Hell (20 page)

‘Except Cal would probably kill anyone who messed with his writing.'

‘I take it we're not planning to share any of this with Detective Rowan?'

‘You take it right.'

‘So what do we do with it?' Martinez asked.

‘Beats the hell out of me,' Sam said.

They drove over to the warehouse where the party had taken place. Where young Ricardo Torres had met with Richard Bianchi probably just hours before his death. All boarded up now. No hope of entering without breaking in.

No hope of forensics. No chance of a guest list any time soon, if ever. Even if YouTube came up with the individual who had posted the video, it had not been the kind of party to which invitations would have been sent out. Notification presumably by word of mouth and on the Internet.

‘Goddamned Twitter,' Martinez said sourly.

New technology one of his pet gripes.

No residential neighbors for them to call on. Business premises only, all of which would have been closed that Saturday night.

They showed the cashier in a nearby garage their badges and a couple of photos of Cooper, and Martinez addressed the man in Spanish, asked if he'd been working on the night of Saturday, April 24, and he shook his head too quickly.

Shook it again when he looked at the photos.

‘Damn waste of time,' Sam said, back in the Chevy.

The district not really Cal the Hater's kind of hunting ground.

Except it was not Cal-Cooper who'd hooked up with Torres that night.

Not necessarily he who'd hunted that young man down, strangled him to death and cut out his heart.

At ten minutes after three that afternoon, Grace's cellphone rang while she was out on the deck grooming the dogs, both eager for her attention, cool wet noses pushing at her, tails beating time.

‘Sorry, guys,' she said and answered her phone.

And saw Pete Mankowitz's name in the display.

Grace stared at the phone.

No contact with witnesses.

She took the call.

‘Doc?' His voice was quavering, uncertain.

She knew that tone too well.

‘Hello, Pete. What's up?'

‘I need to see you.'

‘I'm afraid that isn't possible, Pete,' she told him. ‘I'm so sorry.'

‘I'm feeling so bad, Doc.'

‘Where are you, Pete? Are you in school?'

‘I mean I'm feeling
really
bad, like I might die.'

‘OK, Pete.' They'd been down this route several times. ‘You know this is a panic attack, and you know what to do.'

‘I don't want to breathe,' he said. ‘And I don't want to calm down, and I'm not at school, I'm never going back there, and I don't want to see another shrink – you're the only one who
gets
me, and if you don't let me see you, I'll kill myself. I mean it, Doc. I took a bottle of my mom's pills.'

‘What do you mean?' Horror made it hard for her to breathe. ‘You swallowed them?'

‘Not yet, but I have them with me, and I'll do it.'

Grace's mind raced. If she called 911 right now – if she even knew where to find him – then Lord only knew what fresh traumas that would open up for him.

Not going to happen, not on her watch.

‘OK, Pete, here's what we're going to do.' She toughened her tone. ‘And it's the only way you're going to get to see me, so you have to listen, OK?'

He didn't answer.

‘I'm going to come and meet you, but I won't be alone.'

‘No
way
.'

‘Hear me out, please, Pete. I have a good friend. She's the same kind of doctor as I am.'

‘I told you, I'm not going to see another shrink.'

‘You don't have to. This is just so you and I can get to talk today. So I don't get into more trouble.'

‘You shouldn't
be
in trouble.'

‘That isn't true, Pete. I did a very bad thing.'

‘He was the bad one. Charlie was really bad.'

Jerry Wagner would want to hear about that, but there was no way she would ever let him put Pete on the witness stand.

‘Will you let me bring my friend? Just so I don't get in trouble.'

He was still crying.

‘There's no other way, Pete.'

‘You have to promise not to tell my mom.'

‘She's going to be so worried.'

‘You call her and I'll run away and—'

‘I won't call her.'

‘Swear it,' Pete said.

‘I swear,' Grace said.

‘I'm going to be watching, and if there's anyone else except this lady, I'll run away and I'll take the pills and—'

‘There won't be anyone else.'

‘OK,' he said.

