Almost impossible to believe that the blown-up photograph he was looking at was not of Kelly, but of Catherine, as he’d renamed Cathy.
He said it now, enjoying the sound of it spoken the French way, the last syllable elongated. ‘Cat-er-een.’ His make-believe fantasy child of her late, great Serene Highness.
He’d thought no one could ever replace the princess in his imaginary world, the place in his mind that he inhabited whenever possible, when the frustrations and tedium of everyday life permitted. GK had lived in his mind-cocoon for years, until he’d traveled to Switzerland and happened upon Grace Lucca Becket for the first time – and she’d blown him sky-high, had galvanized him sufficiently to travel to the United States in search of her, or at least another fix of her.
But then the Beckets had invited him to their home.
And he had seen her.
Their Cathy.
His Catherine.
He gazed up at her now and murmured her name again, like a long, breathy kiss.
He had already taken her places she’d probably never dreamed of going. He’d been practicing Qigong for almost a year now and felt extraordinarily better for it, mentally and physically; and he knew that some people – his parents, among others, needless to say – viewed the practice with skepticism, but through his adaptation of Qigong he had not only strengthened his body and improved his physique, but had also learned to mind-travel. He and Catherine had gone to Caribbean islands and lain on white sand, had walked together – both naked – around the Sully Wing on the ground floor of the Louvre, had stood, arms linked, gazing at the mutilated, exquisite Venus de Milo, so enigmatic, so aloof. It was just a matter of time, he was certain, until his Catherine would pose for him as the goddess, semi-draped; only his Venus would be whole, sublime, perfect.
Just a matter of time.
It was Cathy who found them.
Three months since she and Luc had arrived in Cannes. Gray, mild winter transmuted into gorgeous early summer, a time of unsurpassed beauty for Cathy, much of it seen from the back of Gabe’s Ducati Monster.
No beauty this morning, early on the Tuesday that Gabe was due to return after a week on his uncle’s farm in the Var interior.
Cathy had been assisting Jeanne with opening, was running checks in the dry store when she spotted them between the olive oil and spices. Thought for a moment that a large ketchup bottle must have broken.
Until the vivid red stain shifted. Came to life.
‘Jeanne!’ Cathy jolted back into the doorway, horrified, as a moving blanket of huge red cockroaches spilled over the shelf and spread like a moving blanket over the canned goods. ‘Jeanne!’
‘Qu’est-ce qu’il y a?’ The older woman came in, saw them. ‘Dieu.’
She backed out, Cathy right after her, and Jeanne slammed the door shut.
‘What do we do?’ Cathy’s heart was pounding. ‘They’re everywhere.’
Jeanne was pale, but composed. ‘First, I phone the exterminators and Nic, then you and I must check over the whole restaurant.’ She pulled her cell phone from her blazer pocket and checked her watch. ‘It will be voicemail, but they’ll call back immediately.’ She found the number, pressed the key, waited, then left a brief, clear message.
‘Have you had them before?’ Cathy asked.
Jeanne shook her head. ‘I’m going to call Nic from his office. Wait for me, please.’
‘Do you want me to start checking around?’ Cathy felt sick at the thought.
‘No,’ Jeanne said. ‘We’ll do it together.’
Half a day lost. Nic and Jeanne, Cathy, Luc – surprisingly calm, having lived for a time in an infested Manhattan brownstone – and the other early arrivals assisting in the search for some entry point previously unknown, finding no holes or gaps, then waiting for the exterminators to declare that cleaning could commence.
‘What I don’t get,’ Cathy said to Luc as they scrubbed the floor around the work stations, ‘is how come there were no signs yesterday.’ Monday being the weekly deep-clean day.
‘They were probably lurking in the walls,’ Luc said darkly.
‘I’m not sure they would dare.’ Sadi violently scraped her own prep table. ‘Every cockroach in the neighborhood must know how obsessive Nic is about hygiene.’ She paused. ‘Though I’ve never heard of red cafards on the Côte d’Azur.’
It was certainly true that preventive measures were taken daily, and Cathy had often seen Jeanne on her knees in corners checking for cracks between monthly visits from their pest control firm.
