James Patterson - Lifeguard

I shot a glance to the clock on Champ’s garage wall. It was getting to be that time. A lot could play out for us in the next hour or so. We could find out who stole Stratton’s art. I could be cleared of the murders. “You ready to go to Liz’s? Ready to nail Dennis Stratton?” I asked. Ellie seemed nervous, though – for her, anyway.

“Yeah,” she said. She caught my arm, her expression tight. “Just so you understand, that’s not the only thing that’s going to happen at Stratton’s today.”

She opened her jacket. A set of handcuffs dangled from her waist.

I felt my stomach shift. I’d felt strangely free for the past few days, following up on the crimes, maybe getting closer to catching a killer. I’d almost forgotten she was an FBI agent.

“If it all goes like we hope in there,” she said, that law-enforcement look back in her eye, “you’re going to turn yourself in. You remember the deal?”

“Sure.” I looked at her and nodded, but inside I was dying. “I remember the deal.”

WE CROSSED OVER the middle bridge to Palm Beach mostly in silence. My stomach was twisting inside. Whatever happened at Stratton’s, I knew my freedom was about to end.

The town was eerily quiet for a Thursday in mid-April. There were only a few tourists and shoppers on or around Worth Avenue seeking out the late-season sales. A white-haired doyenne crossed in front of us at a light, in a fur wrap despite the April heat, her poodle in tow. I looked at Ellie and we smiled. I was holding on to anything I could right now.

We turned onto Stratton’s private street, just off the ocean. That’s when I realized something was wrong.

Two police cars were blocking the road, their lights flashing. Others were parked all around Stratton’s gate.

At first I thought that the reception was for me, and I was scared. That Liz had set me up. But no … An EMS truck was pulling through the gate.

“Get down,” Ellie said to me, turning around. I sank down in the backseat, my face tucked under my cap. Ellie lowered her window and flashed her shield to a policeman blocking traffic. “What’s happened?” she asked.

The cop took a quick glance at her ID. “There are a couple of bodies in the house. Two people shot. Never seen anything like what’s been happening lately.”

“Stratton?” Ellie asked.

“No,” the officer said, shaking his head. “One’s a bodyguard, they’re telling me. The other’s Mr. Stratton’s wife.”

He waved us through, but I felt my blood drain, and a feeling of panic grip me from head to toe.

Liz was dead . Our case against Stratton was dead, too. We had no way to prove he knew that his wife had set him up. But worse, we had lured poor Liz into this.

“Oh, Jesus, Ellie, we got her killed,” I said, feeling as if it were Dave all over again.

Ellie turned in through the gates into the long pebbled driveway. Three more patrol cars were parked in front of the house, as well as a second EMS van, its doors open.

“You wait here,” Ellie said, pulling up in front. “Promise me, Ned, you won’t run.”

“I promise,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.” Ellie slammed the door and ran inside. I felt as though something inevitable was about to happen. I knew it, in fact.

“I promise, Ellie,” I said, reaching for the door, “I’m not running anymore.”

STRATTON WAS IN THERE.

Ellie spotted him in the foyer. Sitting in a chair, rubbing his ashen face, mirroring shock. Carl Breen, the detective Ellie had met in Tess’s suite, was sitting with him. And Ponytail, the pockmarked asshole who’d taken off after Ned and Champ, was standing smugly by.

“I can’t believe she would do this,” Stratton muttered. “They were having an affair. She told me. She’d been angry with me. I’d been working too hard. Ignoring her… But this …”

Ellie looked ahead into the sunroom. Her stomach sank. She immediately recognized one of the muscular bodyguards she’d seen at Stratton’s party lying face up on the floor. There were two bullet holes in his chest. But worse, so much worse, was the sight of Liz Stratton, lying back on the floral love seat across from him, still dressed in the same white pantsuit as she had on that afternoon. A trickle of blood ran down one side of her forehead. Vern Lawson was kneeling beside her.

Ellie had heard a cop talking on the way in. It was supposed to be a murder-suicide.

Like hell. Ellie felt her blood grow hot. She looked at Lawson, then Stratton, then back at Liz. What a complete sham !

“I knew she was upset,” Stratton continued to Detective Breen. “She finally told me about the affair. That she was going to end it. Maybe Paul wouldn’t let her go. But this … Oh, God… She seemed so happy just a few hours ago.” Stratton caught Ellie’s eye. “She went out to lunch with friends…”

Ellie couldn’t hold back. “I know you killed her,” she said to Stratton bluntly.

“What?” He looked up, startled.

“You set this up,” Ellie went on, teeming with anger. “There was no affair. The only affair was yours , with Tess McAuliffe. Liz told us everything. How she set you up. But you found out. You did this, Stratton, or had it done.”

“ You hear this ?” Stratton yelled, and rose from his chair. “You hear what I have to defend myself against? From this bullshit art agent!”

“I was with her,” Ellie said, looking at Breen, “only a couple of hours ago. She told me everything. How she arranged an affair to discredit her husband and he found out. How he was implicated in stealing his own art. Check at the Brazilian Court. Run the photos. You’ll see. Stratton was with Tess McAuliffe. Ask him what Liz meant, that only one painting was stolen.”

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.

“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.