‘So how come you came here this morning, Mrs Loeb?’
‘Laura tried calling home last night but got voicemail, and we all figured her family had turned in early, and Al said “Good for them”, because he can never sleep after a flight from Europe.’ She shook her head. ‘“Good for them”. Dear God.’
‘What time did Laura call home?’ Sam asked.
‘At around nine, I think.’ Mrs Loeb paused. ‘Did I mention that Sergio’s a dentist?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Martinez said. ‘Do you know where his office is?’
‘No, I’m sorry. Laura will know, obviously.’
‘That’s OK. We’ll find it,’ Martinez said. ‘So, this morning?’
‘Laura called again at eight-thirty, and Dani came to find me, said that Laura was worried about them because her mom and Rob ought to be there, and I said maybe Luisa had gone to the supermarket, stocking up, and Rob was still sleeping.’ She paused. ‘So Laura waited till after nine, tried home and their cell phones, and then she called Dr Gomez’s office. They said he hadn’t shown up yet, and suddenly I felt concerned, too, so I waited for our housekeeper to show up, told Laura to stay with Dani and came to see if anything was wrong.’
Sam waited a beat.
‘What happened when you arrived?’
‘I rang the bell and knocked on the door but there was no answer, so I took out the keys – did I tell you that Laura gave me her house keys?’
‘No, but that’s fine,’ Sam said. ‘Go on.’
‘I let myself in, called their names, but then I wasn’t sure what to do. I felt I was intruding. I’d only been in their house a few times – once for dinner, once for a barbecue, the other times when I was picking up Dani. The girls are best friends, but Luisa and I didn’t have the kind of relationship where you exchange keys.’
‘You still weren’t intruding, ma’am,’ Martinez said. ‘Just wanting to help Laura.’
‘I was thinking about going back outside when I saw that their bags were still in the hallway. That was when I got really worried – and I was just telling myself I had to look around when I heard the sound.’ She gave a small shudder. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t hear it when I was standing outside – maybe a car was driving by …’
‘What did you hear?’ Sam asked.
‘The motor running.’ Almost a whisper.
‘Take your time, Mrs Loeb,’ Sam said.
She swallowed, took a breath. ‘That was when I noticed the tape around the door – I was still in the entrance hall, and I was pretty sure this door led into the garage.’
‘Where was the tape, ma’am?’ Martinez asked.
‘All around the door.’ She was paler. ‘I suddenly had this terrible feeling – I just knew I had to open the door, and I got hold of one part of the tape and tore at it.’ She looked down at her hands, held them out, stared at the mess of sticky stuff still on her manicured nails. ‘And I got it open.’
She described, as best she could, what she had seen before she ran out of the garage and called 911, her voice growing lower, flatter, and Sam thought she was shutting down as a kind of self-protection, could well understand that.
So, same scenario as before.
Making one thing certain. The definition was: the unlawful killing of two or more victims by the same offender(s), in separate events.
Serial murder for sure.
Arrangements in place for their family doctor to be on alert in case help was needed with Laura Gomez, Wendy Loeb returned to Coral Gables with Detectives Mary Cutter and Joe Sheldon, who would assist with the awful job of breaking Laura’s heart.
‘Jeez.’ Martinez watched them go. ‘Tough one.’
‘Understatement,’ Sam said.
‘Hey.’ Martinez saw his partner’s face, knew pretty much what he had to be thinking, because Cathy had been homicide-bereaved, and he and Grace had seen her through her long nightmare, which meant that a case like this cut even deeper for Sam Becket. ‘Mary’s going to do good by her.’
‘I know it,’ Sam said.
The fact was their job this morning was not with young Laura, who was, from the investigational standpoint, neither a potential witness nor suspect; their priority was applying for search warrants, getting the most effective start at and close to the scene along with the ME and Crime Scene, and conducting the first neighborhood canvas themselves.
Then back to the station. Task force to organize.
They signed the security log at the Gomez front door, donned coveralls, shoe covers and gloves and headed for the garage, ventilated and opened by Fire Rescue.
