No motive anyone could dredge up.
It had been Miss Rivera’s habit to get home from her long day’s work at the store, take off her uniform suit, change into T-shirt and shorts or the like, and go walking on the beach – pretty much like Muller, pretty much like thousands of Florida residents – then sometimes pick up a TV dinner and go home to chill.
Random, or someone watching her, knowing her pattern, again.
No link between them though, Mike Rowan said.
‘No known link,’ Sam said.
‘No known link between any of the cases,’ Rowan added. ‘And even less to connect the others with this one.’
‘No cutting,’ Martinez said.
‘Exactly,’ Rowan said, seeming pleased by that.
Still eager to keep his cases to himself, Sam figured, though the Broward homicide unit certainly had no shortage of murders per capita by comparison with Miami Beach.
‘Mouth again, though,’ Sam pointed out.
‘And all bludgeoned first,’ added Martinez.
‘I don’t know.’ Rowan still dubious. ‘Certainly not where your Muller’s concerned.’ He shrugged. ‘All you got there’s a guy clubbed on a beach and his throat cut. Nothing too weird about that.’ He tugged at his moustache. ‘Now we got two women, same county, both on the beach after work, both bludgeoned, one with her lips cut off, the other with her teeth smashed to pulp.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I guess we should keep each other posted, but I don’t think we got more than that.’
They came away half glad to still have their own ball to run with, knowing that Rowan might be right about the lack of connection.
‘Except you don’t agree with him,’ Martinez said as he drove them back towards the station, staying on A1A, always preferring to stay close to the ocean.
‘No.’ Sam’s mind was working. ‘I think we need to focus on the mouth and throat link.’ He stared out of his side window, not really seeing the palms or blue sky and ocean or glitzy towers along the way. ‘Speech. Speech-making. Public-speaking classes.’
‘Acting,’ Martinez offered. ‘Singing.’
‘If Muller belonged to an amateur group,’ Sam said, ‘we’d probably have found something – a poster or script or libretto maybe – in his apartment.’
‘Not everyone gets all the parts, like you,’ Martinez said. ‘Muller could have gone to auditions and gotten rejected.’
‘Let’s do some cross-checking,’ Sam said. ‘Night schools again, that kind of thing.’
‘Mouth, throat.’ Martinez continued the process. ‘Could be eating or drinking. One of those gourmet groups?’
‘Could be just about any damned thing,’ Sam agreed. ‘Could also be some kind of symbolic silencing. Victims maybe said too much about something or someone – or maybe just knew too much?’
Martinez was sceptical. ‘I can maybe accept that about our guy – I guess Muller could have been a snitch. But a dressmaking cleaner and a sales clerk?’
‘All kinds of people see things someone doesn’t want them to,’ Sam said.
They slowed at traffic lights at Bal Harbour, watched an elegant, elderly couple make their way slowly, with fancy shopping bags, from the glitzy mall to the Sheraton.
‘Political groups,’ Martinez added to the list.
‘Maybe they were all in therapy,’ Sam came up with. ‘Or all seeing different therapists at the same office.’
‘Can’t imagine Carmelita Sanchez having time for therapy.’ Martinez paused in thought. ‘Dentists. Doctors.’
‘Chat rooms,’ Sam said abruptly.
‘OK.’ Martinez liked that idea better. ‘Nothing on Muller’s phone bills or PC so far, though.’
‘Internet cafés,’ Sam said.
‘I’ll call Rowan,’ Martinez said. ‘He’ll be thrilled.’
‘One good thing,’ Sam said after a while, ‘if there is a link between Maria Rivera and the other two killings.’
‘Rules out young Gregory as a suspect.’ Martinez was already there.
‘Still our only possible witness to Muller’s murder though,’ Sam said.
And unable, poor kid, to tell them a damned thing.
Chapter Fourteen
August 30
Tuesday night, and Saul, spending the night at Terri’s, was restless, though she for once was sleeping like a baby beside him.
