Hell (10 page)

They already knew
how
the intruder – whether Cooper himself or some unknown accomplice, or another altogether unconnected individual who was just
maybe
taking some leaves out of Cal the Hater's book and bringing his or her own creativity for the rest – had gotten into the house.

Through the lanai, cutting and breaking their way in.

And Grace had not ventured into that part of the house, had not come to check over the place, had simply dropped by to retrieve her files and personal items and had, consequently, been wholly unaware until she'd entered the bathroom.

With the family gone, the specific watch on the house had ceased, and Mary Cutter's and Joe Sheldon's early inquiries up and down the street indicated that no one had seen the intruder, nor had anyone noticed the presence of any unknown vehicle or visitors that afternoon.

‘Could have been morning,' Sanders said.

No box or plastic container this time.

Nothing between the heart and Sam and Grace's white porcelain tub.

Crime Scene were here now, crawling all over the scene, but by the time they had eliminated the Becket family's prints and DNA, Sam was betting they'd have nothing to speak of.

The first time he'd met Jerome Cooper, he'd taken him for a fool.

No longer.

SEVENTEEN

The New Epistle of Cal the Hater

Starting over took time.

I was always good at dress-up.

Got myself out of Florida fast as I could. Stole a couple of boats, took the bus, hitched rides and ended up in Georgia.

In Savannah.

Problem was, I only knew two ways to make money.

Fucking and killing.

Fucking, mostly.

Sex kept me alive, I guess.

Savannah, Georgia, being known for its Southern charms.

At my lowest point, I was giving blow jobs in alleyways and abandoned buildings for twenty bucks, and then I moved up a notch or two to motels – though after I'd gotten myself infested with goddamned crabs I went back to one of those holes with a sack of roaches and liberated them before I got the hell out.

I'm good at running.

In the old days, it was always Jewel I was running from.

After she was gone, it was hell I was more afraid of.

Life goes on, though, as they say, and the longer it went on, the more I started remembering what Cal was best at: which was being the Joy Boy. Which meant what I had to do was start believing in Cal again, and making other people – the ones with more than a fifty in their wallets, the ones with something about them – believe in Cal too. And soon enough, little by little, the good old, bad old Joy Boy was out there again, walking his cool walk, drawing people's eyes and their cash too.

Only thing Cal and I didn't have was what we wanted most.

Only thing we never gave up was hating.

Samuel Lincoln Becket most of all.

EIGHTEEN

I
t was ten to midnight before Sam got back to Key Biscayne that night, but, just as she had waited up after countless late shifts at home, Grace was still awake and waiting for him in the kitchen.

Granite, steel and glass, same snowy white floors as the rest of the first floor. Almost too gorgeous to use.

‘I made
Cacciucco
,' Grace told him. ‘I made enough for the whole family, but the person I really made it for was you.'

‘Thank you, Gracie,' Sam said.

It was an Italian fish stew, and a special favorite because it had been his first taste of Grace's cooking and had become one of their big comfort dinners, and also her equivalent to a bunch of roses when she felt a need to apologize.

‘I forgave you already,' Sam said now.

‘Aren't you hungry?' she asked.

‘I'm more tired than hungry.' The aroma got to him. ‘But I guess I could manage that.'

‘Good.' Grace began ladling stew into a bowl. ‘Because I need to tell you something.' She set the bowl in front of him, added a hunk of ciabatta and poured him a glass of Chianti.

‘The whole shebang,' Sam said wryly. ‘You must feel guilty.'

‘I do,' Grace said. ‘For being so dumb.' She pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. ‘And I need you to know – really to believe – that if I needed one more thing to make me accept the reality of our situation, walking into our bathroom and seeing
that
was it for me.'

‘Glad to hear it,' Sam said.

‘I also need you to know – ' she hadn't finished – ‘that you don't have to spend another minute stressing about me pulling a stunt like that again, OK?'

‘OK,' he said. ‘Have a glass of wine with me.'

‘From now on, I'll drive to Magda's and straight back here again, and if anything unusual comes up, I'll call you right away.'

