Hell (6 page)

‘Though it seems a shame,' David had persisted after they'd chosen Boston as their destination, ‘to be so close and not go see your parents at all.' He'd shrugged. ‘They can't be getting any younger.'

‘I guess you're right,' Mildred had said. ‘And heaven knows I've never had much time for unforgiving people, so maybe we could go at the end of the vacation.' She'd paused. ‘But I wouldn't want to stay with them, even if they ask us to, which they probably will not.'

‘We'll be in a hotel,' David had assured her.

The Ritz Carlton in Boston, first, and he'd reserved a park view room at the Plaza in Manhattan for the last five days before their return, and that about summed up what David wanted for Mildred – that, and good health for them both, and as long a shared old age as the good Lord would grant them.

Beautiful food and surroundings today, a two-tier wedding cake and a birthday cake for Saul, both baked and decorated by Grace and Cathy, the same way that everything had been arranged and prepared by them, with love.

A wonderful party, and a wonderful day.

No troubles.

Not a single one.

The happy couple going on their way finally, though Sam and Grace had suggested they wait till next day to leave, since their flight would not reach Boston until gone midnight, but David and Mildred had been determined to do it their way.

‘Plenty of time to rest when we get there,' Mildred had reassured them.

‘Plenty of time to rest when we're dead,' David had added.

TEN

April 23

E
arly next morning, Sam met with a lieutenant in patrol at the Bay Harbor Islands Police Department – a man he'd had cause to meet a few times – to explain his concerns for his family's safety with regard to the suspected return to Miami-Dade of Jerome Cooper.

Having been a sergeant at the time of the kidnapping, the lieutenant did not need asking twice.

‘I'd really appreciate this being kept informal,' Sam said.

‘You don't want your wife to know?' the lieutenant asked.

‘She'll know,' Sam said. ‘But this is really a just-in-case.'

‘Better safe than sorry,' the other man said.

‘I owe you,' Sam told him.

Grace felt tired Friday morning, but good. Happy and relaxed, the way she always felt after a family party had gone beautifully. The kids had helped with most of the clearing up, and she had taken Joshua to preschool before settling down to the tasks that remained.

Sam had called to tell her about the patrol cars that were going to be coming around every now and then till they could be sure Cooper was not on the scene.

‘Are you sure it's necessary?' she had asked.

‘I'm hoping it's
un
necessary,' he'd said. ‘But if you don't mind, I'd sooner err on the side of caution.'

‘I think I mind a good deal,' Grace had said. ‘But I'm not sure I feel like arguing the point either.'

She was still feeling good – getting the job done, thinking about the newly-weds' first Boston morning, hoping their flowers had arrived – as she took out yet another bag of trash just after eleven, ahead of going to collect Joshua, when a gray four-door sedan came around the bend in their road and slowed to a crawl opposite their house.

Tinted windows closed.

Someone watching.

This time, she was
certain
.

Woody, at her heels, growled softly.

‘It's OK,' she told him, and bent to pick him up.

The car had not moved.

Grace's heartbeat grew rapid, her mouth dry. She looked up and down the road, wishing for a black-and-white to appear
now.

No such luck.

In her arms, Woody growled again.

The sedan was still there.

Quickly, Grace turned and hurried back into the house, shut and locked the front door, walked swiftly into the kitchen to do the same, then to the lanai.

And then she called Sam.

‘Nothing to worry about, Detective,' one of the patrol officers assured Sam as soon as he pulled up. ‘We'd have called you if there was.'

They had been aware of the car in question, the officer said, had been observing the gray Ford Fusion right outside the Becket house, had been parked just around the bend in the road, had noted Grace's reaction too.

The Ford had begun to move away right after she'd gone inside, and the cops had made their own move in response, signaling the driver to pull over.

Totally innocent.