He got up carefully, picked up his T-shirt and shorts and padded silently out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him. He poured himself a glass of water, snaffled an oatmeal and raisin cookie from Terri’s jar, and was just about to settle down on the couch and switch on the TV, sound low, when he noticed the photograph on the floor over in the corner near the old dented filing cabinet in which Teté kept her work.
He hadn’t noticed it earlier when they’d come in after a great evening at Casa Juancho over in Little Havana, probably because they’d both been so intent on shedding their clothes and falling on to Teté’s bed.
Saul stooped to pick up the photograph – and froze.
It was a picture of a dead body on what looked like sand; an appalling photograph. A woman, though it was only possible to see that from her bare limbs and clothing – her head, her face, too bloodied, too destroyed, to make out – if one could stand to look at it for more than a second.
Saul thought – putting things together despite his shock – that it might be a photograph of the woman who had been found murdered on the beach up in Hallandale. He’d read about it a couple of days back in the Herald, seen more on the local TV news. The assault had been described as ‘brutal’ and ‘shocking’ – the kind of words people were all too accustomed to hearing used about crimes.
Different seeing it like this.
Sickening.
Definitely not a branch of medicine he was ever going to be attracted to. Though being squeamish was hardly the greatest quality for any doctor.
No blood in furniture making, give or take the odd cut finger or hammered thumb.
He sat down at the table, wondering how come Terri had this in her possession, already aware that, given how fired up she’d been about Sam’s murder case and the poor woman up in Pompano Beach, she might have found a way to obtain – maybe even steal – this picture from Violent Crimes.
Except this didn’t look like the kind of professional crime-scene shot that Saul had, from time to time, seen Sam looking at over the years. This looked more like the kind of snap one might get from a regular camera, maybe even a disposable.
But surely Terri could not have snapped the body, would never – even if she’d managed to escape her own work schedule and make it up to Hallandale Beach (if this actually was that poor woman) – but even if she had gotten herself there, surely she would never have been allowed to get in close enough to take this kind of picture.
No one more charming than Teté though – or more determined. So maybe she had persuaded some Hallandale detective – or more probably one of the officers securing the scene of crime – to let her have a glimpse.
Maybe he’d even agreed to look the other way long enough for Terri to whip out a camera and take this snap.
Saul shuddered.
‘Nice.’
Terri’s voice behind him made him jump.
‘Lovely to know this is what my boyfriend gets up to while I’m sleeping.’
Saul turned around, saw her standing in her short, sheer black robe, hair tousled, raw anger in her eyes. ‘I just—’
‘You just happened to go through my files—’
‘Of course not,’ Saul protested, standing up. ‘This was on the floor.’
Terri snatched it from his fingers. ‘I cannot believe you, Saul. I thought I could trust you.’
‘You can trust me.’ He was more than dismayed by the accusation. ‘You know I’d never touch your private stuff.’
‘So this – ’ she held the photo up – ‘conveniently flew out of the filing cabinet?’
‘For God’s sake, Terri, I t
old you it was on the floor over there.’ He pointed at the corner. ‘You probably dropped it before dinner, or whenever it was you felt like looking at something this awful.’
‘Murder is awful, Saul, ugly.’
‘Murder is not your business.’
‘Not this again, please, not this again.’ She shook her head, turned away from him, flung herself down hard in one corner of the couch.
‘So where did you get it?’ Saul asked.
‘None of your business,’ Terri flashed back.
‘This is the woman up in Hallandale, isn’t it?’
She didn’t answer.
‘So how come a rookie working Property, even an obsessed rookie – ’ Saul used the word knowing it would inflame because now he was mad, too – ‘managed to finagle her way on to a murder scene in a different county, for God’s sake?’ He was shaking now, hating his anger, hating this whole thing. ‘And why in hell are you still putting your own job on the line this crazy way?’
