Lifeguard Page 16

  There was thick silence in the room. Breen peered at Stratton. Stratton looked around edgily.

  “Maybe Liz did know something about the art,” Lawson said. He was holding a gun in a plastic Baggie. “It’s a Beretta .32,” he said. “Same kind of gun used in the killings over in Lake Worth.” He looked at Breen.

  Stratton sat down again. His face turned a blank, shaken white.

  “You’re not buying this?” Ellie said. “You think Liz Stratton stole the art? That she killed all those people?”

  “Or her boyfriend.” Lawson shrugged. He raised the evidence Baggie. “We’ll see . . .”

  “You got it all wrong,” Ellie said, eyeing the smirk creeping onto Stratton’s face. “Liz asked us here. She was going to lay it out for us. That’s why Liz Stratton’s dead.”

  “You keep saying us, Special Agent Shurtleff,” Lawson finally said. “You mind telling us who you mean?”

  “She means me,” a voice came from the entranceway. Everyone spun around.

  Ned had entered the room.

  Chapter 77

  “THAT’S NED KELLY!” Lawson’s eyes popped.

  Two Palm Beach policemen grabbed me and slammed me onto the tiled floor. A knee drove into the small of my back, and my arms were pinned behind me. Then my wrists were twisted into cuffs.

  “I turned myself in this afternoon to Agent Ellie Shurtleff,” I said, my cheek pressed to the floor. “She met with Liz Stratton today. She was about to testify against her husband. Liz no more killed herself than I killed Tess McAuliffe. Agent Shurtleff brought me here to confront Stratton with the information, and turn myself in.”

  I looked up at Ellie with a resigned expression, as one of the cops patted me down. She looked back at me with a blank stare. Why, Ned? The policemen dragged me to my knees, hands behind my back.

  “Radio it in,” Lawson barked to a young plainclothesman. “The FBI, too. Tell ’em we just apprehended Ned Kelly.”

  I was taken to a patrol car, pushed inside, the door slammed shut. I took one last look over my shoulder at Ellie. She didn’t wave. Nothing.

  Less than fifteen minutes later I was at the holding cells in the Palm Beach police station. I was stripped, searched, photographed, and tossed into one of the cells. The place was really buzzing. Cops craned their necks for a look.

  They didn’t charge me with anything right away. I guess the police were waiting to sort things out. I knew they had no direct evidence linking me with anything—other than the guy who killed my brother in Boston.

  They were actually taking it easy on me. The Palm Beach cops were pretty good guys, and I eventually made a phone call up to Boston, looking for my father. My mother answered. He wasn’t home. “Listen, Mom, you have to tell him to come clean. My life is in the balance.” She hesitated a little, then started to cry. “Just ask him, Mom. He knows I’m innocent.”

  Then I sat back and waited—for whatever was going to happen next.

  In that cell, it all started to sink in. Mickey and Bobby, Barney and Dee. The horrible way they had died. I thought of Tess, poor Tess. So many victims. All killed by Gachet? Who the hell was he? There I was in jail—and he was out there, free.

  It just didn’t seem right somehow.

  Part Five

  ART’S BOOMING

  Chapter 78

  THEY FED ME a meal. They gave me blankets and a sheet. I sat down on the cot and passed a lonely night in a cell. I figured this would be the first of many. There was a lot of noise down the hall—the clang of cell doors, someone throwing up.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that somebody finally came for me. A heavyset black cop from the day before. With two others.

  “Free to go, I guess?” I said with a fatalistic smile.

  “Oh, yeah, right,” he chuckled. “They’re waiting for you up in the spa. Don’t forget your robe.”

  They took me upstairs to a small interview room. Just a table and three chairs, a mirror on the wall that I figured was two-way. I waited alone for about ten minutes. The nerves were starting to go. Finally the door opened and two cops stepped in.

  One was the tall white-haired detective who was there when I surrendered at Stratton’s. Lawson. Palm Beach PD. The other was a short, barrel-chested guy in a blue shirt and tan suit. He flicked me his card as if I were supposed to be impressed by the initials.

