Chasing Suspect Three (14 page)

She questioned her eagerness to have dinner
with Jay Heppard. She told herself that networking and
socialization was an essential part of her profession. That’s all.
Her grandmother once explained that it’s all about people, about
being nice and not burning any bridges. She needed to work on that.
Being nice to some people was a real pain in the ass. And if she
flipped off some jerk, did that count as a burned bridge?

Being nice to Jay Heppard wouldn’t be
difficult; assuming she could forget all about Chip. Maybe, he’ll
turn out to be a real creep and make it easy for her. Then again,
none of that matters anyway, because this isn’t personal. This is
professional networking. Isn’t it?

At first, she had decided to dress down
somewhat. She didn’t want to show up in a business suit. That was
an uptight image she didn’t want to project at an evening out. At
the same time, she wanted to avoid anything flirty, so Jay wouldn’t
think he had charmed her, which she supposed he had to some extent,
or start thinking this was some meaningful first date, which it
wasn’t. At some point, after having a short lunch with him, and
before seven that night, she remembered he was based in Palm Beach
and assigned to Miami. He might not have a chance to change from
his business suit. She’d look good beside him in her white denim
dress with her silky pastel scarf.

By the time seven arrived, she was definitely
in a lighthearted mood. She would enjoy sitting across the table
from a good-looking, successful guy. She suggested the Riverside
House, known for their superb seafood platters. A bit noisy
sometimes, but the level of informality, and the mid-range pricing
made it a good choice she thought. The last thing she wanted was
clinking wine glasses by candle light.

At the restaurant, she easily got him
talking. She kept the conversation mostly on their business
careers. She didn’t want to hear long accounts of his personal life
or hopes and dreams. He admitted that back when he was facing
college, he was drifting, not at all focusing on a career in the
Department of Justice. His father was a CPA, which might explain
why he came out of Trenton State College not with a law degree, but
with a major in accounting.

He casually interviewed with the FBI on
campus expecting at the most a boring desk job in Washington knee
deep in financial statements looking for fraud. The FBI had other
plans for him. After considerable testing and training, they handed
him a gun and a badge, gave him more training, and put him out in
the field as a Special Agent.

She enjoyed that story and felt obligated to
say a few words about herself working as a field investigator for a
classy Philadelphia defense law firm, while attending law school.
He was smiling and nodding, when she realized he had checked her
out and probably already knew more details of her background than
she did. She stopped in mid sentence and pointed a finger at him
laughing.

He knew what she meant. “I had all afternoon
to think about you. I can’t access the official database for
personal use, but hey, I can say you’re part of the case.”

“Glad to hear I’m not wanted by any
authorities.”

“I didn’t say you’re not wanted.”

She studied his face for a moment. “This
isn’t a date, Jay.”

“I know. I asked Mel Shapiro if you were
taken.”

With all agenda out of the way, the evening
continued pleasantly for them both. At the end, he took her home
and parked in front of her apartment. She didn’t doubt he’d go for
a kiss. They sat in his car politely recounting the date, and he
turned toward her. He put his right arm around her shoulders, and
as he leaned closer and kissed her, he rested his other hand
lightly on her bare knee. She was slightly confused at her own
quiet acceptance. Even so, his hand had better not move any higher.
To her surprise, she let herself get into the kiss, and after a
moment turned halfway toward him and pressed in closer. He held the
kiss and his hand stayed at her knee but his fingers moved under.
He now cupped the soft underside of her knee in his hand. It gave
her a tingle in a couple of places yet seemed acceptable as well.
She placed her hand on the back of his neck, so he’d know to
continue the kiss. As the kiss went on, he tightened his grip on
her knee causing her leg to move slightly. His hand didn’t move
above her knee, it didn’t need to. His slight movement of her leg,
while they kissed did it all. Too much. His hand on her knee made
her entire leg seem under his control. He wasn’t moving it with any
rhythm, yet when it moved her body would respond. Too intense. She
shuddered and broke away. The clench had gone on too long and was
beginning to promise something more. After all, now that she
thought clearly, his hand on her bare knee was his hand halfway up
her bare leg. She moved away from him and instinctively smoothed
out her skirt though it wasn’t at all out of place. She wondered if
her face looked as hot as it felt. “Jay, I’m not into this.”