‘If they’re anything like American roaches,’ Luc said, ‘that might make them even more determined.’ He leaned back, shifted to ease his knees. ‘Horrible little bastards.’
‘These weren’t little, though.’ Cathy shuddered. ‘They were huge.’
‘Maybe they didn’t just crawl in,’ Marcel Simon, the barman, said, coming in from the bar with one of the waiters, a Parisian named Michel Mont.
‘What do you mean?’ Luc asked him.
Marcel shrugged. ‘It could be like the other things.’
‘What other things?’ Cathy asked, still scrubbing.
‘Nothing.’ Aniela Walczak, the beautiful Polish gardes-manger, waiting for the order to restack the coolers and storage room, gave the barman a look. ‘Marcel has a vivid imagination.’
‘Maybe,’ Marcel said, and headed off to the wine cellar.
‘What did he mean?’ Cathy asked Sadi a moment later.
Sadi looked around before she answered. ‘A few things have happened here. Nasty tricks, and—’
‘And what?’ Luc asked curiously.
Sadi shook her head.
Cathy, about to speak, saw that Jeanne had come in from the dining room. She looked up at Sadi, saw that her mouth had set in a straight line. No more gossip out of her for the moment. Cathy remembered the seething red blanket of bugs, shivered again, and carried on scrubbing.
The squad held an early meeting Tuesday morning, prior to a hastily arranged press conference.
Too damned little added to the boards, though Sam had posted four empty Wanted frames, just waiting for the photos to fill them, and James Lin’s name and image (lifted from an old copy of the South Florida Business News) had made it onto a board, with checks underway into Molly Burton’s parents’ deaths and into Mr Lin and his company.
Mary Cutter came in ten minutes late, looking upbeat.
‘Mr Rosenblatt just called. They came back late last night, and he knows we wanted them to wait for us, but he already checked the camera. Remotely,’ she added swiftly, seeing Sam’s expression. ‘He understands the importance of the warrant, swears no one’s touched the camera itself.’
‘And?’ Martinez said impatiently.
‘And he’s pretty sure they’ve got them.’
‘Way to go, Mary,’ Sergeant Beth Riley said.
‘Not my camera,’ Cutter said. ‘Four men, baseball caps.’
‘On our way.’ Sam was already halfway out the door, Martinez putting the lid on his coffee and grabbing his phone.
‘Press conference,’ Riley called.
Sam wheeled around. ‘You want us to delay this, Sarge?’
Riley hardly hesitated. ‘I’ll tell the captain. Go, guys.’
Sam glanced at Martinez. ‘Warrant?’
Martinez patted his jacket pocket. ‘Right behind you.’
They had the four men on tape, on departure presumably, not arrival, because due to the camera’s slow swivel, one minute – six fifty-four Sunday evening, according to the clock – there was an empty space just ahead of the Rosenblatts’ mooring, and then, at six fifty-eight, that space had been occupied, as if by magic, by a dark blue-and-white Fountain power boat, its portside decal visible, moored and already empty – and Elaine Blauner had been right about the boat facing toward the Intracoastal.
By the time the camera had traveled back toward the Burton house, the towpath was deserted and the Burtons’ backyard was not in range of
the device.
Still, they did have footage of the suspects – or at least, persons of interest – walking back toward the boat at eight thirty-four, almost half an hour after sunset. No record of the stumble that Mrs Blauner had told Cutter about, but four men – male, for sure – wearing white T-shirts, jeans, dark boat shoes, dark baseball caps and sunglasses, one man carrying a bag – proceeds of the safe robbery, perhaps, maybe weapons, who knew what else?
Nothing more for now, but the images would be blown up and worked on, the men’s individual walks, bearing and any observable idiosynchrasies jumped on, though darkness, the caps and sunglasses made facial recognition software unusable.
They did have the boat’s registration number and validation decal.
‘Like that’s not going to be phony,’ Martinez said on their way back to the station.
‘Maybe just stolen,’ Sam said.
Which would, at least, give them the possibility of a trail if, say, some other camera or witness had seen the Fountain being taken.
Not holding their breath.
