Fear and Loathing

by Hilary Norman

  ‘Not enough,’ the young man said violently, raking his hair.

  ‘Not yet, no,’ Sam said. ‘But we won’t rest until we get them.’

  ‘Them?’ Joseph Reardon’s dark hair was threaded with gray, his bottom lip bleeding as if he’d gnawed on it. ‘Do you know that for sure?’

  ‘We know it had to have been more than one perpetrator, sir,’ Martinez said.

  ‘Why?’ Rose Reardon pleaded softly. ‘Why did they do it? Mary Ann was the sweetest person. All she wanted was for the children and Pete to be happy and safe.’

  ‘Why any of them?’ Joseph Reardon said. ‘They were all good people.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure,’ his son said. ‘We don’t know what Pete might have gotten into, let alone the other two.’

  ‘I’ve met them.’ Rose Reardon was reproachful. ‘They seemed like nice, normal people.’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Sean Reardon shrugged. ‘Normal, I mean.’

  ‘In what way?’ Martinez’s eyes sharpened.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Reardon said.

  ‘Not really,’ Sam said. ‘It would be very helpful if you explain it, sir.’

  ‘White guy, Chinese wife,’ the younger man said flatly.

  ‘You think that might have a bearing, Mr Reardon?’ Sam said.

  His tone remained even, and all Sean Reardon had actually done was speed them to the subject they’d have arrived at in due course. And though no one outside the investigation had been told either that Molly Burton had been tortured, or about the windshield message, the fact was that this bereaved brother was probably right about the mixed race issue.

  ‘I don’t know if it might have a bearing or not,’ Reardon answered, ‘but you hear about hate crimes all the time.’ He sank down onto one of the chairs. ‘Jesus.’ He held out his trembling hands, stared at them, balled them into fists. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying that about my sister’s friends. I can’t believe any of this.’

  His shoulders heaved, and Joseph rose to put his arms around his son, both men now weeping openly.

  ‘Please,’ Rose Reardon remained in her chair, beseeching the detectives. ‘Help us. Catch those evil people.’

  ‘We’ll catch them, ma’am,’ Sam told her.

  ‘A lot of people out there right now,’ Martinez added, ‘all wanting to do just that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and covered her face with her hands.

  Sean Reardon had made reservations at a First Choice Inn, though he said that Gia Russo had left word that they were welcome to stay with them.

  ‘Which would be good,’ Rose said. ‘Because we could be with the children, but my husband …’

  ‘I’d rather not be with strangers,’ Joseph said flatly.

  No warm joining of the Ventrino and Reardon clans then, Sam surmised.

  ‘They’re your grandchildren, Dad.’ Sean let his irritation show.

  ‘We’ll stay at the hotel.’ Rose Reardon flushed. ‘But we’ll go visit with them.’

  Bad blood, Sam thought, or maybe Joseph was just a private man, and these poor people had no inkling yet that a family murder brought with it an end to privacy for a long time. The bereaved could carve out portions of days and nights for themselves, but with no clear prime suspect drawing fire, every skeleton would be dragged from its closet, every secret, quarrel or debt inspected before they would be left in any semblance of peace – and that was discounting the media searchlights.

  Sean Reardon’s remark might not have been malicious, but he had nevertheless lit a small flare over his own head. He might have betrayed personal prejudice, or he might merely have been remarking on the sorry truth of still all-too prevalent bigotry, but ahead of any further conversations they’d be taking a long, close look at Mary Ann’s brother.

  One more newly bereaved, significant relative had presented himself that morning. Molly Burton’s uncle, James Lin, had been watching the early news when he’d caught the images of his niece’s home behind the BREAKING NEWS caption.

  No words to describe how that must have felt, but Mr Lin had made a number of phone calls, then made his own way to the morgue and, according to Ida Lowenstein in Elliot Sanders’s office, if the small, trim, silver-haired Chinese-American gentleman had chained himself to the doc’s office door, he could not have been more forcible in his insistence on being seen by the chief medical examiner himself.

