Hell (30 page)

‘While we can,' Grace said.

‘Don't you know,' Sam asked, ‘how much that hurts me?'

‘I do know,' she said. ‘I'm sorry.'

The guilt well still filling up and spilling over.

Then again, she told herself, if not today, when?

FORTY-ONE

May 30

O
n Sunday morning, a phone call from Chicago.

Frank Lucca, the sisters' father, who had suffered two strokes while his second wife, Roxanne, had still been alive and torturing him, and who had been in a nursing home since June two years ago, had suffered another stroke, this time described to Claudia as ‘massive'.

He was not expected to pull through.

‘Will they let me go?' Grace asked Sam.

Not a trace of love surviving between herself and the man who, during their childhood, had abused Claudia until the day Grace had fixed it for them to escape to Florida. Even if he had paid for his sins, courtesy of Jerome's mother.

‘I need to be there for Claudia,' she said now.

Claudia had always been softer when it had come to their parents, had continued to visit Frank since the strokes – though if her visits brought him any pleasure, he had not shown it, what was left of his mind teetering between his own boyhood and the early years in his Italian grocery shop in Melrose Park.

‘I'll call Jerry,' Sam said. ‘Though I think we'll have to wait till tomorrow to get any kind of answer.'

Which made no difference, because less than an hour later there was a second phone call from Chicago, telling them that Frank had passed away.

The sisters sat up late, drinking Chianti and talking about the old days.

‘It wasn't all bad,' Claudia said.

‘Most of it was,' Grace said.

They talked, too, about more recent times, about their great good fortune, about their children and husbands. Claudia talked about getting over bad times, about how good she and Dan were now, how grateful she was to him for bringing her back here, to Grace, most of all.

‘I think Dan's one of the kindest men I've ever met,' Grace said.

‘He's the best,' Claudia said. ‘Along with Sam.'

‘I know it,' Grace said.

They fell silent for a little while.

‘I wish I could help you more,' Claudia said.

‘No one could have helped me more,' Grace said. ‘Not just by sharing this beautiful, safe place with us.' She paused. ‘You haven't judged. None of you have judged me.'

‘Because we all believe in you,' Claudia said, and then she sighed, and shook her head.

‘What?' Grace asked.

‘Just thinking about Papa again.'

‘If we're going to do much more thinking about Frank,' Grace said, ‘I'm going to need more wine.'

Some time in the night, Sam and Daniel, both missing their wives, came downstairs and found the sisters asleep on the sofa in one of the nooks.

‘Blankets?' Sam said softly.

Daniel nodded, disappeared, returning with a big patchwork quilt, and carefully they covered up the women and then headed for the kitchen.

‘Drink?' Daniel said. ‘I'm going to have a nip of something.'

‘Sounds good,' Sam said.

‘Malt whisky suit you?'

‘Even better,' Sam said. ‘And no work tomorrow.'

Daniel poured them a couple of fingers each, and they sat at the table.

‘Mind if I say something?'

‘Not a bit,' Sam said.

‘Tell me to butt out any time.'

‘Sure.'

‘OK.' Daniel took a drink. ‘Seems to me there are things we just can't control, no matter how badly we want to. Things we screw up ourselves or that just seem to get worse the more we throw at them. And sometimes, I guess you just have to let them happen and figure out what to do later.'

‘I can't just
let
my wife go to jail,' Sam said softly.

‘No,' Daniel said. ‘That is just unthinkable.'

‘The problem is, it's becoming all too thinkable.'

And this time, the other man had nothing to say.

FORTY-TWO

May 31–June 2

P
ermission granted, Grace and Claudia made the arrangements.

Frank would be buried beside their mother, Ellen.

Roxanne resting elsewhere.

A notice had been inserted in the
Melrose Park Journal
, giving details of the funeral for anyone left who might want to attend.

Cathy and Saul were coming, as were Mike and Robbie, though Joshua would stay with David and Mildred.

