15 Seconds Page 6

  “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, st
ammering, 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.”