‘And by “unusual”, you mean what exactly?'

‘You know there's no way of knowing that until it happens.'

‘And what if “it” happens and you can't reach me?'

‘Sam, I don't know exactly,' Grace said. ‘But bottom line, I promise not to do anything careless.' She smiled. ‘At least not until you have him locked up. OK?'

His eyes were suddenly deadly serious. ‘Do you know what it would do to me if anything bad happened to you?'

‘Yes, I do. Same as if it were you.'

‘Not to mention how much Joshua needs his mom.'

‘And his dad.' Now Grace got up and poured herself a half glass of wine. ‘Any breaks?'

‘Not yet.'

‘You'll get him,' she said.

‘You bet we will,' Sam said.

NINETEEN

May 5

I
t was three a.m. Wednesday morning when all hell broke loose.

Ear-splitting sirens that ripped the whole extended family from their beds – Cathy down on the first floor, the others spilling into the upstairs hallway.

‘It's OK,' Claudia told Sam and Grace and the others, her voice raised over the alarm – which promptly ceased, leaving her last syllable hanging shrilly in the silence. ‘Dan's dealing with it.'

He emerged on cue from their bedroom. ‘Just the usual. I've called it in.'

‘We have to call the cops and the security firm with the code,' Mike said.

‘The usual?' Sam asked, pulling a T-shirt over his head.

‘He's a local character,' Daniel said. ‘An old drunk, harmless.'

‘You sure about that?'

‘Come take a look.' Daniel beckoned Sam into the master bedroom, where one of the closet doors hung open, revealing a bank of monitors with an overview of every entry point into the property. ‘Number four – see?'

He played back a recording of a bulky gray-hooded figure knocking clumsily into the fence at the rear, then stumbling away.

‘You sure he's gone?' Sam said. ‘I'd like to check him out.'

‘Long gone,' Daniel said. ‘We're used to him.'

‘How long's he been around?' Sam wasn't taking anything at face value.

‘Way before we moved in, according to the neighbors,' Daniel said.

‘He's harmless.' Claudia was in the room, tying the belt of her robe. ‘A bit of a train wreck – some people call him Clouseau, but no one knows his real name.'

‘Poor guy,' said Saul, from the doorway.

‘Pain in the ass,' Robbie said.

Everyone was in the bedroom now, Grace holding Joshua, who was sleepy and undisturbed.

Sam's eyes were still scanning the monitors. ‘You sure it's the same guy? You can't see his face.'

‘Sure as I can be,' Daniel said. ‘Body language, height.'

‘OK,' Sam said. ‘I'd still like to take a look around.'

‘If it makes you feel better,' Daniel said.

‘There's no one around now,' Mike said. ‘The cameras are sensitive to body heat and motion, even movement of air.'

‘Even so,' Sam said, heading for the door.

Daniel smiled at his older son. ‘He's a cop, Mike. What can I tell you?'

‘Sam, please be careful,' Grace said.

‘I'll go with him,' Robbie said.

‘No way,' Daniel said. ‘I'll go.'

‘I thought the whole point of all this stuff – ' Claudia motioned at the screens as the two men headed toward the staircase – ‘is we never have to put ourselves at risk.'

‘And we don't.' Mike put an arm around his mother's shoulders. ‘It's just Uncle Sam doing his thing.'

‘Unkie Sam,' Joshua repeated, rubbing his eyes.

‘That's right,' Grace said. ‘Your Daddy.'

‘Why don't we put this guy back in his bed?' Cathy suggested.

‘As soon as they're back inside,' Grace said.

Quietly, more calmly than she felt.

Suddenly having as little faith as Sam in Daniel's box of security tricks.

In the light of morning, everything felt different.

Better, the way things generally did.

Even with a killer on the loose.

No killer here at Névé last night, though, and even Sam was convinced, because Daniel had blown up the shots of the drunk and confirmed that he was indeed their regular guy, and Sam had seen for himself that he bore no resemblance to Cooper.