Something else had been needling Sam.

The registered owner of Bianchi's VW.

Bernice van Heusen.

The kind of name that might possibly have a story behind it.

Deceased last year, and at least a dozen ways he could think of that her car might have made its way down to South Florida from Savannah, but . . .

Even if Angie Carlino had not called yesterday offering help, Sam would still have thought of her now. With a zillion contacts all over, and an ability to suck secrets out of most people, if anyone could short cut the system without making waves of the kind he'd risk churning up if he did this himself, it was Angie.

‘Hey,
bellissima
, how's it going?'

‘All the better for hearing your voice, handsome.'

‘Not as glad as I was to get your message,' Sam told her.

‘What do you need?' Angie asked.

‘Two things.'

‘I already checked out this Bianchi character,' she said, ‘and his family.'

The grapevine clearly working.

‘Father: Robert Bianchi, a second-generation Italian teacher,' Angie told him. ‘Mother: Josephine – known as Josie – doctor's receptionist with French blood on her mom's side. One sibling, a sister, Gina Bianchi, who lives in Naples, and works for a children's charity there.'

Little they didn't already have.

‘Both clean, right?' he said.

‘As fresh-bathed babes, Richard included,' she said. ‘Sorry.'

‘Any chance you could check into his school record?' Sam asked. ‘History of bullying, anything of that nature. I know I'm pushing it, Angie.'

‘Hey,' she said. ‘I asked you what you needed.'

‘God bless you,' he said. ‘You have any pals in Savannah, Georgia?'

‘Shoot,' Angie said.

Pete's phone was going straight to voicemail.

‘Just to say my friend and I are on our way,' Grace told him. ‘So the next time I call, you can take a look and check us out, OK?'

She had feared Magda's reaction, but her friend had simply listened, then made herself available. ‘I'll leave now, pick you up.'

‘That'll take time,' Grace had said.

‘You've sworn to Sam you're not going anywhere alone, so take it or leave it.'

‘I'll take it,' Grace said gratefully.

‘And you have to call Pete's mother.'

‘I know,' Grace had said.

Almost there now.

The Lexus felt smooth and calming, and there was a comfort in having this wise woman by her side, and at least she had not had to lie to Claudia when she'd left, and that was something.

Not that she'd told her the exact truth.

A patient, she'd said.

Not a
witness
.

‘So where is it exactly?' Magda asked. ‘This playground.'

‘I'm not sure,' Grace said.

Pete had directed her to sit on a bench near the slides in Village Green Park, had said he'd come find her.

‘There are a bunch of blue and green slides for little kids,' he had said.

She spotted the playground just as Magda found a parking spot.

No sign of Pete.

Time to confess.

‘I haven't called his mom yet,' she said. ‘And I know that seems wrong, but I gave Pete my word, and this is her number for you to call as soon as I've gone to talk to him.'

‘This will end in tears.' Magda took the note with the number.

‘So long as they're mine, not his,' Grace said. ‘And do you think you could call from here, please, so Pete doesn't see?'

‘Anything else?' Magda was dry.

‘I'm sorry,' Grace said.

‘Don't be sorry,' Magda said. ‘Just be careful.'

‘I'll do my best,' Grace said.

Detective Rowan called Sam.

‘Just a courtesy call,' he said. ‘To let you know Bianchi's parents let us take a look around their son's apartment.'

‘I appreciate it, Mike.' Sam sounded calm. ‘Find anything?'

‘Nothing to tell you,' Rowan said, ‘except the place was clean.'

‘Too clean?' Sam jumped on the word.

‘I raised that with his folks,' the Broward detective said, ‘and his mom said she wished he'd been as tidy when he'd lived at home.'

‘Think someone could have been there since he died?' Sam asked.

‘No evidence of that,' Rowan said.

The boy seemed to come from nowhere after Grace had been sitting on one of the benches for three, maybe four minutes.

The little kids and their parents had gone for the day, but a few older boys and girls were fooling around near the slides.

Pete's face was a little grimy, and his eyes were red, but otherwise he looked physically fine.

