‘Crazy for them,’ Effie said.
Sam moved into the doorway.
There was a glass case on the other side of the room.
Three small silver trophies inside.
‘What are they for?’ he asked Effie.
‘Golf.’ She smiled. ‘Another passion.’
‘Where does he play, do you know?’ Sam asked.
‘Why?’ Effie asked. ‘Do you play too?’
‘Just interested,’ Sam said.
‘Mostly, Anthony plays at the Diplomat,’ Effie said. ‘In Hallandale.’
‘I’ll bet it’s a nice course,’ Sam said.
‘He likes it,’ Effie said. ‘He spends enough time there.’
SIXTY-TWO
The dinner party for Martinez and Jess went well, though Sam was finding it harder than ever to get the victims out of his mind, and the dysfunctional Christous, too – and so the hell what if Anthony played golf, because thousands of middle-aged men in Miami-Dade and Broward played the game, and sure they’d go collect a few grains of sand from the bunkers at his golf club, and they’d definitely go on checking on Karen’s love life. But the fact was, a Greek dish with paprika and cream on a guy’s restaurant menu didn’t mean a heck of a lot.
Grace had known he was feeling down the instant he’d come home.
‘It’s a shame we’re doing this tonight,’ she’d said. ‘You need a long soak and a back rub and some good old-fashioned TLC, and I can’t give you any.’
‘You’re making a party for my best buddy,’ Sam had said. ‘I’d say that was more than enough.’
She’d made sure the television was turned off some time before the others arrived, but not before Sam had seen and heard a whole lot of criticism of the department. And he did feel so bad about that, felt responsible, and he’d made up his mind on the drive home that he was going to tell Alvarez tomorrow that if they didn’t have a major breakthrough in the next few days, he was going to call off the cruise because patently he no longer had any real alternative.
Which made him sad as hell.
Still, it was turning out to be a good party anyway, because Grace was a great hostess at any time, but when it was for people she really cared about, then the small house just seemed to hum with welcome.
‘I did it,’ Martinez told them when he and Jess arrived. ‘She’s wearing my ring, guys.’
‘Jess, let me see.’ Grace drew the younger woman into the doorway of the den so that she could admire it. ‘Oh, that is gorgeous.’
Jess held out her fingers, turning her hand so the overhead light caught the stones; and Martinez had chosen blue sapphires, three little precious gems set with tiny diamonds in yellow gold.
‘I love it so much,’ she told Grace. ‘Al said he was stressing in case I’d set my heart on just diamonds, but he said these reminded him of my eyes, and I couldn’t wish for anything more beautiful.’
‘I can imagine.’ Grace squeezed her hand gently, found it cold, realized that she was nervous. ‘It really is lovely, Jess. We’re so happy for you both.’
‘Yours is really beautiful.’
Grace caught the younger woman’s expression, thought for a second that she saw a touch of envy, and was abruptly mad at herself for wearing her diamond eternity ring in case it made Martinez uncomfortable, though she knew that was probably nonsense.
‘Sam bought me this after Joshua was born,’ she confided in Jess, hoping it would help. ‘I never really had an engagement ring at all.’
And the light of pure pleasure returned to the new fiancée’s eyes.
The others arrived, first Saul and Cathy, then David with Mildred, wearing a new black dress, which Grace knew David had encouraged her to buy and had wanted to help pay for, but Mildred had insisted she had enough put by.
‘You look wonderful,’ Grace told her.
‘Hardly,’ Mildred said.
‘Mildred hates accepting compliments,’ David said.
‘I hope you have a spare apron,’ Mildred said to Grace, ignoring him, ‘so I can help you.’
‘Not tonight,’ Grace told her.
‘We’ll see,’ Mildred said.
‘Are you feeling OK, baby?’ Jess asked Martinez while they sipped Sam’s Bellini cocktails out on the deck, everyone except Grace and Mildred outside enjoying the still-warm evening air.
‘I’m great.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Never been happier.’
‘You don’t look so great,’ she persisted.
‘OK, you got me.’ He lowered his voice, not wanting anyone else to hear. ‘I’m not feeling too good, but it’s nothing, just Sam’s head-cold, and I’m not going to let it spoil tonight, right?’
