really didn't want to get blood on mine anyway. You're making such a mess."
''Tengo sueño. ''
"Forget it. You're not going to sleep here," she said. "Move."
She walked him the ten feet or so to the right door of his Cadillac. When she let him go to unlock the car, he dropped like a stone. She flung open the door and popped the locks. The interior lights went on, illuminating soft gray leather. She found the seat adjustment and laid it back.
"Get up!" She pulled Anthony's arms. He groaned. "I know, baby, I don't want to hurt you. Get in the car. Come on.
She heard Ben's voice. "Gail!" He was weeping. "Gail, don't."
For an instant she froze, then shoved Anthony into the seat. He pitched over. She lifted in his legs.
"Gail!"
She slammed the door, ran around the back end of the car. She could see him now, a movement in the darkness. Nearly there.
She opened the door. The lights came on and she saw Ben's face. Bloody. Renee's necklace on his chest, in the matted gray hair. He reached for her.
"Gail, honey. Don't."
She screamed, pushed against him. He staggered backward. She got in, slammed the door, hit the lock.
"Nobody will believe you! You've got no proof!" Ben's hands were leaving streaks on the glass.
She fumbled with the keys, finding the right one, her fingers slick and red. "Come on, come on." She put the key in the ignition, turned.
"I didn't do anything!" He pounded on the window. "Nobody will believe you!"
Gail slammed it into gear and gunned the engine.
Twenty-Six
Standing at the door to Anthony's room, Gail recognized one of the two women at the foot of his bed. Elena, his cousin.
"Come in, he's awake."
His bed was cranked up and he smiled at her. Gail crossed the room. He looked better than the day before, she thought. They had taken the breathing tube off and unhooked the intravenous. His right shoulder, arm, and chest were still heavily bandaged. He had a gauze patch on his cheek. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the other one.
"You smell delicious," she said.
"Elena just shaved me," he said. "Elenita, I think you nicked my chin."
She made a face at him, then introduced Gail to the other woman—her mother—and to the older couple sitting in armchairs by the window—more relatives.
Gail put her purse down on the bedside table. The hospital room looked more like a well-appointed bedroom, except for the raised bed and the dials and outlets in the wall behind him. Flowers took up every square inch of the dresser and window ledge.
''Elenita, mi amor, danos unos minutos solos. ''
The older couple got up and the women followed out the door.
"You didn't have to ask them to leave," Gail said. "It's all right. Anyway, they've been here all day." "When I came yesterday you were asleep." "I missed you," he said. Gail kissed his mouth.
He sighed. "Yes. Better." He took her hand. "You're here in the middle of the afternoon?"
"Karen has a play at school tonight I want to go to. We're moving back home this weekend. Trying to get our lives back to normal."
Anthony looked at her for a few moments, then asked, "How far back to normal?"
She smiled. "Dave's living at the marina, if that's what you mean."
He raised her hand to his lips. "Have you told Karen about Ben?"
"As much as she'll understand right now. She asked where he was. I had to tell her we don't know."
Anthony said, "I hope you don't drive anywhere by yourself at night."
"I'm not worried."
''I worry for you,' ' he said.
Gail moved a magazine so she could sit on the edge of his bed. "I was looking at a vacant office just now," she said. "It's on Sunset Drive, not too far from my house. Tempting."
"Oh? You've decided, then?"
She shook her head. "Not completely. It's too big a move to decide so quickly. I'm just window shopping for now."
"George Sanchez's office is empty," Anthony said. She laughed. "No. I wouldn't get anything done with you around."
Someone rapped at the open door. "Hey, buddy." It was Frank Britton. He nodded at Gail. "Ms. Connor."
She had seen Britton three times since last Friday, twice in Ray Hammell's presence.
He nodded at Anthony's bandages. "Looks like you're going to make it, amigo."
"So it appears."
Britton said, "Ms. Connor, I might as well give you the latest. The State Attorney's considering whether to drop your case. Ray Hammell has talked to the prosecutors already about what we found in Judge Strickland's house, which you probably know."
"Yes. He told me."
Ben had apparently come home to bind up his wounds and take what he needed. There was blood on the carpets and stairs, kitchen cabinets open, clothes strewn about. In the little study adjoining his bedroom, desk drawers were upside down, the contents gone. He had missed a file box on a shelf. The police had found old bank statements, among them checks totalling thousands of dollars to Renee. And he had forgotten the photographs in his closet. Under a stack of dreary magazines, a hundred or more photos in a cardboard box. Polaroids. Some showed the two of them, a remote shutter cord trailing from Ben's fingers. Most were of Renee alone. Various ages, mostly young.
