Hell (8 page)

‘This is more than good,' he said after a moment.

‘Except I can't imagine that any of them could be of any use,' Gail said sorrowfully. ‘I mean, how's the guy who Andy said kept new releases for him at a DVD rental place going to help find his . . .?'

She stopped, unable to bring herself to speak the word.

They gave her a few moments.

‘How about I make you a cup of tea?' Martinez offered.

She shook her head. ‘I'm OK.'

‘Going back to the lifestyle risks you mentioned last time we met,' Sam said.

‘Yes.' Her voice was soft, sadder than ever.

‘You mentioned clubs and the beach,' Sam reminded her.

‘I still don't know which clubs,' she said.

‘Anything else you've thought of?'

‘He went to parties, sometimes,' Gail said.

‘Friends' parties?' Sam asked.

‘Mostly not,' she said. ‘The open kind, I guess – he said he got to hear about them on the Internet, in chat rooms, maybe.' Her eyes moved to her VAIO notebook on a desk in the corner. ‘As I told you, he sometimes used my laptop, so please feel free to look at it, or take it if you need to.'

Martinez leaned forward, his dark eyes intent. ‘Did Andy ever mention any chat rooms in particular?'

‘Or any websites you can remember?' Sam asked.

‘I don't think so,' Gail said. ‘But I guess if he visited any of them here, they might still be in the cache.'

They'd told her on arrival that their search warrant would extend to her private space and property, and she'd said they didn't need a warrant, that she wanted nothing more than to assist them, but Sam had explained about the wisdom of ensuring search warrants were in place even in cases where consent had been given.

Few things more soul-destroying to a cop than watching hard evidence rendered inadmissible in court by a technicality.

‘Any other gizmos of yours he shared?' Martinez asked.

She shook her head.

‘Your cellphone?' Sam said.

‘He had his own iPhone.' She smiled. ‘We went into the Apple store on Lincoln Road last month because I'm thinking of getting the iPad, but Andy was too busy flirting with one of the Genius guys to take much notice of anything else.' Once again her eyes began to brim. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be,' Martinez said. ‘You're doing great.'

‘Did he and the Genius guy make contact after that?' Sam asked.

‘No way,' Gail said.

‘You're sure?' Sam said.

‘He was straight,' Gail said. ‘Andy said it was a waste.'

Deep sadness in her eyes again.

They called a halt, knowing there was no more to be gleaned from her this day, but Sam asked her – knowing it was unnecessary, that the young woman would do little else for a long while – to keep on thinking, going over past conversations, small everyday events.

‘You just never know when something trivial can lead somewhere,' he said.

‘You think I might have a clue buried someplace in my head,' she said.

‘It happens,' Martinez said.

Her face seemed to alter for an instant, a frown puckering her brow. ‘I don't suppose . . .'

‘Go on,' Sam said.

She shook her head. ‘I feel selfish even thinking it, but it hadn't occurred to me till just now that I might conceivably be in some kind of danger.'

‘I'd say that was unlikely,' Sam said.

‘Unless you think you might know the killer,' Martinez said.

They were already at the door, ready to leave, but willing to give her another hour or more, and it wouldn't have been the first time that an innocent afterthought had taken them someplace worthwhile.

‘In a way, I wish I did,' Gail said. ‘Believe me, if I had the smallest inkling, you'd already know it.'

Sam believed her.

Though the days had long gone since he'd taken any stranger at face value.

Life's lessons had been too hard.

A man had to be a damned fool not to heed them.

He took an hour mid-afternoon to collect Cathy from JWU and bring her back to Sunny Isles Beach, where Saul was waiting at their apartment.

‘The fact is,' Sam told them, ‘that until Jerome Cooper is either locked up or on a slab at the morgue, I want my family taking special measures.'

‘So we're all going to Claudia's?' Saul said.

Sam nodded. ‘It's pretty much ideal, and Dan and Claudia say they're happy about it.'

‘I'm not,' Cathy said. ‘I go to college in North Miami.'

‘I'll drive you,' Saul said, ‘morning and afternoon.'

