Mortal Dilemma (28 page)

J.D. dressed carefully in what she always thought of as her court attire: navy suit, white blouse, and low-heeled navy pumps. She laid her suit jacket over the back of the living room sofa and went to the kitchen to get the coffee started.

She had filled the coffee maker and turned it on when there was a knock at the door. Three sharp raps. Matt forgot his key again, she thought as she walked to the door. She opened it to Charlie Bates. He was grinning broadly and holding a revolver, a thirty-eight-caliber Police Special, pointed at her. A miasma of body odor and old alcohol emanated from him like some kind of toxic cloud.

J.D. reacted immediately and tried to slam the door. Bates put a foot out and stopped it from closing. He pushed his way into the condo and closed the door behind him. “What do you want, Charlie?” J.D. asked.

He chuckled. “Didn't take you long to figure out who I am.”

“Easy. You're in the system. Big time.”

“Quite a resume, huh?”

“Very impressive,” she said.

He kept walking toward her, pushing her farther back into the condo as she tried to avoid the stench radiating from his filthy body. Finally they were standing in the living room, J.D. with her back to the alcove that led to the master bedroom where her holstered service weapon was hanging over the back of a chair. If I can get to that, she thought, I could turn this thing around.

“What do you want, Charlie?” she asked again.

“You, babe.”

“Not going to happen, Charlie.”

“Oh, it's going to happen. One way or another. Take your clothes off.”

“That's not going to happen, either.”

He pulled a large knife from the scabbard attached to his belt. “If
I have to cut them off, I will. Might get a little flesh in the bargain, though. My hand might not be too steady. You know, the juices flowing and all.”

“Charlie, the only way you're going to get my clothes off is to kill me.”

“Huh. It wouldn't be the first time I fucked a dead woman. But I'd rather have you alive. We'll just have to see how it goes.”

J.D. was trying to tamp down her rising panic. If she ran for her weapon, Bates would shoot her in the back. If she took off her clothes, it would only delay the inevitable. The Publix market was five miles down the island and it would take Matt fifteen minutes to get there and park, another ten minutes in the store and fifteen back. Forty minutes from the time he left the condo. He'd been gone for maybe twenty minutes, which meant he wouldn't return for close to another half hour. By then, it would all be over and she'd be dead. Maybe she could talk Bates down, slow the process. “Matt will be here in a few minutes,” J.D. said.

“Bullshit. I saw him leave. I've been sitting in your parking lot for an hour waiting for him to go. I recognized his car when I drove in. I'll take care of that asshole later.”

“He just ran down to the store.”

“Right.”

“Even if he doesn't come back, he'll know what you did and he'll track you down like a wild hog and kill you. He'll make your dying last a long time. And when you're about done, when you know you're about to draw your last breath, and you welcome it because the pain is so terrible, I want you to think about me and about this warning.”

“He's a pussy lawyer,” Charlie Bates said. “Nothing to worry about.”

“He was Army Special Forces. You saw how he took you down Saturday night. He didn't even break a sweat.”

“He sucker punched me. Caught me off guard.”

J.D. forced a laugh. “Not the way I heard it. You took the first swing. With a beer bottle.”

“You better start getting outta them clothes.”

“I told you that's not going to happen, Charlie.”

He moved toward her, the knife coming up to waist level, his pistol in the other hand and trained on her. He was interrupted by the sound of a key being inserted into the lock on her front door. It opened. Matt took two steps inside and stopped dead.

W
EDNESDAY
, N
OVEMBER
5

D
URING THE NIGHT
, a cold front had moved into Southwest Florida, making its way down from Canada, weakening as it moved south, its remnants blowing chilled air over our island. It was a little early for jackets, but sometimes the cold fronts arrive prematurely and the effects hang around for a day or two.

I'd worn a windbreaker that morning, and as I walked in the door of J.D.'s condo, I was pocketing my car keys in the right pocket where I kept my Kel-Tec PF9, a small nine-millimeter pistol that was little more than five inches long and weighed less than a pound. I didn't want to be caught unprepared if Youssef or one of his men showed up. I had a small sack of muffins in my left hand and a copy of the
Tampa Bay Times
tucked under my left arm. I took two steps inside and stopped dead, my right hand still in the pocket with my keys and my gun.

