Something else caught her eye.
A kind of a package, a curious looking long thing, wrapped in material rather than paper, and as Cathy leaned in for a closer look she realized that the wrapper was an old, stained, pinstripe sports jersey.
Intrigued, she lifted it out of the box, felt its weight, unrolled the jersey at one end, wrinkled her nose as its strange, pungent smell reached her nostrils, then peeked inside and, more fascinated than ever, drew out a bat.
An old baseball bat. Scuffed, scraped and badly stained in places.
The darkest stains of all at the thick, batting end.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
Kez’s voice came out of nowhere.
Cathy dropped the bat and jersey.
Chapter Twenty-one
September 12
Dozing fully clothed on a bed in a doctor’s room at Miami General, David woke with a start – his first fear for Saul – then realized that it was something entirely different that had dragged him out of his sleep.
Something to do with Sam’s beach homicides. And to do with Saul.
He got up slowly, trying to ignore the ever-growing army of aches that seemed to assail him these days whenever he rested for more than half an hour or so, put on his shoes, went down the corridor to check on his boy, found his condition unchanged, gave him a kiss and took the elevator down to the hospital library.
Closed.
Of course it was closed at three-twenty in the morning.
He thought about leaving it till next day, but found he could not.
He went slowly out to the parking lot, got in his old Mercury, drove out on to Biscayne Boulevard, south a little way to 192nd and over the William Lehman Causeway, then left again towards Golden Beach and home.
He needed his own bookshelves.
Needed to look something up.
‘It’s OK,’ Kez said to Cathy for the third time.
‘But it isn’t.’ Cathy was still deeply ashamed. ‘And I did start out just looking for the box with the dope . . .’
‘Which was a good idea,’ Kez said.
She had already picked up the bat and jersey, and now she reached down behind the walnut chest and retrieved the smaller carved box.
‘One I could go for right now,’ she added.
She led the way back into the living room, set the box on the coffee table, sat on the couch and looked up at Cathy.
‘My robe suits you,’ she said.
‘Oh God,’ Cathy said. ‘I shouldn’t have borrowed it.’
‘Sure you should,’ Kez said. ‘I told you to make yourself at home.’
Cathy looked down at her. ‘You look nice too.’
Kez had pulled on a man-sized grey vest with My Camel’s In Bed printed on it in maroon. Her legs, maybe not classically beautiful, made Cathy want to kiss them. But she wasn’t done apologizing yet, felt that despite Kez’s reassurances, damage had been done, trust lost, and she couldn’t stand to think she’d done that.
‘I’m not normally a snoop – I hate it when people invade my privacy, and I am really so sorry, and if you do feel like kicking me out I’ll be miserable as hell, but I’ll understand.’
‘I don’t feel like it,’ Kez said.
She was calm and kind, but Cathy still felt something else beneath the kindness, something that told her Kez did mind her snooping – and why wouldn’t she, why wouldn’t anyone? Yet Kez was already rolling a joint, patting the couch for Cathy to sit beside her, and Cathy was starting to hope that maybe things were all right after all, maybe she hadn’t screwed up irrevocably.
‘I want to know,’ Kez said suddenly, ‘if I can trust you with something else.’
‘You can.’ Not OK. ‘Kez, I promise I won’t ever—’
‘Forget that,’ Kez interrupted her. She lifted the joint to her lips, licked the edge of the paper, finished rolling it, shaped the tip and put it down. ‘I’m asking if I can trust you with something very important to me. Very private.’ She paused. ‘What do you say?’
‘I say,’ Cathy said, ‘it would mean a lot to know you still trust me that much.’
She waited while Kez lit the joint and inhaled deeply.
‘The bat you found belonged to my dad, Joey,’ Kez began. ‘He was in the garment trade, but he was crazy about baseball, always talking to me about it, taking me to games, watching them with me on TV.’
‘He sounds nice,’ Cathy said.
Kez passed the joint to Cathy, who took a drag and gave it back.
