Hell (19 page)

‘In the Torres case, maybe,' Alvarez said.

‘Which is Broward's,' Sam said. ‘Damn it.'

‘Take it easy, Sam.'

‘I'm trying, believe me.'

‘I know.' Alvarez had come up through the ranks, had been a violent crimes detective, understood the work and its frustrations, and he sympathized with Sam on a personal level too, but his hands were tied.

‘The guy was probably following Grace,' Sam said doggedly, ‘for weeks before that night.'

‘Probably,' Alvarez stressed. ‘Grace noticed a red VW Beetle convertible a couple of times.'

‘And he just
happened
to be talking to Ricardo Torres the night Torres disappeared and was murdered.' Frustration was building to anger. ‘I mean, come
on
, we have to take a look at his place.'

‘Not going to happen, Sam.' Alvarez was kind, but implacable. ‘Richard Bianchi is, for the time being, a victim. To all intents and purposes, he made a living as a freelance copy editor, and all you have to the contrary is that he attended the same party as a homicide victim. And he
may
have told a woman he picked up at a coffee shop that he had a different name. He's a writer – maybe that's how he used to get his inspiration.'

‘He picked up this particular woman because Grace was treating her son.'

‘You have no proof of that.'

‘The average age at that party was nineteen. Bianchi was twenty-eight.'

‘Can't arrest a guy for that,' Alvarez said. ‘Let alone a dead guy.'

‘Jesus,' Sam said.

‘I'm sorry, Sam. Believe me.'

‘And meantime, Grace has to go on living this hell.'

‘Until you find something solid enough for a judge.' Alvarez was seeing way too much emotion in the other man's eyes. ‘You have to separate these cases, Sam. The Victor homicide is yours, and I'm sure there's hope for cooperation with Broward on the Torres case. But Grace's case is something else altogether, and unless you find some hard evidence to prove Bianchi's involvement in those homicides, you plainly need to keep a long way from anything or anyone connected with him.'

Sam did not answer.

‘Go find Martinez, Sam, and do what you're best at.'

Sam stood up slowly.

‘Are we at least allowed to look into Bianchi's life?'

‘If you guys really believe he might be hooked up in these killings, I'd be concerned if you didn't.' Alvarez paused. ‘But if anyone is going to be speaking to any members of Mr Bianchi's family, Sam, it cannot be you.'

‘I know it,' Sam said.

‘Just be careful,' the lieutenant told him. ‘Remember, if you put a foot wrong with those people, it's Grace who's going to take the hit.'

‘We need to take a good close look at that VW,' Sam said to Martinez.

‘Didn't you say Grace's lawyer was on to that?'

‘Maybe,' Sam said. ‘Who knows?'

Afternoon now. Basic checks already completed on Bianchi and his family.

Father a teacher, mother a doctor's receptionist, one sister, a charity fundraiser, and Bianchi himself appeared to have led a blameless existence. Nothing else new, except that it seemed he'd also boosted his income and experience by editing articles for an Internet newspaper. A couple of rejected novels under his belt – neither of them thrillers nor crime fiction – and no rap sheet.

But Sam still itched to look at his car.

The car that had been registered to a woman, now deceased, in Savannah, Georgia.

‘Probably impounded,' Martinez said.

‘Maybe not,' Sam said. ‘It wasn't involved in the accident.'

‘Still, it had to have been taken someplace.'

‘Not necessarily,' Sam said. ‘It wasn't blocking the road.'

‘It'll have been towed,' Martinez insisted.

Plenty of towing companies in Miami, even just on Key Biscayne.

‘I'm going to take a look on my way back,' Sam said.

‘Coming with you,' Martinez said.

‘You don't need to do that.'

‘Two pairs of eyes in case it is there,' his partner said. ‘Plus I need to make sure you don't do anything dumb.'

The Beetle was long gone.

‘Sorry I wasted your time,' Sam told Martinez.

They were standing in the narrow road off the highway, close to where Sam had waited with Grace for the cops to come for her. Close, too, to where she had described the VW crawling slowly toward her and the boy in her care.

Where Duggan-Bianchi had come at her, and she had driven at him.

