Stay Dead (Elise Sandburg series)

by Anne Frasier

  Maybe Tremain had cracked her wide open. Broke her shell, removed her skin, made her feel, good or bad. Cops couldn’t feel. Detectives couldn’t feel.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered.

  Comatose or not, the man in the bed still had power over her. There was only one way she would ever be free. “Leave me alone with him for a minute,” she said.

  “No.” He saw right through her.

  “You just threatened to do the same thing,” she said.

  “This is different.”

  “How is it different?”

  “I have nothing to lose.”

  Her brain faltered over that. Not what she’d expected to hear. And it broke her heart a little.

  “You have Audrey,” he said. “You have a job you’re damn good at. People need you.”

  She wasn’t convinced that Audrey needed her. There were glimpses of a mother-daughter relationship, but Audrey’s stepmother was more of a mother to Audrey. Vivian was a soccer mom. Not the psycho kind, but the levelheaded, be-there-for-you kind. Elise adored her even though she was everything Elise could never be. And Elise knew Vivian loved Audrey.

  “And people don’t need you?” she asked.

  “Not to get all violin, but no. The world would get along fine without me.”

  “I’m not talking about the world.” No reason to elaborate. Why were they always treading so close to relationship territory? But for him to think she would get along fine without him—she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

  “You got along just fine before I came here, and you’d get along just fine if I left.”

  That wasn’t true. Not at all. She had gotten along fine before, but now . . . now she’d miss him.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  For a second she thought he was going to take her by the hand and lead her from the room. But with a jerky start that quickly smoothed, she took the steps needed to get her out of there, to get away from the monster in the bed.

  Her soft Southern drawl reached deep into the black pit where he’d been hiding, dwelling. It called to him. It comforted him. And then—physical contact.

  Even now, after the voice and footsteps echoed away, his arm and hand tingled where she’d touched him with her fingers. Just lightly. A caress, really. Yes. That’s what it had been. A caress.

  He didn’t know how he’d gotten where he was. He didn’t know how much time had passed. He didn’t know what had happened. All he knew was he and Elise Sandburg belonged together.

  CHAPTER 16

  From down the hall came a muffled pounding on the plantation house door, rousing Elise from a deep sleep. She tossed back the covers and grabbed her handgun from the bedside table.

  “Elise! Open up!”

  David. She put the gun away and shrugged into her black hooded sweatshirt, the hem of her cotton nightgown brushing her legs as she hurried down the hallway on her crutches.

  She turned the dead bolt, and David burst inside like some crazy man, slamming and securing the door behind him. His hair was wild and his eyes were wild. His coat hung open, revealing his shoulder holster hastily tossed over a white V-neck T-shirt. “Get dressed. You’re getting out of here.”

  Was he drunk? High? She felt bad for thinking that about him whenever he was out of control, but that’s where her brain went. She’d tell him she was sorry if he was able to read her mind. “David—”

  He charged down the hallway to her bedroom. She followed to watch him pull out her plaid suitcase, toss it on a footstool, and begin digging through the dresser, grabbing handfuls of her clothes.

  “Stop. Just stop for a minute.” She had an awful thought. “Is it Audrey? Oh, my God. Is that it? Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.”

  “She’s fine. Audrey’s fine. It’s Tremain.”

  “Tremain?” Her heart slammed. “Did he wake up?” She didn’t understand what that had to do with David’s behavior.

  He straightened and rubbed his head, elbows high, then dropped his arms. His breathing was coming hard and fast, as if he’d run instead of driven there. “Yeah, he woke up.”

  The news jarred her, but she tried to remain calm. All along she’d had the strangest feeling, regardless of what the doctors had told them about Tremain’s chances of regaining consciousness. “Now he can be convicted,” she said in an attempt to see the positive in this new development. This is good, she told herself. Her worst fear had been that he’d wake up. Now it had happened, and now she could deal with it. He could be put away. Or put to death. This was good. Right? Good.

  “He’s gone,” David said.

  Gone? She didn’t understand. “What do you mean, gone? As in dead?”

  “No, gone. As in no longer there. The night-shift nurse went to check on him, and his bed was empty.”

  “What about the officer on guard?”

  “Let go. Shortly after we were there today.” He checked his watch. “Yesterday. The newest doctor’s report said they didn’t expect Tremain to wake up, so the department pulled the guard. Costing the city too much money. You know how everything has been about money lately.”

  Her brain struggled with a number of scenarios. “Maybe he’s not awake. Maybe somebody just . . . maybe somebody took him.” And then she had a disconcerting thought. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

  “What? No. God, no. After his bed was found empty, they checked the surveillance tape. He walked out on his own. A little unsteady, according to hospital security, but he walked out.”

  Escape, especially from hospitals, wasn’t uncommon. And Ted Bundy had escaped from prison not once, but twice.

