Hell (25 page)

Mike Alvarez called Sam and Martinez to his office halfway through Wednesday morning, asked them to sit.

‘I know how tough this has been on you already,' he said. ‘And we all know it's going to get tougher.'

No fool, the lieutenant, addressing this to the pair of them, aware that what hurt one impacted fiercely on the other.

‘Worth it,' Sam said, ‘if we can nail Cooper for all his crimes.'

‘Except no one's forgetting,' Alvarez said, ‘that some of those have been crimes against you, Sam, and members of your family. Which is why I need to tell you again – both of you – to be
damned
careful with this suspect. Make sure all the warrant issues are covered, tell him his rights again, every interview, even when you don't need to.'

‘No question,' Sam said.

‘Applies to you, too,' the lieutenant said to Martinez.

‘Of course,' Martinez said.

‘The very last thing I want is to have to pull you off the case, OK?'

‘We don't want that either,' Martinez said.

‘Sam? Are you sure you're up to this?' Alvarez persisted.

Sam thought about the pleasure that Cooper had appeared to derive from their first interview, thought about the confrontations still to come, and felt his own sick rage heighten just a little more.

Last chance.

‘Never more sure of anything,' he said.

They holed up in the office Wednesday afternoon, and read their copy of the
New Epistles of Cal the Hater
from cover to cover.

Two days to go till Grace's arraignment, and Sam and Martinez were doing their jobs, poring over every word for evidence in the heart homicides and earlier crimes, but both men were also ransacking every page for something,
anything
, that might give Sam the magic wand needed to prove Grace's self-defense.

Jerry Wagner called at noon.

‘Anything?' he asked.

Knowing full well that Sam could not disclose to him if there was.

Equally certain that if Sam found even a scrap of something he could use, he'd find a way of letting his wife's lawyer know about it.

‘Not yet,' Sam said.

And went on reading.

In many ways, these were the same screwed up, self-indulgent, semi-tragic garbage as the earlier writings had been. Except that as they turned these pages, they found that the killer was describing a period during which he had – if he wrote with any semblance of honesty – been given new chances. At a kind of love, perhaps even a fresh start.

Blossom van Heusen, apparently unaware of his true evil, had thought she'd seen something worthwhile in Cooper. And he seemed, perhaps, to have found in her the kind of mother he'd been deprived of.

‘Didn't stop him screwing her,' Martinez said.

‘And I guess the hate still won,' Sam said.

‘Doesn't it always with the sickest fucks?' Martinez said.

A point which, in other circumstances, Sam might have felt like debating, but in this case, truth to tell, he didn't give a damn.

Except, Blossom aside, there was something else in the
New Epistles
.

Some
one
.

Mentioned just once.

They both spotted it almost simultaneously.

‘Think he slipped up?' Martinez asked.

‘I don't know,' Sam said.

Because the Jerome Cooper he had first met had been a messed-up nobody with a wicked, whacko mom, a real liking for the written word, a far greater love of bestowing and receiving pain, and pure evil for brains.

This man had learned a thing or several.

Sam was no longer certain if he ever made mistakes.

Grace called him at four o'clock.

‘I was thinking,' she said tentatively, ‘that maybe we could go out, just the two of us, maybe to a restaurant.'

He felt startled, gladdened and ashamed in one hit, because it had not occurred to him that she wanted, perhaps needed, to do something so
normal
.

‘I'd love to.' He paused, wanting to get it right. ‘Someplace near Claudia's, someplace new?'

‘I thought La Terrazza,' Grace said.

One of their favorite places, up in Sunny Isles, a restaurant where they were well known.

‘I've done too much hiding away,' she said.

‘It's a great idea,' Sam said.

‘And we're not going to talk about it,' she said.

He wondered if she meant the impending arraignment, or Cooper, or the needlestick.

‘Any of it,' she said.

