Cold Case Killer

by Dorothy Francis

  I had barely inhaled when he pulled me under beside him. We stayed down as long as our breath lasted, but we couldn’t help splashing when we surfaced. Consuela stood at poolside like an osprey searching for a fingerling.

  “Oh, so you have company tonight, Punt.” Consuela laughed in a coy way that would have turned my stomach had we been meeting under different circumstances. “Very, very, very sorry to intrude, but I have something special to show you.”

  Consuela’s green sarong parted thigh high as she stooped to hold an object toward us. In the moonlight, it looked like a plastic baggie.

  TWENTY-ONE

  “Consuela,” Punt said. “You’re trespassing. You’ve no business here. Go. You’re intruding. Please leave. Now.”

  “I’ve brought you and Keely something special. Come and take it, then I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re doing.” Consuela picked up our robes, her spike heels click-clacking against the poolside brick as she brought the garments to us.

  “Leave now or I’ll call the police.” Punt’s voice pulsed with anger.

  “Using what for a phone?” Consuela pulled Punt’s cell phone from the pocket of his robe and laid it out of reach on a chair beside the baggie she’d been carrying. “Come up here. Look at what I’ve brought you. I want you to admit I’ve helped you in your investigation. Out now. Out and up.”

  She click-clacked closer to the pool edge, thrusting our robes toward us as if we should put them on while still in the water. “Don’t be shy. A little skin never embarrasses me.”

  When she saw we weren’t going to take the robes, she turned and dropped them on the chair beside the cell phone, the baggie.

  “Come on, you two. I’m not going to hang around forever waiting on you. Out!”

  “Follow me, Keely,” Punt whispered.

  Punt began easing us around the rim of the pool, shielding me from Consuela’s gaze as much as he could while he moved toward a ladder near the diving board. With an aggravating grin, Consuela followed us, click-clacking every step of the way and looming above us like a bad omen as she stepped closer to the pool’s edge. Punt’s next move startled me so that I swallowed a mouthful of water.

  Choking and gasping, I saw him thrust himself up, grab Consuela’s ankle and yank her into the pool with us.

  “The ladder, Keely!” Punt shouted. “Go for it!”

  I scrambled up the ladder, skinning my shin on the top rung, but running on toward our robes. What is there about being nude that makes one feel so vulnerable? We both were dressed again before Consuela stopped thrashing in the pool.

  “Sorry you forgot to bring a robe.” Punt scowled at her while she struggled up the ladder and stood on the bricked patio beside us. Her green sarong clung to her body like Saran wrap, but she took advantage of that, slicking her hair behind her ears, flicking water from her eyes, then rising on tip-toe and turning like a model to give us a good view of her voluptuousness.

  “You’re mean, Punt Ashford. My favorite sandals are still in your pool.”

  “If you think I’ll dive and get them, think again. I want you out of here.”

  “Punt,” I broke in. “Let’s see what she’s brought you. Then I’m guessing she’ll leave and maybe arrange to pick up her sandals tomorrow.”

  For a moment Punt’s shoulders slumped, then he straightened and spoke.

  “All right, Consuela. What have you brought us?”

  Consuela padded to the lounge chair and holding the baggie between thumb and forefinger, she thrust it toward Punt.

  “What is it?” I craned my neck to peer at it, but I couldn’t make out the contents.

  “It’s DNA,” Consuela said. “A DNA specimen from one of Randy’s suspects.”

  “Looks like a condom to me,” Punt said.

  “Right.” Consuela tossed him a coy smile. “A very used condom I managed to swipe from Gus Helmer. Take it to Randy. Let him deliver it to the police. And give me a break. Don’t tell Randy where you got it.”

  Punt dropped the baggie into his pocket. “Leave now, Consuela. Right this minute!”

  Consuela turned to leave, taking mincing steps as she padded barefoot across the brick, the grass, the gravel, and then stepped into her car.

  “I’ll come back for my sandals tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare!” Punt said. “Our pool boy will retrieve them and deliver them to your door.”

  “That will suit me fine—if it’s the broad-shouldered blond I’ve seen working here. And count me as one of your investigators. I have my ways of getting evidence.”