Elliot Sanders was already there, had moved fast because he’d dealt with the first case and because, in a serial situation, consistency was preferable where more than one case occurred within the same jurisdiction.
‘Better make your sketches, everything else you need,’ Sanders said. ‘Flatbed truck’s going to take the car with the deceased, same as last time.’ He got out a cigar, brought it up beneath his nose, took a long sniff. ‘Nothing new to tell you yet about the first case.’
‘And here?’ Sam kept his voice low. Too many people around – not to mention the zoo stacking up beyond the tape, hopefully being kept out of range, long-distance directional mikes probably already straining to pick up tidbits.
‘The older male apparently singled out this time, torture-style, cord around his neck. First indications that they succeeded in strangling him. The female and young male both hogtied and almost certainly succumbed to CO poisoning.’ The ME took another sniff of his cigar. ‘I heard about the younger sister. Any decent relatives?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t know how the killers arrived, either. Almost certainly not by boat this time, but it’s serial, no question.’
‘Robbery?’ the ME asked.
‘No open safe,’ Martinez said. ‘But the master bedroom and what looks like Dr Gomez’s home office both turned over.’
‘So either they did rip them off,’ Sam said, ‘or made it look that way.’
‘And another message for you,’ Sanders said. ‘Didn’t care much for its tone.’
‘You and me both,’ Martinez said.
‘We’re hoping I’m just a handy illustration of what our killer feels needs punishing,’ Sam said lightly.
The chief medical examiner’s voice was very low. ‘You still sure working this case is right for you and yours, Sam?’
‘I suggested Grace take Joshua to France,’ Sam said. ‘But Grace doesn’t want to rain on Cathy’s parade, and she said she’s not going anyplace without me.’
‘That was before today, man,’ Martinez said.
Friday flew, guidelines for a task force being followed as appropriate for the jurisdiction and investigative work already undertaken. The Stillwater Drive crime had previously been entered into ViCAP, but there was more networking to be done, more information-sharing mechanisms to be utilized, more complex operational issues to be nailed down.
The Behavioral Analysis Unit-2 – the section of the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime that focused on serial murder, among other things – had developed a model upon which law enforcement agencies were free to act when such crimes hit their jurisdictions, and also provided support and advice where required.
At a moment like this in Miami Beach, when lines of inquiry into persons of interest, victims’ relatives and colleagues, intensive searches state- and country-wide for matches of the crime combination – and the need to comprehend the true motive for these killings – threatened to shoot off like fireworks in a score of directions, multiple decisions had to be made.
A sound, functional task force, it was generally agreed, needed a lead and co-investigator, both experienced, dedicated and tenacious enough to direct all aspects of the investigation, reviewing and collating information, assigning leads and, wherever necessary, delegating responsibility to other experienced investigators and administrators.
Meantime, t
hough, the work needed to continue, the things that the first twenty-four hours of a homicide investigation almost always entailed. Crime Scene and the ME’s team doing their thing, witnesses sought, along with the intimate or at least personal knowledge of those close to the victims.
Sam and Martinez getting on with the job.
Next stop, Dr Gomez’s office on Biscayne Boulevard, where they wanted to be the ones to break the news, see how people took it, and, in their judgment, the colleagues they encountered over the next hour were shattered. Dr Patrido Ortiz, the victim’s partner, their receptionist, two nurses and a dental hygienist all seemed close to breaking point, and if their responses were to be trusted, the late Sergio Gomez Vega had been a good, kind, decent man, his wife, Luisa, known to them and well loved, and their son, Roberto, adored.
Black, black day.
‘If there’s a suspect in there,’ Sam said later, ‘I’ll eat my badge.’
‘Agreed,’ Martinez said. ‘At least we got some relatives out of Ortiz.’
An aunt in Boca Raton – Dr Gomez’s sister, Mrs Carrola Rivera – already on her way to Coral Gables with her husband, so by evening, Laura might be under their roof. A massive upheaval, and who knew if the child might not find it easier to stay with her best friend, but family was family.