In a way, they both knew they were acting out. Not the romance of it, nor the pleasure of walking into a pretty local restaurant where they'd enjoyed so many happy evenings in the past. It was simply that they had contrived to find a way, perhaps for one night only, to carve out a piece of private pleasure, a slice of their real selves, Sam and Grace, the way they'd been for so many years.

They ate with appetite, surprising themselves, and they talked about many things, mostly happy, good memories, and about the family; Saul's growing success and his relationship with Mel and their gladness for him; their hopes that JWU would help take Cathy forward into the kind of career she longed for; Joshua's blessedly easy nature, the way the upheaval seemed to have stimulated rather than disrupted his continuing development – though that was the only time they referred to the ‘upheaval', because that was the kind of dangerous terrain they had agreed to refrain from discussing.

And then, as they neared the end of their meal:

‘We haven't talked about going home,' Grace said.

‘I thought you didn't want to talk about it,' Sam said.

‘Just this part,' she said. ‘Cooper's locked up now, so I guess it's something we need to discuss.'

‘Do you want to go back?' Sam shook his head. ‘Of course you do, and so do I, but I meant—'

‘With Friday coming,' she said.

Sadness filled him because the ease of the evening was gone.

‘And my bail conditions,' she said.

‘I'm sure that could be changed,' Sam said. ‘We can talk to Jerry before the hearing.'

‘No,' she said. ‘It might irritate the judge.'

‘I doubt that, in the circumstances.'

Grace shook her head. ‘After the arraignment, maybe.'

Sam looked at her for a long moment, knew she wasn't ready.

‘Would it hurt too much if we went to visit our house?' he asked.

‘Honestly?'

‘Sure,' he said.

‘I think it would hurt to visit,' she said. ‘But we could go look at it, if you'd like.'

They sat outside in the Saab, and gazed at it.

‘It looks lonely,' she said.

Sam said nothing, just held her hand.

Grace managed a smile. ‘This feels strange, sitting out here. Like teenagers, not going inside because of our parents.'

‘If that's how it feels to you,' Sam said, ‘maybe we should make out?'

‘Maybe we should,' she said. ‘Though maybe we should just wait till we get back to that nice big bed.'

‘It is a great bed,' Sam agreed.

‘But it's not home,' Grace said.

‘We'll be back here soon,' he said.

‘You will,' she said.

‘We both will,' Sam said.

She didn't answer.

‘Believe it,' he said. ‘Please believe it.'

‘I'll try,' she said.

THIRTY-FOUR

May 20

‘
Y
ou didn't come yesterday.'

Cooper seemed put out.

He had made it known to everyone who came within earshot that he wanted to talk to Sam every day, that he didn't care who else came along for the ride but that there was only one detective he was interested in speaking to.

Almost having it his way this morning, with only Sam and Martinez here to see him. Not that anyone wanted to appease him, but they'd all agreed at a meeting Tuesday evening that it was way too crowded with every jurisdiction represented – not to mention too much
fun
for Cooper – so the plan was, for the moment, to take it in shifts, partly in hopes of wrong-footing the bastard.

His attorney, Albert Singer, was with him today.

Middle-aged, silvering dark hair, Gucci glasses.

Appointed by his client, not the court, and Sam knew a little about Singer, knew that the guy had been reprimanded by the Bar a few times for ‘inappropriate' behavior. Which made him the right type of lawyer for Cooper, Sam supposed, in more ways than one. No court-appointed public defender they'd come across would have been likely to allow the killer to talk to them this way, waiving his rights, even if that was what he wanted. Singer didn't look exactly happy about it either, but he was, at least, letting them make a start on his client's terms.

Better for the prosecution case, perhaps, though only time would tell.

One thing was for sure: nothing Jerome Cooper was doing was for Sam Becket's benefit.

The tape was running.

‘For the record,' Sam said, ‘we've discussed your Miranda warnings and you're still waiving them and speaking to us.'

Albert Singer's small mouth pursed a little.

‘I was worried,' Cooper said. ‘I thought you might be sick.'

‘Never better,' Sam said.