‘Sure.’ Jess stroked his cheek. ‘I just want to take care of you.’
‘Tonight,’ Martinez said, ‘I don’t need taking care of.’
He took another sip, and it tasted fine, but he was beginning to wonder if he was maybe getting the flu. Which made him feel guilty because Grace had gone to so much trouble, and the house looked so festive, not to mention Jessie, who looked like a goddamned angel again in her pretty summer dress with her hair blowing in the breeze off the water . . .
‘If everyone’s ready – ’ Grace said from the doorway – ‘we could eat.’
‘I’m always ready for your dinners, Gracie,’ David said. ‘What Tuscan pleasures await us this evening?’
‘We’re pretty much American tonight.’ Grace spoke more softly as they walked through into the lanai. ‘Mildred’s insisting on helping me, but I want her to enjoy herself.’
‘She enjoys helping, you know that.’
‘Are my ears burning?’ Mildred came in from the kitchen.
‘Grace and I agree,’ David said, taking her arm, ‘that you look much too elegant to be getting mussed up in the kitchen.’
‘Are you saying I’m mussed up?’ Mildred asked, patting her hair.
‘Not remotely,’ David said. ‘You still look beautiful.’
They often had celebratory dinners at the big old kitchen table, even on Thanksgiving and at Christmas, using the lanai as a sitting room, especially on consulting days when the den was out of commission, but this evening she and Sam had moved things around to turn the lanai into a dining room. Grace had wanted Martinez and Jess to feel extra special, had made the whole place sparkle with candles and silverware and snowy napkins, and they were having stone crabs for their appetizer, followed by grilled tenderloin – Martinez’s favourite – with Béarnaise sauce, sautéed potatoes and enough variety of vegetables to please everyone. And the only Italian touches were coming with dessert in the form of zabaglione, ice cream and home-baked biscotti di Prato complete with little glasses of vin santo in which to dunk the biscuits.
Two-thirds of the way through dinner, while Grace was safely ensconced in the kitchen with Cathy, whisking up the last-minute dessert, Sam drew Saul out on to the deck, away from the others, to tell him about the cruise.
‘Though the way things are going down at work,’ he said quietly, ‘it may not happen at all, but if it does, I’m going to need you and Cathy to help me out.’
He swiftly outlined the rough schedule he had in mind if a miracle happened and he didn’t have to cancel.
‘You can’t,’ Saul told him. ‘It’s such a great idea. You guys have to go.’
‘Tell that to the victims’ families,’ Sam said.
‘I know,’ Saul said. ‘I get how you’re feeling, but this is just a few days, and Grace is so amazing, and you both deserve it. I’ll take care of telling Cathy, and between us we’ll get Grace out of the house when the time comes, and Cathy can do her packing.’ His brown eyes were shining. ‘And man, you just can’t cancel this.’
Sam felt lighter after that, and Grace and Cathy brought in the desserts, and he poured the vin santo, which made it the right time for more toasts to the happy couple, and then it was all about rave reviews for the zabaglione and the vanilla ice cream that Grace had made the previous day.
&nb
sp; ‘I never had a happier evening in my whole life,’ Jess told Sam later out in the hallway, as they were all saying their farewells. ‘Except I really think Al’s getting sick, though you’d hardly have known it, he’s been so brave.’
Sam looked over at Martinez, still thanking Grace, and he thought Jess was right, his friend looked far from well, and it struck him that his partner going down with the flu might be the final nail in the coffin for the cruise.
‘And I just wanted to thank you – ’ Jess was still speaking, and he snapped back to the moment – ‘for how you helped me out at lunchtime, and I still can’t believe I did that, and I just feel dumber than dumb.’
‘It was nothing,’ Sam told her.
‘It was not nothing,’ Jess said. ‘You were so kind.’
Cathy, three feet away and overhearing, glanced across at Mildred and noticed that her expressive eyebrows were just a little raised, and a look passed between them: a small tacit agreement that took just a little of the pleasure out of Cathy’s evening.
SIXTY-THREE
February 20
‘Man, I feel rough,’ Martinez told Sam before the Friday morning squad meeting. ‘I think it’s more than a head cold.’
