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.