  Punt didn’t bother to answer, and I rolled my eyes and stood there shivering in the moonlight. Consuela had squashed all romance from our late night skinny dip. And she’d done it intentionally. All three of us knew that.

  Once upstairs, not even the thought of a warm shower, the soft bed, or the reflections in the ceiling mirror revived our earlier mood. I felt cold and exhausted, and I could tell that Punt’s heart still pumped as much anger as blood. We did share a warm shower, massaging each other with jasmine-scented soapsuds, but the machinations merely added to our sleepiness.

  There are worse things than falling into bed with the man you love. We pressed close to each other, cuddling and enjoying being together. Punt fell asleep before I did and I lay there counting his even breaths that felt warm and comforting against my neck. I eased closer to him and although I didn’t remember dozing, I guessed I’d slept only minutes before I heard a noise at the door. Someone was pounding on the door and shouting. I bolted upright, pulling the sheet to my chin and waiting for Punt to take charge, go to the door. He lay motionless, his breathing slow, steady.

  “Punt.” I nudged him. “Punt wake up. Someone’s pounding on the door. Punt! Punt! Maybe Consuela’s returned for her sandals.”

  Punt didn’t move. The pounding continued and a voice shouted words I couldn’t understand. Then I could understand them all too clearly.

  “Keely! Keely!” Jude Cardell’s voice beat on my eardrums. But how impossible! Jude died months ago. Someone had come here impersonating him. Someone had come here trying to frighten me—maybe the person who’d been threatening me.

  But no. In the next moment, a man crashed against the door and came barging into the apartment. Jude? He looked like Jude. A Jude look-alike. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Could this man be Jude returned from the grave? He wore jeans and sandals and a sweatshirt. From somewhere a light gleamed onto his bald head. He looked around, dazed at first, then he gave a triumphant smile when he saw Punt and me lying on the bed.

  “Punt!” I screamed. “Punt! Help me! It’s Jude. He’s after me. He’ll kill me. Help. Help!” I lay there screaming, yet no sound came from my mouth. It was as if someone had pushed the mute button on a remote control that silenced my voice.

  Punt didn’t move. But Jude rushed to the bed and jerked me to my feet, twisting one arm behind my back until I felt sure it would break. Jude had always had a knack for knowing just when to stop. Many times he’d left me battered and bruised, but only once had he actually broken bones—my jaws.

  I tried to scream again, and again my voice failed me.

  “Ki-ki-ki-Keely.” Jude used the nickname I remembered with such horror—the name he always used before the bad things began. “Ki-ki-ki-Keely. Come along with me and I’ll show you a good time. A time you’ll never forget. I’ve brought my favorite toys and we’ll play until dawn, even longer if you beg me.”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Beg me, Ki-Ki-Ki-Keely. I love to hear you beg.”

  “Punt will hear you. He’ll call the police.” Jude’s malevolent grin chilled me.

  “Punt doesn’t care anything about you, Ki-ki-ki-Keely. Not a thing. Why, if he cared for you, he’d be out of bed this minute trying to rescue you. And you can see he hasn’t moved an inch. Fat lot he cares about you. You should have seen him in action a few years ago on Smathers. Oh, the dolls he played with! You t
hink he was spending all that beach time building sand castles? You dumb broad!”

  Jude pulled a padded club from his waistband and pushed me ahead of him toward the splintered door. I stumbled down the steps, falling face down into the gravel when I missed the last three steps.

  “Get up, bitch.” He grabbed my hair and I felt a handful of it part from my head before I managed to get to my feet. Now he pulled a fillet knife from his waistband, removed it from its sheath and strode toward the Karmann Ghia. I heard the canvas tear as he slashed the top of the convertible. Would he knife me next?

  “Help!” I screamed. No sound. Punt had forgotten to turn the widow’s walk lights on after our swim, and now moonlight filtered through clouds that dangled like black webs in front of the moon. Jude and I were alone in the near dark. Only moments passed before I heard the tinkling of broken glass and I knew he was breaking windows in Jass’s greenhouse. What if he entered the greenhouse? He could do that easily enough once he’d broken enough of the glass. What if he slashed her prized plants? Jass would never forgive me for not protecting them. But she wouldn’t have to forgive me. I’d be dead in a few minutes.