  The Miami Beach detectives came upon Doc Sanders and Mr Lin having tea together in the chief’s office – tea, that was, amply fortified with Chivas Regal from the ME’s personal supply.

  ‘This,’ Sanders said to Sam and Martinez, ‘is a very special man.’

  James Lin wept openly when Sam told him how sorry they were for his great loss.

  ‘You couldn’t know how great,’ he said.

  And then he went on to tell them about his late brother and sister-in-law’s daughter. Born Mo Li Lin in San Francisco, a beautiful, intelligent, independent young woman, a qualified CPA who had liked numbers but not accountancy and who had, in the fall of 2006, been sharing an apartment with a girlfriend and working as a bookkeeper for a restaurant on Stockton Street, when she’d gone with friends to a bachelorette party in Las Vegas and met Gary Burton.

  ‘Her fate, perhaps,’ Lin said.

  Burton had been there with his best buddy, Pete Ventrino, and they’d all hit it off right away. Gary had flown back west with her and had proposed just three days later. Molly, not by nature – according to her uncle – an impulsive person, had said she needed time to consider.

  ‘He did not respect her wish,’ James Lin told them now.

  There’d been daily flowers and phone calls, Burton begging her to come to Miami so he could show her the house he wanted to buy for her; he told Molly it was a foreclosure, which was why he could afford it, but he needed her to love it, that he knew she was the only woman for him and saw no sense in wasting precious time.

  Mr Lin was weeping again. ‘In that, of course, he was right.’

  ‘More tea, sir?’ The ME poured another hefty shot of Chivas into Lin’s cup.

  ‘Her parents chose the name Mo Li – meaning jasmine – because they guessed the two parts would be joined, and they liked the name Molly too.’ Lin paused. ‘My given name is Jie, meaning successful.’ He shrugged. ‘James seemed more suitable for business. My business is called James Lin International Air Freight, and it has done well, so I guess the name change didn’t hurt. My niece came to work for me when she moved to Miami.’ His smile was very sad. ‘She enjoyed her days at the office with me, though not, I think, as much as I did.’ He rose, calmly and steadily, from his chair. ‘For purposes of the death certificate, her first name should be Mo Li.’

  Elliot Sanders and the two detectives were on their feet too.

  ‘I’m grateful, Doctor,’ Lin said to the ME, ‘for your hospitality and kindness.’

  ‘I’m grateful, too, Mr Lin,’ Sanders said, ‘to have had this opportunity to hear about your niece.’

  James Lin turned to look up at Sam, who, at six-three, was taller by at least eight inches. ‘I expect you have questions for me, Detective Becket. The primary one being do I know of anyone who might have had reason to do this to Mo Li.’ His face was grim now. ‘I do not. I don’t know anyone who didn’t like, if not love her. She was very easy to love.’

  Sam offered Lin a ride home, but he refused, said he wanted to remain in the building a while longer, would sit quietly in the lobby, not yet ready to leave the place in which his niece’s body lay.

  ‘If I need help, I’ll ask. And I’ll be available to you any time.’

  ‘One immediate question, sir,’ Sam said.

  ‘Sure,’ Lin said.

  ‘Do you know of anyone who might have had a reason to want Mr Burton dead?’

  Lin looked up, his gaze steady. ‘If I had known seven years ago how my niece’s life would end, I might have killed him myself.’

  ‘Has anyone else felt that way, Mr Li
n?’ Martinez asked. ‘More recently.’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Lin said.

  ‘May I ask how your brother and Mo Li’s mother died?’ Sam said.

  ‘My brother’s given name was Zhu, but he was always known as Joe. His wife was named Meihui, but most people called her May. Joe’s car went off a bridge into a creek near Santa Barbara. His steering failed. So they told me.’

  ‘Did you have any reason to doubt it?’ Sam asked.

  ‘No reason. Yet I did.’ He sighed. ‘It happened a long time ago. If you’re thinking there might be some connection with what’s happened to my niece, don’t waste your time or energy.’

  ‘It didn’t just happen to your niece, Mr Lin,’ Martinez said. ‘So forgive us, but if you had cause to believe your brother’s accident was suspicious, we need to know.’