  Special Agent in Charge George Moretti. FBI.

  Ellie’s boss.

  “So, Mr. Kelly,” Lawson said, squeezing into a wooden chair across from me. “What are we going to do with you?”

  “What am I being charged with?” I asked.

  He spoke in a slow, relaxed drawl. “What do you think we should charge you with? You left us about the whole criminal statutes book to choose from. The murder of Tess McAuliffe? Or your friends?” He consulted a sheet. “Michael Kelly, Robert O’ Reilly, Barnabas Flint. Diane Lynch?”

  “I didn’t do any of that. . . .”

  “Okay, plan B, then,” Lawson said. “Burglary. Interstate traffic of stolen goods, resisting arrest . . . The death of one Earl Anson, up in Brockton . . .”

  “He killed my brother,” I shot back. “And he was trying to kill me. What would you have done?”

  “Me, I wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place, Mr. Kelly,” the cop replied. ”And just for the record, it was your prints off that knife, not his. . . .”

  “You’re in a shitload of trouble,” the FBI man said, pulling up a chair. “You got two things that can save your ass. One, where are the paintings? Two, how was Tess McAuliffe connected to any of this?”

  “I don’t have the paintings,” I said. “And Tess wasn’t connected. I met her on the beach.”

  “Oh, she was connected,” the FBI man said, and nodded knowingly, leaning close, “and, son, you don’t come straight with us now, your whole life as you knew it is going to be a memory from this point on. You know what it’s like in a federal prison, Ned. No beaches there, son, no pools to tend.”

  “I am being straight with you,” I interrupted. “You see a lawyer here? Did I ask for one? Yes, I got involved to steal those paintings. I set off alarms around Palm Beach. Check. You got reports of several break-ins around town prior to the theft that night, didn’t you? I can give you the addresses. And I didn’t kill my friends. I think you know that by now. I got a call from Dee that the art wasn’t there. That someone had set them up. Someone named Dr. Gachet. She told me to meet them back at the house in Lake Worth, and by the time I got there they were dead. So I freaked. I fled. Maybe that was wrong. I’d just seen my lifelong friends carried out in bags. What the hell would anyone do?”

  The FBI man blinked. He sort of narrowed his eyes at me, like, Enough of the yuks, kid. You don’t even know the trouble I could cause you.

  “Besides,” I said, turning to Lawson, “you’re not even asking the right questions.”

  Chapter 79

  “OKAY,” THE COP SAID with a shrug, “so tell me the right questions.”

  “Like, who else knew the art was going to be stolen?” I said. “And who was in Tess McAuliffe’s suite after me? Who sent that punk up to Boston to kill my brother. And who is Gachet?”

  They looked at each other for a second, then the FBI man smiled. “You ever stop to think that’s because we know the answers to those questions, Ned?”

  My gaze hardened on him. I waited for him to blink. They knew. They knew I didn’t kill anybody. They had me in there, grilling me, and they knew I didn’t kill Tess or Dave. They even knew who Gachet was. The longer he waited to answer, the more I was sure he was going to say, Your father is Dr. Gachet.

  “The ballistics matched,” the Palm Beach detective said, grinning. “The gun we found at Stratton’s. Just like we suspected. It belonged to Paul Angelos, the Strattons’ bodyguard. Same gun was involved in the Lake Worth murders. He was sexually involved with Liz Stratton. Another of Stratton’s men confirmed it. He was doing her dirty work. She was setting up h
er husband. Seems pretty clear to us. She wanted the money; she wanted to get away from Dennis Stratton. She was linked to Tess McAuliffe. You want to know who Gachet is, Ned? You want to know who sent that guy to Boston? It was Liz. Special Agent Shurtleff said she basically admitted as much at the restaurant.”

  Liz . . . Gachet? I looked at them incredulously. Waiting, as though they were going to crack big smiles.

  Liz wasn’t Gachet. Stratton had twisted this, set her up. He had maneuvered the whole thing. And they were buying it!

  “Actually, there’s only one question we still have for you,” Lawson said, leaning in close.

  “What the hell happened to the art?”