They had gotten more than relatives’ names out of Patrido Ortiz.
‘I only met Luisa’s parents one time,’ the dentist had told them. ‘Way back at Sergio’s wedding, when we were all young and starting out. They seemed like nice people, as you’d expect, knowing their daughter.’
‘Are her parents still living, do you know?’ Sam had asked Ortiz.
‘No.’
‘Were they Florida residents?’
‘At the end of their lives, certainly. Before that, I don’t recall.’
‘How long ago did they die?’ Martinez asked.
‘Luisa’s father passed away about ten years ago from a heart attack. And then her mother got Alzheimer’s and for a while she came to live with Sergio and Luisa, but then it got too tough for them all and the lady went into a home.’
‘Do you know where?’ Sam asked.
Ortiz’s forehead creased in puzzlement. ‘Why so much interest in Luisa’s parents?’
‘It’s routine,’ Sam said. ‘We track down family.’
‘The living, I’d have thought,’ Ortiz said, then remembered something. ‘You might want to read the book Luisa wrote about them. Not a real book, as such, but it was published on the Internet a few years back.’
‘Like a blog?’ Martinez said.
‘Not at all,’ the dentist said. ‘Luisa wanted to commemorate her parents’ lives. Her mother’s dementia affected her deeply, and Sergio once said that she was afraid of forgetting about their past, so she started writing, mostly so that Roberto and Laura …’ He stopped there, emotion surging.
Sam and Martinez waited a few moments.
‘Do you have a copy of the book?’ Sam asked finally.
Ortiz shook his head. ‘But I imagine you’ll find it. Search Luisa Gomez – she took Sergio’s name, American style – and maybe Alzheimer’s, and perhaps her mother’s name. Nina was her first name, and in the book, I recall that Luisa wrote her full name according to the Spanish custom of father’s surname first, then mother’s, but I’m ashamed to say I only remember Fuentes – Nina Fuentes.’
They had asked Ortiz more questions. Did he know if Dr Gomez had any enemies? Had he received any threats? Were there any former patients or employees with a possible grudge against him?
‘No, no and no again,’ Ortiz had answered.
Dr Sergio Gomez Vega had been liked by everyone, to the best of his knowledge.
Ortiz had come to the question most burdening him, and they saw his mouth tremble as he asked it. ‘Can you tell me how they died?’
‘Not at this stage,’ Sam had said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘But there’s no chance that it was an accident?’
They saw the last flickers of hope in his eyes, because though an accident was just as final, it might be easier to comprehend.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Sam had told him.
Dr Gomez had kept a floor safe in his home office, its steel cover plate hidden by a rug, its combination digital, but it had been opened, indicating either that Sergio or Luisa had been terrorized into disclosing the digits, or forced to open it themselves.
Either way, the safe was empty.
‘Hey,’ Martinez said, in the bedroom. ‘This looks traceable, if it’s real.’
A photograph on the dressing table showed Mrs Gomez wearing a substantial diamond ring and, as with the first case, none of the victims had had any jewelry on their persons when found.
‘We need the doctor’s insurance files,’ Sam said. ‘Here and at his office. We need copy valuations, more photos of jewelry, policy details.’
‘I’m thinking a dentist might take cash from some patients,’ Martinez said. ‘Save on a little tax now and then. Could mount up.’
‘Not enough to make sense of a crime like this,’ Sam said.
‘No,’ Martinez agreed.
Both of them thinking of Laura Gomez again. Neither wanting to do anything to bring her more hurt.
Luisa Gomez’s book, printed and leather-bound, clearly self-published, stood on the bookcase in the living room. Titled Nina and Andres: a daughter’s tribute, copyright date 2007, it looked virtually untouched, more than likely intended as a keepsake for Luisa’s children.
No problem locating it in the Favorites on Sergio Gomez’s desktop computer.
Sam forwarded it to himself and Martinez scanned it swiftly, then searched the text for the Stillwater Drive victims.
No matches.
A guy could hope.