‘When I was six,’ Kez went on, ‘a year before he died, I had a fancy dress party to go to and I told my dad I wanted to go as Reggie Jackson – you know?’ She saw Cathy nod. ‘My father laughed, said Jackson was a guy and I was his little girl, and I got upset, told him not to laugh at me, because even back then I guess I had a problem with what I looked like, felt like people were laughing at me.’
‘But he wasn’t,’ Cathy said quietly.
‘Joey told me he’d make me a Reggie Jackson jersey.’
Kez had been holding the bat and jersey close, but now she laid the bat down on the couch beside her, took a long drag from the joint, handed it to Cathy and smoothed the jersey out on her knees, and Cathy saw now that it was a kid-sized Yankees pinstripe with a big black 44 on the back.
‘He told me too – he was very serious, I remember – that he would never, ever laugh at me, that I could depend on that. That if anyone ever did, I could just come and tell him and he’d deal with them for me.’ Kez’s smile was ironic. ‘Only when it came to it, he wasn’t there to do that, was he?’
‘Can I hold it?’ Cathy looked at the jersey.
Kez gave it to her in exchange for the joint, saw Cathy’s nose screw up as she caught the odd chemical smell again. ‘That’s just some dry-cleaning stuff I used on it once. However often I wash it, it still lingers.’
‘I understand,’ Cathy said, handing back the jersey, ‘about keeping precious stuff safe. There weren’t many things I took from our old house after my parents were killed, but I did keep my old Raggedy Ann chair, wouldn’t throw it out for anything.’
‘I knew you’d understand,’ Kez said. ‘I knew first time we spoke you were going to be someone I could really share with.’
‘Thank you,’ Cathy said.
Kez put down the jersey, twisted around and stretched out on the couch, her feet in Cathy’s lap.
‘Oh,’ Cathy said. ‘The last tattoo.’
Two small, intricate designs on the sole of Kez’s right foot.
‘Chinese characters?’ Cathy asked. ‘What do they mean?’
‘Lieh gou,’ Kez said.
‘You speak Chinese?’
‘Not a word.’
‘So what do they mean?’ Cathy asked again.
Kez smiled.
‘Come to bed.’
‘Don’t worry,’ David told Sam when he called him on his cell phone – hoping to avoid waking Grace – at six a.m. ‘Nothing’s happened.’
‘Something must have happened,’ Sam said, ‘or you wouldn’t be calling.’
He was in the kitchen drinking his first espresso of the day, had already taken Woody for his morning stroll, trying his best to relax before his first day back at work. He’d figured on leaving in a few minutes and running into the hospital to check on Saul before heading on down to the office; hoping – probably in vain – to be allowed to ease back into the job, knowing that Lieutenant Kovac would probably consider that the time already taken in Naples amounted to more than enough compassionate leave.
‘I think I may have come up with something,’ David said, ‘that might just possibly be a link between your beach killings and the attack on Saul.’
‘Jesus,’ Sam said.
‘Can you spare me fifteen minutes?’
Sam glanced at the clock on the wall, thought how badly he wanted to look in on his brother, do all he could to make sure Saul was never left unobserved for long. ‘Can’t you just tell me now?’
&n
bsp; ‘I need to show you one of my books,’ David told him. ‘I guess I could bring it down to your office, or—’
‘Dad, it’s fine.’ Sam was up on his feet. ‘I’m on my way.’
‘The physiological production of laughter.’
David had brought the book into the living room and Sam was sitting on the old battered sofa, staring at the page his father had pointed to.
‘Like me to précis for you, son?’
‘Always,’ Sam said.
‘OK.’ David sat down heavily beside him. ‘This is probably off the wall, so just shoot me down any time, right?’
‘Go on, Dad.’ Sam glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, hating the idea of being late first morning back but knowing at the same time that his father would never have brought him here if he had not believed it important.
