Eclipse (11 page)

The last thing she was aware of was the comfort of her own bed.

The pillows beneath her head felt strange, but . . .

‘It's time,' one of the visitors said.

‘I don't want to,' the other one said. ‘It doesn't feel right.'

‘It's exactly right,' the other said. ‘It's perfect. Do it now.'

The young woman on the bed, asleep now, gave a soft moan.

‘
Do
it.'

The detectives had returned to the office for a one-on-one brainstorming session.

Felicia still hovering at the top of Martinez's agenda.

‘So I know the chances of even a screwed up fourteen-year-old girl being Black Hole are zero. But what are the chances of Beatriz's killing being a copycat?'

Sam drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘OK. So let's go over what's out there in the public domain. Dates of killings, victims' names and “Black Hole”, which for now, at least, could easily refer to their all having been shot in the head.'

‘And that the crimes were “gruesome” and “grisly”,' Martinez added.

The families knew more, of course, had been asked not to speak about the condition of the bodies, but stuff like that still sometimes got out, because bereaved, shattered individuals often
had
to talk about what they had seen.

‘So far as we know, no one's leaked
eyes
to date,' Sam said. ‘So I don't see one single possibility that this vulnerable girl planned on killing her mom and making it look like the work of the latest Florida serial killer.'

‘OK,' Martinez said.

‘So are we done with this, finally? Felicia Delgado is ruled out as anything other than a witness?'

‘Sure, though if we haven't totally ruled out Carlos yet . . .'

Sam saw where Martinez was going.

‘You're thinking Felicia might have seen her father kill Beatriz,' he said.

‘That's one possibility,' Martinez said. ‘But suppose Carlos is Black Hole, and suppose Beatriz found out.' He paused. ‘Though if mom and daughter had both found out, then the kid would be dead too.'

‘Unless she ran,' Sam said.

‘Dad's with her now practically twenty-four-seven,' Martinez said.

‘Officer outside her door.' Sam paused. ‘But Delgado could be talking quietly to Felicia, threatening her.'

‘And we can't listen in,' Martinez said.

No probable cause, and they both knew it.

They went on playing with theories.

‘Suppose Beatriz found out Delgado was a killer, and Felicia overheard and didn't believe mom, wanted to protect daddy?' Martinez said.

‘That might play out if Beatriz had been stabbed or pushed down a staircase,' Sam said. ‘Not the way it happened. No way.'

‘Agreed,' Martinez said.

‘So do you feel Felicia needs protection from her father?'

‘Probably not.'

‘Because I'm really starting to believe he cares.'

With nothing new to go on, they returned to the acetone smell.

Sam's researches had taught him all kinds of things – mostly of no use to them. That the compound occurred naturally in the human body, that acetone on the breath alerted doctors to serious diabetic situations; that it was used in a variety of cleaning products and in paints and varnishes, among other things.

It was sometimes used to cleanse skin prior to certain medical procedures, but to date, no common ailments or physical conditions had linked the victims. And it could also be used in beauty treatments as part of the ‘defatting' process prior to chemical exfoliation.

No signs of chemical peels on any of the victims.

‘Let's don't forget TATP,' Martinez said wryly.

Referring to triacetone triperoxide, aka acetone peroxide. A high explosive popular with terrorists.

Not looking for a bomb maker.

About the only good news they had.

‘So what the fuck do we have?' Martinez said. ‘For the investigation, never mind the press conference?'

‘Not a whole goddamned lot,' Sam said.

Depressing as hell.

Monday morning brought more bad news.

An interview in the
Miami Star
.

Sandy Reiner talking in depth with Michele Newton, sister of Black Hole's Fort Lauderdale victim.

The young woman had seemed to understand the vital importance of keeping key details about Amelia's body out of the public domain. But at some low point, still stoked up with grief and rage, she had clearly changed her mind.

Sandy Reiner would have said that the public had a right to know, maybe even that her silent cooperation was only serving to ease pressure on the cops. Reiner was a slick writer, a master of persuasion, his scoops regularly lifting his paper's readership and picked up by TV news.

