The people within these walls were kindly, were doing their best to save her life, but Sam didn’t know if Mildred would be able to feel gratitude or any measure of relief, or if she might be frustrated or even angry at being penned in.
He hoped she wouldn’t be too afraid.
He hoped that she would, above all, have the will to go on living.
‘It’s Samuel,’ he told her, squeezing her right hand gently. ‘You be strong.’
The machines beeped softly, continued on their way.
‘I got a bottle of Concord Grape with your name on it, Mildred,’ he said, ‘just waiting for you to get out of here.’
Now he wanted to weep.
So he got the hell out before he started.
95
David came downstairs at ten to five.
Grace heard him, stopped rocking before the door opened.
‘You should be sleeping,’ she told him.
Knowing suddenly, despite that, that he was one person to whom she could bear to speak.
‘I slept,’ he said.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Grace said, ‘you’d consider going home to bed.’
‘You don’t suppose right,’ he said.
She patted the couch. ‘Join me?’
‘I may be infectious,’ David said.
A thousand instant thoughts flew like sharp-billed birds through Grace’s mind – all coming down to one that pecked right into her heart. The very worst thought. That she might never again have to worry about Joshua catching the flu or any other illness.
‘Sit with me,’ she said. ‘Please.’
Saul appeared in the doorway.
‘You look worse than I do, son,’ his father told him.
‘Mind if I join you guys?’ Saul asked.
A second person she didn’t mind.
‘Come,’ Grace said.
The three of them sat in a line on the couch, not speaking much, not huddling together, just their arms touching lightly.
Small comfort, for a very little while.
96
In the darkness, Cal was taking Baby out of the marina.
Cal the Sailor again.
Liberating one more dinghy as he left Flamingo – easy as blinking, two slices with his knife and more than enough line left to lash her to Baby’s cleat.
Cleat-clit.
Good job.
The police activity inland was growing ever more audible, plenty more sirens, and if he’d gone ashore he imagined he’d have seen black-and-whites moving back and forth, spreading through Miami Beach and the city and beyond, maybe coming out to the marinas, large and small, all hands out there now, all looking for the cop’s kid and for him . . .
He was not going ashore, not for a long while, maybe never.
Heading north.
The rain was getting heavier, though the storm was not yet quite overhead, but still it was angry sounding, thunder and lightning coming in great clusters all around, rumbles and deeper, more violent claps, the flashes like ten thousand paparazzi cameras lighting up heaven . . .
Not going there, for sure.
Cal took Baby carefully through the markers in the dark waters, steering her around Belle Island and on through the channel and past the Sunset Islands, trying to keep to just under the prescribed thirty miles an hour, because no way was he going to risk attracting unnecessary attention.
Maybe he’d just keep on going until he ran out of fuel.
Maybe he’d head out through Haulover Cut right out to sea, then drift around in that vast old Atlantic bathtub and starve to death.
Except they wouldn’t let him do that.
Nothing so easy.
He passed beneath the east bridge of the Julia Tuttle Causeway again, just the way he had with Tabby on board, though the waters were choppier tonight, and he saw that another boat was coming his way through the Moley Channel, and his insides lurched with Baby’s motion and clenched up with fear at the same time, because maybe this was it, maybe they were coming for him . . .
Not the Coast Guard, nor the cops, not yet at least. Just an old fishing boat chugging its way home or out for an early start, its owner minding his own business, and soon enough Baby was passing unhindered under 79th, making the curve around Normandy Isle. He’d gotten to know these waters pretty well, one way or another, and Cal thought he might miss them after he was gone, figured it might have been fun to spend innocent, carefree time around here, taking his little cruiser out for long days around the Bay and beyond, maybe doing a little fishing of his own or even learning to dive, and he’d seen on his chart that there were a bunch of sunken ships right off Miami Beach, even a goddamned 727 airplane which had broken in half after some tropical storm; though most of the wrecks, Cal knew, had been deliberately submerged to make artificial reefs, which to his way of thinking made it a whole lot less fun than if they’d sunk or crashed and burned by accident . . .
Concentrate, he told himself, passing under the last causeway before Haulover, cutting his speed further, making sure he stuck between the right markers, because he was almost there now, and in the Cut itself the water was even more turbulent than it had been last night, giving Baby a pounding, but she was doing great, she was fine, and he loved her for taking such good care of him, loved her more, he thought, feeling his heart seem to expand, than he’d ever loved any human, even Jewel.
And then he was through the worst of it, and back out in the great, free ocean, and he said the word out loud:
‘Free.’
Then said it again, louder still, letting the vowels stretch into the night air.
‘Freee . . .’
And then he cut the engine.
Not ready to weigh anchor, not yet.
