Текст книги "15 seconds"

Автор книги: Andrew Gross

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц) [доступный отрывок для чтения: 8 страниц]

Chapter Eight

My eyes locked on the gamecock, the question throbbing through me if some kind of connection could’ve existed between Mike and the person who had just shot Martinez, or if this was just some crazy coincidence.

Either way, I drove back on the highway, knowing I was safe in Mike’s Jaguar, at least until someone discovered the body. Which could be any moment, of course. I tried to think how I could explain this. It would hardly be a secret that I had headed to Mike’s after I left Martinez. There was the cabbie; not to mention my prints and DNA probably all over everything. Gail would tell them how we were supposed to play golf that morning. I’d taken his phone and car. As soon as he was found, everything would be linked to me. I veered off the highway at a random exit, pulled the Jag into the lot of a Winn-Dixie food market, and just sat there.

I needed someone to help me now. Someone I could trust.

Amazingly, the person who came to mind was Liz.

My ex-wife and I had stayed on decent terms since we split up. Decent because she had moved on, even if I hadn’t completely. Whatever had once come between us—our diverging careers; that she could be a total bitch at times; and oh yeah, that she had started up with the lead partner in her firm while we were still married—we still trusted each other, at least when it came to Hallie’s best interests.

Liz was a terrific immigration lawyer; she dealt mostly with people trying to get a green card for their housekeepers or a visa for their relatives from Cuba. But if there was a better person to call who would know how to get me out of this hole, I didn’t know who.

I dialed her number at work and her secretary, Joss, came on. “Liz Feldman’s office.”

“Joss, is she there?” My voice shook with urgency. “It’s important!”

“I’m afraid she’s in a meeting, Dr. Steadman. Can I have her call you back? It shouldn’t be too long.”

“No, it can’t wait, Joss. I need to speak with her now. I need you to pull her out of that meeting.”

“Give me a moment,” Joss said, obviously picking up the anxiety in my tone. “I hope that everything’s okay . . .”

“Thanks. I really appreciate that, Joss.”

It took another thirty seconds but finally Liz came on, in her usual bulldog style. “Henry, you just can’t pull me out of a meeting like that. Is—”

“Liz!” I cut her off. “Listen—this is important. I’m in trouble. Big trouble. I need your help.”

“What’s happened?” she shot back. Then she gasped. “It’s not—”

“No, Hallie’s okay,” I said, anticipating her concern. “It’s nothing to do with her. It’s me. I’m in Jacksonville . . .”

I tried to explain it all as rationally as I could. How a cop had pulled me over for running a light and began to hassle me. “It was weird—it was like he thought I was someone they were looking for. He pulled me out of the car and told me I was being arrested and slapped a set of cuffs on me . . .”

“Arrested? Well, you know how you can run your mouth off, Henry,” she replied in form.

“Liz, this isn’t a joke. Just listen! And I didn’t do anything—at least not enough to get pulled out of my car. But that’s not what’s important now. The cop was killed!”

“Killed?”

“Yes, Liz. Right in front of my eyes, Liz. After he let me go, someone pulled their car around next to his and shot him, point-blank, right through his head. I saw the entire thing.”

“Oh my God, Henry, that’s horrible. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right! I mean, I’m not injured. But the police believe I did it!” I told her how the other police cars had been called to the scene and all those crazy kinds of questions they were barking at me.

“But that’s not the issue now! The guy who did it took off and I took off after him. I saw something on the car, but I couldn’t catch up. So, basically, the cops saw that I was in cuffs in the back of this dead patrolman’s car and then I fled the scene.”

“Well, you have to go back, Henry. That much is clear. Now!”

“I did go back, Liz. And they opened fire at me!”

“Opened fire! My God, Henry, are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I mean, I wasn’t hit. But my car was totally shot up. The windows shattered. I managed to escape and ditched it. But now I’m on the run. They think I did it! Not to mention my fucking prints are all over his car!”

“Your prints?” I heard her struggling to put it all together. “How did your prints get in his car, Henry?”

“Because I watched him being shot, Liz! While he was writing me out a summons. Because I’m a doctor and I ran back to check on him, but he was already gone. But anyone driving by at that particular moment saw me leaning into his car. Find a news station. I’m pretty sure my name is out there as a suspect.”

