Eclipse (12 page)

Impossible to guess how many retail or online outlets sold those masks, unless this one turned out to have some manufacturer's code or defining feature.

Neither Sam nor Martinez holding their breath on that.

No way of asking the mother yet if she knew if the mask had belonged to her daughter, because that poor woman had, for the time being, lost her mind.

‘One thing,' Joe Duval said to the detectives. ‘Maybe nothing at all, but the security pass in her purse says Miss Fox worked for Shade City in the Aventura Mall.' He paused. ‘Selling sunglasses.'

Maybe something.

Zoë Fox had lived and died in the City of North Miami Beach.

Not their case.

Didn't make Sam or Martinez feel any better.

And by the time Sam got back in his car to drive home, he felt sick to his stomach and his heart.

And mad as hell.

Such a waste.

Such a sick, evil
waste
.

The doctor's reading tonight was, yet again, concerned with the eye. Specifically with the
macula lutea,
the small yellowish area of the retina near the optic disk that provided humans with central vision.

A tiny miracle, in its center a depression called the
fovea
, containing nerve cells known as cones, which were associated with color vision and perception of fine detail.

He had read this more times than he could count. About the wonder of perfect vision and about the disorders, accidents and degenerative conditions that could disrupt or destroy that perfection.

Some of them bringing darkness where there had been light.

Sometimes slowly, like an eclipse, sometimes terrifyingly swiftly.

And then, new miracles were needed.

Wonders of medicine.

Brought about by scientists and doctors.

Learned people.

The good and the great.

Like him.

He would always read, study, go on learning, no matter how complete his knowledge or finely honed his skills. He understood that there would always be room for improvement, and that was one of the things that would set him apart from the rest, raise him higher.

Make him the very best.

Grace had been waking earlier since her return, giving her and Sam a little welcome extra time together, while Joshua still slept and the demands of the day were not yet eating at either of them.

It had been late when he'd got home last night, his mind filled with poor Zoë Fox, but this Tuesday morning, Sam knew he should wait no longer to revisit the subject of Felicia Delgado.

‘Her father intimated to me yesterday that when she's ready, he might like her to see you professionally, since it was you his wife had initially tried to approach.'

‘How did that come up as a topic?' Grace was frowning.

‘He found out you're my wife,' Sam said simply. ‘I think he was just asking me to pass on the message.'

‘Very inappropriately,' she said.

‘As I told him. But if you and Magda were to feel you were the right therapist for Felicia . . .' He paused. ‘You have very specific experience.'

The old package of dismay landed between them with an almost palpable thud, Cathy's horrific times returning again.

Not the same, but still . . .

‘I just didn't want this to come out of left field,' he said. ‘And though in some ways I'd rather it didn't come your way, I know there could be no one better qualified to help Felicia Delgado.'

‘I'm not sure whether to thank you for that or not,' Grace said.

‘Know just what you mean,' Sam said.

Duval called early from MROC to keep them in the loop.

Zoë Fox's work location had, as they'd thought, given them a glimmer of hope because of Aventura's sophisticated CCTV system.

If Black Hole had been a customer of Zoë's, or maybe stalking her, then he or she might appear somewhere on footage recorded in the days preceding her murder – or if they got real lucky, on the day itself. Even if the victims were not random, even if Zoë Fox had been preselected – or was on some kind of list – it did not preclude her being watched at work or approached under some pretext. So anyone recorded looking even remotely suspect would be tracked on their route through the mall into one of the parking lots. Maybe even to their car.

It would take time.

‘I'd like to look at Shade City's records for our own investigation,' Sam said.

‘Big sunglasses are being sold all over,' Duval said. ‘Very fashionable, in case you hadn't noticed.'

‘Hell of a long shot,' Martinez said.

‘Anyone got any better ideas?' Sam asked.

Mid-morning Wednesday, Carlos Delgado called to say that Felicia had emerged from her semicatatonic state, had immediately become hysterical and was now under sedation.

