The garage light went out.
‘Shit,’ she said, though she was too sleepy to care, and there was enough light coming through the high glass panel in the door for her to be able to see to pick up her purse and attaché case.
She got out of the car, dropped the keys on the floor and stooped, feeling abruptly woozy, fumbled to find the keys, then straightened up and turned to the door that connected the garage to the rest of the house, barely managing to fit the right key in the lock.
‘What is wrong with you, girl?’ she murmured.
Unwashed laundry flitted back into her mind, but she knew she was too damned out of it now to contemplate washing anything, and she could have stayed over at André’s . . .
She got the door open – but suddenly she felt a weird, alarming sense that someone else was in the garage with her, and she started to turn, but her reflexes were off-kilter, and there was someone . . .
‘Hey,’ she said, fear rising.
Something landed on her mouth, a hand, and instinctively she tried to scream and bite it, tasted and smelled latex, but another hand was pushing at her back, propelling her inside, into her house, and she wanted to fight, but she didn’t have any strength . . .
‘That’s it, Elizabeth,’ a voice said right against her ear. ‘No more talking now. You just sleep tight.’
NINETEEN
Sam climbed carefully into bed, trying not to wake Grace, but she rolled over toward him, slid one arm under his shoulders, the other over his chest, and wrapped her legs around his.
Full body hug, just the way they both loved it.
She was naked.
‘I was going to say I’m sorry I woke you,’ Sam said. ‘But that would be a lie.’
‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ Grace’s voice was a little husky.
‘Oh, my,’ Sam said. ‘You’re horny.’
If anyone had asked him, as he’d climbed the staircase after greeting Woody and locking up, if there was a chance in hell he might be up to any kind of sex tonight, he’d have laughed his bone-weariest laugh.
But first he’d looked in on Joshua, and the sweet curves of their little boy’s cheeks and lips and lashes had affected him as they always did, making love swell in him till he was fit to burst. And now his beautiful naked wife was wrapped right around him, and it seemed there might be just a little life left in this old dog yet . . .
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Grace said. ‘If you’re too tired . . .’
He knew she meant it, but his body was waking up.
Was it ever.
‘Oh,’ she said, as she felt him. ‘How lovely.’
Sam thought, for just a moment, about Martinez and Jess, thought that if they were destined to have one-tenth of what he and Grace still had after more than ten years together, they’d be blessed.
And then he stopped thinking about them.
‘Hi, Gracie,’ he said. ‘I’m home.’
And rolled over to face her.
TWENTY
February 12
‘André,’ Elizabeth said.
It was the third time she’d said his name.
He did not answer.
She had come to a few minutes ago and, almost immediately, had wished with all her soul that she had not.
This had to be a nightmare, the worst ever.
She was lying on a cold stone floor, felt the chill and the hardness over the full length of her body.
Knew that she was naked.
There was something around her right ankle, something even colder than the stone beneath her.
Steel.
She opened her eyes and saw that it was a cuff, like a shackle, and that a chain led from it to a thick, vertical metal bar.
One of many bars.
Because Elizabeth was in a cage.
A cage within a padded room.
There were only two runs of bars, one along the wall behind her, the other straight ahead, a gate with a lock in the centre of that run. A pool of dim light wanly illuminated her and the area around her, the light coming from a single overhead bulb screwed into the ceiling.
She couldn’t see what lay beyond the bars ahead of her.
Only darkness.
And within the cage, she was not alone.
André was there, too, which was a mystery to her, because she’d been alone when she’d been taken – and his presence ought to have been some comfort to her, but was not, because he was lying on the ground several feet away from her.
Naked and shackled, like her, and almost certainly unconscious.
If not worse.
Elizabeth had tried repeatedly to rouse him, had called his name softly, warily, then more loudly, even though she was deeply afraid that whoever had brought them both here would hear her voice and come.
But André had not responded, and because he was lying with his back to her, and because the light was so poor, she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not – she couldn’t hear any sounds of breath.
So she was terrified that he might be dying or already dead.
This had to be a nightmare.
Had to be.
Elizabeth thought about her father in Sarasota, how proud of her he’d always been. She thought about her mother, long dead to cancer. About her younger sister, Margie, in law school and all set to follow in big sis’s footsteps. Thought about what this would do to them.
Whatever it turned out to be.
She and André were here for a purpose. Someone’s purpose.
The one who’d been waiting for her in her garage.
She thought about that voice now, about how hushed it had sounded so close against her ear, and she didn’t even know if it had belonged to a man or woman, did not know anything for sure.
‘André,’ she called again.
Nothing.
She’d already moved as close to him as her chain would allow, but now she tried again, felt the pressure of the cold steel shackle on her ankle.
She began to cry, and thoughts began to clamour in her head.
About why they were here, about what it meant.
She thought about rape. She thought about being left here forever, in this cage, with her unconscious, maybe dead, lover. About being left to starve and, over time, to rot away. She thought about torture.