“A suspect? Henry, they obviously somehow believe you were someone else. Whoever it was they were asking all those questions about. All we have to do is clear this up and . . . So what did you do, after you saw what happened? You called 911, right?”

“Yes, I called 911, of course. But I also went after the car. There was something about it that caught my eye as I watched it speed away . . . I don’t know, maybe it was instinct, but suddenly I thought, this son of a bitch just shot someone right in front of me and he’s getting away. And I was the only one who saw it. So I went after him, but I couldn’t catch up. On my way back, I ran into one of the officers who had been hassling me earlier—trust me, Liz, this guy was a total asshole—and he spotted me behind the wheel and pulled out a gun.”

“You didn’t give him any reason to shoot?”

“Liz, please don’t be a lawyer here! Maybe I panicked. When’s the last time you had someone aiming a gun at you? The guy had threatened me earlier. So, yes, I pulled the car out of my lane and he opened fire and the window caved in. I mean, what was I going to do? I thought he was trying to kill me, Liz!

“Look, I don’t know if I made the right decision or not, but I was scared for my life . . . So the net-net is, I basically ran from a murder scene—the murder of a cop! A cop who had me in handcuffs not ten minutes before. With my goddamn prints everywhere!”

“Okay. Okay, Henry, let me think . . . Did you manage to catch the plates? On this blue vehicle you spoke of?”

“Some of it. AMD or ADJ . . . It all happened so fast. But they were definitely out-of-state. South Carolina. I know that because I—”

“Henry, listen . . . Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to find a way for you to turn yourself in. You had zero motive to kill this officer, right? You said he was letting you go. And you surely had no gun . . .”

“For God’s sake, I don’t even own a gun, Liz! You know that. Not to mention I’d just gotten off a plane.”

“ . . . And it’s perfectly understandable,” she kept rationalizing, “why you panicked and felt you had to run. They were shooting at you. From what you told me I think we can easily—”

“Liz, listen!” I interrupted her. “There’s more . . .”

“More, Henry . . . ?” she uttered haltingly. “What could possibly be more?”

I sucked in a breath. “A lot more, I’m afraid. I can’t just turn myself in. That’s what I was trying to tell you. It gets a whole lot deeper than that.”

Chapter Nine

“You remember Mike Dinofrio—from Amherst?” I reminded her that we had all met once for drinks at the Mizner Center in Boca a couple of years back when he was in town.

“Yeah. I think so,” she answered vaguely, not convincing me that she did. “So . . . ?”

“He’s a lawyer as well. From Jacksonville. We were supposed to play golf today before my conference. I had no idea where to go when I drove away from the scene, so I ditched my rental car and found a cab . . .”

“A cab?”

“Yes, Liz, a cab! I couldn’t exactly drive around in my car. Every cop in the city was looking for it. The fucking windows were blown out. And so I went there. To his house . . . Mike’s. To find a way to turn myself in.”

“Okay . . .” I could feel her losing patience.

“Well, I just left it, Liz—and he’s dead!”

“Dead?” Her voice dropped off a cliff. “Your friend . . . ?”

In the ensuing pause, I could sense her struggling to make sense of it all—my somehow being stopped by the cop, pulled out of my car and cuffed; the officer shot dead; me, racing madly from the scene on some wild-goose chase. Then Mike . . .

And to my rising worry, I felt her starting to fail.

“Yes. He was a lawyer, Liz. I thought he could help me turn myself in. The cops were shooting at me and I had no frigging idea where to go. And now he’s got a couple of holes in his chest and, so help me, Liz, I have no idea why or what’s happening! All I know is that now two people are dead. Two people who I’m pretty sure that the only connection between was me! What the hell is going on?”

She didn’t reply, and the longer the pause became the more it began to worry me. “I don’t know, Henry,” she finally answered me. “Why don’t you tell me just what’s going on?”

“No, please, Liz, don’t you dare go there on me. I need you to understand. You know damn well, whatever it is, I’m not capable of that! I’m up here at a Doctors Without Borders conference. I’m supposed to be delivering a speech tonight, on my work in Nicaragua, and to play a little golf, for God’s sake! The rest . . .”