City of North Miami Beach were studying CCTV footage at Aventura, but customer details from Shade City were going to have to be sought from their head office.

Nothing to stop Sam and Martinez getting straight over to the clinic, where Dr Pérez interrupted a meeting to confirm that his patient was still unfit for interview.

‘Did she say anything before you sedated her?' Sam asked.

Pérez shook his head. ‘She was incoherent.'

‘Sometimes,' Martinez said, ‘even in that state—'

‘Miss Delgado said nothing.' The doctor cut him short.

‘Just trying to do our jobs here, Doctor,' Martinez said.

‘Trying to help Miss Delgado with what she's going to need most,' Sam said. ‘For us to find who murdered her mother.'

‘And scared her half to death,' Martinez added.

The doctor promised his full cooperation the moment Felicia was ready.

Neither Sam nor Martinez had reason to doubt his word.

From the clinic, they headed over to the Bay Drive crime scene to meet Duval for another scout around ahead of next day's second multijurisdictional meeting.

He was out on the sidewalk, blowing his nose.

‘We got something new in Naples.'

Homicide number three. Lindy Braun, the bar owner.

‘A neighbor's come forward – she's been in the UK for almost two months, didn't know about the killing, but claims she saw someone visiting that morning.' Duval sneezed. ‘Sorry, guys. Damned head cold.'

‘
Gesundheit
,' Sam said.

‘The neighbor?' Martinez said.

‘Says she saw a red-haired female – though she also says she wouldn't swear that she
was
female, because she was wearing a uniform with pants, and the hair was big and could have been a wig.' Duval blew his nose again. ‘But she – or he – was wearing big dark glasses and got out of a black SUV with tinted windows, carrying two bags.'

‘What kind of bags?' Sam asked. ‘Purse or travel size?'

‘Quite large and black, she
thinks
.'

‘Was the redhead alone?' Sam asked.

‘She only noticed her – or him.'

‘No make or license plate for the SUV, I take it?' Martinez said.

‘Why would she have looked?' Duval said.

‘When she says this person was “visiting”,' Sam said, ‘did she see them go to Miss Braun's actual front door?'

‘She did.' Duval's voice was husky with his cold. ‘But she didn't see if they went inside.'

‘So Lindy Braun might not even have come to the door,' Martinez said.

‘Do we have an exact time?' Sam asked.

‘Mid or late morning,' Duval said. ‘I wouldn't depend on that.'

‘Is she even sure about the date?' Martinez asked.

‘She claims to be,' Duval said.

‘Does she think she'd recognize the redhead again?' Sam asked.

‘She says that if she saw the whole deal again – the vehicle, uniform, wig, sunglasses, carrying the bags – she might be able to tell by this person's walk.'

‘Something special about that?' Martinez asked.

‘Nothing noticeable like a limp,' Duval said. ‘But the neighbor believes everyone has a unique way of walking, says she's made a study of it.'

‘Fruitcake,' Martinez dismissed.

‘Maybe not,' Sam said.

‘I'm inclined to believe she saw a redhead in a uniform,' Duval said.

‘Who might possibly be a scared witness,' Sam said. ‘If she went inside.'

‘Or Red could be Black Hole,' Martinez said.

‘No similar sightings in Orlando or Jupiter?' Sam checked.

‘Yeah, I just figured I'd leave that out,' Duval said, wry.

They went inside for another look at the crime scene.

Not a glimmer of new inspiration.

Nothing new here or anyplace else.

Just an unidentified redhead in Naples.

The doll maker was working on a sweet-faced
poupée
.

French in origin, taller than those that had come before.

Not as slender as Zoë Fox.

But with lovely, sky-blue eyes.

Their color not dissimilar to the late Ms Fox's contacts.

For just a moment, the hand gripping the scalpel clenched a little too hard.

Not good for control or accuracy.

Relax.

Breathe.

Better.