‘A lot of that – ’ David gestured at the book – ‘is too complex to get into and probably irrelevant, but did you know that fifteen facial muscles get involved when you lift your lips just to smile? And that when a person laughs the epiglottis half shuts off the larynx, which results in that kind of gasp you get with laughter? And so on . . .’
‘OK.’ Sam’s concentration was sharper already.
‘So it came to me in the middle of the night, you’d had lips in the case of Mrs Sanchez, and the throat in the janitor’s case—’
‘And teeth in Maria Rivera’s case,’ Sam came in.
‘So there’s the smiling connection, too,’ David said. ‘And all kinds of facial bones smashed in all three murders.’
They both fell silent, thinking on the same lines.
Saul’s larynx.
No facial injuries though.
It was, in Sam’s experience, relatively uncommon for an intimate assailant to damage the face that they loved – even if hate had come to outweigh that love.
Another possible strike against Terri?
‘It could be nothing at all,’ David said, ‘but just in case, I . . .’
‘You did right, Dad,’ Sam said.
The phone began to ring, and David got up to answer. ‘Dr Becket.’ He listened for a moment or two, then said: ‘On our way.’
Sam was already on his feet. ‘Saul?’
‘They’re letting him wake up,’ David said. ‘They want us there.’
Chapter Twenty-two
‘You’re dressed already.’
Cathy, having woken again at six thirty to find the bed empty, had dragged Kez’s grey vest over her head and emerged to find her out on the porch dressed in a sleeveless black T-shirt and chinos, a plate of toast, jug of juice, freshly cut melon slices and a pot of coffee laid out on the small table before her.
‘Wow, that looks so good.’ Cathy bent and kissed Kez on the mouth. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘It was early and you looked peaceful.’ Kez picked up a slice of melon. ‘I figured you needed some rest after what you’ve been through.’
Cathy tweaked at the vest. ‘Is this OK?’
‘It’s great. Looks better on you.’
‘No, it does not.’ Cathy sat down beside her, poured herself some of the purplish juice and drank a little. ‘Mmm . . . Pomegranate.’
‘Healthy start before we go somewhere,’ Kez said.
‘Where?’ Cathy picked up a melon slice.
‘A place that’s special to me.’
‘I’d like that.’ Cathy bit into the slice.
‘It’s something else I’ve never shared with anyone else.’ Kez drank some coffee and stood up. ‘But we need to go now.’
‘Right now?’ Cathy looked at the breakfast. ‘What’s the rush?’
‘It has to be now,’ Kez said.
‘OK.’ Cathy drained her juice. ‘Do I have time to shower?’
‘Sure.’ Kez sat down again.
‘And I’d really like to swing by the hospital first,’ Cathy said.
‘Can that wait till later?’ Kez looked up at her. ‘Please?’
‘I just want to see Saul for a moment or two.’
‘And you will,’ Kez said. ‘But it’s very early. Hospitals don’t like early visitors.’
‘We visit all hours.’
‘All the more reason,’ Kez persisted. ‘If we leave soon you’ll have plenty of time to see him later.’ She paused. ‘This is important to me, Cathy.’
There was no mistaking the urgency in her eyes.
‘All right,’ Cathy said.
‘Dad’s gone ahead in his own car,’ Sam told Grace on the phone, heading south again on Collins, ‘and I’ve told Terri I’m going to pick her up and bring her to the hospital.’
‘Because you want to see Saul’s reaction to her,’ Grace said.
‘I do,’ Sam said. ‘Though we don’t know if Saul saw his attacker – or if he’ll remember even if he did.’ He paused. ‘We don’t even know if he’ll know us.’
Grace wished she was with him, wanted badly to hold him.
‘Would you like me to call Cathy?’ she asked.
Sam had already made up his mind on that. ‘Not till we know what shape he’s in. I think we should let her have a little more time out, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll join you soon as I can.’
‘Are you OK to drive?’
‘Fine,’ Grace said. ‘If he’s awake before I get there, give him a kiss from me.’