“Okay, okay . . .” Liz paused, hearing the agitation in my voice. “Look, Henry, I’m sorry about your friend, but right now all I’m thinking about is you. Is there any chance your friend Mike might be connected in all this? To the cop, or to this guy they were supposedly looking for?”

“I don’t know.” I ran the idea around in my mind. “No, that would be impossible. No one even knew we were getting together. But then again . . .”

“Then again what, Henry?”

“The thing I was trying to tell you before . . . What I saw on the shooter’s car, on his license plate, when I went after him. There’s one on Mike’s car too. It’s a gamecock. A mascot. From the University of South Carolina. I’m staring at it now!”

“A gamecock? What possible connection does that have with anything?”

“I don’t know the connection, Liz!” My voice rose at least an octave. “Mike’s son goes there. I don’t know if it’s a connection at all, or just a coincidence. But you just asked if he could somehow be involved.”

“All right, all right . . . You let me handle that,” Liz said. “We have to find out who that other person is. The one the cops mistook you for. But right now what you have to do is to just stay out of sight for a while. And for God’s sake, if the police find you, Henry—please don’t resist! Just throw your hands up and let them take you, okay? They think you killed one of their own!”

I blew out a breath. “Okay . . .” Then I followed it up with, “Oh God . . .” as an unsettling thought formed in my mind. “You’ve got to tell Hallie, Liz. Before she hears it from her friends, or on Facebook or something. My name’s going to be all over the news, if it’s not already. By tonight, the whole damn world is going to know. They may already know!”

“All right. I understand. You’re right. I’ll do it when we get off the phone. Speaking of which . . .” She paused, emphatically. “I see this isn’t your phone. Just whose are you calling me on?”

I swallowed, knowing how this was about to go over. “Mike’s.”

“Mike’s!” She let a couple of seconds pass. “That’s a joke, right?”

“No, it’s not a joke, Liz. I realize how it looks, but how could I possibly use mine? I found it on his desk. And it’s not like I can deny ever going there. My DNA is all over his place. I thought it would buy me some time.”

“Some time? Jesus, Henry . . . And now, why do I think I already know the answer to my next question . . . ? Just whose car are you driving around in?”

I felt an empty space in my stomach. This one would go over even worse. “It was better than my car, Liz. Every cop in Jacksonville was looking for mine!”

“Oh God, Henry . . . Just get your ass off the street. I don’t want to see you end up like Bonnie and Clyde. Go to a motel. Or a public space somewhere. Someplace you won’t have to show your ID. Let me talk to some people. I’ll be back with you soon as I can.”

“Liz . . .” I said, stammering, a tide of emotion finally welling up inside me. It had been a long time since we had talked to each other like this—in what you might call friendship, even trust. “I can’t tell you how much . . . Just thank you, Liz. You must know how much this means to me . . .”

“Twenty years, Henry . . .” Her voice seemed softer than I’d heard in years. “It’s not like we were enemies.”

“No, I guess you’re right. We weren’t.”

“But listen, Henry . . .”

I hunched over as a police car sped by, hoping to hear something soft and compassionate from her, maybe I’m sorry about the way things turned out. “Yes . . .”

“That car you’re driving makes you look like a killer. I would ditch it as soon as you can.”

Chapter Ten

She was right. Mike’s Jag did make me look guilty.

Guiltier.

And it was only a matter of time before an APB was out on it as well. I had nowhere to go, but I had to get off the street until Liz could work a miracle. At least for a couple of hours. I had my iPad; that was one way to communicate. I just needed a safe place to hold out.

I flicked on the radio and found a news channel. It took no more than a minute to hear the news I dreaded come on:

“Our continuing story this morning is the execution-style slaying of a Jacksonville police officer off Lakeview Drive. Dr. Henry Steadman, a prominent South Florida surgeon . . .”

A sickening feeling filled up my belly, my hands on my head. I couldn’t believe I was actually hearing my name in connection with a homicide investigation! A double homicide. It was only a matter of time until Mike was discovered—and his missing car. Okay, Henry, think—is there anyone else you know here you can trust? Was there anyone here whom I could count on? Just to stay off the streets. For a short while. Who would believe me?