‘You think you have a fever?’ Sam asked.
‘If I have,’ Martinez said darkly, ‘I don’t want to know about it.’
The Resslers’ deaths had brought them nothing new except heartache.
Evelyn and Frank’s last meal had been white fish, potatoes, carrots and temazepam – the food neither Greek nor Hungarian – and Barbara Herman had told the City of Miami detectives that they’d probably eaten at home that last evening – and sometimes her mother cooked on Mondays, but sometimes they got takeout, and she didn’t know where from because her parents had taken pride in managing by themselves.
All the distinctive features of the first two killings were there. A spotlessly clean kitchen. Abduction and evidence of shackling, the same drug in their system, fatal wounds to their throats and bizarre displaying of the bodies.
‘Pure flaunting,’ Sam said now.
‘Jesus,’ Martinez said weakly.
And collapsed.
SIXTY-FOUR
Not working this morning, Cathy had arrived back at her parents’ house early enough to help Grace finish clearing up.
‘This really wasn’t necessary,’ Grace said now, as they worked together, returning the lanai to its usual layout.
‘I knew Sam couldn’t be here to help, so why should you have to do it all?’
‘It’s appreciated,’ Grace said.
Cathy waited for their coffee break in the kitchen – dunking leftover biscotti into their cappuccinos – to ask the question uppermost in her mind.
‘What do you really think of Jess?’
Grace caught the ‘really’, but answered without questioning it. ‘I find her a very sweet-natured person. I still don’t feel I know her well, but how could I? I’m certainly truly happy for Al.’
‘I’d like to be,’ Cathy said.
‘But you’re not?’ Grace was surprised. ‘How come?’
‘I’m not sure I’m the only one either,’ Cathy said. ‘I had the feeling Mildred was thinking the same.’
‘Which was what?’ Grace asked curiously, since though Mildred was certainly possessed of strong opinions, she was also particularly non-judgmental.
‘I can’t tell you exactly what Mildred was thinking.’ Cathy broke off a small piece of biscotti and dropped it for Woody. ‘We didn’t speak about it last night, obviously, but I caught her eye one time, and there was a real look in it.’
‘So forgetting Mildred,’ Grace said, ‘what’s your problem with Jess?’
‘You’re going to laugh at me.’
‘Try me.’
‘I think she’s jealous of you,’ Cathy said.
‘You’re right,’ Grace said. ‘I am laughing at you.’
‘And maybe you’re right,’ Cathy said. ‘It’s just a feeling I kept getting, though I know she spent half the evening telling you how great you are.’
‘She certainly kept telling me how grateful she was, which I asked her to stop after a while, because you know we were just happy to do it.’
‘You did it for Al,’ Cathy said.
‘That’s not entirely true,’ Grace said. ‘Of course it’s Al we’re happiest for, but Jess has brought him love.’
‘I was watching her watching you,’ Cathy went on. ‘And I was watching her looking at Sam.’ She paused. ‘I think she may have a thing for him.’
‘That’s absurd,’ Grace said.
‘Why is it?’
‘Because she’s in love with Martinez.’
‘Maybe,’ Cathy said.
‘Oh, stop,’ Grace said, and laughed.
‘Crazy thought?’ Cathy asked. ‘I really want it to be crazy.’
‘It is,’ Grace said. ‘Definitely.’
Not a doubt in her mind.
SIXTY-FIVE
Martinez was in the ER at Miami General, being thoroughly checked out.
He was conscious, had, it seemed, simply fainted, but he had chills and a high fever, muscle and joint pain, and he had vomited a while back, plus his cough and headache had both worsened since yesterday.
‘It could be anything,’ one of the doctors told Sam.
Tests, in other words. A whole bunch of them.
Martinez looked scared, and Sam could not remember ever seeing him look that way, but then Jess arrived, pale with alarm, and instantly her fiancé seemed a little easier, making Sam more thankful for her than ever.
‘You better go, man,’ Martinez told Sam. ‘Catch the fuckers.’
‘Back later,’ Sam said.
‘No need,’ Martinez said. ‘I got Jessie here.’