  This born-again Jude left the greenhouse and returned to yank me to my feet. Then he brought the padded club down on my shoulder. Next on a breast. Next on a thigh. He knew the places that were the most painful, the places where cuts and bruises wouldn’t show later. I continued my soundless screaming until he pushed me into the pool. The water soothed my bruises. For a few moments I felt revived. If I ducked under the surface, maybe he wouldn’t be able to see me. If he gave up finding me and left now, I could make it to safety. I could hide, only coming up to breathe. I could hide until he left.

  He jumped into the pool with me. I grabbed a deep breath and submerged.

  “Ki-ki-ki-Keely! Where are you, shitface? Come to daddy—if you know what’s good for you.”

  Somewhere I found the strength to swim underwater and I swam to the ladder. Surfacing quietly, I looked around until I saw him on the other side of the pool. But he saw me at the same time. My only chance of escape was to climb the ladder and run into the street. Maybe someone would see me there. I had given up all hope of waking Punt.

  The ladder rungs cut into my bare feet but I kept climbing. I had just reached the top rung when Jude grabbed my ankle and yanked me back into the water.

  “Ki-ki-ki-Keely! You weren’t trying to get away from me, were you? We’ve only started having fun. There’s much more to come. Much, much more.” He struck me across the mouth and I spit a bloody tooth into the pool. Next he ducked me, each time holding me under until I felt close to drowning. Then he’d let me up, but never long enough for me to grab a full breath.

  At last he of tired of that game. “Let’s get out of the water, Ki-ki-ki-Keely. Let’s play a little game of tag. You go first.”

  He goosed me as I climbed the ladder, holding me back now and then so he could goose me again. The minute I stepped onto the pool’s edge, I began to run. Gravel cut into my feet as I headed for the street. Even though it was late, I hoped someone would see me, rescue me. For a moment I didn’t hear anyone behind me, and in an agonizing burst of speed I ran right into Punt’s arms.

  “Keely!” Punt put one arm around me and held my wrists in a vise-like grip with his other hand. “What are you doing out here?”

  I couldn’t speak for a few moments, then at last I relaxed against Punt. “Nightmare. Horrible nightmare.” I cried until I thought I’d never be able to stop, but all the while Punt was leading me upstairs and to his bed.

  When I calmed down, Punt brought me a cup of hot tea and some crackers. “When I felt that empty bed, I thought you had awakened and gone home. You do that now and then and I thought this was one of those times. Then I heard someone splashing in the pool and saw you running toward the street.”

  I clung to Punt, wanting to tell him about the nightmare. That’s what my therapist said I should do. But I’m unable to pull the horror of the dream back into my conscious mind again.

  “Punt, I’m so sorry. So very sorry. This’s the first nightmare I’ve had in weeks. I thought perhaps I’d conquered them. But we can both see I haven’t. I can never have a normal life as long as Jude returns in my dreams.”

  “Never say never. You don’t hear me complaining about your nightmare, Keely. I’m sorry you suffer so from them, but I’m more than willing to play rescuer if you’ll only give me the chance.”

  I ate the crackers, drank the tea, and we fell back into bed again.

  “Maybe tomorrow, Punt. Maybe I can talk about it—us—tomorrow.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  The next morning, the aroma of coffee and frying bacon drifted to me, but in spite of the enticing smells, I didn’t hurry to get up. Punt had shoved aside the wicker screen that usually separated the bedroom and kitchen areas, and I saw him standing near the stove. A white terrycloth towel secured around his waist contrasted with his tanned skin. I wondered if he missed his carefree days of bumming on the beach.

  “Rise and shine.” He glanced in my direction, grinned, and blew me a kiss.

  I sat up, dangling my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling for my slippers, but the “rise and shine” part of his command required more strength than I could muster. Mornings following one of my nightmares left me feeling drained and useless. Punt poured two glasses of mango juice then sat beside me as we enjoyed the treat.

  The juice revived me. A few minutes later I felt stronger and I slipped into my robe while we shared scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast at his glass-topped table. In spite of the hearty breakfast, I faced the day slowly. It wasn’t until the last toast crumb disappeared that I glanced at my watch.