Leaving him the greatest wrench for Grace, though she was determined he not be exposed to anything connected with Frank Lucca.

On Tuesday – on what should have been Sam's first day back at work after a four-day suspension – they all checked into the Seneca Hotel on East Chestnut Street in Chicago.

‘Nice room,' Sam said, looking around.

‘Isn't it,' Grace said. ‘We can almost pretend we're on vacation.'

He heard the note in her voice, irony mixed with panic.

‘Do you want to get out of here?' he asked.

‘No.' She sat on the end of the bed. ‘Though, yes, I do feel a little claustrophobic, which is ridiculous, because it's a perfectly nice room.'

And because soon enough she would probably be occupying a cell.

Sam sat beside her, took her hand, and she leaned against him.

‘One blow too many,' he said.

‘My father?' Grace smiled, shook her head. ‘I remember Claudia once telling me that she used to imagine Frank dying painfully and pleading for our forgiveness. Same with Ellen, who'd be begging Claudia to forgive her for not taking her side against Frank.'

Sam knew that neither parent had ever asked forgiveness.

‘Claudia's the one who did the forgiving, of course,' Grace said. ‘But it still hurts her, I think.'

‘How about you?' Sam asked.

‘Many things hurting at the moment,' she said. ‘Not so much this.'

No one but family at the funeral, except for a representative from the nursing home, doing her duty.

‘Your father was no trouble,' she told Grace and Claudia.

‘You were all very kind to him,' Claudia told her.

‘He seemed like a sweet man,' the woman said. ‘He talked about you often.'

‘Did he?' Grace asked.

‘Especially about you,' the woman said, looking at Claudia.

Grace saw Daniel take his wife's hand, grip it tightly, was glad for her.

Glad for herself, too, feeling Sam close beside her.

Almost everyone who counted was here for her, except for Joshua, David and Mildred, and they'd be waiting for them when they got home tomorrow.

‘OK?' Sam said, softly.

‘OK,' she said.

Though it struck her abruptly as intensely sad that even now, after so many years, and even after all that Frank had endured, there was still only one word that came to her mind when she thought of her father.

Bastard.

There was little left for them to do.

The collecting of the very few remaining things that had belonged to Frank.

None of them keepsakes.

The house had gone while he was still in the hospital, before he'd been moved to the nursing home.

The house where the young Jerome Cooper had lived before he'd left Melrose Park to start on his first round of depravity. The house they knew from his
New Epistles
that he considered had been stolen from him.

They all went out to dinner at the Chicago Chophouse and Daniel protested when he found that Sam had paid the check, but Sam said it was the very least he could do, and the other man knew better than to argue.

‘That's that,' Grace said as they got into bed later.

‘All done,' Sam said.

If only.

FORTY-THREE

June 3

A
ll sitting together on the American Airlines flight back to Miami.

Sharing a drink, a little good humor.

Grace and Sam looking forward to being with Joshua again.

Plenty of healing in that compact little body and in the sound of his laughter.

Tension rising steadily, though, the closer they got to MIA.

Only eight days now until the pretrial hearing.

Wagner had explained to Grace that the primary purpose of that hearing was generally to help make for a fair and expeditious trial. The attorneys getting a chance to raise issues ahead of time, preliminary stuff. Some testimony from witnesses, the judge asking questions, perhaps of her, should he wish to, with no jury present.

‘How long does it usually last?' Grace had asked.

‘Can be a day,' Wagner had said. ‘There was a preliminary hearing in California a couple of years back that lasted six months.' He'd patted her hand. ‘A big, complex case. I'd guess two days for ours, but it's just a guess.'

Ours.

Thinking about it even thousands of feet up in the air, Grace was so afraid of June 11 that she could hardly breathe, so she forced it to the back of her mind, returned Sam's concerned, loving look with a semblance of a smile, and took a sip of mineral water.