‘That’s good,’ Sam said, and saw the fear bright in Jess’s eyes. ‘He’ll be fine.’
‘I know he will,’ she said.
But the fear was still there.
Sam drove fast back to the station and went straight to Alvarez, who told him he’d moved Beth Riley off other duties so she could replace Martinez until he was better.
‘He looks pretty bad,’ Sam said. ‘Tell the truth, I’m worried as hell.’
‘You need time off to be with him?’ Alvarez asked.
‘There’s no way,’ Sam said. ‘And believe me, Al wants me on the case.’
‘And you’re stressing because you booked vacation.’
‘If things go on downhill,’ Sam said, ‘I’m going to cancel.’
Alvarez, behind his desk, looked up at the tall, handsome detective, one of the best he’d worked with but, right now, at his professional bleakest.
‘Sit down, Sam,’ he told him.
‘There’s no time,’ Sam said.
‘Sit,’ Alvarez said.
Sam sat.
‘I don’t think you should cancel,’ Alvarez said. ‘If there’s one thing this job – and even a close friend’s illness – should teach us all, it’s to make the most of every moment with the people who count.’
The sergeant’s predecessor, Kovac, had been the bane of Sam’s and Martinez’s daily lives, and Sam often felt gratitude for their luck in having landed this man as his successor. Alvarez had come through the ranks, had been a detective for fifteen years before making sergeant, that hard experience respected by all the detectives, as well as his natural empathy.
‘I get that,’ Sam said. ‘But surely that goes for my colleagues too. And for the victims’ families.’
‘Goes without saying,’ Alvarez said, ‘but there are plans and then there are plans. And I don’t want to hear of you cancelling this vacation with Grace unless the sky really starts caving in, OK?’
Sam doubted that Captain Kennedy would be looking at his personal arrangements with such compassion, nor would Sam expect him to, and he wondered abruptly if some upstairs might consider that Michael Alvarez had gone too soft. And just the thought of being the cause of any criticism of this decent
man sparked more guilt in Sam.
Guilt, at a time like this, equalled procrastination.
No use to anyone, least of all the victims.
‘OK,’ he said to his sergeant. ‘Thank you.’
And went back to work.
Anthony Christou had called to cancel their appointment, which pissed Sam off a little, but Mary Cutter – having found nothing of interest in the website’s list of purchasers of their plastic dome covers – had gone up to Hallandale to collect some sand, and for now Sam and Riley were poring over the exhibition theory again, trying to link up past crimes involving artists or gallery owners or even collectors. Riley had already set up a bunch of meetings with key gallery managers and art schools, because who the hell knew, they might learn something about an artist or sculptor whose work might somehow connect to the killer’s warped kind of serial ‘art’.
‘God knows we need something more solid than just a possible hate of happy couples,’ Riley said en route to a gallery in Lincoln Road.
Sam had, for no good reason, expected her car to be tidier than his partner’s, but Riley’s Impala was littered with candy wrappers, and Lord knew how someone with such a sweet tooth could stay as wiry as Riley, but life was unfair.
‘Hate, envy, resentment, maybe even screwed up love,’ he said, as she drove. ‘Or none of the above.’ He paused. ‘Taking it back to art, I’d lean toward sculpting. I’d guess it helps to be physically strong to be a sculptor, and they’re the most likely to use unusual materials.’
‘All kinds of artists use glue,’ said Riley.
‘That’s true,’ Sam said. ‘You heard of Rauschenberg?’
‘Collages, right?’ Riley caught his nod. ‘Plenty of weird art around now.’ She saw the De Longho Gallery up ahead, pulled over into a parking space. ‘How about that Brit who exhibits dead animals?’
‘Damien Hirst,’ Sam said. ‘I think he preserves them in formaldehyde.’
‘Nice.’ Riley turned off the engine. ‘So why not John Hercules?’
‘Martinez checked him out.’ Sam shook his head. ‘No record, no marriages gone sour, no known bad relationships or sociopathic tendencies. His work couldn’t relate less – mostly abstracts in metal and clay – besides which, word is he spends most of his working time these days drinking.’
Caged Page 15