The work continued.

Sam and Martinez headed back to the station for the remainder of the day, Duval staying with them.

All trawling back again through each Black Hole case file.

Reading and cross-checking, duplicating the work of the other investigating offices, knowing that others were probably doing likewise, sifting for that one tiny clue that another jurisdiction had missed. Because cops were human and therefore fallible, and the victims deserved every ounce of resolve and indefatigability they could offer.

Nothing new.

They rechecked details of each woman's vision, found nothing significant. Arlene Silver had used glasses for reading and Lindy Braun had worn contacts for myopia. Amelia Newton had twenty-twenty vision, according to a recent eye test, the details found in a file at her home; Zoë Fox likewise, though she had sometimes worn striking blue contacts to enhance her paler blue eyes. Beatriz Delgado's eye problems of a different kind.

Three of the victims brown-eyed, two blue-eyed.

Eyes.

The three men strained, thought outside the box, went back over old ground, still finding nothing.

All the women reasonably affluent or doing OK.

Not one other single thing seeming to connect them.

They looked, increasingly, like random targets.

They discussed possible implications of the alleged sighting of the Naples redhead – detectives in North Miami Beach already busy canvassing Zoë Fox's neighbors again, Duval said, in hopes of a similar lead.

‘So what might she or he have been carrying in those bags?' Sam wondered. ‘Did the neighbor say they looked heavy?'

‘Didn't say,' Duval said.

‘Bibles.' Martinez returned to the archaic punishment theme. ‘If they were heavy. Maybe selling them door to door.'

‘Does anyone still do that?' Sam queried.

‘Maybe Red was just a friend, stopping by,' Martinez said.

‘Except a friend would have come forward,' Sam said.

‘Could have been carrying samples,' Duval said. ‘Wallpaper or color charts.' He made a note to see if anyone had heard Lindy Braun planning a makeover.

‘Or any other kind of makeover?' Martinez said.

‘Personal trainers carry equipment,' Duval said.

‘So do beauticians,' Sam said. ‘Manicurists.'

Acetone back on his mind.

‘I think they call them nail technicians now.' Duval saw Martinez's face. ‘Lot of women in my family.'

‘So are we keeping this sighting quiet?' Sam asked.

Duval shook his head. ‘Press release hitting the CCSO website as we speak. Public's help wanted for help in identifying an individual in order to eliminate them from our inquiries. The usual.'

‘If Red's our perp,' Martinez said, ‘the hair's a wig for sure.'

Sam turned to his PC, typed in ‘mobile beauty therapists miami', then grinned wryly. ‘Shoulda known better. Every “masseuse” in the county.'

‘Might be exactly what the redhead was,' Duval said.

‘That'll narrow it down,' Martinez said sourly.

Sam typed in ‘home nail technicians miami', printed out the listings, did the same search for Naples and Fort Lauderdale, then scanned swiftly, cross-checking.

‘I got an outfit coming up all over called “Gorgeous At Home”,' he said. ‘Might be worth following up.'

‘Looking for Red, you mean?' Martinez was dubious.

They had no photo to ID, nothing more to go on than red hair, two bags and a black sport-utility vehicle, no make or tag.

‘You have something better?' Sam said. ‘Or do we just go on sitting here on our butts while Black Hole lines up another target?'

David had waited till late Wednesday evening before raising the subject again, and Mildred had requested one last night before reaching a decision.

On Thursday morning, when he woke, she was not in the house.

He found a note in the kitchen.

It was eleven before she returned.

‘My God, woman, I've been climbing the walls,' David said.

‘Didn't you see my note?'

She looked fresh-faced, vigorous, better than she had since this had begun.

‘I did, but anything could have happened,' he said.

‘I lived on the streets for years,' Mildred reminded him, sitting down on the ancient sofa in their living room. ‘I may have become soft since we met, but I can still manage a stroll by myself.' She paused. ‘What happens if something goes wrong with the surgery?'