Eight days in which she knew she had to make the most of every minute – just as she would need to do between pretrial and the real thing. And she would do her very best, for Joshua and Cathy and Sam, all the while mentally marking off the days from one terrifying milestone to the next.

With only one ultimate destination that she could seem to picture.

A cell.

Sam saw past the smile to the pain behind it.

Her fear was the worst of it.

And not a damned thing he could do for her, except to stay close, let her know he still had faith, in her, if nothing else.

He'd thought, last year, when they had both thought they might not live to see any of their family again, that nothing could feel worse than that.

He knew differently now.

This was hell.

Watching the woman he loved most in all the world falling deeper and deeper into the pit of a nightmare, and not being able to do a damned thing to help her.

Hell.

FORTY-FOUR

June 7

T
he following Monday at around two p.m., a hot, humid afternoon, storms threatening, Sam and Martinez had just left the station, heading across Rocky Pomerantz Plaza on their way to Markie's for a bite, when Sam stopped in his tracks.

‘What's up?' Martinez asked.

Sam didn't answer.

His eyes were on a small, bright-blue Honda parked on the opposite side of Washington Avenue.

‘My, my,' he said, softly.

Martinez followed his line of sight. ‘Who's that?'

‘Bianchi's sister,' Sam said. ‘Wait for me, Al.'

He began moving again, slowly, not wanting to spook her.

She was in the driver's seat, looking through her open window right at him, and she knew now that he had seen her, but that was all Sam could tell. He could not read the expression in her eyes, and the rest of her face was immobile, giving nothing away.

The lights were against him, but as he waited to cross, suppressing the urge to sprint and dodge traffic, he had the impression that she was steeling herself.

The lights changed.

He started walking again.

He could see those dark eyes more clearly now, locked on his but still unreadable.

And then, suddenly, she seemed to take a shuddering breath, and now it was all there in her face, a kind of violent pain, and Sam quickened his pace.

‘Ms Bianchi,' he called out to her.

She gunned the gas pedal, and the Honda took off.

‘Goddamn,' Sam said, staring after it.

Martinez crossed against the lights, joined him on the west side of the street.

‘What the hell was that about?' he asked.

‘Damned if I know,' Sam said.

‘More anger to vent?' Martinez said.

‘I don't think so,' Sam replied.

‘You sure?' his partner said, thinking about revenge, a grieving woman maybe packing a gun this time, instead of a slap.

‘I think,' Sam said, ‘she wanted to talk to me.'

He turned it over and over during lunch, ate his sandwich without tasting it.

‘Nothing you can do, man,' Martinez told him.

‘I know it,' Sam said.

‘So why do I get the feeling you don't really believe that?'

Sam downed half a bottle of Coke.

‘Something's happened with her,' he said. ‘Something's changed.'

‘Tell Wagner,' Martinez said.

‘Sure,' Sam said.

‘Call him now.'

‘I'll call him,' Sam said.

‘What are you planning?' Martinez was uneasy.

‘I don't know,' Sam said.

He waited till he had a moment alone, and then he called Angie Carlino in Tampa.

‘What do you need, Sam?' No preamble.

‘Couple of Naples addresses,' he told her. ‘Gina Bianchi's, home and work. Her home's unlisted.'

‘No problem,' she said.

FORTY-FIVE

June 8

T
hree days to go before the pretrial hearing.

If he was going to do this, it needed to be soon.

Today.

All through yesterday afternoon and evening, he'd waited for Gina Bianchi to surface again, had checked his cellphone constantly, had looked everywhere for bright-blue Hondas, parked or cruising.

Martinez said nothing, and if Grace or anyone else had noticed his preoccupation, he guessed they'd assumed it was connected with the hearing.

Grace, in any case, was in another zone altogether.

Loving with Joshua, then backing off – that cycle again, only more so.

He knew that going to see Bianchi's sister was risky.

But if – and it was a
big
if – Gina Bianchi had learned something significant about her brother, and if she'd considered sharing it with Sam, but had changed her mind, chances were she might never share it with anyone else either.