Picture Me Dead

by Heather Graham

  “What the hell is going on?” Ashley murmured. Creeping in line behind the cars directly ahead of her, she saw that two cars had apparently been involved in an accident. She was off duty and still just in the academy, but if there had been an accident and there were no other officers at the scene, by the book, she was obliged to stop until someone on duty could arrive. But just as the thought occurred to her, Karen, who had toyed with the idea of going into law instead of education, read her mind.

  “No, we don’t need to stop. There’s already a cop car at the scene—just ahead. He must have just gotten there.”

  Whatever had caused the accident, they had missed it by no more than a few minutes. The lanes weren’t blocked off yet, which meant the officer really had just arrived. The drivers of the vehicles were both out of their cars. One was sitting on the median, a man with his face in his hands. The other, who had apparently struck the first, was standing by his car, just staring at the road.

  The accident had occurred in the far left lane. Ashley was driving in the lane directly next to it. As she moved along, she looked to her left, noting gratefully that neither driver appeared to have been hurt.

  But someone had.

  As she crept along in her lane, she suddenly gasped.

  There was a man on the highway. Sprawled in the lane, naked except for a pair of white briefs. He was facedown, head twisted to the side, apparently dead.

  She’d gone through everything necessary to become a cop. Taken the tests and seen all the videos featuring the types of horrors a policeman was likely to be up against at some point in his career or hers. But the sight of the man sprawled on the highway, naked except for his underwear, was still shocking and terrible.

  “Oh, my God,” Karen breathed at her side.

  “What?” Jan demanded.

  Ashley’s hands were glued around the steering wheel as she fixed the entire scene in her mind. The immediate area first. The position of the two cars involved. The cop and the cop car that had just arrived. The body. Sprawled. Naked except for the white briefs. The head, twisted. The blood that seemed surreal against flesh and asphalt.

  The cars, still veering off toward the median. And, across the median, cars slowing, braking, the screech of brakes. Far across the opposing lanes, someone standing, staring at all the traffic as if waiting for a light to change.

  She moved past the body. It was still imprinted in her mind. As crystal clear and vivid as a photograph. The rest merging, blurring. The cars in the opposing lanes a kaleidoscope of color. The figure standing, watching the scene…

  Just someone. Faceless. Dressed in…black, she thought. Man? Woman? She didn’t know. Part of what had happened? A friend of the man who had been struck?

  “What? What the hell is it?” Jan demanded from the back seat.

  “A body. A body on the highway,” Karen said, her voice faltering.

  “A body?” Jan swung around.

  They were past it now.

  “Maybe I should turn around,” Ashley said.

  “The hell you should! The cop trying to deal with the situation and the traffic would be pissed as hell to have something else to deal with,” Karen said. And she was right. There was already an officer on the scene. Traffic was knotting into serious snarls as it was. By the time she could safely reach an exit, turn around and get back to the scene, an ambulance would have arrived, and more on-duty officers, probably even those specializing in traffic accidents and fatalities, would be on hand.

  “You’ve got to forget it, just forget it,” Karen said sternly. “Please, Ashley. How many vacations do we get together? And get serious, there are accidents every damn day down here. Fatal ones, too. It’s sad but true. You are not on duty. You’re not even a full-fledged cop. And if you start taking every single event you witness to heart, you’re going to be a lousy cop, because you’ll be too emotionally involved with each incident when you’re required to be alert to everything.”

  Karen was making a great deal of sense.

  “I didn’t even see the body,” Jan said.

  “You’re lucky,” Karen countered, swallowing.

  Ashley was glad that, despite her words, Karen had been equally affected by the sight.

  “There are accidents every single day,” Karen repeated. “People die, and they’re going to continue to die,” she told Ashley sternly.

  Ashley glanced at her quickly. “They don’t die naked except for their underwear, on the highway, every day,” she countered.

  “Did he come from one of the cars?” Jan asked.

  “Maybe, but how?” Karen said.

