Caged (23 page)

‘Just another feeling,’ she said. ‘And Moore’s art is definitely spooky.’

Sam took a look around, then made a right on to North Miami Boulevard, and he’d be passing home soon, felt a surge of yearning to stop there and stay, to be like a regular guy getting home a little early to his wife and son, just shutting the door and forgetting about his day at the office . . .

‘Earth to Becket,’ Riley said.

‘Sorry,’ Sam said and got a grip, because there was no excuse for any kind of drifting right now. ‘Alibis,’ he said. ‘For Moore and Beatty.’

‘Except we don’t have exact times of abductions, let alone times of death.’

‘Doesn’t stop us getting a full picture of their movements on all the days and nights in question.’

Martinez was critical but stable when he got back to Miami General that evening.

Jess was still there.

‘I don’t know what I’ll do if he . . .’ She broke off, her eyes filling.

‘He’s going to make it,’ Sam told her. ‘He’s strong.’

‘Not so strong,’ Jess said. ‘He’s a pussycat.’

‘I know it,’ Sam said.

They were in the unit, watching Martinez lying there, tubes in him.

‘Would you mind,’ Jess asked, ‘if I leaned on you a moment?’

Not a whole lot he could say except yes.

‘Sure,’ he said.

Wishing like hell that Cathy hadn’t said what she had.

Those kinds of words, even when withdrawn, still pricked pins in you.

And Martinez was too out of it to know that he and Jess were even there.

Sam longed again to get home to Grace.

The sooner the better.

SEVENTY-TWO

A
nother Sunday, and they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It had been four days now since the Resslers had been found. The good news was that there were still no missing persons reports to spark a new scare, but everyone on the squad felt that they were scurrying around in barely widening, still aimless circles.

And then, out of nowhere, a possible lead made their hearts leap.

A man named Ludo Birkin, who’d been out of town since Thursday the twelfth, but who lived in Juniper Terrace, had phoned in to say that he had seen André Duprez’s BMW exiting their building’s underground garage at around eleven o’clock the night before his own departure.

Wednesday, February eleventh.

The night in question.

‘Did he say Duprez was driving?’ Sam asked Cutter, who’d brought the news.

‘Not conclusive, apparently,’ she said.

If it did turn out to be so, it would simply help continue with the piecing together of the timeline in the second crime; it would indicate either that Duprez had been heading off to spend the night at Elizabeth’s house, or that he had possibly been responding to a cry for help from her. It might also suggest that at that time, Duprez had either not yet ingested the temazepam later found in his system, or that it had not yet had time to work on him. Case-building details for eventual use in a trial, God willing, but nothing of more immediate use.

If, however, this guy thought it might
not
have been Duprez, then that made him a potentially crucial witness.

And with no chance, anyway, of their going into Beatty Management today to try ascertaining Moore’s and Beatty’s whereabouts on all the relevant dates, Ludo Birkin was numero uno on their agenda for this particular Sunday.

And just for the heck of it, Sam was going armed with three photographs: one of Beatty, one of Moore, and one of Anthony and Karen Christou.

Lord knew they were due a lucky break.

SEVENTY-THREE

W
ith Sam working again, Grace had left Joshua with Mildred and come to sit with Martinez and try to support Jess.

Sam had told her last night that the young woman seemed to have convinced herself that Martinez was not going to make it. And Grace disliked herself for what she was thinking – knew she probably would never have entertained such thoughts had it not been for Cathy – but it had occurred to her that Jess might perhaps be something of an attention seeker.

And one even uglier thought: that her fiancé’s illness might even be feeding the kind of attention that she craved – perhaps most of all from Sam.

Unworthy, mean-spirited thoughts, reminding her of a time, a couple of years back, when she’d harboured wholly unjustified suspicions of another young woman.

‘Have you called your parents, Jess?’ Grace asked now.

‘No way.’

‘Why not? Wouldn’t it help you to talk to them?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Jess said, ‘because I’d end up comforting them, and I don’t have time or energy for that because I want to give Al one thousand per cent.’ She paused. ‘Truthfully, Grace, the only people who do seem to understand what I’m going through are you and Sam – well, obviously Sam more than anyone, since he’s closest to Al.’