I thought of Richard Taylor, the head of the Doctors Without Borders conference who had invited me to speak tonight. But I didn’t want to involve him. I couldn’t ask that.

Then Jennifer came to mind. Miss Jacksonville. I could explain it all to her. I knew she’d see me for who I was. Not some crazy cop killer. I recalled that she was staying at a different hotel from mine. The Hyatt.

Hopefully she’d already made it to town and checked in.

I took Mike’s phone and punched in the number I had for her. I knew it was kind of a long shot, but that’s what we were playing now. It took a few seconds for her to answer, probably not recognizing the caller ID—Mike’s—but sure enough, after I heard her voice, a little tentatively perhaps, I felt better.

“This is Jennifer Keegan.”

“Jennifer—it’s Henry Steadman. Please don’t hang up. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but something crazy has happened.”

“I did hear!” Jennifer replied. She sounded surprised, but not upset that I was calling. “We’ve all heard, Dr. Steadman! What’s happened? They’re saying such incredible things . . .”

“Jennifer, I’ll explain . . . Just trust me—it’s not at all what you might think. I just need to be somewhere safe, for an hour or two, until I can negotiate something and get this whole crazy thing resolved. That’s all. Can I trust you, Jennifer? I know I have no business asking this, it’s just that . . . It’s just that, to be honest, I just don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

“You want to come here?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“Just for an hour or two, that’s all! I have someone working on turning me over. I won’t put you in any harm. I promise. What do you say?”

Chapter Eleven

“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation. “I knew this all had to be something crazy. I’m at the—”

“I know where you are—” I cut her off. “And you have no idea what this means to me, Jennifer. You can’t. You’re a godsend. I’ll be there in half an hour.”

It took about twenty minutes to get there, and just to be safe, I entered the hotel grounds at the adjacent golf course, and left Mike’s Jag on the second level of the two-story garage.

I walked the short distance over to the main lobby, telling myself I had no reason to be concerned, that no one was looking for me here. That I looked like any golfer, in my khakis, my golf cap, and shades. That Mike’s stolen car wasn’t on any news reports yet.

I stepped into the glass-roofed, atrium lobby. It was packed with people from maybe a dozen trade-show groups and conventions. There was some kind of arena football game in town and a throng of boosters wearing black-and-aqua Shark caps and logo sweatshirts was gathered near the entrance, probably heading to some kind of rally.

Everything seemed benign, nothing to worry about. Not that I was exactly trained to spot undercover police if they were there. I scanned the lobby . . . lots of noise, people moving everywhere . . . and spotted the elevators. Jennifer told me to go to room 2107.

I put down my cap and was about to head across the floor when I saw him.

My chest tightened.

Not someone in uniform, but in a plain, navy-blue windbreaker, leaning against the wall near the restrooms while scanning the crowd.

He might well have just been hotel security, if it wasn’t for the terrifying realization that I had seen him once before.

From the back of Martinez’s police car.

He was one of the policemen who was milling around when Martinez stopped me.

Every nerve in my body slammed to a stop.

I turned my back to him. I didn’t know what to do, except that I had to get out of there now. In truth, I was petrified to even take a step. The guy clearly hadn’t seen me yet. He just stood there as if he was waiting to meet a friend. I eased my way toward the football boosters.

Why was he here now?

Then the answer became clear: Jennifer had turned me in. It was a trap! They were waiting for me. Who could even blame her? The only reason I wasn’t spread-eagled on the floor with a gun to my head was that I hadn’t come in through the front entrance, pulling up in my white Caddie, as they were clearly expecting me to do. They must not know about Mike yet. I figured there were several of them, stationed all around. My whole body went rigid with fear. I searched around for the best way out.

And then my cell phone rang.

I would never have even glanced at it in that moment—I was petrified it would draw attention to me—had I not thought that it could well be Liz, and I didn’t want to miss her. Slowly I melded into the crowd of boosters. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the screen. It wasn’t Liz.

It was Hallie.

I didn’t want to answer, but it rang two, then three times, and I felt as if the trill was echoing around the lobby, calling everyone’s attention to me. I just saw my daughter’s name on the screen—Hallie, Hallie . . . And I didn’t know if Liz had spoken with her and if she knew. Knew all that had happened.