‘Still wondering why they didn’t disable the Rosenblatt camera,’ Martinez said.
‘Probably too risky to tamper with it,’ Sam said.
‘Maybe cocky about not being recognized.’
‘Maybe whoever paid them was just very confident.’
‘You really don’t think the boss was one of them.’
‘Uh-uh,’ Sam said. ‘My gut tells me we have another game player who doesn’t like getting his hands dirty.’
They checked in, heard that the press conference had gone to plan, then went to Markie’s for coffee and Danish and more mulling over what they had.
James Lin still on both their minds.
‘He said he wouldn’t have minded killing Gary Burton,’ Martinez said.
‘If he’d known what was going to happen down the line,’ Sam reminded him. ‘Could be something else behind that, though.’
‘Probably wanted Molly to have married someone from the same background.’
‘No crime just wanting that.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Let’s wait on what we learn about her parents’ accident, see if Mr Lin had cause to be suspicious.’ He drained his Americano. ‘And let’s see what he imports or exports.’
‘What are you hoping for, man?’ Martinez’s grin was wry. ‘A cover operation for ivory poachers?’
Sam took out his iPhone, tapped in, waited. ‘Top five US exports to China: waste, seeds and grains, aircraft and aircraft parts, electronic components and cars. Just bringing you back to the real world.’
‘Where all people are what they claim to be,’ Martinez said.
Gary Burton’s business partner was waiting for them at the station.
Nick Gibson, about six-one, thirty-something, looked a little like Richard Gere at that age, lean and tanned. A poster boy for the fitness club he’d run with Burton, and from the laugh lines around his eyes, Sam guessed he usually smiled a lot, though this afternoon he looked wretched.
‘I was in Cancun,’ he explained. ‘I didn’t know until I landed and saw a text from the office. The guys knew I was flying back, and no one wanted to tell me before.’
Sam told him they were sorry for his loss, and Gibson lost it for a moment, cried like a baby, then blew his nose, pulled himself together and apologized.
‘No need, Mr Gibson,’ Martinez told him.
He didn’t want coffee, tea or water. All he knew so far about the killings was that his friends had been tied up in a car and left to die of carbon monoxide poisoning. He wanted to know if that was true, what the cops were doing about it, and what he could do to help.
‘So you and Mr Burton were friends,’ Sam said, ‘not just business partners.’
‘We were friends over and above the business.’ Gibson’s eyes filled again. ‘We opened the first GG Fitness – on Collins and Seventy-second – the only one left now – eight years ago. Pete and Gary were best buddies, but I think I was second in line for Gary. He was my best friend in the world. He made every day seem like fun.’ He shook his head. ‘Even when we agreed we had to shut down the other two clubs, we had our priorities straight, you know? Families, good health, nice homes, enough to eat. The rest would have been a bonus if it had gone right, but it wasn’t that important.’
‘Easy come, easy go?’ Martinez said lightly.
Gibson’s laugh was harsh. ‘You’re kidding, right? It was damned hard working our butts off to open two more clubs, then having to shut them down again. But at the end of the day, it was only business, and we both knew that.’ He turned his face away. ‘And here it is. The end of the day.’
Sam gave him a moment, then asked about enemies. Gibson said he’d stake anything that Gary had none. Martinez asked about the Burtons’ marriage. Gibson said they were nuts about each other. Sam asked if there had been any family issues, any long-term arguments or maybe disapproval when they’d married, and Gibson said none that he knew of.
‘Definitely not from Gary’s side. His old man loved her.’ He stopped. ‘William. I haven’t talked to him. You’ve seen him, right? Is he alone?’
Sam told him that Burton had been hospitalized, but was stable and would be discharged later that day.
‘I hate to think of him alone,’ Gibson said. ‘Do you think he’d come stay with me?’ He rubbed his face hard, trying to pull his thoughts together.
‘Ask him,’ Sam said.
‘What about Molly’s family?’ Martinez brought them back on track. ‘Any issues about the marriage from that side?’
Gibson stared at them. ‘What are we talking about here? Is this about her being Chinese and … Are you saying that could be relevant to this?’