She considered the wisdom or folly of screaming for help.
Her nakedness had stripped away more than clothes or warmth or even dignity. It seemed to have removed almost everything that had made Elizabeth Price special.
Everything except her mind. And even that – especially that – felt alien to her now, too filled with terrors.
Of the worst thing of all.
The unknown.
TWENTY-ONE
Martinez reached for the baseball bat he kept under his bed.
A coiled spring he was not, he registered even as he was straining to get to it in time.
If this was an intruder and if he survived, he vowed to do something about his fitness.
He made it over to the door just as it started to open.
Raised the bat high over his head . . .
Jess crept into the room, barefoot.
‘Jesus, Jessie!’ Martinez put down the bat and turned on the light. ‘You almost got your head smashed in.’
Not just barefoot. She was wearing a matching brassiere and panties in the sheerest imaginable black and scarlet. Martinez had never seen her in anything like it, but she looked like heaven on a plate.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ she said, breathless from the shock of his reaction.
‘There’s surprise,’ he said, ‘and there’s a goddamned heart attack.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have thought.’
‘It’s OK,’ he said, and put his arms around her, delighting instantly in how she felt against him. ‘I’m getting over it already.’
‘You gave me a key, remember?’
‘Sure,’ Martinez said. ‘But you never used it before.’
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‘Do you mind that I did?’
He could feel tension in her now, didn’t know how to make up for ruining her surprise, so he did what came naturally, kissed her and cupped her breasts in his hands, drawing away from her mouth to say: ‘That’s how much I mind.’
‘I bought these for you a while ago.’ Jess fingered her tiny panties. ‘But I never felt right wearing them until tonight. I figured they were perfect for celebrating.’
‘You figured good,’ he said, drawing her to the bed. ‘What happened to going to bed alone and thinking about us?’
‘I tried it.’ She sank down beside him. ‘But it felt lousy.’
‘I’m glad,’ Martinez said.
After they’d made love, Martinez got out of bed to turn out the light, but neither of them could sleep.
‘Do you mind,’ Jess asked, ‘if we talk for a while?’
‘Talking is good,’ Martinez said. ‘I wanted to ask you anyway about how you want to play this? Is it OK with you if we tell people?’
‘I guess,’ Jess said. ‘Except, I know we’re in different units, but what if the department doesn’t want engaged people working in the same building?’
‘I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,’ Martinez said. ‘But anyway, it’s just Sam I’m thinking about telling, for now.’
She took a moment. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘He’s a good guy.’
‘He’s the best,’ Martinez said. ‘He’ll want to tell Grace, too, because they tell each other everything, but they won’t spread it around if we ask them not to.’
‘I guess that’s all right then.’ She smiled into the dark. ‘It’s going to make you happy telling Sam, isn’t it?’
‘He’s my friend,’ Martinez said. ‘They’re both going to be happy for us.’
‘Then you go right ahead and tell them.’
‘Who are you going to tell? Your mom and dad?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jess said, ‘because if I do, they’ll want to fly over, and Mom hasn’t been doing too good.’
‘You didn’t tell me that,’ Martinez said, concerned.
‘You’ve been busy.’
‘I’m never too busy to hear your troubles, Jessie.’
‘She’s had some women’s stuff, you know? And I think travelling might be a little much for her right now.’
‘Then maybe you should wait till we can get to Cleveland.’
‘You wouldn’t mind doing that?’ Jess asked.
‘You kidding me?’ Martinez said. ‘I can’t wait to meet the people who made you.’ He hesitated. ‘Though maybe they might think you could do better for yourself.’
‘They won’t think that, because it isn’t true,’ Jess said. ‘And even if they did, it wouldn’t make me change my mind. But they never would.’
Martinez shifted position, but that took him away from Jess, so he moved back again, and he’d thought he’d never be comfortable sharing a bed with anyone long-term, but with Jessie even that was different.
‘I was thinking I wanted to get you a ring,’ he said. ‘But if you don’t want to tell people at the station . . .’
‘You can still get me a ring, Al,’ she said. ‘I might just not wear it to work.’
‘That’s good,’ he said.
‘So this is real?’ Jess asked softly.
‘As real as this.’ Martinez kissed her again, her smooth forehead first, then her lips. ‘You feel that?’
She made a murmur of assent.
‘Any time you get a doubt in your head,’ he said, ‘you shut your gorgeous eyes and remember how that feels.’
‘It feels real beautiful,’ Jess said.
‘Like you,’ he said.
TWENTY-TWO
Sam got to the Opera Café at seven ten Thursday morning, with plenty of time before the meeting he’d arranged at Beatty Management at eight thirty, and in the mood to treat himself to a decent breakfast with the added bonus of knowing that Cathy was on early shift.
She was waiting on customers at a window table, so he held back on a hug and sat at a vacant table halfway back. From the kitchen, Dooley saw him through the glass partition and waved, and about three seconds later, Simone came through the street door and planted a kiss on his daughter’s cheek, which delighted Sam.
