Hell (27 page)

‘I can think of two I'd rather hear right now,' Claudia said.

‘Not guilty,' said Saul.

So just Sam at the courthouse with her and Wagner.

The Richard E. Gerstein Justice Building. 1351 NW 12th Street. So close to the jail, she'd heard, that prisoners were brought to court over a catwalk so they didn't have to be taken outside.

Not that way for her today. She and Sam walked up the steps and through the metal detectors, same as all the other free citizens.

Sam held her tightly before the attorney led her away.

Felt her trembling.

‘Stay strong, Gracie,' he told her.

‘I'm so sorry,' she told him.

‘You have to stop that,' he said.

‘I won't stop being honest with you,' she said.

He knew what she meant, wished with all his soul he could find a way to make her stop feeling so
guilty
, but he had a bleak and terrible feeling that was one gift he might never be able to give her back.

Her innocence.

Wagner asked her, before it began, if she would like to go back home now that Cooper was behind bars and it was safe again for her and the family.

‘I don't know,' Grace said.

‘Because of what happened there?' the lawyer asked.

She nodded. ‘And, I guess, because I'm nervous about rocking the boat.'

‘Are you sure?' Wagner was gentle, suspecting that was not her real reason. ‘Because I think the judge would allow it.'

The truth was she wasn't sure she could bear to go home. Not just because she was afraid of the memory of that thing in the tub. It was also that she didn't think she could stand to go home with Sam and Joshua, to begin to feel a kind of sham normality and then have it ripped away again.

‘I'm sure,' she said.

If she had been asked, later, for a description of the courtroom, she would have found it impossible to give one. For a time, her own heartbeat exercised her more than her surroundings, so alarmingly loud and rapid, pounding in her ears, that she thought she might pass out, but then she looked around and found Sam, kept her eyes on his face for as long as she could, anchored herself, steadied her breathing, remained conscious.

It went as Wagner had told her it would.

Except that he had not warned her about the press or TV cameras which she could almost feel zooming in on her face.

Hoping, perhaps, for tears, but not getting them. Not because of any sense of courage, but because she was too frozen inside.

The conditions of her release were the same as before.

She found it hard to speak, to thank Wagner for that, though he seemed to know how she felt, held her hand for a moment, was supportive, strong.

Her trial was scheduled for November 8.

Pretrial hearing set for June 11 – sooner than it might have been, Wagner said, because of free space on the judge's calendar.

Judge Arthur Brazen presiding, a man Grace could remember little about afterwards, except that he had white hair and wore spectacles.

She didn't know if an early pretrial hearing was a good or bad thing.

Didn't remember what Wagner said about it.

Still too frozen.

THIRTY-SIX

May 23

I
t had been a long time since David and Sam Becket had taken a day trip together, just the two of them.

When Sam had called his father after the arraignment to give him the news and ask if he would accompany him to Fort Myers on Sunday, to call on Richard Bianchi's parents, David had at first said no.

‘It's a mistake,' he'd said. ‘If it backfires, you risk too much.'

It was less than two weeks since Alvarez had ordered Sam not to speak to Bianchi's family, and even if this was ‘off-duty', if it got back to the department, he preferred not to contemplate the possible consequences.

He put the department out of his mind.

‘The Bianchis already hate Grace for killing their son,' he said. ‘How much worse can I make it?'

‘What does Grace think?' David had asked.

‘She's not keen,' Sam said. ‘I told her that together you and I would be gentle and respectful, but she said how “gentle” could we be trying to convince parents whose son just died that he was in league with a serial killer?'

‘Don't you think she makes a good point, son?'

‘What I think,' Sam said, ‘is I don't have any real choice.'

Having no prior arrangement, there was no guarantee the Bianchis would be home. Being Sunday, they were unlikely to be working, but they might, of course, be at church or out shopping, or anyplace. Though Sam's worst scenario was that they might be in the midst of finalizing plans for their son's funeral, scheduled for Thursday.

The closer they got to Fort Myers, the worse he felt.

The house was a modest suburban one-storey, small, white-painted with a red-tile roof and well-cared for yard.

