Caged (20 page)

Tests, in other words. A whole bunch of them.

Martinez looked scared, and Sam could not remember ever seeing him look that way, but then Jess arrived, pale with alarm, and instantly her fiancé seemed a little easier, making Sam more thankful for her than ever.

‘You better go, man,’ Martinez told Sam. ‘Catch the fuckers.’

‘Back later,’ Sam said.

‘No need,’ Martinez said. ‘I got Jessie here.’

‘That’s good,’ Sam said, and saw the fear bright in Jess’s eyes. ‘He’ll be fine.’

‘I know he will,’ she said.

But the fear was still there.

Sam drove fast back to the station and went straight to Alvarez, who told him he’d moved Beth Riley off other duties so she could replace Martinez until he was better.

‘He looks pretty bad,’ Sam said. ‘Tell the truth, I’m worried as hell.’

‘You need time off to be with him?’ Alvarez asked.

‘There’s no way,’ Sam said. ‘And believe me, Al wants me on the case.’

‘And you’re stressing because you booked vacation.’

‘If things go on downhill,’ Sam said, ‘I’m going to cancel.’

Alvarez, behind his desk, looked up at the tall, handsome detective, one of the best he’d worked with but, right now, at his professional bleakest.

‘Sit down, Sam,’ he told him.

‘There’s no time,’ Sam said.

‘Sit,’ Alvarez said.

Sam sat.

‘I don’t think you should cancel,’ Alvarez said. ‘If there’s one thing this job – and even a close friend’s illness – should teach us all, it’s to make the most of every moment with the people who count.’

The sergeant’s predecessor, Kovac, had been the bane of Sam’s and Martinez’s daily lives, and Sam often felt gratitude for their luck in having landed this man as his successor. Alvarez had come through the ranks, had been a detective for fifteen years before making sergeant, that hard experience respected by all the detectives, as well as his natural empathy.

‘I get that,’ Sam said. ‘But surely that goes for my colleagues too. And for the victims’ families.’

‘Goes without saying,’ Alvarez said, ‘but there are plans and then there are
plans
. And I don’t want to hear of you cancelling this vacation with Grace unless the sky really starts caving in, OK?’

Sam doubted that Captain Kennedy would be looking at his personal arrangements with such compassion, nor would Sam expect him to, and he wondered abruptly if some upstairs might consider that Michael Alvarez had gone too soft. And just the thought of being the cause of any criticism of this decent man sparked more guilt in Sam.

Guilt, at a time like this, equalled procrastination.

No use to anyone, least of all the victims.

‘OK,’ he said to his sergeant. ‘Thank you.’

And went back to work.

Anthony Christou had called to cancel their appointment, which pissed Sam off a little, but Mary Cutter – having found nothing of interest in the website’s list of purchasers of their plastic dome covers – had gone up to Hallandale to collect some sand, and for now Sam and Riley were poring over the exhibition theory again, trying to link up past crimes involving artists or gallery owners or even collectors. Riley had already set up a bunch of meetings with key gallery managers and art schools, because who the hell knew, they might learn something about an artist or sculptor whose work might somehow connect to the killer’s warped kind of serial ‘art’.

‘God knows we need something more solid than just a
possible
hate of happy couples,’ Riley said en route to a gallery in Lincoln Road.

Sam had, for no good reason, expected her car to be tidier than his partner’s, but Riley’s Impala was littered with candy wrappers, and Lord knew how someone with such a sweet tooth could stay as wiry as Riley, but life was unfair.

‘Hate, envy, resentment, maybe even screwed up love,’ he said, as she drove. ‘Or none of the above.’ He paused. ‘Taking it back to art, I’d lean toward sculpting. I’d guess it helps to be physically strong to be a sculptor, and they’re the most likely to use unusual materials.’

‘All kinds of artists use glue,’ said Riley.

‘That’s true,’ Sam said. ‘You heard of Rauschenberg?’

‘Collages, right?’ Riley caught his nod. ‘Plenty of weird art around now.’ She saw the De Longho Gallery up ahead, pulled over into a parking space. ‘How about that Brit who exhibits dead animals?’

‘Damien Hirst,’ Sam said. ‘I think he preserves them in formaldehyde.’

‘Nice.’ Riley turned off the engine. ‘So why not John Hercules?’

‘Martinez checked him out.’ Sam shook his head. ‘No record, no marriages gone sour, no known bad relationships or sociopathic tendencies. His work couldn’t relate less – mostly abstracts in metal and clay – besides which, word is he spends most of his working time these days drinking.’