He felt good about this for Cathy.
Dooley was starting the day, audio-wise, with the duet from the first act of Marriage of Figaro, and that was fine, too. Sam watched as Simone took over from Cathy, who grinned at him and transferred into the kitchen to help Dooley, and within moments she was hard at work back there, and her movements looked deft and calm, and there was something about her bearing and expression that looked just right to Sam, as if Cathy really might have found her métier.
Which made him just so happy for her, made him want to call Grace and share the feeling with her.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he drew it out, took the call.
‘Hey, man,’ Martinez said.
He sounded good, too.
‘So?’ Sam hoped there was no need to hold back. ‘How was your evening?’
‘Pretty good.’
‘If you don’t want to talk on the phone,’ Sam said, ‘I can wait.’
‘Yeah,’ Martinez said. ‘Let’s wait.’
‘Works for me.’ Sam called his bluff. ‘Collins and 73rd, twenty after, OK?’
Martinez couldn’t stand it.
‘She said yes, man.’ His voice sounded almost like it was bubbling.
‘That’s so great,’ Sam told him. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’
‘Me too, man,’ Martinez said. ‘Never been happier in my whole life.’
Larry Beatty was out of the office when they arrived at Beatty Management, but Allison Moore was ready and waiting for them, having assembled everything the detectives had asked for.
‘All the gallery’s records from their last five years.’
She’d provided an office at the rear for as long they needed it, had laid out everything on the teak desk together with a pot of coffee and some small bottles of Evian water. ‘Exhibitions, artists, items sold, clients.’ She paused. ‘A bunch of photographs, too, of exhibits, sculptures, that kind of thing – anything I thought might be useful.’
‘If only everyone was as helpful,’ Sam told her, ‘our lives would be a whole lot easier.’
‘I just hope it does help,’ Ally Moore said. ‘Those poor people.’
‘If it doesn’t give us anything directly,’ Martinez said, ‘it’ll help by elimination.’
‘I guess that’s something.’ She hesitated. ‘I was taking a look through the old catalogues – I mean, I didn’t really know what to be looking for, except for what I heard about the weird plastic thing – but there was an acrylic sculpture exhibit two years ago.’
‘Where did you hear that?’ Sam asked.
‘It’s there,’ she said, ‘in one of the catalogues.’
‘Detective Becket means where did you hear about the “weird plastic thing”?’ Martinez’s antennae were up too, because there had been no moment on Saturday when the scene in the backyard could have been visible to her or her boss.
‘I don’t remember,’ the young woman said. ‘I think it was one of the people milling around – Crime Scene people, I guess.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘If there’s anything you want to tell us, Ms Moore,’ Sam said, ‘now would be the best time.’
‘There’s nothing,’ she said.
Sam watched her, saw something that might have been evasiveness or plain old-fashioned nervousness because she was being quizzed by detectives in a grim double homicide.
‘Something you saw, maybe?’ Martinez said.
‘You never know what’s going to make a difference.’ Sam was gentle.
‘I guess not,’ she said. ‘If there were anything.’
‘But there isn’t?’ Martinez said.
‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Or I’d tell you.’
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br /> ‘And you can’t remember exactly who mentioned the “weird plastic thing”,’ Sam said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Maybe it’ll come back to you,’ Martinez said.
Moore shook her head in a helpless gesture, her red hair bouncing a little. ‘I was just hoping I could help.’
‘You already have.’ Sam gestured at the paperwork on the table. ‘Though there is one more thing, if you don’t mind.’
‘Anything,’ she said.
‘A little blood was found in the house,’ Sam told her. ‘Not much, and almost certainly unconnected to the crime, but same as with the fingerprints, it would make sense to ask you to provide a voluntary sample for DNA purposes.’
Now Moore looked downright edgy.
‘Just a simple swab,’ Sam said. ‘Not blood.’
‘Do you remember cutting yourself at any time in the gallery?’ Martinez asked her.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’
‘It could have been no more than a scratch,’ Sam said. ‘Something you hardly noticed at the time.’
‘That’s why it’s better to be sure,’ Martinez said.
‘Only if you give your consent,’ Sam said. ‘Nothing for you to be worried about.’
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ Sam said.
‘Did you find my fingerprints in the house?’ she asked.
‘Sure did,’ Sam said.
‘So if you hadn’t had my prints to compare, you’d have been looking for some unknown person,’ Moore said.
‘You got it,’ Martinez said.
Sam and Martinez returned to that moment later, after they’d finished trawling through the material Moore had set out for them, finding, at first sift, nothing of apparent use, the acrylic exhibit having been of animal sculptures that Sam thought looked like poor imitations of Steuben Glass.
‘So where’d she get that from,’ Martinez said, ‘about the plastic?’
They were sitting in the Chevy out on Collins, tourists and locals flowing by, enjoying the sunny late morning, checking out places for lunch before some of them headed back to the beach.
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