  “Perhaps he was in one of the passenger seats and was thrown out when the accident occurred,” Jan said.

  “He was riding around in his underwear?” Ashley said.

  “Hey, this is South Florida. Spend a little more time at the clubs on South Beach,” Jan said. “He might have been riding around stark naked, who the hell knows?”

  “I don’t think he was in one of the cars,” Ashley said, remembering the relative positions of the cars, and the body.

  “So he was walking across the highway in his underwear?” Jan said.

  “Maybe there will be something on the news,” Karen said, switching the radio channel from the popular rock frequency they’d had on to the twenty-four-hour news station. The commentator was giving a rundown of events in Washington, but then switched over to local traffic.

  “There’s been an accident on I-95, northbound, a pedestrian struck by oncoming traffic,” a pleasant female voice said over the airwaves. “Both left-hand lanes are now closed, so use caution and slow down while approaching the turnpike interchange. For all you folks traveling from north Dade and Broward on your way to work in the downtown Miami area, be on the alert for slowing traffic on the southbound side. The turnpike is still running smoothly to that point, but to the south, we’ve got an accident on the off ramp from the Palmetto to Miller Drive.”

  The traffic report ended, and then a different newscaster came on to give a report about boating conditions.

  By then they had reached the entrance to the turnpike. Ashley threw her coins into the bucket at the toll booth and moved into traffic, aware that Karen was staring at her.

  “We’re going to put it out of our minds and have a good time,” Karen insisted firmly.

  Ashley nodded. She tried to keep silent, then said, “It’s just too bizarre. What was a man doing running across the highway in his underwear?”

  “He must have been doped up,” Jan said from the back.

  “That must be it,” Karen agreed. “Why the hell else would you try to cross at least ten lanes of traffic—dressed to the teeth or half-naked?”

  “Ashley, when you go back to the academy Monday morning, I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone who knows something about it,” Jan said.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “And until then, there’s nothing you can do,” Karen said.

  “Yes, there is,” Ashley said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Stop at the first rest station, buy a big cappuccino, a horrible, greasy breakfast sandwich and stop shaking,” Ashley said.

  “All right, I’m up for that,” Jan said. “I’ll stick with regular coffee and these cookies, though.”

  They reached the service plaza less than thirty miles later, still subdued, but trying to rekindle the light mood that had been with them as they’d started out. While Ashley and Jan stood in line for coffee and food, Karen gathered brochures for Orlando and its multitude of tourist attractions. When they were finally seated, Jan pounced on the brochure for Arabian Knights. “I’ve never been there. I loved Medieval Times, though, and this place has horses, too.”

  “And men,” Karen said. “But I thought we were going to go dancing? You know, to Pleasure Island or someplace like that.”

  “One night dancing, one night watching gorgeous men on horseback,” Jan said.

  Ashley was barely listening. Sh
e had taken out a pencil and was sketching on her napkin.

  A hand fell over hers, stopping the movement of her pencil mid-slide. She looked up and met Karen’s. “That’s chilling—too close to what we just saw,” Karen said.

  Jan drew the napkin from her and shuddered. “What are we going to do, Ashley? You’ve got to let it drop.” She gazed down at the sketch again. “Thank God I was busy looking at pants that would look good on people with fat thighs,” she said, trying to draw a smile. “I’m haunted just by the picture.”

  “You should have stayed in art school,” Karen said. “A drawing on a napkin…and it’s just like the real thing. Please, Ashley…”

  Ashley crumpled up the napkin. “Sorry,” she murmured guiltily. Her friends were right. There was nothing she could do about what had happened.

  And she was destined to see much worse during her career as a cop.

  “You haven’t really given up on art, have you?” Jan asked her. “I mean, you’re good. Really good. I’ve never seen anyone who can sketch people so well.”

  “I’ll never give it up,” Ashley said. “I love to draw. It’s just that…”

  “She likes the concept of a paycheck,” Karen told Jan with a sigh.