Ray Hammell had not told Gail precisely what the pictures contained, but his reticence had told her enough. She had not asked to see them.
She said to Frank Britton, "Ray expects to hear something in a week or two."
"We hope to find Strickland and get him to talk. If not, maybe Anthony can give us a statement as to what he heard Strickland say to you. That might help."
Gail said, "He was unconscious. What kind of statement—"
His expression stopped her in midsentence. Anthony said, "Yes. I'm sure it will come back to me."
Britton pulled a chair closer and sat down. "I spoke to that Indian, Jimmy Panther. He confirms he and Carlos and Renee were going to take the artifacts from the burial mound. He says it was out there, you
just didn't find it."
"What about Ben Strickland?" Anthony asked. "I assume you have an arrest warrant."
Britton knitted his fingers across his stomach. "Well, as to attempted murder, no."
"No?" Anthony laughed, then winced. "They took twenty-six shotgun pellets out of my body and no?"
Frank Britton grinned. "Okay, put on your defense attorney hat for a minute. Ben Strickland hears his dogs shot to death. Then he hears somebody coming through the woods. It's getting dark. The guy's carrying a gun. Strickland tells him to drop it, the guy aims, and Strickland shoots. What would you call it?"
"Frank, it is not your job to argue for the defendant," Anthony said. "It is mine, and I do not wish to argue for this one."
"Well, we do have a warrant out on the other charges. Two counts of murder. Renee Connor and Carlos Pedrosa." Britton's shoulders rose and fell under his brown jacket. "We'll do our best."
Gail said, "He admitted killing them, Sergeant. Renee and Carlos. What's the problem?"
''With no other hard evidence?'' Britton looked at Anthony. "Counselor, you want to take this one?"
Anthony's eyes drifted shut for a moment. "Frank—"
"Tell her."
The eyes came open, dark brown, and fixed on Gail. "If the prosecution has only the exculpatory statement of the person herself charged with the same crime—"
"This is crazy. What about the photographs? The money he gave her?"
"Enough to create a reasonable doubt in your case," Anthony said. "That has to be what Ray Hammell is arguing to the State Attorney. But would a jury find Ben Strickland guilty on that same evidence? No, a lawyer just out of law school could win an acquittal on what we have. A pedophile is not necessarily a murderer. In the absence of anything to connect him with the deaths of Renee or Carlos— Do we still assume that, Frank?"
Britton shrugged again. "We're doing what we can. Checking for alibis. Examining his records. We've gone through every cubic inch of his house and office. We might find something in his Winnebago, if we could find his Winnebago."
Gail said, "He's in it. Parked in the woods somewhere, that's my guess."
"We've got a three-state BOLO out on him. He can't hide forever."
Gail turned around and stared out the window. The bay glittered. Sailboats skimmed over the water, white sails tilting with the wind. She said, "So he gets off. Is that what you're telling me?"
"No. We find him, we'll arrest him. The State's going to file a case. Then it's up to the jury."
"He could claim Carlos killed Renee," she said. "We've been making a great case for that." Ray Hammell had told her just yesterday that Betty Diaz had admitted giving Carlos a false alibi the night Renee was murdered.
She watched a sloop unfurl its spinnaker, a sudden blossoming of bright yellow, small and silent at this distance. She pressed lightly on the glass as if to make sure it was still there.
"I hope you find him. I hope he resists arrest and you have to shoot him."
When she turned back from the window, both men were looking at her. She said, "Sergeant, don't tell my mother what happened years ago. What he did to my sister then." Britton nodded. "I've told her they had an adult affair and he was jealous about Carlos. That was hard enough for her to accept. She never suspected the rest. It would kill her if she knew."
Gail glanced toward the door. Elena had knocked lightly, several people behind her.
Britton got up. "Well, family time. I'd better be going. Take care of yourself."
Anthony said, "Thanks, Frank."
Emesto Pedrosa came in, his wife Digna with him. Others followed, speaking Spanish so fast Gail couldn't pick oat a word of it.
Leaning on his cane, the old man went over to Anthony. He kissed both his cheeks, embraced him. Gail saw Anthony suck in his breath.
Digna Pedrosa tugged her husband away. "¡Cuidado! Lo dueles. ''
Gail picked up her purse, gave Anthony a little wave, mouthed a see-you-later.
"Gail, don't leave."
His grandfather turned and bowed slightly. "Buenas tardes, doctora. ''
She came closer. "Señor Pedrosa, ¿cómo está?"
"Anthony has told me that you saved his life." He took her hand in both of his and looked at her through his heavy glasses. "I am indebted forever."
