On the third night of her stay she got a telephone call.
Daryl.
It was good to hear his voice. Something inside her was soothed by it. Like pouring cold water on her hot, sore feet after a long walk through the city.
Daryl wanted to meet. She told him to come to the hotel and sure enough, the next night he came. Maria opened the door to Daryl, put a hand over his lips and took him to her bed. They talked afterwards and she answered all of Daryl’s questions.
No, she hadn’t told the police of their plans to confront Paul.
Yes, the police told her that they believed Paul was really the author known as J. T. LeBeau. Sheriff Dole explained it all, in detail, on his last visit to the hospital. On that occasion, while they sat in the little garden, he told her that although the world believed Paul to be dead, Dole did not believe it. There would be a memorial service for LeBeau, and Dole felt strongly that Paul would show up at the memorial. Maria had been invited by the publishers, and whilst she had no wish to honor the man who had tried to kill her – she felt it was important to build a relationship with the publishers. They wanted to come to some arrangement with her about book royalties. She stood to make a fortune. There would be extra security laid on, just for her.
Dole warned her that if Paul got in touch she must call him immediately. The sheriff had done some digging into J. T. LeBeau, and he didn’t like what he found. Her husband was a very dangerous man and had likely been responsible for a number of deaths, including a young girl called Linzi. Even in the serene garden, with the sound of gently running water from the fountain and the smell of the roses enveloping her, Maria felt afraid.
Maria lay beside Daryl in the hotel bed, and just looked at him. She had told him everything that had happened and felt better for it. They were both naked, holding each other. Maria enjoyed the familiar touch of Daryl’s skin. As her hand grazed his back, she felt something unnatural and recoiled.
‘What is that?’
‘Paul gave me that. In your kitchen, remember? I heard something, went outside to check what and when I came back in …’
‘What?’
‘You were lying on the floor. I thought you were dead. That’s when he put the claw hammer in my back.’
‘My God,’ she said, covering her mouth.
‘I fought him off, got away. I didn’t want to go to the emergency room. Everything had gotten so crazy. I was worried out of my mind. Then I got a fever. I was sick, and by the time I came out of it you had woken up in hospital. I almost died. We almost died. I’m so sorry, honey. I went out of my mind for a while. I thought I’d lost you.’
She drew close, and they kissed and embraced for a time.
‘How did you find me?’ she said.
‘The hospital said you’d left. I wanted to give you some time before I called. Given everything that happened. I should never have opened that drawer in Paul’s desk. I’m sorry. I felt responsible,’ said Daryl.
She placed a finger on his lips, quieting him, said, ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Do you think Paul found out what we were planning? Is that why he attacked us?’
She fell silent, stroked the fine hairs on his chest, then said, ‘Maybe. Probably. It doesn’t matter. But how did you find me here?’
‘I went by the house. Still closed up, so I knew you were probably staying in Bay City. You always hated Port Lonely and I knew you liked this hotel. We stayed here before … well, it was one night. We had dinner in the restaurant downstairs. Paul had been away on a trip. You said you wanted to go someplace where we didn’t have to hide, where we could sit together and have a meal as a couple. We ended up staying over.’
Maria had only the vaguest memory of this. She recalled Daryl in a dinner jacket, but couldn’t place the location. These gaps in memory were something she was becoming accustomed to. There were dark holes in her mind. Some things were vivid and clear, some were almost there but shrouded in mist, other memories were simply gone. Erased clean. She could remember the smell of her mother’s perfume – the only bottle she ever had. Yet she could not remember the day she married Paul, or whether she’d eaten yesterday.
‘I don’t remember,’ she said, then threw a leg over Daryl, got up on top of him.
‘Let’s make new memories,’ she said.
Her life in the weeks leading to the memorial service became filled with days in bed with Daryl, dinners together, movies, and lazy Sunday mornings spent over endless coffee in local diners. They were together. And Maria felt something close to happiness.
Now, in Daryl’s arms, on the red carpet leading out from the memorial service, she turned and looked at Sheriff Dole kneeling on top of her husband. She met Paul’s eyes. And she found herself feeling something after all.
Pity.
Just pity.
She listened to him screaming at her, but she couldn’t quite make out what he’d said. Something about Tom called …
Whatever love she’d borne him belonged to that other Maria. The Maria who died in Port Lonely.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
The LAPD had been more helpful than expected. They’d co-operated fully with Dole’s requests, they’d even gotten Bloch an unmarked pool car on the agreement that she came back in a few months and helped teach a refresher course to their advanced driving instructors. This had been desirable since they escorted them in a rental car from LAX and the escort had been unable to keep up with Bloch.
Dole knew Bloch was much more than a gifted driver.
They stood outside the interview room going over their notes. There was a box of exhibits lying on the floor at Dole’s feet. Bloch had prepared for that day in minute detail. She had over one hundred pages of notes, a list of questions which she’d memorized, and two bags full of evidential exhibits which the LAPD had helped them catalog and store. The arrest was made in LA, so the interview had to take place in LA. After Paul Cooper was interviewed he was to be brought to court. The ADA had been instructed by senior police to request the transfer of the case to Port Lonely. They were all set, and they’d managed to keep the case out of the line of sight of the FBI. They could not be more prepared.