Robert Bianchi answered the door.

He wore a dark-blue polo shirt over navy trousers, was clean-shaven and his dark-brown eyes were enquiring and friendly.

Until he learned who his callers were.

Shock and incredulity transformed his face, and it was impossible to know how much the man might have aged in the last two weeks, but he looked old beyond his fifty-three years.

‘We have nothing to say to you,' he said to Sam, then turned to David. ‘I'm sorry you've had a wasted trip, sir.'

‘Not wasted, I hope, Mr Bianchi,' David said.

‘I assure you it has been,' the other man said.

A woman appeared behind him.

‘Who is it, Robbie?'

‘No one,' her husband told her.

Josephine Bianchi wore a black T-shirt and pants, her wavy blonde hair tied roughly off her face, her blue eyes red-rimmed and shadowed.

‘You,' she said, looking at Sam.

Sam remembered the photograph in the
Sun-Sentinel
of him and Grace at the hospital fundraiser, laughing, and fresh awareness of his own insensitivity stabbed harder at his conscience.

‘They're leaving,' Robert Bianchi told her.

‘No.' She recovered quickly, took her husband's arm. ‘You've come this far for a reason,' she said. ‘You may as well come in.'

‘We could come back later,' Sam said.

‘Why would you want to do that?' Josephine Bianchi asked harshly.

‘We know we're intruding,' David said.

‘Of course you know,' she said, ‘since I'm sure neither of you is an idiot.'

‘I've come—'

‘To plead for your wife,' she cut Sam off. ‘Our son's killer.'

‘In a sense,' Sam said.

‘For the love of God,' Robert Bianchi said, ‘come in and let's get this over with.'

In their living room, small but homely, with a couple of watercolor beach scenes on the walls, a fully laden bookcase and several old family group photos (no way for Sam to peer closely to check out Richard as a youngster, not today), they all stood, stiffly, the atmosphere hostile.

Sam came directly to it.

‘I'm here,' he said, ‘because I believe there's a strong possibility that your son may, perhaps unwittingly, have been used by a known criminal.'

‘You're talking about this murderer,' Josephine Bianchi said.

Unsurprisingly, since they were presumably being kept in touch by their own attorney, perhaps even by the Key Biscayne police.

‘Jerome Cooper,' Sam confirmed.

Josephine Bianchi's eyes were hard as stone. ‘You dare to come to our house while we are mourning our son, and you accuse him.'

‘That isn't what he said, Mrs Bianchi,' David pointed out gently.

‘It's what he implied,' Robert Bianchi said. ‘He's been implying as much all over Miami, so far as we can tell, and getting nowhere, which is where his inquiries will remain.'

‘There's already been one complaint made against you,' his wife said. ‘I'm stunned by your nerve, let alone your callousness.'

‘My son is not a callous man,' David said. ‘And I assure you he would not be here today if he felt he had any choice.'

‘He had a choice,' Bianchi said grimly.

‘I understand that this must feel like a terrible intrusion,' Sam said.

‘We don't need your understanding,' Josephine Bianchi said. ‘Our son is dead because of your wife.'

David glanced at a chair behind him. ‘May I?'

‘Of course.' Robert Bianchi gestured. ‘Would you like some water? Josie, please fetch a glass of—'

‘No, thank you.' David sat down. ‘I'm fine.'

‘You OK?' Sam looked at his father.

David nodded, gave a small sigh, then asked: ‘How much do you know about my daughter-in-law?'

‘All we need to know.' Robert Bianchi's tone was bitter.

‘Perhaps not,' David went on. ‘Grace was a colleague of mine long before she met my son, when I was still a pediatrician, and she is one of the most remarkable people I know.'

‘With respect, Dr Becket,' Bianchi said, ‘you're somewhat biased.'

‘I've lost count of the number of children she's helped.'

‘That's her job,' Josephine Bianchi said. ‘And I'd like to point out that one of the prosecution witnesses is the mother of the child she was supposedly “helping” when she drove her car at our son.'

