15 Seconds (6 page)

Chapter Eight

M
y 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

“Y
ou 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.”