  Elise dropped into a chair. She thought about their trip to the hospital. She’d touched Tremain. Had he felt her? Heard her? Had her visit woken him up? “Why are you packing my things?” she asked.

  “He’ll be coming for you. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but soon. Sometime. Even if your house wasn’t under repair, you couldn’t stay there either. No, you’re coming to my place, at least for now. Got an APB out. Somebody is bound to spot him. How far can a man go who just woke up from a coma?”

  She should have been terrified, yet she was the one being logical while David was in a blind panic. “He’s still in a weakened condition,” she said, trying to reason with him. “He’d have to go somewhere to recover. And because of his condition, I think there’s a pretty good chance he’ll be caught within a few days. But regardless, the plantation is probably the safest place for me. Think about it. He would have no way of knowing I’m here. There’s nothing to connect me to this place.”

  “Elise, can’t you just humor me?”

  She could see she wasn’t going to win, at least not right now. “It’s late,” she said. “Let’s get a good night’s sleep so we can deal with this in the morning. If he hasn’t been caught by tomorrow evening, I’ll get a hotel room. How’s that?” She read his face, then recanted. “I’ll stay at your place.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” David said.

  “Suit yourself. There’s a guest room down the hall. The sheets might be dusty.”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch. It’s centrally located, and I’ll be able to keep a better eye on things.”

  “I don’t think there’ll be anything to keep an eye on.” Logically she knew she was right, yet at the same time she was glad David was staying. He was halfway down the hall when she called his name. He stopped and turned. “Thanks,” she said. And she meant thanks for tearing out there in the middle of the night, and thanks for acting crazy with worry, and thanks for caring about her.

  “I wasn’t there for you once,” he said. “That will never happen again.”

  The next morning Elise made her way to the kitchen/living area using the crutches while testing her ankle by putting careful weight on it. Not much pain. Maybe she could graduate to a cane.

  David
looked like hell.

  “The sun was coming up before I finally dropped off,” he said, reading her silent appraisal of his condition. David, sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, hands dangling, one sock half off his foot; bloodshot, puffy eyes; hair sticking out in every direction, looking like he’d been on a three-day binge.

  “You could have slept in the guest room.”

  “It had nothing to do with the couch. I kept hearing stuff. These old houses . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “Like scratching and creaking.”

  “Voices? Music?”

  “If I’d heard voices and music I would have torn the place down looking for the cause. Just rodent noises. And old building noises. Wind. Tree branches. I was on hyperalert, so every sound was like a bomb.”

  “What do you want for breakfast?” Resting one crutch against the counter while keeping the other under her arm, she opened the refrigerator. “I still have some orange juice. Wait. Did you drink it?”

  “No.”

  “I could have sworn this was almost full.” She shook a near-empty container.

  “How’s this for normal?” David asked, rubbing his face with his palms and looking up at her. “You and me, waking up in the same house. You, with a pillow crease on your face. Me, needing to shave. You, asking what I want for breakfast. Me, just wanting coffee. You, blaming me for drinking the orange juice. Me, wondering if you have a spare toothbrush.”

  With her fingers, she examined the crease on her face. “You always need to shave. And I’ll bet you did drink the orange juice.”

  David’s phone buzzed, and he checked a text. “Major Hoffman summoning you to her office. The media is rabid, and she wants to talk to you before the press conference. Let’s hit the road. We can swing by a gas station for coffee.”

  Wow. He woke up fast.

  CHAPTER 17

  I don’t know how you got past Dr. Kicklighter. I don’t really care at this point, but I do know you’re hiding something.”

  Elise was back in Major Hoffman’s office, sitting across the desk from her.

  “I was willing to let it slide when it didn’t look like Tremain was going anywhere,” Hoffman said, “but now that he’s on the loose I want an hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute report of the days you spent with him. Even if he made you do the most degrading and perverted sexual acts, I want it in a report. All of it. Every single thing you can remember. And yes, Gould will see it. And yes, Avery and Mason will see it.”

  She picked up her cell phone, looked at the screen, and put it back down. “I know how you are with witnesses and victims,” she said, continuing where she’d left off. “You’d get every last ounce of information from them. I expect you to play by the same rules.”

  Hoffman was right. Elise would never have let herself get away with silence. David should have been the one to extract a full report from her, but he’d been hurting too, feeling guilty and responsible for not finding her.

  Major Hoffman reached into a brown paper bag, pulled out a handful of boiled peanuts, dropped them on her desk, then offered the bag to Elise. Did she eat regular meals? Or just snack all day? Elise shook her head.

  “Sure? These are boiled by the guy on the corner of Oglethorpe and Habersham.”

  “Okay.” Elise took a handful and passed the bag back. Best in the city.

  Hoffman cracked a shell. “I’ll make sure your report never reaches the media. If the media gets hold of it, heads will roll. And two people will be my prime suspects.”

  “Avery and Mason?”