He felt better all round this morning, more accepting again that his family was safer here than most other places he could think of.

At least, so long as they
were
here.

‘All of you guys,' he said, first thing, ‘be careful.'

‘Stop worrying so much,' Cathy told him.

‘Never,' Sam said. ‘That goes for all of you,' he said, taking in Mike and Robbie.

‘Cross our hearts,' Saul and the brothers said, almost in unison.

And Joshua giggled.

It was a busy day for Grace.

No cancellations, all her pre-arranged appointments kept without complaint, and a last-minute consultation arranged for four p.m., when she had expected to be leaving.

She called Claudia before accepting that final appointment, to make sure she would have no problem taking care of Joshua until her return.

‘Are you kidding?' her sister said. ‘I'm loving every minute.'

Grace called Sam, too, just before four.

‘Just telling you because I promised,' she said.

‘Thank you,' he said.

‘How's it going?'

‘All systems at full power,' Sam said. ‘Sucking up every creep in Miami-Dade, seems to us.'

‘But not the one you're looking for,' Grace said.

‘Not yet,' he said.

Grace told him that she loved him, and he reciprocated.

‘More than ever, Dr Lucca,' he told her.

Remembering, abruptly, sweetly, the first time he'd ever seen her, the long legs and Scandinavian cool, and that much warmer Italian
something
lingering below the surface. All still present and correct. Lucky, lucky man.

‘What?' Grace asked, hearing loaded silence.

‘Later,' he said.

Grace thought, as she took the Julia Tuttle Causeway to I-95 on her way back to Key Biscayne after that last consultation – with a six-year-old girl displaying signs of anorexia nervosa – about her role as psychologist versus mom.

Today had worked out efficiently, and she'd enjoyed grabbing lunch with Magda, had appreciated the smooth, uninterrupted hours of work. But she had missed Joshua badly, and as good as it was to be spending time with Claudia – and they were all being so kind, so relaxed about their staying – Grace was missing her own home, too. She wanted –
needed
– to get back as soon as possible to deal with what had happened there, before it took root in her mind, grew out of control.

The bathroom – perhaps the whole house – would have to be steam-cleaned, and they were going to have to rip that tub out and put a new one in if she was ever to be happy soaking again. And Sam had once said that he thought a Jacuzzi-type tub might be kind of nice, one big enough for them to share . . .

‘It'll be OK,' she told herself out loud.

And it would be fine, the house, the new bathtub, their
normal
family life.

As soon as
he
was done with.

It was on 95, at the junction with South Dixie Highway, that she became aware that an old red VW Beetle convertible that she'd first noticed on Julia Tuttle was still behind her. It was a model she had a fondness for because Claudia had driven one years ago, and they'd had some good times together in that car, top down . . .

Something else about the car was prodding at her, and she groped for the memory, then, abruptly and more unpleasantly, remembered that there had been a red VW Beetle in the parking lot at the party store a few days before David's wedding – though if that VW had been a convertible, she couldn't remember.

She took SE 26th on to the Rickenbacker Causeway and checked her rear-view mirror, saw that the car was still there, and for the first time she was able to catch a better glimpse of the driver . . .

Impossible to see his face, hidden by baseball cap and sunglasses, and she knew it was a crazy thought, it was
nothing
, but still it was creeping her out.

Call Sam.

Grace reached for her phone on the dash, took another look in the mirror, saw that the VW's indicator was flashing, saw the car dropping back and taking one of the Hobie Beach exits.

Gone.

The relief was great enough to make her laugh out loud.

Nerves
really
getting out of hand.

She drove on into the Village of Key Biscayne, to her family.

TWENTY

The New Epistle of Cal the Hater

I knew I'd met the
one
– my meal ticket, my very own fleshpot, my passage to Easy Street, and all those vulgar clichés rolled into one – when I met Blossom.

Blossom van Heusen was old and fat, but she was also pale-skinned and fragrant as her name suggested, and she was kind and she liked to laugh, and she knew more about sex than anyone I ever met, and she knew me right off for what I was.