‘We’re just building a picture,’ Sam said. ‘Anything that helps us get to know Gary and Molly better, to know anything they might have been up against.’
Gibson was silent for a moment. ‘OK. I guess I was never sure that her uncle – you know he was her only close relative …’ He broke off. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve lost the thread.’
‘Molly’s uncle,’ Sam supplied. ‘Do you think he didn’t approve?’
‘Maybe. Gary mentioned that he was cool early on, but it didn’t seem a real concern.’
‘How close were you to Molly?’ Sam asked.
‘I loved her,’ Gibson said. ‘Most people did. She was a delight.’
‘You said “most” people loved her,’ Martinez said.
‘No one could have hated Molly, if that’s what you’re reaching for.’
‘The only thing we’re reaching for is the truth, Mr Gibson,’ Martinez said.
Gibson looked suddenly tired. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Molly was kind, she was smart, she had a sense of humor, she was pretty. And she loved Gary, which was what counted most for me.’
‘GG Fitness.’ Sam changed tack. ‘Any unhappy members, recent or going way back? Any ugly scenes or long-running issues? Anyone barred or thrown out? Employees fired for reasons they might have thought unjustified? Someone who might have harbored some kind of grudge, maybe the kind that festers?’
‘Enough to lead someone to kill four people?’ Incredulous, Gibson ran a hand through his hair. ‘Jesus. No one that springs to mind. I could ask a few of the guys, see if they ever witnessed anything like that.’ He paused. ‘I know we’ve had to close a few people down because of unpaid dues or health issues.’
‘What kind of issues?’ Martinez asked.
‘People sometimes become obsessed with bodybuilding or weight loss. You see members repeatedly overdoing workouts, maybe insisting on using unsuitable equipment or just not understanding that they need to respect their bodies.’
‘Names would be helpful.’ Sam saw Gibson nod. ‘What about steroids? Anyone ever ask for them?’
‘You mean ask us to supply them?’
‘Maybe,’ Sam said.
‘If they did ask, they’d get turned down flat,’ Gibson said. ‘If they persisted, they’d be told to leave and not come back.’<
br />
‘And that’s never happened?’ Martinez said.
‘Not that I’m aware.’ He hesitated. ‘We’ve had members who’ve asked about performance-enhancing drugs. We educate them, tell them about vitamin supplements, glucosamine, the right sports drinks, if and when to use them. Our policy on steroids and other illegal substances is very clear, very firm.’
‘Did you and Gary work the same or split shifts?’ Sam asked.
‘When we were running three clubs, we both worked crazy hours, and it was tough, but we were young. Once we scaled back down to just Collins, we divided the hours. Gary took care of the paperwork, while I’ve always been more front-of-house.’
‘Didn’t Molly do the book work?’ Martinez said.
‘She didn’t have time,’ Gibson said. ‘Her uncle kept her pretty busy.’
Sam nodded. ‘Just one last thing. Strictly for the record, can you tell us where you were Sunday evening?’
Gibson shook his head. ‘In Cancun, like I told you. I can give you the paperwork. The hotel and the restaurant where I ate Sunday evening.’ His jaw worked for a moment. ‘If that’s not enough, the hotel spa’s manager could confirm that I had dinner with him.’
‘We appreciate your help,’ Sam said.
Gibson took a breath, steadying himself. ‘Could this have been a robbery turned bad, something like that? Because I’m telling you, these were all decent, sweet people.’
‘You know much about Mr Ventrino?’ Martinez asked.
‘He was a mechanic with his own place, selling used cars and vans, doing well enough to afford a nice house. A good guy.’ His forehead was deeply furrowed. ‘I still can’t believe it’s even true, you know?’
‘We know,’ Sam said.
A little after noon, Kovac summoned Sam to his office to ask if he’d reached a final decision about the case.
‘Not too late to change your mind. You weren’t named as lead at the conference.’
‘I won’t be changing my mind, Lieutenant,’ Sam said.
Kovac shrugged. ‘Your call. Is Grace OK with this?’
‘Of course,’ Sam said.
And after that the afternoon continued according to plan.
Fear and Loathing Page 6