So before long, just about everyone in Miami was going to know about the full horrors of Black Hole's MO.

And Sam and Martinez knew, just by looking at the intent, hungry crowd gathered in the sunshine on Rocky Pomerantz Plaza for the press conference, that nothing Chief Hernandez or Captain Kennedy or Special Agent Joe Duval were telling them this morning would do anything to stem the flow.

They headed back inside when it was over, gloom pervading, certain that headlines by lunchtime would be set to terrify as many South Florida females as possible.

Intensifying the pressure on all concerned.

As was only right and proper.

Mildred having agreed to take the next step, she and David had returned to Miami General to see Dr Ethan Adams.

Almost resigned by now.

The doctor attempted again to discuss methods of cataract removal, but she asked him to stop. He said that he preferred his patients to understand what was going to happen to them, and she said that she appreciated that.

‘And if we were talking about any other part of my body, I'd probably agree, but I've made my decision, so if it's all the same to you –'

‘We'll skip right over it,' Adams said.

‘Thank you,' Mildred said, grateful to him for the first time.

‘There is a question you do need to answer,' he continued. ‘And you may want time to consider it.' He paused. ‘Within reason, you get to help choose the kind of intraocular lens we put in.'

David saw her pallor returning. ‘This isn't about the procedure,' he said quickly. ‘This is about choosing the best kind of vision to suit you.' He glanced at Adams. ‘Forgive me, Doctor.'

‘Go ahead,' Adams said easily.

David smiled his thanks.

‘I believe it's possible these days,' he told Mildred, ‘for a surgeon to restore your ability to see at all distances.'

‘So to that end,' Adams said, ‘it's helpful to know about your lifestyle and preferences. To know if you're a reader, if you swim or do embroidery.'

‘I swim and read. I do not embroider, nor do I knit.' Mildred tried to smile.

‘Fair enough,' Ethan Adams said.

‘I think you have to do a little measuring, Doctor,' David said.

‘I do,' Adams said. ‘Though a few more tests and measurements will be done as close to the time of surgery as possible.' He smiled at Mildred. ‘For pinpoint accuracy, you understand.'

‘Of course I do. I know I'm a fool, but I do appreciate what you've been telling me.'

Not his fault, after all, that she had this problem.

‘Do I have to stay at the clinic overnight?' she asked.

‘In your case, I think it would be easier for you.'

‘May I think about that?'

‘Certainly,' Adams said. ‘But though there's no need for particular haste, I do need to tell you that I'm going away in mid-June for two months.'

‘Is there no one else who could do the procedure?' Mildred asked.

‘Not in my clinic,' Dr Adams said.

‘No pressure then,' Mildred said.

At noon, Sam had a call from Ida Lowenstein in the ME's office to say that presumptive toxicology tests – comparatively swift with their field narrowed to a search for a specific drug – had shown that Beatriz Delgado had ingested a large dose of Diazepam some time before her death.

The drug's name one of the few details still not known to the public.

No big surprise for the police.

Black Hole for sure.

At six, Martinez picked up a message from Carlos Delgado informing them that Felicia had been moved to a private clinic in Aventura.

‘He says she's still not fit for interview,' Martinez told Sam. ‘But we're welcome to talk to the head honcho, Doctor Pérez. I'm checking out the place now.'

Sam called Joe Duval to appraise him, learned that Delgado had consulted with him on the subject of continuing security, since he wanted to arrange his own twenty-four-hour guard on Felicia's room.

‘I was about to call you,' Duval said. ‘It's hard to fault the guy, but it gets us no further with an interview.' He paused. ‘Any chance this could be a smokescreen? Dad feeling he might have more control over her at this place?'

‘We'll head over there soon as,' Sam said.