‘How lovely,' she said. ‘In your beautiful pickup.'

‘Snob,' her uncle said.

‘What about your workshop?' Cathy was serious. ‘You have zero security.'

‘I'll buy a new lock,' he said.

‘I'd rather you took time off,' Sam told his brother.

‘I have a commission,' Saul said. ‘And it's not movable.' He paused. ‘But I've been thinking I could use a little help from Hal with one of the big pieces, so maybe now could be a good time for that.'

‘Hal's not exactly bodyguard material,' Cathy said.

Hal Liebmann was a buddy of Saul's, went back a long way.

‘He's tough enough,' Saul said.

‘So long as you make sure you're never alone,' Sam said. ‘Which applies to you too,' he told Cathy. ‘Grace and I aren't too happy about you going to college.'

‘I'll stay with the crowd,' Cathy said. ‘I know better than to take chances.'

‘I know you do,' Sam said. ‘But for now, we all live on Key Biscayne, OK?'

‘I guess,' Cathy said.

‘Sounds like fun,' Saul said.

Sam stood up. ‘I'll leave you guys to pack.'

‘You want us to drive together?' Saul asked.

‘I'd honestly rather have my own car,' Cathy said. ‘No offense intended.'

‘I'd rather you go together,' Sam said.

‘Do you really think Cooper might make a move on us?' Cathy asked.

‘I doubt it,' Sam said.

‘You're just going to be happier having us all under one roof,' Saul said.

‘I'll be happier,' Sam said, ‘when this is over.'

When Anne Dover – Andrew Victor's thirty-two-year-old sister – arrived at Miami International soon after six, Sam and Martinez were waiting.

It was not the way they ordinarily chose to proceed, preferring wherever possible to allow grieving relatives at least a little breathing space before bringing down a load of painful questions on their heads. But Mrs Dover had spoken first to Lieutenant Alvarez, and then to Sam, and had made it clear that she wanted to be of assistance, if possible, the instant she landed.

And the fact was they might never get an ID on the first John Doe because, sad to say, that happened too damned often. Which meant they needed every detail from every person they could find in Andrew Victor's life.

She looked older than her years, wore a black suit and small hat, giving her a look, Sam thought, of the fifties, making him wonder if she'd borrowed it from her mother, the woman who had, according to Gail Tewkesbury, made her son feel that she was embarrassed by him.

‘Please don't be nice to me,' Anne Dover told them, within moments of meeting. ‘I don't deserve it, and I don't really want it, if it's all the same to you.'

‘If it's all the same to you,' Sam said, ‘I think we're going to find it hard not to be nice to you.'

Anne Dover's smile was wan. ‘Just do your best,' she said.

‘We will, ma'am,' Martinez told her.

They wanted to take her to her downtown hotel, but she wanted to talk to them right away, so they went to Starbucks in the terminal and, without preamble, she explained to them the cause of her shame.

‘It hit our parents very hard, finding out Andy was gay,' Anne said, ‘and I know he kept on hoping things would change, but they never did. Our father was angry about it – as if it was something Andy could have changed, like his clothes – but our mother seemed to find it socially unacceptable, which always seemed much worse to me.' She shook her head. ‘I was worse than either of them.'

Sam and Martinez both waited as Anne Dover stirred her coffee, but she remained silent, locked in another world.

‘What did you do?' Sam asked, finally.

‘Nothing,' she said. ‘Not one damned thing.'

‘Your brother's friend, Gail, says that you stayed in touch with him,' Sam told her. ‘She said that meant a lot to Andrew.'

‘It's nice of her to say that,' Anne Dover said.

‘I'd say she meant it,' Martinez said.

‘More than I deserve then,' she said, and took a breath. ‘So tell me, gentlemen, what I can do for my brother now. When it's all too late. I'm assuming you don't know who did this to him?'

Sam leaned in to the table. ‘How much did he tell you about his life?'

‘Not much,' she said. ‘But I've brought all his letters, just in case there's anything in any of them that might help you.' She reached down, patted her black trolley case. ‘I thought I might look through them on the flight, but I found I couldn't.'

‘There's time,' Sam said.