  ‘There was no logic to my doubts,’ Lin said, ‘only grief. And please don’t imagine I don’t feel for the others, but my heart isn’t breaking because of them. Not even for Mo Li’s husband.’ He looked up. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sam said.

  And saw Martinez’s dark brows rise just a little.

  Two calls to make before their working day ended.

  The first to Jackson Memorial to check on William Burton.

  Resting, they were told, and not to be disturbed till tomorrow, at the earliest.

  They headed back to Stillwater Drive to see Elaine Blauner.

  Her account differed in no way from the one she’d shared with Mary Cutter, with one addition: the boat in question had been ‘parked nose out toward the Intracoastal’.

  ‘I do know that isn’t a boating term,’ Mrs Blauner said, ‘but as my husband will confirm, I’m seriously anti-boats.’

  She had not seen the four men’s arrival, had presumably still been at her sister’s, though if only she’d known …

  ‘Nothing you could have done.’ Sam saw her distress.

  ‘I could have called 911,’ she said. ‘Found our binoculars, given you more.’

  ‘You’re giving us plenty, ma’am,’ Martinez said.

  Their only witness so far.

  Lot of hope pinned on the camera next door.

  Coming home to Grace and their son felt even more precious than usual.

  The small house itself, on Bay Harbor Islands, with its lovely white frontage, twin palms and bottle brush tree had seemed welcoming to Sam the first time he’d visited, back when Dr Grace Lucca had still been a stranger. Many happy years since then, even if there had been too many bad times interwoven with the good. But they’d all come through, stronger for what they’d survived, grateful for what they still had.

  Sam was damned if he’d let another psychotic game player threaten that.

  Grace had cooked one of his favorites, pollo all’arrabiata, and in return, he told her about the killings and the implicit threat to them.

  ‘This might be a good time for you and Joshua to go stay with Cathy.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘This was brutal stuff,’ Sam said. ‘And that message was personal.’

  ‘Clearly,’ Grace said. ‘And you’re afraid for me, because they were especially brutal to the Chinese-American wife. But following that train of thought, you’re as much at risk as me – perhaps more.’ She paused. ‘Maybe you should hand over the case, and then we could all leave town until the killers are caught?’

  ‘I don’t want to do that. Though I will, if you ask me to. For one thing, my leaving would be giving them exactly what they want. For another, this feels like some kind of challenge.’

  ‘It doesn’t make you responsible, Sam.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘Yet I know that’s how you feel.’ Grace paused. ‘You must know that I won’t go anywhere without you, especially in these circumstances. If our marriage is behind this, we’ve always known that such dregs still exist.’

  ‘Doesn’t make me prepared to put you and Joshua at risk.’

  ‘Of course not. But I don’t think we should overreact. We’re not as low profile a family as we’d like. We’ve both made the news too often, which means that addressing that message to you was probably just game-playing, as you said.’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘I’m hoping probably,’ Grace said.

  ‘So we sit tight,’ Sam said.

  Grace nodded. ‘I think so. We sit tight while you and Al find these new monsters and put them away.’ She picked up her plate and glass, and Woody, their ageing mini dachshund-schnauzer cross, eased out of his bed, hopeful of tidbits. ‘And if we have to change our minds, by the way, we won’t be ruining Cathy’s precious time, we’ll find somewhere else to hide.’

  They were both quiet for a few moments, clearing the table, and then Grace asked suddenly: ‘Have you checked on Chauvin lately?’

  ‘Sure,’ Sam said.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I hoped you’d put him out of your mind.’

  ‘Like you have,’ Grace said.

  Sam smiled. ‘It’s all good. Another piece published in a local paper. In Bath, England. He seems settled for now. Maybe he’s found another blonde.’

  Grace moved closer, leaned against him. ‘If I say I hope so, does that make me a very selfish person?’

  ‘No more than me,’ Sam said.

  ‘Maybe he’s found someone to love him back,’ Grace said.

  ‘You’re still a romantic then,’ Sam said.

  ‘I am, if it gives us one less thing to worry about,’ Grace said.