‘You got it,’ Sam said.
Looking good so far, David was told when he got to the hospital.
Rancho Levels – an assessment tool that did not require cooperation from a patient unable to communicate, but monitored their reaction to external stimuli – were promising. Saul was able to follow simple commands, his agitation and confusion in keeping with the traumatic situation to which he was waking to.
Still sedated, for which David was thankful.
Thankful not the word for how he felt altogether. No words could be enough for that.
He had decided to wait until Sam arrived with Terri before he went in. Sam still hadn’t told him what was going on where she was concerned, and something inside David had recoiled at the thought of what it might be, which was why he hadn’t pushed it either with Sam or with Grace who was, he sensed, up to speed on that. Now at least he could focus on such things – had not been entirely aware of how much he had been blotting out until Saul’s awakening.
Thank God.
The trouble between Sam and Grace was something else that had been worrying the hell out of him, and once the worst was over with Saul – God willing – he was going to get to the bottom of that too, knock their damned-fool heads together if he had to. There was a baby on the way, for pity’s sake, and even if there hadn’t been, two people more crazy about each other than Sam and Grace would be hard to find, and David would be damned if he was going to let them put that at risk.
‘Thank God,’ Sam said when David told him about the Rancho Levels.
Grace here now, too, her golden hair tousled, the shadows beneath her eyes more pronounced than they would have been if she’d had time to put on make-up. Still as lovely as ever in most ways, especially, David thought, all swollen up with child.
Fear etched on her face, though – and not just for Saul now.
Time to fix that, David thought again, Saul permitting.
‘Can we go in yet?’ Terri asked, her beautiful dark eyes loaded, too, with anxiety.
‘Two at a time,’ David said. ‘And we’re not to tire him.’
He and Sam went in first.
They were both overwhelmed immediately with the mightiest relief.
Saul knew them. That was plain as day, not just from the cardiac monitor beeping and showing its wavy, spiky excitement, but from the look of relief in his eyes, despite their still-sedated fuzziness.
He knew them.
‘Thank God,’ David said, softly.
‘Amen,’ Sam said, and walked around the bed to the other side.
‘You’re OK, son.’ David stooped over his son, stroked h
is cheek, and kissed his forehead. ‘I know the doctors have already told you this, but I’m telling you, too. Don’t be afraid. All of this is temporary. It’s going to take some time, but you’re going to be just fine.’
‘Damn straight you are,’ Sam told his brother, and took his good left hand.
And there it was, love for them both alive and clear in Saul’s eyes.
David went on talking to him, telling him a little more about what was being done to help him, just enough information, not too much, reassuring at every step, knowing his son was more likely to believe him than any other doctor, because David had made it a rule not to lie to his wife or kids, had stuck to it all through Judy’s illness. So if David told Saul it was going to be lousy for a while, but only for a while, after which he would be better, then it was his hope that Saul might rest just a little more comfortably than he might have otherwise.
‘OK, Dad,’ Sam said quietly, when he was done talking. ‘If you’re ready, do you think you could ask Terri to come in?’
Saul nodded urgently, his eyes avid.
‘And Grace?’ David said.
‘Just Terri for now, OK?’
More of the strangeness, David thought, but did not question him, just kissed his younger son again, told him he’d be back soon and left the room.
Sam stepped away from the bed and moved over to the back wall, the best vantage point in the room from where he would be able to see Saul’s expression clearly, because the monitors weren’t going to tell him much, would be unlikely to distinguish waves or spikes of great joy from fear.
The door opened and she came in.
The cardiac monitor beeped faster.
Hard not to look at it or at her, but Sam kept his eyes on his brother’s face.
‘Hello, baby.’ Terri bent to stroke his cheek, then to kiss it, then straightened up. ‘I’m so sorry, Saul – ’ her soft voice trembled a little – ‘for everything. For getting so mad and walking out. For not being with you.’
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