‘I don't think there's anything there,' she said. ‘I can't remember him telling me about anything bad happening – except when he got fired from the bank. Did you know about that?'

‘We did,' Martinez said.

‘That upset Andy so much,' his sister said. ‘But he didn't blame anyone except himself. He was never resentful.'

‘Did you speak often?' Sam asked.

‘I called him about once a month. Andy always liked to hear about my children – two boys and a girl. My husband's home, taking care of them.'

‘Your brother kept a photo of you all in his room,' Sam told her.

She nodded. ‘I guess you've been through all his things already.'

‘I'm afraid we had no choice,' Martinez said.

‘I know,' Anne Dover said. ‘I just think Andy would have hated that.'

She had nothing of use to share with them, but she promised to make herself available at any time of day or night while she was in Miami. Her parents, she said, had no plans to fly down, and she would be making the arrangements to bring her brother home when formalities permitted.

She refused their offer of a ride into the city, apologized for not being able to help them in any way as yet apparent, and asked them to keep her in touch with the investigation.

‘Sackcloth routine a little hard to take?' Sam said to Martinez as they headed back to the car.

‘You think?' Martinez said, and rolled his eyes.

‘I guess her pain's genuine enough,' Sam said.

‘A genuine pain,' Martinez said.

The air was still balmy just after eight thirty when Sam's old Saab growled its way past Névé's steel security gate and lights blazed out in the driveway.

Grace's Toyota and Cathy's Mazda – not Saul's Dodge pickup, after all – stood alongside the other family cars, and the front door was already opening, and Mike, Grace's older nephew – an athletic, handsome seventeen – was emerging with a welcoming smile.

They were a warm, natural, easygoing family, yet their front door was solid steel masked by a snow-white façade, complete with biometric fingerprint entry system. And Lord knew security was just what Sam craved for his own family right now, but he had wondered at it more than once, at the gentle-mannered architect who'd gone to such semi-paranoid lengths.

‘Hey,' Mike said. ‘Need a hand?'

‘Hey yourself,' Sam said, pulling his bag out of the trunk. ‘No hand needed, thanks. How're you coping with all this?'

‘It's great to have you here,' Mike said. ‘Everyone's out back. Dad's barbecuing.' He led the way inside, and the door closed with a soft whoosh and click behind them. ‘Mom said I should ask if you want to freshen up or come right on through and have a beer?'

‘Beer, no contest,' Sam said.

He was off-duty till morning, with Cutter and Sheldon taking the late shift to start calling in at some of the South Beach nightclubs that a guy like Andrew Victor – a ‘risk-taker', according to Gail Tewkesbury – might have visited on the evening of Saturday, April 9, on what might have been the last night of his life.

Sam dumped his bag along with those thoughts and followed Mike across the vast open-plan living space that formed much of the first floor of their home, through to the illuminated rear of the house, with its expanse of terrace, deck, pool and barbecue area – where Daniel and his younger son, Robbie – fifteen years old, living mostly for food and his electronic gizmos – were hard at work, wearing ‘Danger, Men Cooking' aprons.

‘Hi, guys,' Sam said, and Woody came trotting over with Ludo, the three-legged spaniel rescued by the family last year in Seattle.

‘You made it.' Grace, looking relaxed in jeans, got up off her lounger and came to kiss him. ‘Joshua's asleep upstairs, tired out from being spoiled the instant we got here.'

‘Hey, bro,' Saul said from another lounger.

Mike brought him over his beer, and Sam thanked him and made his way across to their host, gave him and Robbie a hug.

‘Thanks don't seem enough for this, Dan,' he said.

‘More than enough,' Daniel told him.

Sam looked at the tall, angular, green-eyed, bespectacled man, a little stooped from decades of leaning over drawing boards, but still driven and vital and fundamentally kind, and thought again how glad he and Grace were that he and Claudia had gotten over their bad patch a couple of years ago.

‘If you're wondering where your daughter is,' Daniel said, ‘she's helping Claudia in the kitchen and looking lovelier than ever.'

‘She's very happy at JWU, thank God,' Sam said.