  Monday evening in Miami, the four members of the Virginia Chapter were celebrating.

  Reaping their respective rewards for a job well done.

  Targets terminated in the manner laid down in their instructions.

  The message for Becket left as directed.

  The golden-blond washed out of their hair, blue contacts out of their eyes.

  Their boat, its forged decal removed, scrubbed and power-steam-cleaned of every residual trace of their presence, gently bobbing in its mooring. One of many in No Name Harbor in Bill Baggs State Park. A good distance away.

  The weapons returned. Proceeds of the robbery locked in the Safe Lock Company vault. Their killing clothes and masks disposed of, even contacts and sunglasses. Those parts of the mission taken care of by Leon, the front man. Team leader. Hardest and coldest of the bunch. The right man for the job. The one trusted most by the boss.

  Not that she actually trusted any of them. They all knew that. Same as they knew that none of them trusted each other.

  She called them her Virginians and her Crusaders and, sometimes, her Knights, and Leon had seen Kingdom of Heaven and Andy had seen Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, and it had been Leon who’d first called her ‘Mrs Hood’, which she had liked and which had stuck with them all after that.

  All their names were aliases, chosen by the boss, and having another identity had made the mission a little less hard for CB, who had felt he was living through a nightmare, had been aware that Andy, too, had been burdened by the sins they were committing.

  Not so Jerry, who seemed to have sailed through it, while Leon had patently enjoyed the events of Sunday evening.

  Hell, Leon had fucking loved it all. Especially putting the noose around that poor woman’s neck.

  It made CB sick deep in his soul – if he had one – and that scared him.

  Though not as much as she scared him. Mrs Hood or Virginia or her real damned name, which they all knew, but were too terrified to ever tell anyone.

  She knew how to tailor her threats, custom-made for each individual.

  Better this, then, than the alternative.

  And for now, this evening, they had their rewards.

  She had chosen carefully, had enjoyed choosing.

  For Andy, divorced and living alone, a thousand dollars and a sixty-inch all-singing, all-dancing TV that she guessed he’d slump in front of most nights, eating pizza,
drinking beer and watching cop shows and salacious channels.

  For Jerry, his cash and a room at Zoop’s Motel with a multi-pierced woman promised to him for two hours, an exotic creature who would bind and gag him and help him fulfill some of his strongest urges, which she knew were to be on the receiving end of all kinds of sexual viciousness.

  For CB, who had been suffering disabling toothache for weeks, the same payment and torture of another kind in a downtown Miami dentist’s chair. The weakest of the team, she knew, the one most burdened by conscience, to whom she suspected that the pain of drilling might almost be a blessing if it blocked out the memory of what he had helped to do to those people.

  And for Leon, his money and dinner at Nobu, and she’d been amused by his surprise when she’d suggested that, amazed that she knew he’d yearned to go there; especially intrigued too, she guessed, because of the connection with his hero, De Niro, and his fabulous black wife. She didn’t know if Leon actually understood irony, but she had made it clear to all her Crusaders at the outset that she did not expect them to feel as she did, did not give a damn how they felt about anything, so long as they did her bidding and kept their mouths shut.

  She had gone so far as to run through the menu with him, observed him selecting. Sashimi first, including bluefin toro, then hot black cod, then Wagyu flank steak, washed down with a ten-year-old sake, aged (according to the menu) to classical music. Followed by Satandagi and Pacific Rim dessert wine.

  A glutton, but a competent man who had enjoyed his work. A killer, who had earned his reward.

  As they all had. For services rendered to the cause.

  And more to come.

  June 4

  At four a.m. Tuesday, Central European Summer Time, the man who Sam and Grace believed to be in the English spa town of Bath turned over in bed and gazed up at his ceiling.

  At her.

  The woman of his dreams.

  His fantasy-reality mélange. Cathy Becket transformed from an American student-cum-athlete into one of the sexiest women ever photographed. So much like the real Grace Kelly as she’d looked leaning in over Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, lips tantalizing, the black dress with its perfect décolletage, the single strand of pearls, all just restrained but exquisitely tempting …