‘My dignity aside,’ he said.
The driver, restored to calm, bade them farewell and returned to his tram and waiting passengers.
‘I don’t know about you,’ the young man said, ‘but I could use a drink.’
‘Good idea,’ Grace said.
‘Will you join me? There’s a good restaurant close by, but I’m sure we could just have a drink.’
Grace thought about calling Sam. ‘I really should get back.’
‘I wouldn’t keep you long.’ the young man said.
He looked quite pale, she thought, perhaps still shocked.
‘Why not?’ she said.
David and Mildred had left Miami General a while ago, traffic slow.
Mildred sat silently, the blur in her eyes worse than last time, making her feel a little nauseous.
‘I wish you’d say something,’ David said.
Mildred took a breath. ‘Remind me, please, why you took me to that man?’
‘I gather you didn’t like him.’
‘Please,’ she said, ‘just tell me.’
‘Because he’s one of the very best,’ David said. ‘Because his clinic has a fine reputation with a virtually zero rating on infection issues.’ He glanced at her. ‘And because he’s happy to perform the procedure under general anesthesia and to keep you in overnight – which I like the sound of, because it’ll put you under less pressure.’
‘I know I’m very lucky that it’s only cataracts.’ Mildred paused, remembering something the doctor had said about the value of good diet and lifestyle. ‘Do you think that my old life might have caused this?’
Her years on the streets suddenly taking on a new perspective.
‘I’d doubt it,’ David said. ‘Cataracts are very common.’
‘I know. Doctor Adams said so.’
‘How much do you dislike him?’
‘I wasn’t keen,’ she said.
‘Then we’ll find someone else,’ David said.
‘And go through all that again?’ Mildred shook her head. ‘Not for anything.’
‘You wouldn’t have to go through it all,’ David said. ‘I’d see to that.’
‘No,’ Mildred said. ‘I’m just being foolish again. I’m sure Doctor Adams is terrific, because otherwise you wouldn’t have recommended him.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ David agreed. ‘But it’s your call.’
They were both silent for a few moments.
‘I’m so sorry you’re having to go through this,’ he said.
‘But it’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Compared to real sickness, nothing at all.’
‘It’s not nothing,’ David said, ‘to you.’
‘It’ll pass,’ Mildred said.
Finally the young man had a name.
Thomas Chauvin.
From Strasbourg, France. The official seat of the European Parliament, located close to the German border.
They’d only reached introductory details after they’d been seated in Sterne Foifi for a few minutes, each quickly downing a small whisky, and then the delicious smells had become too much for Grace, and Thomas had recommended and ordered the Geschnetzeltes Kalbfleisch with Rösti potatoes for two, and a carafe of Swiss white wine.
Grace took out her phone and checked for messages.
‘Someone you need to call, Mrs Becket?’ Thomas Chauvin asked.
‘My husband,’ Grace said. ‘In Florida.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Six hours earlier?’
She nodded. ‘He’s still at work.’
‘May I ask what he does?’
‘Sam’s a police detective,’ Grace said.
‘Sounds exciting,’ Thomas Chauvin said.
Grace saw the flicker of intense interest in his eyes.
‘Sometimes too much so,’ she said.
‘And you? You told me you’re here for a conference.’
‘I’m a psychologist,’ Grace said.
‘An impressive couple,’ he said. ‘I’m a photographer.’
‘What kind of photographer?’
‘All kinds. I take photos for recreation and for a living. My aim is to be a photojournalist.’
‘Interesting work,’ Grace said.
‘I’d like to take a photo now,’ he said. ‘Of you.’
She smiled. ‘I don’t think so.’ She looked around. The place was full, the clientele of all ages, the noise level moderately high.
‘So,’ Thomas Chauvin said. ‘Small world, as they say.’
‘Amazingly so, in this case,’ Grace said.
‘I’m no gambler or mathematician, so I couldn’t begin to guess the odds of three chance encounters in less than as many days.’ He paused. ‘Lucky ones for me, especially the last.’
She skated over that, remarked instead on his fluent English, and he told her that his grandmother had been raised in London, and that he’d made a point of studying English intensively, since it was still the dominant language in the world he wanted to inhabit.
‘And I spend too much time watching American and British movies.’ He grinned.
‘So what brings you to Zurich?’
‘Just vacation,’ he said. ‘A few days to look around, get some ideas, watch people.’ He smiled. ‘Meet them, sometimes.’
She wondered, very briefly, if there was any possibility that he might have engineered that incident outside the cinema, then realized it would have been almost impossible to get the timing right – and in any case, it was a preposterous thought. Yet still, she was starting to wish that she had stuck to one swift drink, since now she had no choice but to wait for dinner with this stranger, their only common ground those few moments of shock on the street.
It was a relief when the food arrived.
‘You like it?’ he asked after her first mouthful.
‘It’s delicious.’ She wished he would stop watching her so intently.
‘I’m sorry for staring. But I never had anyone save my life before.’