‘Obviously,’ Grace said.

Disliking herself all over again.

SEVENTY-FOUR

L
udo Birkin was mid-thirties, overweight and spongy-faced with wispy gingery hair. Courteous and almost certainly well-meaning, he had, however, no more to give them than he’d first stated in his phone call.

‘I assumed at the time that the driver was André Duprez,’ he told Sam and Riley in his sitting room, ‘but it was dark, and I had no reason to look closely.’ He spoke with regret, his voice croaky from a bout of tonsillitis. ‘Though I suppose I might possibly have noticed if, say, a woman had been at the wheel, but I’m afraid I’d be a liar if I said I could rule out even that much for sure.’

Birkin’s apartment was of a similar shape and size to Duprez’s, but his tastes – if he had furnished and decorated himself – appeared more flamboyant, with wildly coloured textured fabrics and oddly shaped armchairs that felt, to Sam, as uncomfortable as sitting on rubber-covered steel.

‘You said you saw the car at “around” eleven o’clock,’ Sam said. ‘Could you be any more specific about time?’

Now Birkin looked downright uncomfortable. ‘I did say that, yes, but the more I come to see how crucial this could be to your investigation, the less positive I feel about that, too.’

‘So are you thinking it might have been earlier, sir?’ Riley asked. ‘Or later?’

‘I think it might have been a little later, maybe half past or so.’ Birkin paused. ‘If I were a TV viewer, I might be able to remember if I’d been watching some movie or the news, something like that, but I hardly ever put the damned thing on.’ His lips, already narrow in the round face, compressed further so that they were hardly visible. ‘I feel so bad for poor Mr Duprez and his girlfriend.’

‘Did you know Elizabeth Price?’ Sam asked.

Birkin shook his head. ‘I didn’t really know him either, except to say good morning or talk about the weather in the elevator, you know, that kind of thing. But I did see him with Ms Price a few times. She was quite beautiful, I thought.’ He cleared his throat, then lapsed into silence.

Sam waited a moment.

‘Might there have been anyone else in the car?’

‘That’s hard to say, too,’ Birkin answered. ‘I thought at the time that he – the driver – was alone, but I wouldn’t want to swear to it because of the dark.’ He shrugged. ‘For all I know, someone could have been in the back, say, hunched down.’

‘Was there anyone else around at the time?’ Riley asked.

‘Not that I saw. The parking garage barrier works on a card system going in and it’s automatic going out. There’s no guard.’

And no working camera, as they already knew.

Sam took out the photographs, showed them to Birkin.

‘Do you recognize any of these people?’

Birkin took his time. ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Are you asking if one of them might have been the driver?’

‘Do you think they might?’ asked Sam.

‘I can’t say if they were or were not, any more than I can say, for sure, that it was Mr Duprez.’ Birkin shook his head again. ‘I do so wish I could be more help.’

They thanked him, told him they appreciated his coming forward, said that what little he knew had been useful, and then they left.

Their hoped-for lucky break shot to pieces.

‘It may help with the jigsaw,’ Sam said, back in the car.

‘Gets us nowhere now, though, does it?’ Riley said.

‘Nowhere at all,’ Sam agreed.

Not even lunchtime yet, still early in the day, only one thing clear.

He was running out of time.

SEVENTY-FIVE

G
race had stayed at the hospital, not liking the way Martinez was looking, nor the expressions on the faces of two of the nurses.

She called Sam on his cell just after two.

‘I need to go home pretty soon so Mildred can leave.’ She spoke gently. ‘But if you can, I think you should get over here.’

Riley saw Sam’s face as he ended the call.

‘Martinez?’

He nodded. ‘Grace thinks he’s worse.’

‘You go,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to focus on Moore a while longer, suck up every little thing I can find, if that’s OK.’

‘Sure.’ Sam rose, stood motionless for a moment, feeling oddly vulnerable, uncertain what to do next.

Riley seemed to understand.

‘Jacket,’ she said, easily. ‘Phone. Keys.’

Sam picked them up.

‘Just go, Sam,’ Riley told him.

Things had changed again since Grace’s call.

David had arrived ten minutes before Sam, had been talking to colleagues.