He felt better out here, up in the open salty air with the wild, flashing sky above, and he guessed now that there was no God after all, because now would surely have been the moment for Him to strike him down with a thunderbolt, maybe turn Baby into a goddamned floating Old Sparky – though maybe He was just biding His time, and if it did happen, if Cal had time to register, to feel, maybe he’d be nothing much more than grateful. But for now, it was just the ocean and the flaring skies keeping the rest of it at bay for a little while longer, making believe it was just him and Baby and their new dink on the start of a voyage. And he had a little cash now, because he’d taken over a hundred bucks from Jewel’s wallet, and her cell phone, too, so if he wanted to . . .
He doubted he was going to have much use for the cash.
Neither in jail nor in hell.
But he was going to use her phone, rather than his own.
Just as soon as he felt strong enough.
No one to help him now, no one left in the whole miserable fucking world.
Which was all their fault.
Becket’s mostly.
Though not the baby’s, poor little kid.
At least Cal thought he’d seemed to enjoy the tandem ride.
No more rides on Daisy for Cal.
God, he was tired now, would have liked to sleep again.
The last of the Rest-Ezee had gone into the kid, because he couldn’t risk him bawling his little lungs out back in the marina.
Not a peep out of him since then.
Just a few more things Cal had to do before he made his call.
Miles to go.
Going nowhere.
97
The phone rang just as Sam came through the front door.
‘I’ll get it!’ Grace cried out, already in the hallway because she’d heard the Chevy pull up, had known it was Martinez’s car.
Sam’s arms were empty.
She turned, pushed past David and Saul back into the den, snatched up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry,’ a male voice said.
She knew him right away.
‘Jerome,’ Grace said, and began to shake.
Sam, right behind her, signalled to her to keep Cooper talking, then moved silently out of the room and into the kit
chen to pick up the cordless extension, while two officers at the table, ready and calm, went for a trace.
‘I didn’t plan on taking the baby,’ Jerome told Grace. ‘Not at—’
‘Where is he?’ Grace’s voice was high and sharp. ‘What have you—?’
‘If you want him back,’ Jerome said, ‘shut up.’
‘All right,’ Grace said.
Her mind felt split in a kind of bifocal concentration, most of it riveted by Cooper, waiting for him to speak again, wanting to reach through the phone and physically drag the words, the truth, out of his throat; but another portion of her brain free enough to be aware of the goings on in the house as Martinez came in, took in the situation, slipped silently into the kitchen with the others.
‘Remember baby Moses?’ said Jerome Cooper.
Bulrushes flew into Grace’s mind – then boats bearing bodies.
‘You put him in a boat,’ she said.
‘I said shut up,’ Jerome told her, and the connection crackled.
‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said, and stopped breathing.
‘Closer than you think,’ Jerome said.
And ended the call.
Grace gave a cry, threw the phone on to the couch and pushed past uniforms into the kitchen, saw instantly from Sam’s expression that it had been too short.
‘Not enough time,’ one of the officers at the table confirmed.
‘In a boat,’ Sam said, and grasped Grace’s left hand. ‘Joshua’s in a boat.’
‘He didn’t say that, I did.’ Grace pulled her hand free. ‘He said “Remember baby Moses”.’
‘He’s in a boat,’ Sam said with grim and absolute certainty.
‘The line was bad,’ Grace said. ‘There was interference.’
‘The storm,’ Sam said.
Still rolling around out there.
‘Closer than you think.’
‘Miami-Dade and the Coast Guard can get their choppers up at dawn,’ Martinez said.
‘Someone get me a boat,’ Sam said. ‘Now.’
‘It’s too dark,’ Mary Cutter said.
‘You think I’m waiting for light?’ Sam said.
‘I’m not sure you have a choice, son,’ David said from out in the hallway. ‘With the storm and—’
‘Drew Miller has a powerboat,’ Grace broke in.
Their neighbour, three houses along.
Sam was already halfway to the front door.
Grace right behind him.
He turned to hug her.
‘Don’t bother,’ Grace told him. ‘I’m coming with you.’
98
Cal was too afraid to look at the baby again.
It had been so still and silent when he’d opened the hatch and taken the basket out of the storage space beneath, such a reproachful looking thing that he’d had to tear his eyes away from it.
He supposed he ought to check its pulse.
Not it. He. His pulse.
If he still had one.
Cal wasn’t sure how much a baby that age could withstand. He knew it had survived being removed from its crib, knew it had taken pretty well to the long cycle ride – well enough to have still been alive, anyway – but then it had been given crushed up Rest-Ezee and put down under the floor, and he’d thought about air, had figured it would be able to breathe, but he didn’t know that for sure, didn’t know if there’d been enough air getting through to its little lungs . . .
‘Where is the baby?’ Jewel had asked him.
He would have told her if she’d only given him a chance.
But she’d backhanded him instead.
‘I didn’t mean it,’ Cal said now.
And chanced another swift glance at the kid.
Too still.
Cal looked away again.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Real sorry.’
99
Their neighbour’s boat was named Windswept.
Three of them were on board, all wearing life-jackets and the nearest to boating shoes in all their sizes that they’d been able to dig up in their own and Drew Miller’s wardrobes. Martinez had been as insistent as Grace on coming along. An extra pair of eyes, he’d said, and no one had argued with him, though when Miller had offered to take them out, he had been thanked but refused, because no way was Sam going to risk harm coming to a civilian.