  “You could have gotten a paycheck as an artist. I know it,” Jan said.

  “Art school just cost too much,” Ashley said.

  “You didn’t take that scholarship because you were too afraid Nick would want to help you and he couldn’t afford it,” Karen mused sagely.

  “Nick would never stop me from pursuing any dream,” Ashley said a little defensively. And it was true. She knew Nick had been disappointed when she turned down the scholarship that had been offered to her by a prestigious Manhattan art college. But even with the scholarship, the money necessary to live and study in New York—even in a dorm—would have been too much. She could have gotten a part-time job, but it wouldn’t have been enough. Nick would have tried to help, but with tourism suffering, he would probably have just about sent himself into bankruptcy.

  “Look, I love art, but I always wanted to be a cop. My dad was a cop, remember?”

  “None of us really remembers,” Karen said. “It was so long ago.”

  “I remember that I loved my folks and admired my dad,” Ashley said. “And police work is fascinating.”

  “Yeah, real fascinating. You’re going to be in a patrol car, trying to chase down speeders, like Karen,” Jan said.

  “Cute, Jan, really cute,” Karen said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Honest to God, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing,” Ashley said.

  “So, horses or dancing tonight?” Karen said.

  “Let’s just flip a coin—we’ll fit them both in,” she promised. She crumpled up the wrapper from her sandwich along with the napkin on which she’d been drawing. “Ready to hit the road?”

  “Want me to drive?” Karen asked.

  “Good God, no!” Jan piped in. “She’ll be arresting you—or giving you a warning speech, at the very least—from the passenger seat. Hey, can you write a ticket if you’re sitting next to someone who’s driving your own car?”

  “Jan,” Karen said firmly. “I’m going to throttle you in a minute. Your precious little throat will be wounded, and you’ll sound like a dying ’gator rather than a songbird.”

  “Hey, you heard that—she’s threatening me!” Jan said.

  “Oh, will you two please stop?” Ashley begged, a smile twitching her lips.

  “Seriously, want one of us to drive?” Karen said.

  Ashley shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

  As far as driving went, she was fine.

  But…

  It felt as if the body on the highway would be etched into her mind forever.

  CHAPTER 2

  Nick was behind the bar, washing glasses, when Sharon Dupre returned. She hurried in, hoping he wasn’t going to ask about where she’d been. She had said that she would arrive to help with the lunch crowd, but she hadn’t managed to get back in time.

  He didn’t question her. She should have known he wouldn’t, she thought as he looked up at her with his customary grin. Nick wasn’t the jealous type. If she wasn’t enjoying his company and wanted out, she was welcome to leave at any time. If she was happy with him, well, then, she should be there, and he would be delighted.

  “Hey, how was your day?” he asked.

  “Great.”

  “Sell anything?”

  “Showed two expensive places, but I don’t have any bites—yet.”

  “It takes time.”

  “Has Ashley called? Did the girls reach their hotel yet?”

  Nick shook his head. “She won’t call me today unless there’s a problem. I’ll probably hear from her tomorrow. Hey, she loved the cookies. She’ll tell you herself, when she gets back.”

  “Good, I’m glad.”

  She set her purse down behind the bar and gave him a kiss, wishing she didn’t feel so nervous. It wasn’t like her. She was never uneasy. Never. She was always in control.

  She started to leave, but he pulled her back, giving her a stronger, much more suggestive kiss. When he released her, she flushed. “Sandy Reilly just came in, and he’s staring at us!”

  “Sandy’s as old as the hills, and we’re stirring memories of adventure and excitement and raw sexual thrills for him,” Nick replied.

  “Chill, you two,” Sandy called out. “And break it up. Let’s have some service around this place. The old-as-the-hills guy has perfect hearing, and he needs a beer.”

  Sharon and Nick broke apart, both of them laughing. Nick called out, “Beer’s on the house, Sandy.”