‘Just a guy out with his wife looking at properties,' the officer told Sam. ‘Whole bunch of printed details with them in the car. They were embarrassed, said they'd just wanted to get the feel of the island, were interested in the kind of people living here, the way people do, you know.'

‘Sure,' Sam said.

‘They said they were real sorry if they'd upset the lady, but the guy said he figured that if he rolled down the window and spoke to her, that might have freaked her out more.' The officer's grin was relaxed. ‘His words.'

‘And they checked out?' Sam asked.

‘Goes without saying, Detective,' the officer said.

‘I'm grateful to you,' Sam told him.

The guy's partner looked a little awkward.

‘Mrs Becket sure looked edgy,' he said.

‘She has good cause,' Sam said.

‘I guess she does,' the other man said.

Some good news for Gail Tewkesbury.

Comparison of Andrew Victor's dental records proved that he was not their John Doe, though her concern for him remained undiminished, especially as it was too soon to say if Victor's DNA was a match for the heart found three days after his disappearance.

‘Nice woman,' Martinez remarked after Sam had gotten off the phone, having assured her that her fears for her friend were still being taken seriously.

‘Very,' Sam agreed.

‘One link less to Cooper,' Martinez said.

That particular gay connection having been wiped out.

Which ought, perhaps, have been allowing Sam to feel easier about his family's safety, but was doing no such thing, because the news had reduced his justification for any kind of patrol at their house.

No one had suggested that the dinghy and contents tied up to their mooring had been a random act, but the location of the second heart had been wholly unconnected to them, added to which Sam feared that Grace's visible jitters might stop some people taking his concerns as seriously as they ought.

Especially with the copycat theory gaining strength.

‘Anything I can do, man?' Martinez asked.

‘I wish,' Sam said.

‘Patrol's still out there,' his friend said.

‘For now,' Sam said.

Just before six, more news in from Ida Lowenstein in the ME's office.

A DNA match.

The second heart – the one found in the pool at the Fontainebleau – belonged to their John Doe.

The turnaround for DNA checking in Miami-Dade usually a
whole
lot longer.

‘Guess Ida came through for you again,' Martinez said.

He was always claiming that the lady had a soft spot for Sam – though they both knew this was Doc Sanders himself leaning on the lab to speed things up.

No body yet for the heart left outside the Becket house – that possible DNA matching still in the system's backlog.

No more missing persons reports to help ID the Doe.

‘This I hate,' Sam said.

‘Know what you mean,' Martinez said.

They all felt bad about unnamed victims. No one able to mourn them and no solid start at chasing down the perpetrators, let alone getting justice for the deceased.

And this case, with its disturbing but inconclusive links to Cal-Cooper . . .

Sam had never wished for great wealth, knew he had a good life, that he was blessed with more comforts than he had a right to, that he had all the things that really counted. Family, love, good health, a home he loved; the ability to help make his dad's wedding day memorable; occasional extravagances like the tickets he'd bought months ago for tomorrow night's performance of
Don Pasquale
– opera a big thing with Sam, though he hadn't sung for a long while now.

Lucky man, and he knew it.

But just for once, he would have liked to be rich enough to whisk every member of his family away to safety. Just until they put away this killer – copycat or Cooper.

Then, and only then, would Sam feel able to rest.

ELEVEN

April 24

L
ate Saturday evening, in the hubbub of a semi-wild party at a warehouse on NE 2nd Avenue in Wynwood, the man just embarked on his latest mission took his first look around the throng of flailing dancers and drinkers – and knew.

Soon as he set eyes on him.

It was, he had begun to think, his greatest talent.

Knowing who to pick out for his boss.

Not for himself – he'd never been gifted in that department, but for the
man
he seemed to get it right almost every time, which was one of the main reasons he was still on the payroll.

Not the only reason though.

He took a slug of the lousy vodka someone had handed him, and made his way through the crowd.

Eye contact already established.

Eyes were very important to the
man
, and this guy's were just about perfect. Darkly dancing. Friendly and bold.