‘Why the hell did he do that?' Sam said. ‘Why didn't he get out of the way?'

He'd asked himself the same question repeatedly since Thursday night.

‘Too busy taunting Grace, I guess,' Martinez said. ‘Threatening her.'

‘But he must have known it was dangerous, even crazy,' Sam said.

‘Maybe not,' Martinez said. ‘If he was a bully, he'd have figured he'd win.'

‘Pete told Grace he thought Charlie liked him being frightened.'

‘Bet he was surprised then,' Martinez said. ‘When Grace . . .'

Sam was silent.

‘Anyway,' Martinez said. ‘No chance of getting to the car any time soon.'

‘And even if we do,' Sam said.

‘Any evidence will be inadmissible.'

‘I'd still like to get a look.'

‘You'll have to wait.'

‘Is there anything we don't have to wait for?'

His friend saw his frustration.

‘Go back to your wife and son,' he told him.

No one waiting for Martinez.

‘I know I'm a lucky bastard,' Sam said.

‘You just hold on to that,' Martinez said

‘Doing my best,' Sam said.

‘This has to be good news,' Daniel said after Sam had told them about Bianchi. ‘Doesn't it?'

They were all outside on the terrace after dinner.

‘I'm hoping so,' Sam said.

‘If Duggan was a phony identity,' Claudia said, ‘that surely proves he had something to hide.'

‘Don't get your hopes up, sis,' Grace told her.

‘Sounds to me like the guy was a weirdo,' Robbie said.

‘He scared the hell out of that poor kid,' Mike said.

‘It's going to be OK,' Saul said, positively.

‘I blame his mother,' Cathy said.

‘Can we stop this, please?' Grace said sharply.

‘But it's good news,' Robbie said. ‘Like Dad said.'

‘The man's still dead,' Grace said. ‘Whatever his name was.'

Claudia reached for her hand, but Grace pulled away and stood up.

‘I'm going to check on Joshua, and then I'm going to bed.'

‘I'll come with you,' Sam said.

‘No need,' Grace said.

She bent to kiss his cheek, turned and went into the house.

They all sat in silence for several moments.

‘She keeps doing that, Sam,' Claudia said. ‘Wanting to be alone.'

‘Except for Joshua,' Cathy said. ‘Which is something, I guess.'

Sam said nothing.

‘She's scared,' Daniel said. ‘And being cooped up is getting on her nerves.'

‘Dad's right,' Mike said. ‘The rest of us get to go out every day.'

‘Grace could go out too, to see patients or with one of us,' Cathy said. ‘She doesn't want to.'

Sam stood up. ‘I'm heading up, guys.'

‘You're what she needs,' Cathy told him.

‘This to be over is what she needs,' Saul said.

‘I'm sorry,' Grace said, fifteen minutes later, joining Sam in the bedroom.

‘No need.'

‘I think I'm getting a little stir crazy.' She smiled. ‘Not the best phrase, in the circumstances.'

‘At least you smiled,' Sam said.

She sat down beside him on the edge of the bed, let him take her hand.

‘Any word from Wagner?' he asked.

She shook her head. ‘I guess he has his investigators looking for the VW.'

‘Looks like he'll get to it faster than we could,' Sam said.

‘Less constraints,' Grace said.

Sam looked sideways at her.

‘Don't,' she said.

‘I'm not “analyzing”,' he said, remembering last night's conversation.

‘I know,' she said. ‘But still, please don't.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because that's one of the looks that says you love me.'

‘And?'

‘And it doesn't seem right,' she said.

‘It's always right,' he said. ‘It always will be.'

‘Even now I'm a murderer?'

‘You are not a murderer,' Sam said, ‘and you know that.'

‘I fit the definition, so far as I know.' Her voice was quiet, but hard. ‘I certainly committed unlawful homicide. What else does that make me?'

‘Stop it.'

‘Easier said.'

‘Please, Grace.'

‘What?' She turned to him, hearing his pain. ‘Tell me what I can do for you. I'll do anything.'

‘For now, just let me hold you.'

She came silently into his arms, and he waited for her to cry, but there was no such release for her, though a while later, after they'd got under the covers, she fell asleep.

And then he didn't dare to cry, either, in case he woke her.