  “Thank the good Lord for some things in life,” Sandy said, shaking his white head. “I could really use a cold one.”

  “You sound desperate, Sandy.”

  “I am. Now I know why I stick to boats. Just went to pay some bills, and it felt as if I were on the road forever. The traffic sucks.”

  “Worse than usual?” Nick said.

  “Hell yes, seems like every psycho in the world is out there today, and I ain’t driving again. Line ’em up for me, Nick. Line ’em up.”

  Beneath the water, Jake Dilessio could hear the sound of the scraper against the boat. Strange sound, more like rubbing than scratching. He finished with the last of the stubborn barnacles just as his air was giving out. He rose the few feet to the surface, grabbed the Gwendolyn’s back ladder, inhaled a deep breath and drew his mask from his face in a single fluid motion. Dripping, he climbed the ladder and stepped onto his houseboat.

  He sensed the whirl of motion before his attacker came after him. Tension, years of training and a rush of adrenaline kicked in.

  As a fist shot out, he ducked, then bolted straight up, sending out his own left jab. Luck was with him, and he caught his mystery opponent straight in the jaw.

  To his amazement, the man—wearing a tailored white dress shirt, tie, seamed navy pants and leather loafers—stayed down, something like a sob escaping him as he heaved in a breath and balanced on one hand and his knees, rubbing his jaw.

  “Ah, hell,” Jake muttered softly. “Brian?”

  “You were sleeping with her,” the man said.

  Jake reached down, helping his attacker to his feet. The man was almost his height, slim, well built and usually attractive, a blue-eyed, blond surfer type, the kind of guy to whom women tended to flock. Right now, however, his blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffed up from crying, and his jaw was swelling, disrupting the usual classic line of his features.

  “Brian, what the hell are you doing here?” he asked quietly. The adrenaline had ebbed from his body as if he’d been deflated. “Come inside, I’ll get some ice for your jaw.”

  Brian Lassiter started to pull away, then followed Jake into the living room of his houseboat. Efficiently designed, the Gwendolyn offered a broad main room/kitchen/dining room area all in one, while a set of stairs led down to an aft cabin and another fe
w steps led up to the main cabin at the fore.

  He drew Brian in, setting him on a bar stool, and opened the freezer to get ice. He wrapped a number of cubes in a bar towel and walked over to his visitor, shoving the bundle at him. “Here, put this on your jaw. I’ll make coffee.”

  “I don’t need coffee.”

  “You sure as hell do.”

  “As if you’ve never had a few too many to drink.”

  “I’ve had a few too many to drink a few too many times. And I’ve done some stupid ass stuff. But coming at me like that…hell, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “I just wanted to deck you once,” Brian said. His voice dropped to a whisper-like sob. “Just once. You were sleeping with her.”

  Jake had started brewing coffee. He flicked the switch on the machine hard and turned around. “Brian, I wasn’t sleeping with her. And she never told you I was.”

  “You’re lying. There’s no reason for you to tell me the truth now, because Nancy is dead.”

  “That’s right,” Jake said, his voice lethally quiet. “Nancy is dead.”

  “And if you had been sleeping with her, you’d never tell me, ’cause now there’s no way I could know for sure.”

  Jake held his temper. “I think we both remember the inquest. It was a nasty, dirty affair. But it proved one thing, Brian. She wasn’t with me that night.” She’d had what the medical examiner had deemed consensual sex with someone that night. He’d volunteered to be tested, proving that it hadn’t been with him.

  “She sure as hell wasn’t with me,” Brian responded bitterly. “But even if she wasn’t with you that night, she loved you.”

  “We were friends, Brian.”

  “Friends. Yeah.” He was silent for a moment. “You still think I was responsible.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You never said that? Like hell. Every time you looked at me during the inquest, you fucking accused me with your eyes.”

  Brian really had been drinking heavily. Jake shook his head. He understood the feeling. Now and then, he still felt like heading out on a major bender himself.

  “Brian, you’re wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong.”