Dead on the Dance Floor (21 page)

She was going to ask him to drop it all and leave it dropped, but she didn't have a chance. Sam stopped, causing her to halt along with him. “There.”

Actually, there was nothing left “there.” The body had been taken away. It had been found on the sand, and there was still an area roped off with crime tape, and some Miami Beach officers hanging around. Two crime-scene specialists were combing the sand inch by inch, and the crime tape was surrounded by the curious. People stared, questioned the cops guarding the area and moved on.

“What are we doing?” Shannon murmured. “It's like slowing down to stare at the scene of an accident.”

“But we all do it,” he murmured. “People were talking when we first showed up. The kids who stumbled on her first weren't frightened or horrified. They were excited—they kept talking to everyone and anyone. They were celebrities for a day. Weird, huh?”

“Well, thankfully, the poor woman has been taken away,” Shannon said.

“Oh, yeah. Can you imagine a corpse lying out on the sand in this heat all day? The kids were talking…. She couldn't have been dead that long, but crabs were already munching on her toes.”

“Ugh. Let's go,” Shannon said.

She turned, and Sam followed. But as they walked away, she looked back.

Two men were coming through the crowd. Shannon recognized them both. One was Quinn's early-morning visitor.

The other was Quinn.

The first man showed a local cop his ID, then introduced Quinn, who shook hands with the officer. Then both men began to ask questions.

“What's the matter?” Sam asked, stopping.

“Nothing,” she said quickly, and kept walking. She didn't know why, but she didn't want Sam seeing their new student at the scene.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, just a case of the shivers. Let's go.”

She quickened her pace. When she had a chance, she glanced back again.

Apparently the men hadn't come alone. They were with a very attractive, very pregnant woman who was carrying a sketch pad. Quinn had an arm around her. He was talking to her softly, and he seemed deeply concerned. She looked up, flashing him a smile. Then she slipped under the crime-scene tape, hunkered down and started to draw.

“What the hell is it?” Sam asked, looking at her with concern.

“Race you to the blankets!” Shannon said, then started to tear down the beach. She was fast, and she knew it. Sam took the bait, flying after her.

When they reached their spot, she sat down first. He followed her, gasping and panting.

“I won,” she told him.

Still panting, he stared at her and smiled.

“What?” she demanded.

“Oh, yeah. That ankle is bad. Like hell.”

She groaned. “Where's your car?”

“A block from your place.”

“Walk me home, then. We can cool off for a while, and then I'll make us something to eat.”

 

There were times when Quinn was definitely glad he was no longer a cop or with the Bureau.

There really were no such things as regular hours, no matter what some schedule said. Of course, for him, life was still that way, but at least he could step back and take time when he wanted.

He'd intended to be doing just that now, he remembered. He should have been on a beach, all right, but a beach in the Bahamas. Cool breezes blowing. An icy brew in his hands. Kids playing in the sand. Calypso music coming from somewhere. Salt eroding the tangle of cobwebs that held all the disillusioned nightmares of his mind.

Then again, had he been in the Bahamas, there wouldn't have been last night on his boat.

And he wouldn't be with Jake and Ashley, wondering what the hell Shannon Mackay had done on his boat after he'd left and staring at a strip of sand where a corpse had washed up from Biscayne Bay.

A fresh one, thank God, as the assistants down at the M.E.'s office had been saying. Duarte had spent the week so swamped, he wasn't cutting into his newest arrival until the following day. Jake was the head homicide detective on the case, and he'd decided to take another look at the scene in daylight. Quinn had come along, but not until he'd returned to the boat and made a thorough inspection of it, ascertaining that nothing was missing, despite the fact that Shannon had taken the time to make coffee, then left in such haste that she hadn't bothered locking the door. Meanwhile, Ashley had managed to get out on an earlier flight, so Jake had picked her up, and after this quick look at the crime scene, they were going to head over to the morgue. Ashley was going to do a sketch of the woman's face for the paper, hoping to find someone who could identify her.

The cops didn't want a photo of her; they wanted her looking as she would have looked when she was alive.

Ashley had been a rare find for Jake Dilessio—a woman with two loves in her life: art and police work. She never tired. Despite the fact that she was expecting their first child within the month—and looked like she was walking around with a bowling ball under her shirt—she was still intent on work. They were both going to take some time when the baby was born, but until then, as Ashley said with a shrug, what did she have to do except sit around and feel huge? Later, as they drove to the morgue, Quinn couldn't help but ask her if sketching corpses didn't ever give her a queasy stomach, at the least.

“You don't ever get over an unnatural death being horrible,” she told Quinn, leaning over the seat to look at him as they drove. “But I've had a great pregnancy. I don't feel ill at all—never had a second of morning sickness. And my work is important. Both Jake and I are creating a better world for the child we're bringing into it.” She smiled, glancing at Jake, who was driving. “We can't solve all the ills in the universe, but every little bit helps, right?”

“Ashley, you should be cloned,” Quinn told her.

She flashed him a smile. Beautiful and delicate, she could also be tough as nails.

“Thanks.” She fell silent, then said, “Whatever the circumstances…you know we're glad to have you back down here, right?” She sounded awkward, but she wasn't the type to pry. “Hey, if Nell Durken hadn't come to you, and you hadn't kept such meticulous records when you tailed her husband, he might have gotten away with it.”

“He hasn't gone to trial yet,” Quinn reminded her. He frowned. She might not feel queasy, but now, when he thought about the Durken case,
he
did.