‘Hey,' he said.

‘Hey,' Grace said back.

‘Where's your friend?'

‘Parking her car.'

‘She parked the car before you got out,' Pete said.

Grace smiled. ‘I asked her to wait a few moments. Then she's going to come and say hi, and then she'll go sit a little way away.'

‘Why can't she just stay in the car?'

‘That was our deal, remember?' Grace said. ‘I have to have someone else here while we talk, so the judge doesn't get mad at me.'

On cue, Magda appeared, walking slowly, taking her time.

‘Here she comes,' Grace said. ‘Magda's very nice.'

‘She has a weird name.'

‘It's a little unusual, maybe, but she isn't weird at all.'

Grace smiled as her friend approached.

‘Pete, this is Magda,' Grace said. ‘Magda, this is Pete.'

Magda put out her hand, and Pete took it.

‘Good strong handshake.' Magda smiled. ‘Says a lot about a guy.'

‘Thanks.' Pete looked uncertainly at Grace.

‘It's OK,' Magda said. ‘I'll sit over there, shall I?' She nodded toward another bench a decent distance away.

‘Please,' Pete said.

‘No problem,' Magda said, headed right over and sat down.

‘I'm sorry,' Pete said.

‘It's fine,' Grace told him.

Pete took another long look around and then, cautiously, he sat beside her.

‘I'm doing better now,' he said.

‘I can see that,' Grace said. ‘I knew you could calm yourself down.'

‘I wasn't as bad as I made out,' Pete said. ‘I just wanted to get you here.'

‘You know,' Grace said quietly, ‘you shouldn't have gone anywhere without telling your mom.'

‘I know,' he said. ‘She's going to be mad as hell.'

‘I guess she will,' Grace agreed. ‘But you know why.'

‘I know she loves me,' Pete said. ‘But she wasn't going to let me see you.'

‘Because of what happened. What I did to her friend.'

‘He wasn't a good friend,' Pete said. ‘He was a liar. He didn't even tell her his real name.'

Grace felt no great surprise that he knew that, since even if Sara had banned TV news, he'd have checked it out on Google or heard about it at school.

‘No,' she said. ‘That's true.'

‘I'm ready to tell you now,' Pete said. ‘About what he did.'

She felt a stab of pain, because this was the kind of breakthrough she worked toward with children like Pete, yet here, today, she was going to have stop him from going on, and who could say if she would ever be permitted to do her work again, to help troubled children?

‘You can't tell me, Pete,' she said. ‘I'm not allowed to speak to you for the present. Because you're a witness to what I did.'

‘That's baloney,' he said. ‘Anyway, I won't tell anyone except you.'

The fear was there again now, in those expressive eyes, in no way a pretense, and she was not convinced that his phone call had been a ruse to get her here, and there was no way she was prepared to take chances now.

‘Where are the pills, Pete?'

‘I don't have them,' he said. ‘I made it up.'

‘I'm not sure I believe that,' she said carefully.

‘You want to search me?' he asked.

‘Of course not.' Grace met his gaze evenly. ‘I trust you.'

‘I don't want to kill myself,' Pete told her.

‘I'm very glad to hear that.' She paused. ‘But you have had those kinds of thoughts before, haven't you? Wanting it all to stop.'

‘Uh-huh.' His eyes veered away, downward.

‘It's OK.' Grace knew now that she could not turn him away. ‘You can tell me, if you like, about what he did.'

‘Are you sure?' He was anxious. ‘I don't want to get you in worse trouble.'

‘I'm sure,' she said.

‘Only it's weird,' he said, ‘because I thought I'd feel better with him gone.'

‘But you don't?'

He shook his head.

‘That seems logical to me,' Grace told him. ‘After all, you felt bad sometimes before he met your mom, didn't you?'

‘I guess.'

She waited a moment.

‘So,' she said. ‘About him. Let's call him Charlie, OK?'

‘He hurt me,' Pete said. ‘I know I said he didn't when you asked me that night, before . . .'