The obvious link, however, was apparent from the opening chapter. Nina Fuentes Garcia, born in 1925 in Madrid, Spain, had traveled to New York City in the fall of 1950 and had met a young Puerto Rican lawyer named Andres Ramos Rodriguez. A love match between a Caucasian woman from a prosperous Spanish family and a man of mixed white and African descent (who, as a returning World War Two veteran, had made use of the education benefits of the GI Bill, and was specializing in representing fellow Puerto Ricans with discrimination cases) was never going to sit easily with Nina’s family, but she and Andres had weathered their storms, married and had one child – their daughter, born Luisa Ramos Fuentes – moving to Florida in the early sixties.
Sam whipped through to where Luisa confirmed what Dr Ortiz had told them: Andres’s death from heart disease and Nina’s sad, slow, mental and, finally, physical decline and death.
‘Homework for us both,’ he said.
‘You think Virginia knew them?’
‘Probably not,’ Sam said. ‘But we need to be sure that nothing except the glaringly obvious might connect them to the other victims.’
‘But this could be random, this scum picking mixed race couples off the fucking Internet …’ Martinez shook his head.
‘We start with crosschecks.’ Sam stayed grounded. ‘Nina and Andres – every damn permutation we can come up with – see how often Luisa’s book shows up.’
‘Then the same for the Stillwater victims,’ Martinez said. ‘And we’re doing this ourselves, why?’
‘Because we need to get into “Virginia’s” head,’ Sam said. ‘Find out how the monster chooses victims. Pray we find something more solid to connect Stillwater and Emerson so we can do more than just hope there won’t be any more.’
‘But if it is just mixed marriages, man …’ Martinez’s eyes were growing more troubled by the second. ‘I mean, this is the next two generations.’
‘I guess that’s Virginia’s point.’
‘You’re going to need to get home some time, talk to Grace again.’
Sam caught his grimness, realized with shock that he’d been so deeply into the case that he’d temporarily almost forgotten the threat of the messages.
In Virginia’
s brain, he and Grace were presumably the guilty ones. But Joshua, their beautiful boy …
Sins of the parents.
Martinez was right. Hell, even Kovac was right.
Jesus.
‘We have a problem,’ Captain Kennedy said to Sam in his office at three p.m. ‘Or at least we have an issue that needs addressing right now.’
‘Do I take it that the issue is my lead?’ Sam asked.
‘The chief has concerns, as does Lieutenant Kovac.’
‘And I’m grateful for everyone’s concern, but I still believe that as investigators on the ground from June the third, along with previous experience, Al and I are the right people to continue with this case.’
‘Martinez isn’t the issue.’ Kennedy paused. ‘We believe you need to be interviewed as a potential victim, Sam.’
Sam frowned. ‘To what end?’
‘There’s a possibility that you might, unwittingly, be burying some possibly useful sliver of information.’
‘I spent most of the first night after Stillwater running over the past, Captain. If I’d come up with something, I’d have shared it.’ Sam paused. ‘Am I allowed to know who came up with this idea?’
‘No need,’ Tom Kennedy said.
‘May I ask if it’s the lieutenant?’
‘It is not, and I’m not about to play Twenty Questions, Sam. Are you willing to be interviewed?’
‘So long as it doesn’t waste too much time. I’m keen to get this task force squared away and to move on asap. For the real victims, sir.’
‘I don’t think you’ll have a problem with this interviewer wasting time,’ Kennedy said. ‘Special Agent Duval contacted us earlier, said he’s available if you feel he could be helpful.’
A small sense of relief washed through Sam.
‘For sure,’ he said.
‘Good,’ Kennedy said. ‘He’s already on his way.’
They had cooperated in three previous major cases, and from the outset, Joe Duval of the FDLE – the Florida Department of Law Enforcement – had worked effectively alongside Sam and Martinez. Duval – early fifties, sharp-featured, slim, fit and a family man – had spent years as a Violent Crimes detective in Chicago, had once completed a criminal personality profiling program with the BSU, and, whilst being a methodical man, he tended, like Sam, to work instinctively as well as logically.
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