He opened his door, sent a quick thought to Martinez, then shut him out again and walked, with Beth Riley, into the gallery.

It was after three dead-end meetings, when they were back in the office doing yet more cross-checking, that they came across Allison Moore’s name again.

As an artist. An exhibitor at the Spring Art Show, an annual North Miami Beach event. Not described as working with unusual materials, nothing of that nature; but according to the catalogue that Riley had unearthed online, Moore’s painting displayed a ‘dark leaning’.

‘It’s definitely her, right?’ Riley pointed to a photograph.

Sam nodded. ‘Time to take Ms Moore apart again.’

And Beatty right alongside.

‘Let’s see them both on home ground this time,’ he said.

‘Out of their work environment,’ Riley agreed.

‘Out of camouflage,’ Sam said.

SIXTY-SIX

A
t around four that afternoon, Cathy and Saul were in his workshop near the apartment, drinking pomegranate smoothies she’d picked up in Publix, sitting on a pair of beanbag cushions, surveying the beech table Saul had just finished and talking about the cruise and how much she agreed with him that Sam and Grace
had
to take it.

‘I’m not so sure I can see it happening now though,’ Saul said. ‘Not with Martinez so sick.’

Grace had called them both a while back with the news, had told them that Sam was obviously deeply worried, and though there was nothing any of them could do for the time being, she knew they’d want to be kept in the loop.

‘He is going to be OK, isn’t he?’ Cathy’s face was suddenly anxious.

Too many losses in her lifetime. Alejandro Martinez might not be related, but he was a rock in Sam’s life, and that made him almost family.

‘I hope,’ Saul said. ‘I figure we should be optimistic, assume they will go, plan as best as we can.’ He paused. ‘Sam’s going to want you to pack for Grace, by the way.’

Cathy knew a distraction tactic when she heard one, was glad to go with it. ‘So we’ll have to get her out of the house on the day.’ She thought. ‘Is Joshua going with them?’

Saul shook his head. ‘He’s staying with Dad and Mildred. They’re cool about it.’

Cathy smiled. ‘They would be.’

‘It’s funny about Mildred,’ Saul said. ‘She’s only been at Dad’s a few months, but it feels kind of like she’s always been in our lives.’ He hesitated, oddly guilty, though there was no reason, no romance between Mildred Bleeker and his father. ‘I mean, obviously I don’t mean
always
, like Mom . . .’

‘It’s OK to be glad that your dad has a friend,’ Cathy said gently.

‘I know,’ Saul said.

Cathy waited another moment, then hit the other reason she’d dropped by.

‘I was talking to Grace about Jess this morning,’ she said.

‘She’s so nice,’ Saul said. ‘I’m happy for them both – and I hate that he’s sick, but at least he has her.’

‘I’m not so sure about her,’ Cathy said. ‘To be honest, she creeps me out a little.’

‘Why?’ Saul was as surprised as Grace had been.

‘Maybe that’s a little overstated,’ Cathy said. ‘But I do find her irritating.’

‘Don’t you think she’s sincere?’

‘I don’t know,’ Cathy said. ‘I just have a feeling about her.’ She paused. ‘I told Grace I think she has a thing for Sam.’

‘You’re kidding.’ Saul looked aghast. ‘What did Grace say?’

‘That it’s a crazy idea.’ Cathy drained the last of her smoothie. ‘So what do you think?’

‘Same as Grace.’ Saul took a breath. ‘I also think that the way things are, with Martinez so sick and Sam under so much pressure, you should probably keep that kind of thinking to yourself.’

The closest to harsh Cathy thought she’d ever heard Saul.

‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I sound like a real bitch.’

‘I don’t think you have a bitchy bone in your body,’ Saul said.

‘Everyone does,’ Cathy said.

‘And you think Jess does,’ Saul said.

Cathy shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

SIXTY-SEVEN

T
hey tried dropping in on Larry Beatty unannounced just after seven, but the doorman at his high-price building on Collins near 71st, a middle-aged guy with Angelo on his name tag, failed to get a response from 14D.

‘I just came on duty an hour ago,’ he told them, ‘but I haven’t seen Mr Beatty all week, which doesn’t mean he hasn’t been home, because it isn’t our job to check up on the residents’ comings and goings.’

‘His office is close by, isn’t it?’ Sam asked.

