Things went back to normal surprisingly quickly.
The reporters staking out our house disappeared. The Palm Beach Post ran a short story under the headline Local Writer Cleared of Murder Charges.
The children returned to school.
Ebbie returned home to her bearded potter.
Todd returned to work.
No one tried to kill me.
Kat and I had still not spoken. The day after the charges against me were dropped, I sent her a brief text telling her we needed to meet. I set a time and day the following week. She didn’t respond, but I had a feeling that this time she’d show up.
To prove how serious I was, I sent her one of the photos I’d taken of the man at the lighthouse.
* * *
After dropping the kids off at school on their first day back, I laced on my sneakers and headed out for a run. I hadn’t gone jogging for a while and it was a long, tough slog, especially in the early-May humidity. I hoped summer wasn’t arriving early in South Florida. When I finally turned back onto our street, I saw Detective Demer standing in our driveway, waiting for me. I slowed to a walk as I approached him. He was tall and formidable, although his suit was rumpled as usual, and there was what looked like a coffee stain on his yellow tie.
“I didn’t know you were a runner,” Demer said.
“I’m not,” I said, trying to catch my breath. My T-shirt was soaked with sweat, and I plucked it away from my chest. “I’m trying to get back in shape.”
“Good for you,” Demer said. “I keep thinking I should start working out again. But I’ve always hated exercising so much, I never stick to it.”
I nodded without comment. I was sure the detective had not come here to discuss his exercise habits with me, and I was eager for him to get to the point.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Are you here to arrest me again?”
Demer smiled. “No, not today. I just stopped by to say goodbye. I’m going back to Tallahassee this afternoon.”
“The case is closed, then?”
“It is. The only reason it was pursued as a homicide was the witness. Now that we know the witness is incompetent, there’s no way to prove that Howard Grant was murdered,” Demer said.
“Sergeant Oliver must be crushed.”
The detective smiled. “I think she’ll bounce back. There’s been a spate of golf cart thefts on the island. That will keep her busy for a while.”
“Does she believe that the witness was incompetent?”
“No,” Demer replied. “She thinks he made an accurate report of what he saw, and she tried to argue that he’d still be a persuasive witness if the case ever went to trial.”
“You don’t agree?”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s persuasive. The man has advanced Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t know where he is most of the time. No state’s attorney is going to take a case to trial with such an unreliable witness. Any halfway decent defense attorney would destroy Ronald Shaw’s testimony.” Demer shrugged.
“I wish you’d figured that out before you arrested me.”
The detective nodded. “You may not believe this, but I didn’t want to arrest you.”
I looked at him for a long moment. “Actually, I do believe that. Is that why you came here? To tell me that?”
“No...” Demer hesitated. “Or at least, not entirely that. I came to warn you.”
“About what?”
“There are rumors that Thomas Wyeth has some dubious business associates,” Demer told me. “No one’s ever been able to make a case against him—he’s too careful for that—but there’s talk that he has links with an organized crime syndicate in South Florida.”
I nodded. Nothing about the Wyeths would have surprised me at this point. And if Kat had sent the tattooed man at the lighthouse after me, she certainly hadn’t found him in the Yellow Pages.
“These are dangerous people,” Demer continued. “Not the sort you want to get mixed up with.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Detective Demer looked at me for a long moment. He seemed to be weighing whether to tell me something. I waited.
“Do you know anything about sociopaths?” he finally asked.
“Not really. Why?”
“They’ve always fascinated me. Pure evil under a charming exterior.”
“You mean like serial killers?”
“Not necessarily. In fact, most of them aren’t killers. Those are just the ones that get featured on news shows. Sociopaths can just be charismatic and manipulative people who go through life without being weighed down by a conscience. Not caring who they hurt along the way. Does that sound like anyone you know?”
I nodded slowly. “It might.”
“Please take care of yourself. I’d hate to be back here investigating another homicide.” Demer checked his watch. “I should get going.”
“Safe travels,” I said. “And don’t take this the wrong way, Detective, but I really hope we don’t meet again.”
Demer smiled, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin. “If I had a dollar every time I heard that. And they say dentists get depressed because everyone hates seeing them. They should try working as a homicide detective.”
I laughed. Under different circumstances, I probably would have enjoyed getting to know Detective Alex Demer.
“Goodbye, Mrs. Campbell,” he said, touching his fingers to his temple in an ironic salute.