My memory of the moment when I walked in the door is of a second fixed in time, a tableau vivant, the actors still, expressions frozen on their faces, J.D. taking a step backward, Bates in mid-step toward her, a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. His head was turned to the right, looking at me, the hand with the pistol starting to point in my direction.

J.D. was standing with her back to the alcove that led to her
bedroom, Bates a couple of feet in front of her. They were maybe a dozen feet from me. Both were looking in my direction, but I was sure Bates could see J.D. in his peripheral vision.

“What're you doing, Charlie?” I asked, my voice calm.

He made that sound that may have been a laugh, or a growl. “I'm going to fuck the little lady here. Just like I promised Saturday night. I'll let you watch, and then I'm going to shoot your sorry ass.”

“I don't think so.” My voice was calm. I didn't want to taunt the beast.

He glared at me, and said to J.D., “Get naked, bitch, or I'm going to shoot this motherfucker. Now.”

“No,” J.D. said, alarm in her voice. “I'll take my clothes off.” She started to unbutton her blouse, counting the buttons as she did so, trying to keep his attention, and sidestepping discreetly out of his peripheral line of sight. “Done,” she said, her voice soft, sultry, inviting. She threw the blouse on the floor between Bates and me. “I'm not wearing a bra,” she lied. “Take a peek and let me know what you think.”

Bates turned his head to look. I raised the Kel-Tec, still in my pocket, and shot through the fabric of the jacket. The slug hit him in the neck. He dropped like a felled tree, arms akimbo, no attempt to break his fall or react in any way. My mind slowed and I saw the bullet enter the right side of his neck and exit the left, taking tissue and blood with it. Good thing J.D. has tile floors, I thought. I watched the slug fly out the open sliding glass doors, across the pool deck and disappear into the turquoise water of the bay.

I'm fully aware that I didn't really see that, and in fact the doors were closed against the Canadian air, but in the second after I pulled the trigger, my mind conjured up the results of the shot. It was like I had slipped into another dimension, and suddenly, I was back. J.D. was standing where she'd been less than a second ago, wearing her skirt and bra, a look of consternation on her face.

She walked across the room and collapsed on the sofa. She reached for her cell phone in the pocket of her suit jacket, dialed three numbers, and said, “Iva, this is J.D. I've got a dead man in my condo. Roll the guys and make sure Steve Carey is one of them. We'll need him to do the detective work on this one. Get Kevin and the crime scene people moving, too. You know my address? Thanks. Yes, I'm okay. Matt's with me.”

I sat next to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep shuddering breath. “That was close. I was about to try to take the knife away from him when I heard your key in the door. You got back fast.”

“I stopped at Harry's store for a newspaper and saw a basketful of muffins. I thought a couple of those might be a little better for us than all that sugar from Publix. I'd have been here sooner, but I ran into Mike Seamon and stopped to talk. Cyndi's volunteering full time at Mote, now that the turtles have gone to wherever they go, so he…” I stopped. My mouth was outrunning my brain, talking because I didn't know what else to do. I was shaken by J.D.'s brush with Bates. He'd have killed her just for the hell of it, and her vulnerability to such an attack had unnerved me.

I heard sirens in the distance, getting louder as they came closer. The cavalry, in LBKPD uniforms, was on the way. “You'd better put your blouse on,” I said. “One guy already died today trying to get a look at those beauties. You don't want to get the reputation as a strumpet.” I was trying to break the tension. I knew she was feeling a lot more than she was showing.

“Not funny. Strumpet?” she said, slapping me on the thigh as she got off the sofa, put on her blouse and went to open the door. But she smiled, and I knew she would be okay soon enough. She was a tough cookie. And she was mine. And she was alive.

W
EDNESDAY
, N
OVEMBER
5

S
TEVE
C
AREY WAS
the first cop through the door. “You okay, J.D.?”