  Chapter 80

  I WAS BROUGHT BEFORE a judge and charged with burglary, resisting arrest, and interstate flight.

  For once, they got the charges right. I was guilty of all three.

  The public defender they assigned me advised me to plead not guilty, which I did, until I figured I could call Uncle George in Watertown and have him get me one of his fancy lawyers, as he had offered. I sure needed one now.

  They set my bail at $500,000.

  “Can the defendant post bail?” The judge looked down from the bench.

  “No, Your Honor, I can’t.” So they took me back to my cell.

  I stared at the cold, concrete walls, thinking this was going to be the first day of many like it.

  “Ned.”

  I heard a familiar voice from outside. I shot up on my cot.

  It was Ellie.

  She looked so good, in a cute print skirt and a short linen jacket. I ran over to the bars. I just wanted to touch her. But I felt so ashamed in my orange jumpsuit, on the wrong side of the bars. I don’t know, but that might have been the most depressing moment of all.

  “It’s going to be all right, Ned.” Ellie tried to look upbeat. “You’re going to answer all their questions. Tell them everything, Ned. I promise, I’ll see what we can do.”

  “They think it was Liz, Ellie,” I said, shaking my head. “They think she was Gachet. That she set everything up, with her bodyguard. The art . . . They got it all wrong.”

  “I know.” Ellie swallowed hard, clenching her jaw.

  “He’s gonna get away with murder,” I said.

  “No—” she shook her head—“he’s not. Listen, though. Cooperate. Be smart, okay?”

  “That would be a shift.” I gave her my best self-effacing smile. I searched her eyes. “So, hey, how’s it going for you?”

  Ellie shrugged. “You made me a big hero, Ned. The press is all over me.”

  She put her hand next to mine on the bar and glanced down the hall to see if anyone was watching. Then she wrapped her little finger around mine.

  “I feel pretty ashamed, in here like this. Just like my father. I guess everything’s changed.”

  “Nothing’s changed, Ned.” Ellie shook her head.

  I nodded. I was a felon, about to plead guilty and go to prison. And she was an agent for the FBI. Nothing’s changed. . . .

  “I want you to know something. . . .” Her eyes were glistening.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m going to get him for you, Ned. I promise. For your friends. For your brother. You can count on it, Ned.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered. “They put my bail at five hundred thousand dollars. Guess I’m gonna be in here for a while.”

  “At least there’s one good thing that can come out of this. . . .”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  She smiled coyly. “You can go back to being blond.” That got me to smile, too. I looked in Ellie’s eyes. God, I wanted to hug her. She squeezed my hand once more and gave me a wink. “So, I’ll have Champ crash through the wall at, say, 10:05?”

  I laughed.

  “Take it easy, Ned.” Ellie brushed her thumb tenderly against my hand. She started to back away. “I’ll see you. Before you even know.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  She stopped. “I meant what I said, Ned.” She looked me in the eye.

  “About Stratton?”

  “About all those things, Ned. About you.”

  She gave a one-fingered wave and backed down the corridor. I sat back and took a look around at the small, cramped place that was going to be my home for a while. A cot. A metal toilet, bolted to the floor. I was psyching myself up to spend some quality time.

  Ellie had been gone for only a couple of minutes when the heavy black cop appeared in front of the cell again. He inserted a key.

  “The spa, right?” I pulled myself up. Guess they weren’t done with me yet.

  “Not this time,” he laughed. “You just made bail.”

  Chapter 81

  THEY LED ME to the Intake Center and handed back my clothes and my wallet. I signed a couple of forms and looked beyond the desk to the outer room. They hadn’t told me who had bailed me out.

  Standing on the other side of the glass, outside the Intake area, was Sollie Roth.

  The door buzzed open, and clutching my bundle, I stepped through. I put out my hand.

  Sollie took it, smiling. “Like I said, kid, about your friends . . . the highest, kid, the highest.”

  He put his arm around me and led me down the stairs into the garage. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said. And I meant it.

  Sol’s latest car pulled up—a Caddie. The driver hopped out.

  “Don’t thank me so much,” he said as the driver opened the rear door, “as her.”