“You could have fooled me.”

They both straightened.

“I hope you enjoyed the evening, Sandy.”

“Every minute. I’m impressed.”

“I’ll gladly accept impressed. I’ll drive
home singing she’s impressed with me.”

“You have to drive back to Miami
tonight?”

“Just to my place in West Palm. I’ll make it.
It’s not that late.”

She put her hand on the door latch. “Maybe
I’ll see you in court or something.” That was it, she wasn’t about
to apologize for not being easier and going farther.

He said, “I’d like to phone you sometime.
Would you mind?”

Not a good idea, and that’s the sort of look
she gave him.

He chuckled. “Shapiro told me I wouldn’t get
any place with you.”

“Mel said that? You two men were talking
about me?” She turned back to face him. “Talking about making out
with me? I’m fascinated by how the male mind works. I assume
‘getting some place’ means getting some.” She thought she’d pretend
to be upset.

“You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t guy talk
about girls or anything like that. When you left the Windward after
lunch, he said he thought you were a nice person. I could tell it
was an understatement. That guy is all yours, if you want to snap
your fingers.”

“Never mind that, go on about what was
said.”

“That’s all. I told him we’d made a date.
That’s when he said I wouldn’t get any place with you. He said it
as though he hoped I would fail. He meant it as a compliment.”

“If you knew you couldn’t get any place, then
what are you here for?” Now she was teasing. “You thought it was
worth a shot anyway?”

“That’s insulting. I thought you were
interesting. I wanted to know you better.”

“I’d call your hand on my knee taking a
shot.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Was that your
knee?”

They shared a laugh and said goodnight. As
she moved toward the open car door, he gently took her arm and
pulled her back enough to softly kiss her one last time. “I did get
someplace with you tonight didn’t I?”

He certainly had. Something was there, if she
had let herself go with her emotions. However to admit to that
would be too personal, and she didn’t know how to express it
anyway. She just said goodnight again.

She walked to the front door of her apartment
building and turned. He was still waiting. For a second she
thought, “Ask him in, stupid. Ask him in.”

She fantasized about him for awhile that
night before falling asleep.

S
andy double-checked
the address on the police report for John Larena’s condo. She was
eager to check out the scene of the murder. The reconstruction of
what happened there the night of the murder would be an important
part of the trial. She parked her little red MX5 convertible at the
curb and looked over at the Coral Palm Condominium.

It was a four-story building with a white
stucco façade just one block inside the Park Beach city limits. The
street side wasn’t particularly interesting with a token amount of
landscaping, but the place featured the ever-present swimming pool
area at the back encircled by a high ficus hedge. Not a fashionable
facility and far from the beach, yet perfectly acceptable housing,
and South Florida was full of such places. Had it been located near
the ocean its value would be triple. She’d move from her small
studio apartment in a flash.

Before getting out of her car, she phoned
Martin to bring him up to date, and let him know what she was up
to. “Just now, I’m at John’s condo on Eighth Street. I want to see
the shower setup where he was shot and look around the place. Also,
Margo told me where I might find some financial papers.”

“Oh, in that regard, I looked up the deed on
the condo.” Martin said. “He never owned the place. His mother in
Miami owns it. She’ll never hand it over to the quarreling wife. My
guess is she’ll give it to her daughter, Claudia.”

“Well, Claudia doesn’t know that yet, and
we’re going to keep it from her as long as possible. Here’s the big
news. The feds are all over our little murder case, it seems it has
international implications.” She gave him a quick take on the
meeting with Shapiro and Jay Heppard.

“And that’s good isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. It takes the focus off Margo.
I’ll be in touch.”

She fiddled in her purse for the key she took
from Margo’s apartment. She double-checked the police report again
for the apartment number—223. Ignoring the elevator, she hurried up
the stairs. The unit was halfway down on the back side. Crumpled
pieces of yellow crime-scene tape were strewn in the hallway.
Maintenance must be lousy in the building; no one had cleaned up
the hall yet.