They were in danger of running out of time, Sam realized.

‘I truly believe,' he tried again, ‘that your son might have got himself into something he didn't bargain—'

‘Our son was a writer.' Bianchi's voice shook as he cut in. ‘He had short stories published, and he took other work to supplement his income. As a copy editor, not as some killer's accomplice.'

‘I know you have his car,' Sam said.

‘We certainly do,' Josephine Bianchi said.

‘Do you have his computer, too?' Sam asked.

There was a moment's silence, and then, from outside the room, came the sound of the front door opening and closing.

‘Gina,' Josie said quietly.

‘I'll tell her.' Robert left the room, closed the door behind him.

‘Our daughter,' his wife explained.

The voices out in the hallway were muted for a moment, and then the door opened and a tall, slim, dark-haired woman dressed in black came in.

She strode straight across the room to Sam.

‘Bastard,' she said.

Richard Bianchi's sister, the charity worker, did not resemble her late brother. Sam saw, too late, her right hand swing back, though even if there had been time, he doubted he would have tried to stop her.

The sound of the slap resounded in the room.

Gina Bianchi began to weep.

‘Gina,' her father said, in shock. ‘You shouldn't have done that.'

‘Why shouldn't she?' Josephine went to their daughter, put an arm around her, led her to the sofa, and gently pushed her down.

David got to his feet. ‘I think we should go.'

Sam's face stung, but his need to achieve
something
for Grace was overpowering. ‘I'm sorry, but I have to ask if you have your son's computer?'

‘I'm sorry my daughter slapped you,' her father said.

‘I'm not sorry,' Gina Bianchi told Sam. ‘Though I'd sooner slap your wife.'

‘Gina,' Robert Bianchi said again, rebuking.

‘What's wrong with you?' Now Josephine Bianchi's anger was directed at her husband. ‘I wouldn't give this man the spit out of my mouth.'

‘I would do almost anything,' Bianchi said quietly, ‘if it would help stop this disgusting nonsense about our son once and for all.'

‘You think it would stop there?' Gina's voice was tinny, sharp, her dark eyes venomous. ‘Give this man the computer, he'd still want to search Richard's home, Richard's trash.'

‘They already looked at his apartment,' Josephine said.

‘That's right,' Sam said. ‘I believe you remarked that it was unusually clean, Mrs Bianchi.' ‘Tidy' was what Detective Rowan had reported she had said, but that scarcely mattered now. ‘Did you feel that someone might have been there to clean up?'

‘Bastard,' Gina Bianchi said again.

But at least this time she did not slap him.

Neither David nor Sam spoke for the first few miles of the return journey, the Saab devouring the road, heading back towards I-75.

‘You OK?' David asked, finally.

‘I've been better,' Sam said.

‘Me too,' his father said.

‘I'm sorry,' Sam said. ‘I shouldn't have put you through that.'

‘It's not me you caused pain,' David said.

His father seldom expressed disapproval of him, and it hurt far worse than Gina Bianchi's slap.

‘I understand why,' David said, ‘but it was still wrong.'

‘I know it,' Sam said.

‘But you'd do it again, wouldn't you?'

‘That, and more,' Sam said.

‘I want you and Saul to go home,' Grace told Cathy on Sunday evening out on the deck. ‘Tomorrow.'

Another companionable evening lay ahead, with Daniel and Mike barbecuing, Saul and Robbie fooling around in the pool, only Sam feeling very drained, the tension from the earlier part of the day still lingering.

‘I don't think so,' Cathy said.

‘I do,' Grace said, emphatically. ‘With that man safely locked away, it's high time some of us got back to some kind of normality. And I know you won't go home without me,' she added to Sam, ‘but I would like it if you could get the house opened up and ready to move back into.'

‘That sounds good and positive.' Claudia walked past, carrying two salad bowls, Cathy taking one from her and setting it on the big table.

‘I still can't believe the judge wouldn't let you go home,' Cathy said.

‘I'm glad he didn't,' Claudia said, warmly.

‘I think Mike and Robbie might be glad to have their space back,' Sam said.