‘I wouldn’t know that,’ said Angelo.

‘Maybe he’s having dinner on his way home,’ Riley said. ‘Any idea where he likes to go?’

‘None,’ the doorman said.

And plainly, whether Angelo liked or loathed or was entirely indifferent to Lawrence Beatty, he was not going to share any information with them.

‘Would you care to leave a message?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ Sam said. ‘We’ll catch up with him another time.’

They walked back outside, where Sam’s Saab was parked nose to tail with Riley’s car, but neither of them moved toward their vehicles, just stood for a moment in the well-lit darkness of a Miami Beach February evening.

‘You want to go look for him?’ Riley asked.

Sam took off his jacket, shook his head. ‘Not quite ready to harass him. Tomorrow’s soon enough.’

‘You going to the hospital?’ Riley said.

Sam had called an hour ago, had learned that Martinez had developed a rash and deteriorated sufficiently to have been admitted to the Critical Care Unit, which had struck all kinds of alarm bells in him.

‘Later,’ Sam said. ‘Cathy’s working the evening shift, so I thought I might drop by the café first, see how she’s doing.’

They moved to the kerb, and Riley reached out and touched Sam’s right forearm. ‘Send good thoughts to Al, please.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Sam said.

He knew that detouring to the café was really about putting off the moment of seeing Martinez in that place.

Coward
.

‘You look like you need pasta,’ Dooley told him, coming out of the kitchen to shake his hand. ‘Which is no big surprise, given all your daughter says you’re going through.’

Sam smiled. ‘I didn’t realize I was hungry till I came in here.’ He looked at Cathy, waiting tables this evening while Simone visited with her mother.

‘How’s your friend doing?’ Dooley asked.

‘Not so good,’ Sam said.

‘So you need to keep up your own strength, right?’

‘Sure,’ Sam said.

‘Sit anywhere,’ Dooley said. ‘We’re quiet tonight.’

Sam picked one of the tables with banquettes, remembering the first time he’d come in and Simone had made him comfortable because he’d looked tired.

One of the better ones.

Cathy brought him over a menu. ‘Dooley says you need penne al’arrabiatta, but I figured you should have a choice.’

‘That sounds fine,’ Sam said, too weary to think about it.

‘Have you been to see Al yet?’ Cathy asked softly.

Sam shook his head. ‘I’m going from here.’ He looked up at her, thought how lovely she looked, even with the anxiety over Martinez clear in her eyes. ‘I only came in to see you, to be honest.’

‘Any special reason?’

‘Very special,’ he said. ‘You make me feel better.’

Cathy bent and quickly kissed his cheek. ‘Ditto.’ She straightened up, looked around. ‘The pasta won’t be long.’

It wasn’t long, and it was good, though Sam’s appetite wasn’t in the best of shape. Still tired after he’d finished eating, he drank a whole bottle of San Pellegrino – and for the first time in almost eighteen months he found himself thinking that an espresso might have done a better job of keeping him alert, and maybe it was true that you did get over most things, given enough time . . .

‘I wish I could come with you,’ Cathy said as he got up to leave, ‘but . . .’

‘You go.’ Dooley had come out of the kitchen again. ‘I can take care of things tonight.’

‘What if you get a crowd in?’

‘I’ll manage,’ Dooley said. ‘In case you never noticed, I can multitask almost as well as most women.’

‘I’m in no rush,’ Sam said. ‘Why don’t I wait a while?’

‘You’re beat,’ Dooley told him firmly. ‘Take your daughter and go visit with your partner.’

‘Goddamn tests,’ Martinez said when Sam came in. ‘Goddamn barbarians.’

He’d been sufficiently compos mentis on admission to have logged Sam and Grace as ‘family’, along with Jess, which meant there’d been no problem getting in to see him now, though Cathy had had to wait outside.

Still lucid enough now, thankfully, to curse.

‘You look like hell,’ Sam told him, ‘but you still sound like you.’

‘Not doing too well,’ Martinez said. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’m the one who’s sorry. I gave you my cold.’

Martinez’s half-smile was wry. ‘This ain’t no cold, man.’

Sam looked down at his friend and knew, without being told, that things were grim, which went without saying since otherwise he wouldn’t have landed up here in the CCU, and Sam had seen too much of this lifesaving hellhole in the past, including a bad spell here himself about eighteen months back. The fact was, when it was someone you loved lying there, there was just no getting used to it.