She had the key in her hand, but the door
knob turned easily, and the door swung open. The Crime Scene unit
should have made certain the door was locked before leaving. She
heard nothing except the low hum of an air conditioner—the power
must still be on. There was also a fresh whiff of cologne or
after-shave lotion in the air. Not unusual for a man’s apartment,
she supposed.

She faced a long dining—living room area with
sliding glass doors at the far end. The entry and dining room area
were tiled. Carpet reached on out to the sliding doors of the
balcony. Furnishings were adequate yet unremarkable. Beyond the
dining room with its low-hanging chandelier, was the living room
with a sectional sofa placed nicely in a conversational grouping.
There were doors off the living room on each side leading to
bedrooms, she assumed. A typical apartment layout. On her right was
a small hall leading to bedrooms. To her left was a half-wall
serving as a pass-thru counter to the kitchen.

She walked straight ahead on the carpeted
floor to the end of the living room and looked out through the
sliding-glass doors. A small balcony was just large enough to sun
oneself in one of the two white deck chairs. Looking down, she
could see a few people, mostly white-haired, around the pool.

She heard a creaking sound. She stopped dead.
She listened but could hear only some people outside at the pool.
She waited. Must have been another apartment.

She came back and walked into the kitchen,
small but enough room for a charming breakfast nook at the end.
Beyond the breakfast nook on the kitchen side, she could see a
bathroom and on through to a large bedroom with double-windows at
the pool end. A door at the far end of the bedroom opened onto the
living room.

She opened the freezer compartment—ice cube
compartment above and slide—out baskets below. Nothing but two
frozen dinners in the basket and they looked normal. As she put her
hand into the tray to search through the ice cubes, she noticed
scattered ice cubes had fallen into the baskets. It appeared she
wasn’t the first to rummage around in the freezer. After closing
the freezer door, she noticed a few clippings, appointment cards,
and notes secured with smiley-face magnets. She quickly scrutinized
each. None seemed significant except for a phone number scrawled on
a small piece of notepaper torn from a motel writing pad. She
pulled it loose, folded it, and stuffed it down in her jeans
pocket.

She was startled when she heard a toilet
flush off somewhere down the hall on the right side. Was it in this
apartment? She waited a half-minute for it to quiet and then called
out, “Hello, you’ve got company.”

That was a mistake. There was a loud bang. A
slamming door. And the sound of footsteps pounding on the other
side running toward her. Looking out through the kitchen
pass-through, she saw a man in brown leather jacket step out of the
hall near the front door. She froze. He didn’t spot her at first.
Then he saw her through the pass-through. When she saw him point
the gun, she intuitively thrust her palms out in front of her as
though to shield herself and ward off any bullets from hitting her.
“Wait! Don’t do anything.”

He fired immediately. The sound in the small
room was ungodly loud. She had no idea where the bullet went. She
scrambled to open the freezer door. She jumped behind it just as a
second bullet slammed into the freezer door. Now his steps sounded
on the tiled entry way. He was coming around into the kitchen. She
ran through the breakfast nook. For an instant, when she saw the
bathroom, she considered locking herself in, but instantly decided
it would be a death trap—the last door she’d ever lock.

From the kitchen, she ran on into the bedroom
and locked the door behind her—any man could kick it in, still it
was something. On across the bedroom was a second door out to the
living room. No rear door. Getting to the front door seemed her
only hope. She needed to go out the bedroom door into the living
room and run back passed the kitchen to the front door.

She slowly opened the bedroom door leading to
the living room. She peeked out. That’s where he was, near the
front door. He saw her. He came running through the living room.
She slammed and locked the bedroom door. She hoped he would kick it
in, then she could run back to the kitchen and out the front door.
He didn’t. Instead, he fired through the door. When the sound died
down, she couldn’t hear him. She guessed he was staying in the
living room where he could keep an eye on the kitchen and the front
door, but she wasn’t certain.