Detective Collins and his colleague Mike Lopez had questioned the killer again yesterday about the contents of the syringe, had gotten nowhere.

‘We've been reading.' Sam started the proceedings.

‘I thought you might have been,' Cooper said.

‘So now we know where you got the money to buy the
Aggie
.'

‘And some other stuff,' Cooper said.

‘I can't imagine that Blossom had that in mind as a way for you to spend her hard-earned cash,' Sam said.

‘Don't presume to know anything about what she wanted,' Cooper said.

Real anger in his mean little eyes.

‘She gave you money, and she gave you her car,' Sam said.

‘She must have liked you a lot,' Martinez said.

‘She didn't give me a car,' Cooper said to Sam.

‘Maybe you just took it then,' Sam said.

‘I'm not a thief.'

‘That's not true,' Sam said. ‘You wrote in your earlier
Epistles
about taking money from your victims.'

‘My client's not here to answer to theft,' Albert Singer said.

‘That's OK,' Cooper told him.

Singer's headshake was minimally disapproving.

‘In the past,' Cooper said, ‘a couple of times, I took what I had to.'

‘You kidnapped a baby.' Martinez said it so Sam wouldn't have to, kept his gaze on the killer's face. ‘A car's small fry by comparison.'

‘I didn't take a car.'

‘So you're saying Mrs van Heusen gave it to you?' Sam said.

‘I don't know anything about a car,' Cooper said, and glanced at Singer.

‘Moving on,' Sam said.

‘I think it's time we took a break,' the attorney said, ‘so I can consult with my client.'

‘I'm happy to keep moving,' Cooper said.

‘Who's Toy?' Sam asked.

The killer blinked, though his expression did not alter.

‘You mentioned him in your new
Epistle
,' Martinez said.

‘So who is Toy?' Sam asked again.

‘Beats me,' Cooper said.

Martinez unfolded a sheet of copy paper, glanced at Sam, who nodded.

‘“Toy came to see me today and brought me some meat from his very own Fresh Market,”' he read.

‘Straight out of your handsome leather-bound notebook,' Sam said.

‘I don't remember writing that,' Cooper said.

Martinez continued. ‘You went on: “I wonder sometimes how I'd manage without him.”'

‘I remember now,' Cooper said, smoothly. ‘He was a guy who used to do my shopping sometimes.'

The touch of evasiveness had already gone, his confidence restored – or maybe the momentary uncertainty had been a part of the act.

‘What's his real name?' Martinez asked.

‘I don't know.' Same as the last session, Cooper responded to Martinez's question, but directed the answer at Sam. ‘I called him Toy because he was cute.'

‘How are these questions relevant?' Singer enquired.

Sam turned to him. ‘In view of the words “brought me some meat”, in the circumstances, I'd say they're highly relevant.'

‘It's OK,' Cooper told the attorney, his manner easy.

‘When was the last time Toy did your
shopping
?' Martinez asked.

‘I don't recall,' Cooper said. ‘Isn't there a date in the
Epistle
?”

‘I don't recall,' Martinez said.

‘Me neither,' Sam said.

‘That's a shame,' Cooper said.

‘What does Toy look like?' Martinez asked.

‘Cute. Like I said.'

‘Cute blonde and blue-eyed?' asked Sam. ‘Or dark?'

‘More your type,' Martinez said.

‘I must insist on time to speak to my client,' Albert Singer said.

‘Speaking of blonde and blue-eyed,' Cooper said, ‘how is Grace?'

Sam had been anticipating it, yet the intensity of his surge of fury still took him by surprise.

‘Looks like we could be heading for the same destination, give or take,' Cooper said. ‘Who'd have thought it? Me and stepsister Grace, both in jail.'

‘Shut your mouth,' Martinez said.

‘I'm sure I'll be making a few pals,' the killer went on. ‘People who'll know people where she's going, you know?'

The fury in Sam's head turned white-hot.

‘Was that a threat?' His voice was quiet.

‘Detective Becket,' Singer began.

‘Shut up,' Sam said.