The Weston-Pérez Clinic on 190th Street gave a solid, comfortable appearance, and Dr Eduardo Pérez was affable and elegant, sporting a trim goatee and open-necked crisp white shirt. He expressed concern for his new patient, said that the clinic prided itself on its own state-of-the-art security, but that as a father himself, he understood why Delgado had chosen to make additional arrangements.

Delgado had only left his daughter for a couple of hours to go home to shower and change, the doctor told the detectives.

But at least he had left, Sam registered, was not standing guard twenty-four-seven.

They met with Delgado in a waiting room.

He looked exhausted, apologized for not yet finding time to look over payments made on Beatriz's behalf. Sam asked if he'd thought of anyone who might have had recent contact with her. Delgado pointed out again that they'd only communicated about Felicia, that Beatriz had no reason to keep him informed about her daily life.

Sam waited while Delgado took some Evian from a small refrigerator. ‘Did your wife suffer from her phobia when you first knew her?'

‘Why do you ask?'

‘No specific reason,' Sam said. ‘When we have nothing clear-cut, we ask more questions, look for more tenuous links. Sometimes things that don't seem insignificant can be helpful.'

‘Her problems weren't as extreme back then, but they did exist,' Delgado said. ‘When we first met, she said she wore sunglasses because her eyes were sensitive to light. I found it quite attractive, even intriguing, back then.'

His sadness was almost palpable now.

Both detectives feeling it.

‘Did she ever tell you the root cause of her phobia?' Sam asked.

‘Never. She wouldn't talk about it.' Delgado drank some water, set the bottle on the table and stood up. ‘Too late now.'

‘Hopefully not for your daughter,' Sam said.

Delgado hesitated for a moment. ‘Doctor Shrike said that Beatriz originally wanted Felicia to see your wife, Doctor Lucca, but she was overseas. Perhaps when she's ready, we could try again?'

‘That's not something I can answer,' Sam told him. ‘It would have to be between you and Doctor Lucca.'

And did that question about Grace take suspicion further off the man? Sam wondered. Or was that why Delgado had asked the question?

Cynicism, all the time, in this job.

Not one of Sam's favorite traits.

Impossible for a cop to avoid.

At rehearsal that evening, Billie Smith's singing was so fine that it drew a rare burst of applause from the company.

She came to find Sam during the break. ‘That was down to you,' she said. ‘You really helped me.'

‘I didn't do anything,' he said. ‘You're doing this all by yourself.'

‘That is
so
not true.' Billie glanced around. ‘Sam, could we talk?'

‘Great job, Billie.' Linda Morrison came up behind them, checked her watch, clapped her hands. ‘Three minutes, people. Billie, don't you even
breathe
too near Carla or Jack. They both swear they're coming down with the flu.'

It was late before they finished.

Sam saw Billie heading his way again, figured departure might be the wisest tactic, threw his libretto in his case, looked around for Linda.

‘Gotta go,' he called to her.

‘Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, big guy,' she called back.

Sam blew her a kiss, gave Billie a friendly wave and headed out to his car.

He didn't look back until he was in his old Saab, motor started, and then he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that she was halfway down the path, one hand raised, maybe calling to him.

He thought about his old friend, Larry, and felt a little guilty.

Hoped to hell that Billie wasn't in any kind of trouble.

Though the trouble he'd
thought
she might have been looking for the other night was the kind he was definitely not interested in.

And heck, Jacksonville wasn't that far away, and if Billie did have problems, maybe needed a parental figure, she surely only had to call them.

Less than a minute later, his iPhone rang.

Joe Duval calling.

‘We got another one.'

Sam and Martinez arrived within minutes of each other.

Another young woman living alone, in North Miami Beach.

Found by her
mother
.

Unbearable scene, even worse than the others, because it had patently taken longer to find the body.

Victim's name Zoë Fox, age twenty-five. Photographs and horrified neighbors affirming that she had been pretty as a picture, fun-loving, adventure-seeking, sweet disposition, guys lining up.

Now all that horrifically destroyed.

Same as the others, right down to the one variable.

A Zorro mask covering the horrors this time, its eye slits filled in with black tape.