‘He has a better chance now,’ he told his son outside the CCU. ‘They’re certain now that it’s rat bite fever.’

‘How in hell?’ asked Sam.

‘For now it doesn’t matter how,’ David said. ‘They’ve been chasing their tails, leaning toward hantavirus or even Rocky Mountain spotted fever, which is very rare in this state – and we know Martinez hasn’t travelled for years. But then they got lucky because the culture for
Streptobacillus moniliformis
– rat bite fever – grew faster than it might have, so now they’re sure.’

‘And it’s treatable, right?’ Sam said.

‘With penicillin.’ David paused. ‘According to his file, he has no allergies.’

Sam nodded. ‘I know he took it for a bad tooth last year with no problems.’

‘Good.’ David paused. ‘Jess could use some encouragement.’

‘She still in bad shape?’

‘Poor kid,’ David said.

‘Anyone ask her about rats in her building?’ Sam asked.

Right on cue, Jess came out of the unit. ‘Did your dad tell you?’ Her eyes looked hollow with strain. ‘What if there are rats in my place? What if I did this to him, Sam?’

‘I guess you’d know,’ Sam said. ‘Noises, droppings.’

‘There’s been nothing like that,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I’d know if Al had been bitten.’

‘I’m afraid it’s a bit of a misnomer,’ David told her. ‘Bites are the most common cause, but you can get infected from contaminated milk or water.’

Sam saw her horror grow, felt a rush of pity for her. ‘If that was the case, Jess, chances are you’d both have gotten sick by now.’

‘And we don’t spend that much time at my place,’ she said, ‘because Al has so much more space, and he never says so, but I know he prefers being home.’

They all turned, hearing the familiar sound of wheels on linoleum. A gurney being pushed out of an elevator with a new patient for the unit, and Sam’s mind flew momentarily to the homicides, then back to Jess.

‘If you like,’ Sam told Jess, ‘I could do what I did at Al’s house. Go take a look around for any signs.’ He paused. ‘Though I don’t want to leave yet.’

‘Me neither,’ Jess said.

‘Anyway,’ David said, ‘you’d be locking the stable door, so to speak.’

‘We still need to check,’ Jess said.

‘And you will,’ David told her gently, ‘once your fiancé’s out of danger.’

‘I thought, now they know . . .’ Sam felt a new punch of fear, hearing that word.

‘Now they know, son,’ David said, ‘his chances are better.’

They were all still for a moment.

‘Sam, will you sit with Al for a little while?’ Jess asked. ‘I’d like to go to the chapel.’

‘That’s a fine idea,’ David said. ‘Would you like some company?’

She shook her head. ‘In there, I don’t seem to need it.’

They watched her move away, heading for the elevators.

‘She’s a good kid,’ David said.

‘Yeah,’ Sam said. ‘I think she is.’

They drifted in and out of the hospital for the rest of the day. Cathy and Saul came and sat with Martinez for a while. David and Mildred minded Joshua so that Grace could come back and be with Sam. Beth Riley and Mary Cutter came together a little after five, and Mike Alvarez came by around six.

The homicides never far from his or the other detectives’ minds.

The other shoe yet to drop.

Still no reports of any missing couples.

‘Maybe it’s over,’ Sam said to Alvarez.

‘Or maybe there’s been another abduction, but there’s no one to make a report,’ the sergeant said.

‘Or maybe,’ Sam said, ‘there is no pattern.’

SEVENTY-SIX

M
onday morning started out a whole lot better than Sunday evening.

Martinez was doing better, though not yet pronounced out of the woods. Jess seemed a little less wild-eyed and needy when Sam visited, and he didn’t like to admit to himself how glad he was of that, would rather have forgotten such thoughts, but they were still sticking firm.

All that mattered for now was that Martinez pulled through.

Sam spoke to one of the doctors, a pretty woman in her thirties named Dana Friedman who said she’d known his father a long time and held him in high esteem.

‘Recovery from this disease can take a while,’ she told Sam. ‘If your friend gets over the worst, he’ll probably need help for some time.’ She looked through the window into the unit and smiled. ‘His fiancée is very devoted, which is going to be great for Alejandro.’