They reached the morgue. Jake and Ashley flashed their badges, and an assistant came out to escort them into one of the rooms, where the victim from the beach was brought out.

According to Duarte's initial estimation, she hadn't been dead twenty-four hours yet.

Amazing what the sea and the life within it could do in that time.

And still, certain facts were obvious.

She had been young, beautiful and, apparently, rich. Her nails—on the untouched fingers—were elegantly manicured. What remained of her makeup was expertly applied and apparently long lasting. Her hair was rich, thick, dark, well tendered. High cheekbones graced her face, and, when her mouth was opened, it appeared that her teeth were perfect. Bone structure, muscle tone…everything indicated that she'd had every opportunity in life.

Ashley was already sketching.

The assistant provided gloves, but their cursory inspection provided little additional information, except that they noted the needle tracks in her arms.

“A user…but she hadn't moved beyond her arms,” Jake said.

Quinn shook his head. “Her physical condition appears to have been good otherwise.”

“She couldn't have been into it long,” Jake agreed.

A little while later, Ashley told them that she was finished.

Her sketch wasn't of a smiling, cheerful face but rather one at rest. It was excellent, and far better for a loved one to discover in the newspaper than a photo of what that once-beautiful face had become.

After leaving the morgue, they headed back to the spot where the body had been found. Since the crime-scene detectives were still busy searching the sand, they kept their distance, talking to the patrol officers who had canvassed the area, asking questions.

A delicate matter. The body had actually been found on hotel property, though no one at the hotel recognized Ashley's sketch. Or if they did, they didn't let on.

Jake noted the proximity of the spot where the body had been found to the studio—and to Shannon's house.

He said goodbye to Jake and Ashley, assuring them he would get back to the marina fine, and started walking.

He rang the bell at Shannon's house. He heard movement near the door, apparently someone looking through the peephole, but it wasn't opened.

Then he heard people speaking. Whispering. He leaned his ear against the door.

“What's the matter with you? Why don't you open it?” A man's voice. Quinn recognized it as Sam Railey's.

“It's Sunday—I'm off.” Shannon's reply was terse.

He shouldn't have come here, Quinn realized. There was that fraternization thing.

“Well, open the door and tell him that,” Sam said.

“No. Just let him go away.”

“That guy has a thing for you, I think.” Sam sounded teasing.

“He's a student.”

“Screw that! He's hardly a student. He won't last. The guy gives new meaning to the term ‘two left feet.'”

True but painful, Quinn thought wryly.

“Let's get away from the door,” Shannon said.

Great. Thanks for defending me, Quinn thought.

He rang the bell again.

“Oh, for God's sake,” Sam muttered.

“All right, all right.”

Quinn stepped back just in time. The door flew open.

Shannon stared at him. She didn't simply look angry that he had shown up at her house when a fellow teacher was there.

She looked lethal.

Her emerald-green eyes were harder and icier than he had ever seen them. Her body language was downright hostile. She was stiffer than a concrete pillar.

And she didn't ask him in but left him standing on the porch.

Sam, on the other hand, looked highly amused. “Hey, Quinn,” he said cheerfully.

“What do you want, Mr. O'Casey?” Her tone could freeze fire.

“I came by to see how you were.” He glanced at Sam. “I knew where Miss Mackay's house was because I dropped her off the other night.” He turned to Shannon. “After everything…I was in the neighborhood. I just thought I'd see how you were doing.”

“You were just in the neighborhood, were you?” There was saccharine in the query.

Then he knew. Something hit the pit of his stomach like a rock. She'd gone through his place. Well, he'd been a real idiot, leaving her there, with what was in his drawers.

“Are you talking about what happened on the beach? Some kids found a body there,” Sam said.

Apparently she hadn't said anything to anyone else yet. That was a relief. Not that his real line of work was a national secret.

“I heard,” he said evenly, staring at Shannon.

“Sam and I were on our way out,” Shannon said.

“Oh?” She had on a terry cover-up. Sam was in cutoffs. They were both dusted with sand.

“We were?” Sam said. “I thought you were going to cook?”

Shannon glared at him. He stared back, as if really confused. “Well, hell, don't leave our new student out here while we figure this out.” He backed away, smiling. “Come in, Quinn. Or Mr. O'Casey. You know, according to the rules, we're supposed to call our students Mr. or Mrs. or Miss all the time. I think those rules must have been written a while ago, because they don't even refer to a possible Ms. We've always gone by first names, though. What do you think?”

“Quinn is just fine,” he said, taking advantage of the opportunity Sam afforded him and stepping inside.

He and Shannon needed to talk. Somehow.

“Sam,” Shannon said warningly beneath her breath.

“Come on, Shannon, aren't you even curious? Quinn can tell us all about the case.”

“You two feel free to chat,” she said. By her tone, she didn't mean it at all. “I'm taking a shower. Sam, we
are
going out. Mr. O'Casey, we'd love to invite you, but I'm sure you've heard that we have a studio policy? We don't want anyone feeling we're giving one student more attention than another.”

She'd left him little choice. He managed to grin awkwardly.

“Actually, my ride disappeared. I thought I could get a return favor, and you could give me a lift home.”

Let her handle that one politically.

“Shannon, let's not be idiotic,” Sam pleaded. “Don't you need to talk to Quinn about a charter boat for the Gator Gala, anyway?”