“Yes. Matt shot the bastard.”

“What happened?”

“The guy was trying to rape me.”

“You did good, Matt,” Steve said. “Who is he?”

“His name is Charlie Bates,” I said. “Do you want me to go into detail or wait until you can take a formal statement?”

“Let's wait. Are you sure you're okay, J.D.?”

“I'm fine. He never touched me. Matt came in just in time.”

Two other cops pushed through the door and in a couple of minutes the paramedics arrived. They checked the body, determined that Bates was well and truly dead, and left, telling us that the medical examiner's people were on the way.

Chief Bill Lester and Deputy Chief Martin Sharkey showed up to make sure J.D. was safe. The chief told Carey to get detailed statements while we waited for the forensics people. “That's just for show,” Lester said. “Not much forensics is needed here. We know who Bates was, we know he's no longer among the living, and we know old dead-eye Royal here killed the bastard while in the act of saving the life of a Longboat Key police detective. We'll get out of your hair, J.D. Don't worry about the deposition today. I'll take care of it.” He and Sharkey left.

We sat and talked to Steve Carey, who was recording our statements. The medical examiner's assistants came and took pictures and removed the body. A cleanup crew arrived to get the blood and tissue off the tile floor. Kevin, Longboat's forensic guy, came, took a look around, snapped few photographs, and left.

Some of J.D.'s neighbors had gathered in the parking lot, wondering what was going on with all the official cars and ambulances showing up with sirens blaring. The officers on the scene had assured them that everything was under control and J.D. was fine. After everybody was gone and J.D. and I were alone in her condo, she started to shake, and tears ran down her cheeks. I pulled her into my arms as we sat on the sofa. She began to sob, her breath catching as she tried to choke back the emotion. I held her tighter and said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. She needed to cry it out, and then the tough-as-nails cop would come back. Hopefully.

“I wanted him dead, Matt,” she said finally. “I didn't want justice for him, I didn't want to see him in court or getting sent to jail where he'd be taken care of by the state. I didn't even want to see him executed, if it came to that. I just wanted him dead. Right there on my floor. And I wanted to do it, pull the trigger, and watch him sink into the abyss. And when you shot him, I tried to see the expression on his face. I wanted to see something, but it wasn't there. Nothing. He just closed his eyes and slumped to the floor. I was glad you killed him, but my first thought was that I wished it had been me pulling that trigger.”

“I know, baby.” I was still holding her, letting the anguish dissipate.

“That isn't me, Matt. I've had to kill people before. In the line of duty. But I never wanted to kill them. That guy who took the shot at me up in Gainesville last week. If I could have arrested him, I would have done so. I only shot him because I had no other choice. And I didn't feel too bad about it, like I thought I should have. But I wouldn't have shot him if I could have avoided it. Bates, I wanted
to kill. And I would have killed him. Given the choice, I might have even used the knife.”

“I know, baby.” I didn't know what else to say. She had to talk it out.

“Have I crossed a line, Matt? Have I abandoned every belief about justice and law that I've held over a lifetime? It's dark on the other side of that line.”

She talked some more and then was quiet. Her breathing evened out and she dropped off to sleep. We sat like that for a long time, her head resting on my shoulder, my arms around her, holding on to the one person who was completely indispensable to me. She'd had a close call, but she'd be okay. I'd see to that.

W
EDNESDAY
, N
OVEMBER
5

Y
OUSSEF AL
B
ASHAR
and Saif Jabbar were eating breakfast in a Wendy's restaurant near the intersection of Highway 64 and Interstate 75, east of Bradenton. The call had come on Sunday morning telling Youssef that Royal was back on Longboat Key. He must have driven, because he didn't go through the airport. Or at least, if he had, Saif had missed him. That wasn't likely.

The men had spent the rest of the day on Sunday trying to find some trace of their men. They had gone to the taxi company manager's house to ask about the one known as Tariq. The man knew nothing. He hadn't seen Tariq since Saturday morning. Hadn't heard from him.