TWENTY-SEVEN

May 11

I
t was two in the morning when it came to him.

The thing that had been bugging him off and on. The niggle he'd been unable to get a handle on last night.

But right now, Grace was asleep, looking almost peaceful, and he was wide awake.

Thinking about a name.

That was what had been jabbing at him.

Something about the name Charles Duggan.

Something familiar about it.

He got carefully out of bed, and Grace stirred, moaned softly, then settled again.

He went downstairs.

Someone else was up, he saw as he padded barefoot across the cool floor, someone in the kitchen, and Sam had half a mind to go back upstairs, because what he needed was time alone, undisturbed.

‘Hi.'

Mike was pouring milk into a frothing jug.

Not just a handsome young man, Sam had come to realize, but nice as hell with it.

‘Hi,' Sam said.

‘Can't sleep either?'

‘Uh-uh.'

‘Feel like joining me for some hot chocolate?'

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd had hot chocolate, especially not in South Florida. ‘Sure,' he said. ‘Why not? Thanks, Mike.'

The dogs were in their baskets in the corner, side by side, but as Sam sat down at the table and Grace's nephew added more milk and plugged in the jug, Woody got up, stretched languidly, then came to him, tail wagging.

‘Hi, guy,' Sam said, and leaned down to fondle his ears.

‘Ludo never moves this time of night,' Mike said, ‘for anything less than a cookie.'

‘Smart dog,' Sam said.

‘What's up?' Mike asked, then grimaced. ‘Dumb question.'

‘Not really.' Sam watched the young man mix the chocolate and add froth and cocoa powder. ‘Looks good,' he said.

Mike brought over two mugs and sat down. ‘Enjoy.'

‘I will.' Sam waited a moment. ‘Mike, did you ever hear the name Charles Duggan before?'

‘You mean before this past week?'

‘Only the name's been bugging me.'

‘OK.' Mike nodded. ‘You ever see
Day of the Jackal
?'

‘Sure,' Sam said. ‘The original. And I read the book.'

‘Could be you're remembering something from that,' Mike said. ‘It's like a fusion of two names, but the same character.'

Sam was already halfway there. ‘The Jackal's alias?'

‘Two aliases.' Mike grinned. ‘Something I share with my dad. We're both movie buffs.' He went on. ‘The Jackal used a dead kid's name when he applied for a passport. Paul Duggan. And his other alias was Charles Calthrop – first three letters of each, “Cha” and “Cal”, spelt jackal in French –
chacal
.'

‘Now I'm getting chills,' Sam said.

‘Can you tell me what this is about?' Mike asked.

What it was about, Sam was suddenly as certain as he could be, was Jerome Cooper playing name games, maybe even sending a message hidden in the name Bianchi had used with Sara Mankowitz.

He looked at Mike, saw his dark eyes alive with intrigue, wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

‘Could be nothing,' he said.

‘Oh, boy,' Mike said, getting it suddenly. ‘Nothing to do with the Jackal at all. Just Cal.'

‘Like I said,' Sam replied. ‘Could be nothing at all.'

‘So what do we think?' Martinez's bleary voice asked on the phone. ‘That Bianchi was maybe copycatting Cal?'

Sam having called him before six to fill him in.

No one else up yet in Névé this Tuesday morning.

‘I don't know,' Sam said. ‘If the handwriting on the
Epistle
extract isn't Cooper's, it's a damned good forgery.' He paused. ‘Bianchi working for Cal seems more likely to me.'

‘That implies payment,' Martinez said. ‘Last we knew, Cooper barely had a pot to piss in.'

‘That could have changed,' Sam said. ‘And besides, there's more than one kind of payment.'

‘We need to get inside Bianchi's place,' Martinez said.

‘This Jackal thing isn't going to impress a judge.'

‘And there's no way Bianchi's family are going to let you in.' Martinez paused. ‘But you really think this is something, right?'

‘I think it's one coincidence too many,' Sam said. ‘And think about it. Cooper's always prided himself on his writing. This creep's a writer, a copy editor, a man of
words
, right?'

‘Maybe he figured Bianchi could edit his
Epistles
,' Martinez said wryly.