‘You think we should have arrested Daryl at the memorial?’ said Bloch.
‘No, I stand by that decision. All the evidence points to Cooper, for now. Maria has some money coming to her. My guess is Daryl will stick around for that.’
Bloch nodded.
‘You ready?’ said Dole.
She nodded again, sniffed and wiped a thumb across her nose like a boxer.
‘Okay then,’ he said, and Bloch opened the door, holding it for Dole while he picked up the cardboard box, brought it inside. They stepped into a small room with a table and chairs that had been bolted to the floor. In the middle of the table a steel ring protruded through a hole. Paul Cooper sat in one of the chairs, his hands cuffed to the ring. One of the LAPD techs had already set up a digital video recorder in the corner, which waited idly, prepared and set to capture the interview in its entirety.
Dole put the box on the floor, took one of the seats opposite Paul. Bloch the one beside Dole. There was an empty chair beside Paul Cooper. He’d said he didn’t need a lawyer. He just wanted out of there.
Bloch explained she was going to record the interview. She got up and switched on the digital recorder. Dole reminded Paul that he’d already been Mirandized.
The questions had been carefully prepared, edited and rewritten.
‘Mr. Cooper, your rights have been explained, and you already know why you’re here. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? You want to tell us why you tried to kill your wife?’
‘I did not hurt my wife,’ said Paul. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’
As much as they had prepared this interrogation, Dole was still surprised by Cooper’s manner. He was obviously scared. That was a given. He’d been arrested for a number of serious crimes – including two counts of attempted murder and an alternative charge of conspiracy
to murder. Dole had charges to add – but he was keeping those in his back pocket for now. The conspiracy charge and the second attempted murder charge would probably fall away to a simple illegal possession of a firearm: these charges arising from the incident at the memorial. But even considering all of the circumstances, and Cooper’s natural apprehension following arrest – there was something in the way he spoke that gave Dole pause. Cooper sounded as if he meant what he said.
The guy probably had even more time than Dole and Bloch to prepare for this interrogation. Dole told himself the guy had rehearsed for this moment – practiced it. Only natural in the situation. He knew Bloch would feel this too – and suspend her judgment until the end of the interview. She wouldn’t allow herself to be thrown by the perp so easily, and so early in the process.
‘We have a lot of evidence connecting you to your wife’s attack, Mr. Cooper. It would be better for you in the long run if you didn’t waste everyone’s time. You had to have a good reason to attack Maria, right? Well, now’s the time to tell us,’ said Bloch.
‘I told you, I didn’t touch her. It was Daryl Oakes.’
‘What makes you think he attacked your wife?’
There was a pause. No answer. Cooper took a big breath, held Bloch’s gaze for a three-count then turned his head away and breathed out in one long, pained exhalation.
This man has something he can tell us, but he won’t or believes he can’t, thought Dole.
Or he’s leading Bloch into a trap.
‘I’m sure you know, Mr. Cooper, that as police officers we have to pay careful attention to the evidence. That is what guides us, Mr. Cooper. You should know that. You’ve done your research for books. Don’t you write about murder and police detectives?’
He sat up a little straighter, said, ‘What have my books got to do with this? Surely it’s LeBeau you should be talking to?’
The statement was a gut punch to Bloch and Dole. They couldn’t show it. Suspects often said unexpected things in interviews. All they could do was stick to the plan, for now. Plenty of time to listen to bullshit excuses later.
‘We ask the questions in this room, Mr. Cooper,’ said Bloch. She didn’t want to go there yet. But these initial questions were all about destabilizing Cooper – softening him with a few well-timed jabs.
‘Do you really want to play it this way? We know it was you who attacked Maria. Tell us why and we don’t have to go through this. It will make things better in court if you confess now,’ said Bloch.
‘It wasn’t me. Just ask her,’ said Cooper.
Bloch exchanged a look with Dole. It was time to get into it.
Dole handed her the first exhibit. It was a cardboard box. About fourteen inches long, five inches wide. One side of the box was clear plastic. Inside was a hammer. Dark bloodstains still on the handle and the head. They had crusted and dried.
‘This is your hammer, used to attack Maria Cooper. We found fingerprints on it. Only one set – yours,’ said Bloch.
She put the hammer to one side, brought out a thick typed document, which was stapled together in the top corner.
‘This is a transcript from Maria’s deposition. She says she found a bank statement in your desk drawer.’
Dole handed over the next exhibit bag. A clear, sealed plastic bag containing a bloodstained bank statement.
‘This bank statement. It says you’re worth twenty million dollars. Maria knew nothing of this money and she confronted you …’
‘No,’ said Cooper.
‘You viciously attacked her. Cracked her skull and rolled her up in plastic ready to take on your boat.’
‘No,’ said Cooper.
Dole brought out a set of photographs showing a hole in the side of a boat, slapped them on the desk.