  Hoffman nodded. “Exactly.” She swept empty shells into her hand, then tossed the shells into the trash can under her desk. “But those two aren’t bad guys. They like you. They respect you. I don’t think you have to worry.”

  “I wasn’t really worried about the media.” Elise leaned back, elbows on the arms of her chair. “The whole thing makes me look weak. Vulnerable. A victim. I’m supposed to be the person who solves crimes, who stops crimes.”

  “The hero?”

  “Kind of. Certainly not someone who can be tricked, who can be caught and overpowered. You and I both know that most of a cop’s strength lies in the perception of that strength. Even within the department. People won’t look at me the same way. And I’m pretty sure I won’t be considered for that head detective position even if I wanted it.”

  “I suspect people will see you as more human. Because, Elise, sometimes you come across a bit chilly.”

  “That’s just who I am.”

  “Is it?”

  Elise stared at Hoffman with exasperation. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never been a victim before. I never knew what it felt like. Now I do.”

  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I’m sorry you had to go through it, and I’m sorry the perp is loose. Regardless, I want a full report on my desk in two days. I want it to cover every second you can remember, from Tremain capturing you until you were in the hospital. Don’t leave anything out. You, of all people, know how often the most insignificant detail can crack a case wide open.”

  “You’ll get your report.”

  “What about somewhere to stay? I know your home is being worked on. I’m sorry that we can’t put a cop on you.”

  “Budget, I know.” And she didn’t want anybody watching her every move. “I’ll find a secure place.”

  “What about your daughter?”

  “She’s out of the country right now. Foreign exchange trip.”

  “That’s one less thing to worry about.”

  “I’m staying at Detective Gould’s tonight, but after that . . . I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should stay there the whole time. Until this is over. Until we have Tremain. But I’ll understand if you don’t. Gould, twenty-four hours a day.” She made a face and Elise let out a nervous laugh at the major’s inappropriate comment.

  “Gould’s a good partner,” Elise said.

  “He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in any of the women in the PD. A couple of them have asked him out and he’s turned them down,” she said a little too nonchalantly. “Is he in a relationship?”

  “I don’t think so . . .”

  Hoffman smiled.

  Oh, this could get awkward. Elise was pretty sure the major was divorced and single.

  CHAPTER 18

  The elevator in Mary of the Angels was unreliable and slow and rarely used by anyone sane, but due to Elise’s condition she and David slipped inside the tight space. He closed the metal accordion gate and pushed a freakishly large red button. A couple of seconds later, things fired up and they began to groan and creak their way to the third floor.

  “Here we are,” David said as he unlocked and opened the door to his apartment. “Anything you need, just say. It’ll be a little cramped, but I’ll try to stay out of your way. You can have my bedroom, and I’ll take the couch.”

  She’d been in his apartment a lot of times. She’d even slept over when they were working late, or when he was too messed up to be left alone. The place had a feeling to it, a sense of the past and present colliding. A sense of tragedy, but, like a cemetery, a sense of peace as well.

  “I can sleep on the couch.” Elise paused to take in the lack of change since she’d visited a month ago. Dark? Check. Tiny? Check. Cat skittering around the corner to dive into the bedroom? Check.

  “I sleep on the couch half the time anyway,” David said. “Not a big deal. I put clean sheets on the bed. Toilet paper the correct way, unrolling from the top, not the bottom. Dishes are done. I’ll order something to eat, and we can work on the case. Or take the night off and watch TV.”

  He was acting a bit too excited about this. “Can we make s’mores?” she asked.

  He blinked in surprise. “Sure. I’ll have to get some marshma
llows and chocolate bars—”

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “I have a report to write.”

  “Not a big deal. I have some stuff I need to work on too. You can have the kitchen counter, the couch, or you can take your laptop to bed. Whatever you want.”

  She thought about what Hoffman had said earlier. “Do I sometimes come off as cold?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. More like reserved. A bit distant, but not cold.”

  “I think maybe I’ve overcompensated.”

  “Because of being a woman in a typically man’s field?”

  “Because of the whole conjurer’s daughter thing. When I first started in the department, I overheard people whispering about me, and I saw the nervous glances. I felt I had to be extra . . . I don’t know, normal.”

  “Nobody wants normal.”

  “Sometimes I think it would be nice.”

  “Normal is just advertising. Normal is a sales pitch. Normal is fiction. It’s not real. What do you think normal is?”

  “Soccer moms. White SUVs. An ironed skirt and bare, tan legs. Manicured nails. Maybe church. A dog.” She erased that, and went for what she really wanted: “People sitting around a dinner table, laughing, talking, passing bowls of food, sharing their lives with one another. Maybe music. Maybe wine.”

  “You can have that. You can be a conjurer’s daughter, someone left on a grave as a baby, and you can also have the dinner table. And a dog.”

  She considered the dog. “I’m not really a dog person. Maybe a cat.”

  “Okay, a cat.”