He was up for it, no question.

‘Hey,' he said.

‘Hey,' the other man said back, in a low, warm voice.

The Boss liked good voices too.

‘Feel like getting out of here?'

No reason to linger.

Every
reason not to.

‘Sure,' the other guy said. ‘Why not?'

He smelled OK, so far as it was possible to be certain in this stinkhole of cheap perfume, body odors and all kinds of smoke.

Fragrance was another plus.

‘I'm Rico,' the target said.

Somewhere deeper inside the warehouse there was a bang and women shrieked, and then there was raucous laughter and more loud banging, cracking, like fireworks, maybe.

‘You got a name?' Rico wanted to know.

‘You can call me Toy.'

‘I like that,' Rico said.

From a distance, they heard sirens, coming closer.

‘Let's get out of here,' Toy said.

Mission, Stage One: check.

TWELVE

April 25

A
nticlimax hit Grace hard on Sunday.

Post-wedding, post-opera, those fine distractions past, as if all the preparations and the big day itself and, finally, last night's outing with Sam, had formed a kind of protective bubble, keeping out the inky darkness of the threat she still felt looming over them.

All her unease was back today.

Sam was at work on the John Doe killing with Martinez – both of them, she knew, feeling the frustration that came with working blind – and she knew, too, that Sam had been behind Cathy's and Saul's insistence that she and Joshua come for lunch at the apartment they shared in Sunny Isles Beach, which irked her just a little because it brought home the fact that he was worried by her edginess.

Not that she wasn't glad to be with them, and she was touched by their concern, but long after they'd eaten and lazed around for a couple of hours, they were still encouraging her to stay, plainly trying to keep her there till Sam got home.

‘We're not playing that game,' she told them both. ‘Bay Harbor PD are still patrolling, and even if they weren't, I'm sure I'd be perfectly safe.'

‘At least let Saul go back with you,' Cathy said. ‘Check the place out.'

‘It would make me a whole lot happier,' Saul said.

‘Oh, for heaven's sake,' Grace said. ‘It's so unnecessary.'

‘We don't think so,' Cathy said. ‘Nor would Sam.'

Grace and Sam were her parents in every sense that mattered, but Cathy had never called them ‘Mom' or ‘Dad'. Her biological father had been an evil man. Her mother and beloved stepfather – the first man to have adopted her – had both been horrifically murdered. ‘Mom' and ‘Dad' bore too many bad connotations. Sam and Grace had been Cathy's fresh start.

‘All right,' Grace said now, giving in.

She told them she was doing it for their peace of mind, but the truth was that she
did
feel idiotically relieved watching her young brother-in-law checking around the place until he was satisfied.

‘You sure you want me to go?' Saul asked when he was done.

‘Of course I want you to go,' Grace said.

She looked and sounded light-hearted, confident and calm.

Little point, after all, in letting Saul know the worst of her fears – the ones she hoped and prayed were mostly in her mind.

That if she and Joshua were not really safe while Cooper was still at large, then
none
of them were safe.

Stage Two had gone even more perfectly.

Toy had realized that as soon as he'd seen the Boss's face.

The
man
was pleased with the night's selection, no doubt about that.

And all Toy had to do was make the intro.

He got it right, etiquette-wise, which was another of his skills.

‘Tom O'Hagen,' he had said, ‘this is Rico.'

The Boss first, every time. Always the superior first.

‘Hello, Rico,' the man said.

Which had been when Toy had seen just
how
pleased he was.

‘Can I get you anything else, Mr O'Hagen,' Toy had asked.

O'Hagen's eyes had not left Rico's face.

‘Not another thing, Toy,' he said.

Which was Stage Two done with.

Easy as blinking.

Not quite so easy inside.

In the part of Toy that had once housed his conscience. The part that had gone AWOL not long after he'd met Tom O'Hagen and sold his soul.

Not to the Devil, exactly.