  “Punt! It’s almost noon. I had no idea. Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  “Didn’t know we had a schedule.”

  “We have things to do today. There’s Randy and the shrimp boat and…”

  “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. You had a hard night.”

  “We had a hard night—Consuela in person. Jude in phantom. I’d like to forget.”

  “We need to talk, Keely. When we going to do that?” Punt rose and stood behind my chair, leaning to kiss my forehead. “When?”

  “Not today. Please, not today. Give me a little more time. I’m carrying so much baggage it’s wearing me out.”

  “So I’ll help you carry it.”

  “You have a few bags of your own, remember?”

  “Maybe we should have a joint session with your shrink. How about it?”

  “I’m not sure. I hate the thought of a third person mucking through the private details of our relationship. There are special moments we’ve shared that I want to keep private, moments I want to enjoy in the secrecy of my heart.”

  “So what can I say?”

  “Nothing more right now. Okay?” I rose, kissed him on the hollow of his throat where his pulse throbbed against my lips. When we stood apart again, I began loading the dishwasher while Punt wiped the table and the stove.

  “We’d better hurry to Randy’s place. Be sure he’s getting ready to leave at one o’clock as promised.”

  “Right.” Punt snapped my rear with a dish towel, then we both scrambled to get dressed for the day—cut-offs, T-shirt, sandals—the local’s uniform of the island. Sometimes the tourists catch on to our casual dress code, but seldom. They seem to prefer their up-north slacks and collared shirts or Hawaiian shirts and shorts.

  Saturday—a whole weekend off. It felt good to leave my jumpsuit in the closet. I gave Randy a wake-up call to alert him to our imminent arrival.

  “Good!” Punt exclaimed. “At least he’s up and about.”

  “You thought he might not be?”

  “You never know. A guy like Randy might decide he has other mullet to fry. He wasn’t totally sold on taking a week’s run on a shrimper. And he knows nothing about Captain Shrimp Snerl. His name alone could be a turnoff. I’m going to call M
axi-Taxi.”

  “Good thought. I forgot we can’t get three in your car. But it’s a ways to Stock Island. Why not drive to Randy’s place, then call the taxi?”

  “And leave the Karmann Ghia unattended on Stock Island all the time we’re at the shrimp docks? Thanks a lot, but no thanks. It’ll be safer here in my carport.”

  I didn’t argue, and when Maxi-Taxi arrived, we got in and the driver nosed his way through the midday traffic on North Roosevelt. A huge pick-up with Alaska plates cut ahead of us at the left turn signal onto the highway, but our cabbie kept his cool. I grinned. Punt scowled but he didn’t offer any backseat advice.

  I never tire of gazing at the water from the Boca Chica Bridge. A few boats were motoring in from half-day charters. I felt envious. Lots of sun and almost no wind. A travel brochure kind of day in living color. The driver turned at MacDonald Avenue, and when we reached the Jackson trailer, Randy scowled at us from an aluminum chair on the open-air porch. A duffel rested at his feet. Today he wore a No Name Key T-shirt with threadbare jeans and boat shoes. A faded sweatshirt lay across the duffel. Punt and I slid from the taxi. I looked around for some sign of Lavonna, and seeing none, I stepped closer to the trailer.

  “Morning, Randy.” Punt greeted Randy with a handshake and a scowl. I smiled and nodded.

  “Ready to go?” I asked. “Taxi’s waiting.”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Randy kicked at the gravel with the toe of his shoe and lowered his voice. “I appreciate you getting me this gig, man. And I’ll do my best to perform whatever duties Captain Snerl has lined up for me. But as soon as we dock, I’m ready to begin rounding up some DNA.”

  “You know how I feel about that.” Punt spoke softly, keeping his back toward the taxi driver. “First show the police a viable suspect, then consider getting the DNA.”

  “We think differently, don’t we?” Randy’s gaze never left Punt’s face.

  “Where’s Maxine?” I asked, desperate to change the subject, to avoid a last-minute argument that might nix our plans. “Working,” Randy replied. “Where’d you think?”