So I just pressed the green button before my voice recording came on and muttered softly, set to call her back. “Hallie . . .”

But the voice I heard wasn’t hers. It was a man’s voice, both muffled and unrecognizable.

And what he said on my daughter’s phone jarred me more than anything that had happened today.

He kind of chuckled as he asked, “So how you liking it all so far, Doc?”

Chapter Twelve

I froze.

I realized right away who was on the other end. That I was speaking to the person who was responsible for all this. Who had killed Mike. Martinez.

And he was calling on my daughter’s phone.

“Who are you? Where’s Hallie? Where’s my daughter?” I demanded, my body heaving with mounting dread.

“Oh, we’ll get to all that pretty soon. I promise,” the man said. “But if you ever want to see her again—alive, that is—I think there’s just one little thing you oughta know . . .”

“Go on,” I said. I ducked behind two boosters introducing their wives.

“If I happen to hear that you get caught by the police, or even turn yourself in . . . Or if it comes out in the press that your little girl is missing, meaning if you tell ’em, Hallie here’s gonna end up with a bullet in that smart, pretty brain of hers. And that’s if I’m feeling generous. You hear?”

The crowd was loud and buzzing all around. I tried to think if I had ever heard the voice before, but it was Southern, slangy, and wasn’t clear.

“You hearing me, Doc?” he said again, like ice this time. Waiting.

“Yes.” I swallowed, razors in my throat. “I hear.”

“So here’s a little present for you—just so there’s no doubts, about our arrangement.”

My heart started to race. Suddenly Hallie got on, her voice shaking with fear. “Daddy . . . Daddy, is that you?”

“Yes, hon, it is! It’s me.”

“Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry . . . Please just listen to what he says. He’ll do it. I know he will. He’s crazy! Just do what he says. Please. He—I love you, Daddy,” she blurted as the phone was yanked away from her in midsentence.

“Just wanted you to have a sense of what’s really at stake here, Doc. Pretty little thing, if I say so myself. And she surely can ride.”

“You touch a hair on her head and I’ll kill you myself, you son of a bitch! So help me God . . .” I shouted above the noise, my blood on fire.

“Now don’t you be giving me orders,” the man said. “That wouldn’t go over well. Long as you heard exactly what I said, about if I hear the cops find you.”

“What is it you want? Why are you doing this to me? I have money. I can pay you. Please . . .”

“We’ll get to what I want. In a while. First, go get yourself a new phone. One of those disposable ones. Text the number to Hallie here. Okay? That is, if you ever want to hear from her alive again.”

I shuddered.

“So get on now, y’hear?” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “You keep yourself safe. Remember, longer you stay out there, Doc, longer your little girl lives.”

“Listen! Don’t hang up! Listen . . .”

I heard the phone click off, and all trace of my little girl with it. I pushed the button to call her back, but no one answered. I was left staring at her name on the cell-phone screen.

My knees felt weak.

I turned in the crowd, every corner of me filling up with a mounting sense of dread. He was right! I had to get out of here! I still had the cop to worry about. Liz had told me just to give up if anything went wrong. But now I couldn’t. Now I had to do everything I could to get away!

I scanned the lobby and realized there was no way I could go back the way I’d come in. If the police were waiting for me here, there were probably dozens of them all around. I glanced back at the one I had seen, still protected by the crowd.

A heavyset man in a green Sharks headdress shifted from my line of sight just as I did so.

Suddenly the cop and I were eye to eye.

My heart felt like it exploded. He looked straight at me, seemingly trying to pierce through the golf cap and the shades . . .

Then, suddenly, he did just that!

I watched his eyes grow wide and his face light up with recognition. He took a step toward me. I moved away, pushing my way through the throng of boosters. I thought I heard him shout out something, echoing, above the din of the lobby. I began to run.

Then I heard him call out: “Steadman!”

I spun and saw him pull out his radio, signaling the others. I slithered through the dense booster gathering, thirty or forty strong, and came out directly in front of the elevators. A door opened in front of me. I didn’t know where it would take me, other than away. Which was all I wanted right then. I jumped in.