‘Because the great Sam Becket and his team – ’ Terri was back on her feet – ‘and the Broward County Sheriff have managed diddlyshit, and this might just be my chance to prove myself. You still don’t get how important that is to me, do you?’
‘I think looking at stuff like that, taking pictures like that, is sick.’
‘You think I’m sick – ’ she got right up close, practically in his face – ‘maybe you better get out of my home.’
‘Terri, for God’s sake—’
‘In fact – ’ her eyes were blazing – ‘maybe you better get out of my life.’
‘Teté, stop this!’ He wasn’t pleading, he was too angry to plead, but he couldn’t stand the way this was going, knew it was out of control. ‘We need to talk.’
‘I don’t want to talk with a guy who says he loves me but doesn’t want to even try to understand me, who doesn’t even trust me.’
‘You’re the one who just accused me of going through your things.’
‘I want you to leave,’ Terri said. ‘Go home to your daddy and your books, and don’t forget to tell big bro all about me.’
‘Teté, this is nuts.’
‘Get the fuck out!’ she screamed.
He went.
It was Saul’s turn to go to Grace for advice.
Everyone ended up there sometime, David had once joked.
‘Shrink wisdom,’ he called it.
‘Wisdom shrunk,’ Grace had said recently, self-deprecatingly. The more her pregnancy advanced, the more she felt that was true.
If Saul needed advice, the last thing she wanted was to sell him short.
‘I may not be the best person to speak to about this,’ she told him when he showed up at lunchtime on Wednesday with a pastrami on rye for himself, and turkey for her, from the Rascal House. ‘But I cannot say no to that sandwich, especially since Lucia the healthy eating queen’s off sick today.’ She looked down at her sandwich. ‘Except you’re going to have to split your pastrami.’
‘Isn’t it bad for you?’ Saul asked.
‘Half a pastrami, nearly seven months gone? Nah,’ Grace said. ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
Grace ate heartily, but Saul found he was too upset to do more than pick.
‘This is between us, right?’ he said. ‘You won’t tell Sam.’
‘I’m not too thrilled by that,’ Grace said frankly. ‘We tend to share.’
‘Pretend I’m a patient,’ Saul said.
‘You’re not.’
‘It’s nothing he needs to know,’ Saul told her.
‘And more than probably I’ll agree with that,’ Grace said. ‘But I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep.’
Saul looked even more disconsolate, tugged at the crust of the half a turkey sandwich Grace had foisted on him.
‘You really need to unload, don’t you?’ Grace said.
‘Yes,’ Saul said. ‘But I really need you to keep quiet with Sam, too.’
She sighed. ‘OK. Tell me.’
‘You’re sure?’
Grace shrugged. ‘You haven’t left me much choice.’
He told her about the photograph and the fight.
‘She’s obsessed by these killings,’ he said. ‘But if I say anything like that, it’s a real red rag to a bull, you know? She says I’ve always known how seriously she takes her work – which is true, of course I know, and I’ve always respected that about her.’
‘That’s the impression I’ve had,’ Grace said.
‘But she’s also always known how to have the best time.’ Saul shook his head. ‘I’ve never met anyone like Teté, so full of life. She’s always left me way behind, flying ahead of me, which just bowls me over.’
‘And that’s changed?’
‘Not completely, of course not. Just last night, before our fight, we had a great evening, great dinner, great music, amazing—’ He broke off, a little embarrassed.
‘I get the picture.’ Grace smiled.
‘And then I found this photo – and it was just lying on the floor, so I picked it up, and I’d never go through Teté’s things – but she came in and saw me looking at it, and she lost it, accused me of invading her privacy, and that made me mad, and we just went from there.’ He paused. ‘All the way to her screaming at me to get out.’
‘Have you talked to her since?’
‘I called this morning, got voicemail. She hasn’t called back.’ Saul looked suddenly miserable enough to cry. ‘I’m not sure she will, Grace.’