A woman about sixty pushed through with a casserole dish, which she held out to Anthony. She lifted the lid. ''Mira, Antonio, lo que te traigo. Masitas de puerco, moros, plátanos maduros ..."
He sighed. ''Gracias, tía. No puedo. Ordenes del médico." Such a liar, Gail thought. A doctor ordering him not to eat Cuban food.
The woman—his aunt—turned to Gail. "¿Tiene hambre, señora? Parece que te falta corner."
Anthony translated. "She says eat, you look a little thin."
"Do you think so?"
"Ask me later."
Someone uncorked a bottle.
The nurse looked in, started to object. She shook her head, then closed the door.
Gail held out her glass and the old man filled it.
Epilogue
Jimmy found Gail Connor where Irene had said, out at Bayview Memorial Gardens. But she wasn't alone, he could see that as he pulled his pickup truck in behind her car.
There was a little girl with her and a man in a suit. Jimmy waited for a minute or two, watching, his arms draped across the top of the steering wheel. Then he got out.
He didn't like cemeteries. Too much death in one place. When he died, he wanted to be laid out in the Everglades. His grandparents had been done like that, and his father. It was better. He wanted his bones to sink into the earth, not be put in a box.
He could see the headstone now, some flowers. Renee Michelle Connor. Beloved daughter and sister.
The little girl saw him first, staring the way kids do. Jimmy smiled at her. The girl smiled back, said something to Gail Connor, who looked around. So did the man. He had his right arm in a sling. Spanish-looking guy. Cuban, maybe.
Jimmy motioned for Gail Connor to come over. The man spoke to her. She touched his hand, must have told him it was okay, to wait there.
She walked across the grass. Nice-looking woman. The breeze making her hair move. She pushed it back and stood in front of him on the sidewalk, looking at him. Waiting. She reminded him a little of Renee.
"Your mother said you would be out here." Jimmy glanced back at the man, who hadn't taken his eyes off them. "I just gave that Tequesta deer mask to her."
Her mouth opened, surprised. "Did you?"
"Donated in Renee's name to the museum."
Gail Connor was smiling now. "Thanks. That was a good thing you did." Then she asked what Jimmy had known she was going to ask. "Where did that mask come from? Really."
"My grandmother gave it to me." He shrugged. "That's true. One of our people found it, years ago. It took me a while, but I figured it came from that property your cousin owned and there were probably more out there."
"I see. And you asked Renee to help you." When Jimmy nodded, she said, "And Carlos."
"He told me he was doing it as a favor for Renee. Like I'd believe that."
"Did he believe you about the gold?"
Jimmy was about to ask her what gold, but stopped. You could tell she was a smart woman, ready to pick out a lie. He only shrugged. ''I never said it was there. He let himself think so. People do that. Anyway, I did tell him he couldn't have what was in the burial mound. It was sacred. Not for personal gain."
She might have been a little skeptical. Let her think what she wanted.
Jimmy said, "Your mother told me the property goes to Ben Strickland's two sons in New York."
"Yes, according to his will."
"I asked her if maybe they'd let the county archaeologist in there to excavate. Better than letting the ground get bulldozed for houses or whatever." After a pause, he added, "Irene said I ought to be there. You know. Make sure the things are handled with respect. And nothing gets broken."
Gail Conno
r smiled again. "Of course."
For a while Jimmy watched a squirrel skitter up an oak tree, run out on one of the branches.
"I heard they found Ben Strickland." He looked back at Gail to see her reaction.
She nodded, didn't seem sorry.
"Where was that?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"In a camper about ten miles outside of Arcadia, in the woods. He had been dead for a couple weeks. He must have known they would find him, sooner or later. He wrote a letter confessing what he did. And then he killed himself."
"How'd he do it?"
"With a knife." Her mouth tightened before she said, "He cut his wrists. Appropriate, wouldn't you say?"
Jimmy nodded. "I'd say so." He glanced at the man again. Still watching, like if Jimmy made a wrong move he'd come on over and see what was going on. Or take out his gun. Cubans, they carried guns. They were crazy like that.
Jimmy faced away from him. "I've got something for you." He reached in his shirt pocket. "And don't ask me any questions about it." He took her hand, opened it, let go of what he had.
Her eyes flew up to his, back down again. The color went out of her face. "Oh—"
The gold chain looped through her fingers. The diamonds around the heart sparkled in the sunlight.
Her breath rushed out. "Where did you get this?"
But Jimmy was already backing up.
In his pickup, he looked through the side window. The man and Gail Connor were talking. The girl was on tiptoe, trying to see what she was holding. The man started to come to the truck, but Jimmy put it in gear and let out the clutch.
In the rearview mirror, he saw her show the necklace to the little girl.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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