The cop was already running after me. “Steadman. Stop!”

Bystanders turned. The cop still had to cross the lobby and make his way through the crowd. I jammed my finger against the heat-sensored panels. Pushing on every upper-floor—30 . . . 32 . . . 34.

The doors didn’t close. C’mon, goddammit, shut!

I watched, in mounting horror, as the cop elbowed his way through the shocked crowd. Midway through, he stopped, his eyes locked on me in the elevator, still thirty feet away.

He pulled out his gun.

C’mon, c’mon, close! I realized he saw me as nothing more than a cop killer. He’d be justified to shoot. He wouldn’t hesitate for a second. They already hadn’t hesitated! I kept pressing on the arrow. And on the upper floors.

Close.

The cop finally made it through. Suddenly we were face-to-face again. He leveled his gun at me. I realized he could squeeze off a shot at any second and I’d be dead. Close, you sonovabitch. Close!

That’s when the doors finally started to shut. The cop sprinted toward me, aimed, and squeezed off a shot, which slammed into the doors as I ducked behind them.

Another made it into the car, ripping into the wood walls. The guy was crazy! What if there were other people in here?

A third clanged off the handrail.

The doors finally squeezed shut an instant before he made it over to me. I could hear the cop holler, “Shit! Shit!” and bang on the doors as the elevator started to rise. All the higher floors were lit up now, and I knew in that instant that all that would happen if I went up there was that I’d be trapped and captured . . . and then Hallie . . .

As if by instinct, I hit the button for the third floor. The elevator came to a sudden stop. I bolted out, knowing it would keep on going up, floor by floor, all the way to the top.

I ran down the hall, searching frantically for the fire exit. I didn’t know how many cops were spread about—or would be, in a matter of minutes. But the elevator was heading up to the roof. They’d have to check around up there. They’d have to search all the upper floors. Room by room.

By that time the entire building might be on lockdown.

I had to get out of here fast.

At last, I found the emergency stairwell and bounded down the stairs, two at a time, my heart almost in spasm. I was completely winded and gasping by the time I reached the ground floor. I fully expected to run right into some trigger-happy policeman who would force me to the ground with a gun at my head.

Mercifully, no one was there. I pushed open the pneumatic door and, with a whoosh, found myself outside.

Thank God. I didn’t wait to get my bearings—I just sprinted, fast as I could, away—spotting the golf course to my right and realizing I was heading toward the clubhouse. Where my car was parked!

I spun around and didn’t see anyone behind me. No one shouted my name. I just prayed that I wouldn’t feel a bullet ripping into my back. Ahead, I saw the garage, which I figured was reserved for golfers. I knew I couldn’t use Mike’s car anymore. The police might have found him by now, and if they hadn’t, they surely would soon. Any second it might be over the airwaves . . . and then I was cooked.

I ran inside the garage and spotted one of the green-vested valets hustling to get a car and I waited behind a stanchion until he climbed inside a Lincoln—and I saw him feel under the seat for the key. Then it started up. I had a flashback to my old parking-attendant days, one of the jobs I did to get myself through med school. I counted the seconds until the Lincoln drove off, then I ran over to a red GMC parked nearby. The door was unlocked and I felt frantically under the seat for the key.

Shit. Nothing. I had to try another car.

I hopped out and tried a blue Lexus SUV in the next bay. I figured there was a security camera here and that someone might well be watching me right now. Heisting a car.

This time I found the keys under the floor mat.

I started it up and drove out of the garage, leaving Mike’s Jag behind. It didn’t matter that my DNA was all over it. I wasn’t about to deny taking it. I knew I had only a short time before all exits from the hotel were shut down. I drove out to the front gate. There was a guard there. I’d had to talk my way past him the first time, but now he gave me just a lackadaisical wave, as if to say, Hope you hit ’em well. See you next time.

I made a right, knowing I was only minutes from the highway. I was so excited, I wanted to whoop out loud.

But then a sober realization ran through me, and my whole body began to tremble.

I suddenly realized that if there was even a chance I was only a person of interest an hour ago after fleeing the scene of Martinez’s killing, that possibility was now long gone.

My daughter was in peril. And I was a full-fledged suspect in two murders now.