‘Any damage,’ Sam had told him, ‘we’ll take care of it.’
‘Do you think I give a damn?’ Miller had said. ‘Just find your son.’
A swift rush of something like love had made Sam hug the guy, and then Miller had shown them the controls, helped them untie the lines and then walked away.
‘Riley just called,’ Martinez told Sam as they began to move. ‘Wants you to know Alvarez is riding with her, and a lot of our people are heading out on boats too.’ His smile was grim. ‘Sounds like Dunkirk.’
‘That’s great,’ Sam said.
Time to thank them all later.
‘Careful,’ Grace told him now.
Neither of them were sailors, though she had, years ago, planned to buy a small boat of her own some day, that particular ambition sunk by a terrifying experience she’d never been able to entirely forget.
Lord knew she’d go through worse than that to get Joshua safely back.
‘You gotta stay between the markers,’ Martinez said. ‘I don’t know much, but I know it’s shallow and if we hit bottom, we’re not going anyplace.’
‘You guys just watch the water,’ Sam told them.
Neither Grace nor Martinez needing the reminder.
The rainpower increased, became a Florida deluge, making visibility harder and their concentration even greater, and the sporadic lightning flashes flooding the sky turned the dark waters to monochrome and silver, granting them seconds at a time to scan the choppy surface around the powerboat. They had two flashlights and a small searchlight given to them by one of the patrol units, and a pair of binoculars loaned them by Drew Miller, but all the inadequate fragments of light brought them more illusions than clarity; and as Sam moved the Windswept cautiously into Indian Creek, each time Grace saw so much as the glint of a ripple, her heart leapt crazily, but then she looked more closely and there was nothing to see but white froth and black water.
Closer than you think, Cooper had said.
Though perhaps that had been mind games, maybe even the ultimate perverse desire to lure them out here, and maybe Joshua was on land after all.
But Grace didn’t believe that.
‘Moses was found in a river,’ she said.
‘Miami River, you think?’ Martinez said.
‘Just watch the water,’ Sam told them.
100
Cal had finished making all his preparations.
The torrential rains had slowed, the big drops falling more steadily again, and it seemed to him now that the sky was not quite as dark as it had been just a short while ago.
First glimmer of dawn way ahead on the horizon.
Straight on till morning.
Jewel had taken him to see Peter Pan once upon a time, back home in Peoria, before they’d moved upstate in search of some kind of better life, and she’d been strange even in those early days, but Chicago had made her worse.
He remembered how much he’d enjoyed the Disney movie, remembered feeling that Jewel had seemed almost like a real mom that afternoon.
Hadn’t even lasted till evening, as he recalled.
‘Hey, mom,’ he said to her now.
Not sure if he was talking to the body down below or something further away.
No heaven for Jewel, that was for sure.
The sudden realization that she might be waiting for him down in hell added a whole new dimension to what he’d already been feeling.
Forget fear.
That was real terror.
101
There was nothing to be seen in the narrow channels leading around La Gorce Island, but a whole lot of lights and activity way up ahead around the JFK
Causeway and beyond in Biscayne Bay.
‘Our people out that way.’ Martinez had been listening to the radio, had it jammed up against his right ear. ‘But no sightings yet.’
‘No sense heading the same way then,’ Sam said.
The storm was easing, the rain almost past as he took the Windswept around in a curve, and the sudden impulse to drive this fine boat at full power, just to get them to Joshua as fast as he could, was hard to resist, but common sense won, kept him slow and steady, because the weather notwithstanding, wherever their beautiful boy was, Sam would be damned if he was going to make one single extra wave that might put Joshua in even greater danger.
‘The ocean.’ Grace spoke suddenly, raising her voice to be heard above the engine. ‘He’s taken him out to sea.’
‘Perhaps,’ Sam said. ‘Or he might have—’
‘It’s the ocean.’ She was insistent.
‘We’ll get out there,’ Sam said, ‘but we have to take it slow.’
‘I know it, Sam.’ Grace’s voice was shrill now. ‘I don’t know why, but I do.’
Sam took a look back at her, could see her eyes, almost wild, in the light from Martinez’s flashlight.
‘Better get out there, man,’ his partner said, having learned through the years, same as Sam, to trust Grace’s intuition.
His radio clamoured and he lifted it to his ear again, screwing up his face, trying to listen.
‘What?’ Sam asked.
‘Suspicious activity at Flamingo Marina a few hours ago.’ Martinez spoke fast, keeping pace with what the dispatcher was reporting. ‘Disturbance on a cruiser moored there.’
‘What time?’ asked Sam.
‘Around two a.m. –’ Martinez went on listening – ‘and not the first time it’s happened.’ His dark eyes glinted with anger and frustration, because it had taken the fucking idiot witness so much time to call it in. ‘Boat got taken out a while back,’ he said. ‘It’s an old white Baja cruiser name of Baby.’
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