‘Maybe not after one message,’ Grace said gently. ‘Maybe Terri might need a little more than that.’
‘But I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Saul protested.
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Grace said. ‘But Terri clearly felt you did, which is something you’re both going to have to address.’
‘Her not trusting me, you mean.’
‘Goes both ways, Saul,’ Grace said. ‘You ought to know, better than most, what it’s like for police officers sometimes. It’s a given that there are going to be times when Terri – just like Sam – gets completely wrapped in a job.’
‘But that’s the whole point.’ Saul was frustrated. ‘This isn’t her job. It’s Sam’s work I think she’s trying to do. It’s these murders that she’s completely obsessed by, and I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘And you don’t want me to talk to Sam?’ Grace asked.
‘Absolutely not,’ Saul said. ‘Please, Grace.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘Then, if you really feel you’re right about this, you have to go on talking to Terri.’
‘I’m not sure there’s anything left to say,’ Saul said.
‘Then unless you find something,’ Grace said, ‘you’re in a lot of trouble.’
Chapter Fifteen
Cathy was missing Kez.
Missing her so much she was finding it hard to focus on anything else. Since being asked to leave; to go make up her mind about how she felt about a real relationship with Kez. About having a lesbian relationship.
About being gay.
‘I’m not interested in being an experiment,’ Kez had said.
The words were all still rolling around in her head, driving her mad. She hadn’t been able to face summer school, had done little but run since then, racing herself to exhaustion before heading home and being a pain in the ass to everyone there, even being unforgivably curt to Lucia when she’d asked if she was OK. Sam and Grace weren’t too impressed with her and she couldn’t blame them, though she felt that they were upset for her, too, sensing that her lousy mood had something to do with Kez, and for some idiotic reason, that pissed her off even more.
Acting like a child.
Which meant, of course, that Kez had been right to tell her to leave, which conclusion made Cathy feel even worse. And it wasn’t helping one bit that she didn’t feel able to speak to Grace or Sam about her feelings and emotions, but the fact was she knew they were relieved that this relationship appeared to be over.
Or
maybe they didn’t feel that way at all, maybe she was just reading things that weren’t there. Neither of them, in any case, seemed to be thinking too much about her at all. Sam’s mind was jammed full of work and Grace and the baby, and Grace wasn’t really herself, which Cathy knew was mostly the pregnancy and hormones, and she was still busy with patients, and the horrible thing that had happened to Greg Hoffman had really freaked her out. And Cathy couldn’t have been happier they were finally going to have a baby together, knew how miserable they’d both been after the miscarriages, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to upset them. But this whole thing, this mess with Kez, was confusing the hell out of her, and she wished she knew what to do for the best. What was right . . .
Long after Saul had left on Wednesday afternoon, Grace had found her mind straying back again to those last appointments with Gregory, trying to read between the lines. So few lines, so little said.
And then something else had come back to her. The afternoon of that last session with Greg, Cathy had brought Kez home to meet her, and then moments after they’d gone Terri had arrived, making Grace wonder if she might have been waiting for them to leave so they could be alone.
A new possibility had just sprung to mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Maybe Terri had been waiting outside the house because she’d known that Gregory was with her. Greg, who it now seemed might possibly have seen Rudolph Muller’s killer.
Nonsense.
Terri had come to see her because she was upset about Sam. And even if she had been trying to pump him and Saul for details about the homicide investigation, at no time had she attempted to do so with Grace. Anyway, back then no one had known there was any chance that Greg might have seen anything or anyone connected with the Muller murder.
Coincidence, therefore, Terri arriving when she had; nothing more.
Poor Teté, Grace decided. Everyone down on her for that most heinous of female crimes: ambition.
Nothing new there then.
Still no break in the Muller homicide – nor any success linking the three recent victims. Nothing more in common than the nature of the crimes themselves, their beach locations and South Florida.
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