‘You were going to sink the boat. Fake your own death, and hers. But something went wrong. The boat took on water too fast. You couldn’t get to her. So you left her and disappeared,’ said Bloch.
‘No.’
‘You wanted everyone to believe you were dead so you could disappear with the money. We know you emptied the bank account.’
‘It was my money. I’d earned it.’
‘So why didn’t you come forward?’ said Dole.
‘Because I knew you would think I hurt Maria. He wanted it that way,’ said Cooper.
‘Who wanted it that way?’ asked Bloch.
‘Daryl Oakes,’ said Cooper.
Bloch leaned back, folded her arms. She was tagging in Dole.
‘Deputy Bloch told you we look at the evidence. That’s all we do. So tell us, where is the evidence that Oakes attacked Maria and set you up?’ said Dole. As he spoke he thought of the mailbox, broken and lying in the grass at the top of Cooper’s drive. He was beginning to soften to Cooper. But he had to go where the evidence led him. Right now, there was nothing tying Oakes to any of this.
‘If I told you …’ said Cooper, then shook his head.
Holding his hands wide, Dole said, ‘If you told us … what? Come on, this is your chance. You won’t get another.’
‘You wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Try me,’ said Dole. ‘Because right now, Maria says you attacked her. If she’s wrong, tell us why. Tell us the truth.’
‘I can’t,’ said Cooper.
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Because then you’ll die,’ said Cooper.
Bloch had had enough. She bent over, picked up a stack of books, started piling them on the desk. Pounding them on top of one another, making some noise with her point. The books piled up. The complete works of J. T. LeBeau. Bloch picked up a copy of The Burning Man, slapped it down in front of Cooper.
‘The character in your second novel. The victim who is burned to death in a car because he knew too much. Sounds a lot like what happened to your first editor – Bob Crenshaw.’
Cooper shook his head.
‘We want to know about the woman in your third novel, Angel Falls. She was found in a spill well, naked, no ID was ever made and in your book you say she was murdered by her former lover. She knew a secret about him. That he was really a wanted serial killer living under a false identity.’
Cooper said nothing.
‘Her real name was Linzi, wasn’t it?’
Tears formed precarious pools in Cooper’s eyes. It was the name that had stung.
Cooper cupped his face in his hands, leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. The chain at his wrists straining.
‘Then there’s your fifth novel, a man—’
‘Stop,’ said Cooper.
‘Oh, I can go on, Mr. Cooper. It’s just that we’ve read these books, and some of the murders bear a striking resemblance to real, unsolved murders. I think you’re a killer. And I think you write about your crimes in your books. We’ve seen the message on your computer. Linzi worked out who you really are. They found out you were J. T. LeBeau, and the reason you keep your identity secret is because you’re a killer. I think you’re going to death row, Mr. Cooper, unless you start co-operating with us right now,’ said Bloch.
Nothing was said for a time. They were waiting on a response. Slowly, Cooper’s shoulders began to shake. He’d hidden his face in his hands, so they couldn’t see an expression. Then a sound came.
Laughter. Yet there was no warmth in the sound. It was empty and fearful.
Cooper drew his hands away, and revealed a wide, desperate smile.
‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ said Cooper. ‘I don’t have a choice now. I’m going to tell you what really happened. I’ll go to jail for my part in it. For keeping quiet. For taking the money. I was a coward and I deserve that. But at least you’ll know the truth. I am not J. T. LeBeau. Daryl Oakes is LeBeau.’
‘Let’s take five,’ said Dole.
Cooper leaned back, took a breath. Dole and Bloch paused the video, and exited the interview room, closing the door behind them.
Dole put his back to the wall, focused on the ceiling tile.
; ‘Don’t tell me you buy this bullshit,’ said Bloch.
‘The mailbox,’ said Dole.
‘What about the fucking mailbox?’ said Bloch.
Kicking off the wall, Dole started down the corridor.
‘Where are you going?’ said Bloch.
‘I’m going to see Maria. I want to talk to her. I said I would give her a call after we interviewed Paul, anyway. Maybe I’ll just drop by her hotel instead. You keep going with Cooper. You’re better at this than me.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Daryl had been surprised at how well Maria had taken the events of that day. She truly was a different person. Strong. Uninhibited.
So much more like himself.
He enjoyed her even more now than before. Before she was just a pawn on the board. Now she was a queen.
They took the elevator to the tenth floor. An extensive refurbishment of the hotel was well underway. That morning, as they’d left their room, Daryl and Maria had watched staff carefully removing the pictures from the walls of the corridor, wrapping them in muslin and handing them to the bellhop who then stacked them in the luggage carrier.
That night, as the elevator opened its doors, Daryl caught the smell of fresh paint. The corridors on that floor had been repainted that day. A dark, wholesome green. Maria could smell it too, she was holding her fingers against her nose.
They reached the door, Maria found her key card. Stopped. Took a long sniff of the air. The paint smell seemed stronger down there, at the end of the hallway. She looked at Daryl, and he didn’t like the way she did it. There was something unspoken in her eyes. She swiped the card, went into the room and said, ‘I need to take a bath.’
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