  Ellie was sitting in the backseat.

  “Oh God, you’re great,” I said. I jumped in beside her and gave her a hug. Best hug of my entire life. Then I looked at those deep blue eyes and kissed her on the lips. I didn’t care whether anybody saw, whether it was wrong or right.

  “If you two lovebirds don’t mind,” Sol said, clearing his throat in the front seat, “it’s late, I’m a few thousand poorer on account of you, and we have work to do.”

  “Work?”

  “Why am I under the impression there was someone you wanted to nail for murder?”

  I couldn’t contain the grin spreading across my face. I squeezed Sol’s arm. It was hard to explain how warm I felt inside—these two people standing up for me.

  “I figure we can beat the press by going out the back way,” Sol said, nudging his driver. “You mind your old room back at the house?”

  “You mean I can just go back to the house?”

  “You’re free to go where you want, Ned,” Ellie said. “At least, until your trial. Mr. Roth here took responsibility for you.”

  “So, don’t get any ideas.” He shot a stern look back at me. “Besides, you still owe me two hundred bucks. And I aim to collect.”

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I was numb. I’d felt hunted for so long. Now I had people who believed in me, who would fight for me.

  We got back to Sol’s house in a few minutes. The gates to his estate swung open and the Caddie pulled into the bricked courtyard in front. Sol turned to me. “I think you’ll find the place like when you left. In the morning, we’ll see about hooking you up with a good lawyer. That sound okay?”

  “Yeah, Sol, that sounds great.”

  “In that case, I’m going to bed,” he sighed. He said good night with a wink, and I was left with Ellie, staring up at my old place above the garage, realizing that for a few amazing moments, nobody was chasing me.

  Ellie stood there, staring at me. There was an ocean breeze warming us through the swaying palms. For a second I drew her close and cupped her face in my hands. I wanted to tell her how much I appreciated what she’d done, but no words came out.

  I bent and gave her another kiss. Her mouth was warm and moist, and this time there was nothing hesitant about it. When I was out of breath I pulled away. I let my hand linger on her breast. “So, Agent Shurtleff, what happens now?”

  “Now,” Ellie said, “maybe we go upstairs, go over a few details about the case.”

 
“I thought that was wrong,” I said, taking her gently by the hand. I drew her close, felt her heart beating, felt her tight little body fit into mine.

  “Way wrong,” Ellie said, looking up at me, “but who’s counting now?”

  Chapter 82

  THERE WAS NO holding back this time. It was a struggle just to drag ourselves up the stairs. Our mouths were locked and we were pawing at each other’s clothing the second we stumbled through the door.

  “What was it you wanted to discuss?” I said, and grinned, undoing the buttons on Ellie’s jacket.

  “I don’t know . . . ,” she said. She wiggled out of her blouse. She had a wonderful body. I had seen it the day I caught her kayaking. This time I wanted all of it. I pulled her close to me.

  “I want you to know,” she said, pulling at my belt, then tunneling her hand down my jeans. I was as hard as granite. “You’re still going to jail. No matter how good this is.”

  “That’s not much incentive,” I said. My hands traveled down her spine and into her skirt. I eased the zipper down and helped her slink out of the skirt, until it fell to the floor.

  “Try me,” Ellie said.

  I picked her up in my arms and laid her softly on the bed. I kicked off my pants. She arched her back, slithered gracefully out of her panties, and smiled.

  I held myself over her, our eyes locked. Every muscle in my body, every cell, was exploding with desire for this incredible girl. Her skin was smooth and soft; mine was sweaty and on fire. She was taut, cut; small, tight muscles in her arms and thighs rocked against me with willowy restraint. She arched her spine.

  “I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” I said.

  “Tell me about it,” Ellie said.

  I eased inside her. Ellie let out a whimper, a beautiful sound, and held on tight to my arms. She was so small and light, I could almost lift her. We rocked like the steady rhythm of the surf outside. I couldn’t help thinking, This is what it’s about, you lucky SOB. It’s about this wonderful gal who risked everything for you, who looked inside and saw what no one else was willing to see.