‘I didn’t exactly run into a burning building,’ Grace said.
‘You shouldn’t make light of it,’ he said. ‘It was very brave.’
‘It was nothing. I didn’t even stop to think.’
‘That’s what heroic people always say.’
‘Oh, please.’ She regretted her irritation, but his exaggeration rubbed like sandpaper on last year’s wounds.
‘I’m sorry,’ Chauvin said. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You didn’t,’ she said. ‘But I can assure you that I’m no heroine.’
‘May I at least say you were foolhardy?’
Grace smiled. ‘I guess you can say that.’
‘I never had such a thing happen before,’ he said. ‘I heard of a terrible freak accident involving an old lady and a tram a year or two ago, but for a young man to be so clumsy and stupid . . .’
‘Accidents can happen to anyone.’ Grace looked at her wine glass, decided against another sip.
‘Foolhardy and brave,’ Chauvin said.
She looked around. ‘I wonder if they would call a taxi for me.’
‘I’ve made you angry,’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ Grace said. ‘But I do want to get back.’
‘To speak to your husband.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
She almost mentioned Joshua, then stopped. Past experiences, she guessed. Trusting strangers with personal information and coming to regret it. Especially a would-be photojournalist.
Chauvin requested a cab for her and asked for the check, and Grace took out her Amex card.
‘No.’ Thomas Chauvin’s face was set firm. ‘I promise this is the last time I will mention it. But whether or not that tram would have stopped in time, you did try to save the life of a perfect stranger, and I’d say that’s more than worth the price of one small dinner.’
She found it hard to argue with that, and within minutes her cab was outside, and Chauvin wanted to see her into the taxi, and Grace knew it would be churlish to refu
se.
‘Thank you for dinner,’ she said.
‘Thank you for saving me, Grace.’ Thomas Chauvin opened the taxi door for her. ‘That name is, coincidentally, very special to me.’
She had neither time nor inclination to ask why.
He closed the door, and the taxi departed.
Thomas Chauvin watched for another moment as the car pulled away, and then he took out his iPhone, tapped into his photos and looked at the screen.
At one of the shots of Grace he’d taken earlier that day, as she and her colleagues had left their restaurant.
In the photograph, she was looking right at him.
God, she was beautiful.
Chauvin smiled, put the phone safely into his pocket.
Patted it.
‘How’s she doing?’ Sam asked his father.
He hated the thought of Mildred being afraid, their relationship going back to her bag lady days when she’d shared occasional snippets of street information with him.
Tiny in stature, but brave, no cowardice in her.
‘She’s mad at herself,’ David said. ‘And she’s doing her best to appear calm, but she’s dreading the surgery.’
‘Do you have a date yet?’
‘Not yet,’ David said. ‘The doctor plans to do the eyes one at a time, and he wanted to discuss methods with Mildred, but she wasn’t ready, so we have to go back again, which is a pity.’
‘This Adams is a top man, obviously,’ Sam said.
‘He has a great reputation, though Mildred didn’t care for him.’
‘Shooting the messenger?’ Sam asked. ‘Or something more?’
He’d always had a healthy respect for Mildred’s instincts.
‘His empathy skills could use some work,’ David said. ‘But my contacts assure me he’s damned good, and this is small fry for him.’
‘What about going to someone else?’ Sam asked.
‘She says she wouldn’t start over again even if the new doctor were Santa.’
When Grace called, Sam gave her family news and then they moved on to her day.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said, ‘I had quite an evening. Went to the movies, stopped a man from being hit by a tram and ended up having supper with him.’
‘Really?’
She heard the startled note in Sam’s voice.
‘Young enough to be my son,’ she reassured him, even if it was not strictly true. ‘He’d had a shock, needed a drink. I needed food. He’s a photographer, keen to be a photojournalist, and he was very interested in your occupation. I told him nothing, obviously, except that I wanted to get back to my hotel to talk to you.’
‘OK, I’m convinced,’ Sam said. ‘Though he must have thought his birthday had come early, having his life saved by a sexy blonde.’
‘I told you, he’s young.’
‘Young men have eyes too.’
‘So they do,’ she agreed, and tried not to think about poor Mildred.
‘As a matter of fact, you’ll recall that I have a young and rather beautiful woman coming to spend the evening with me,’ Sam said, staying upbeat.
‘So you do,’ Grace said. ‘Your gorgeous young diva.’
‘To be honest,’ Sam said, ‘I could do without it.’
‘It’ll be fun,’ Grace said. ‘And good for the production.’
‘I’ll think of you,’ he told her, ‘asleep in your Swiss bed.’
‘And I’ll think of you,’ she said, ‘coaching Carmen.’
Magda had finished work for the evening when her appointments line rang.
She let it go to voicemail, screening.
It was Beatriz Delgado, calling to make another appointment for her daughter.
Magda picked up. ‘Doctor Shrike here. How’s Felicia doing?’
‘Not so good,’ Mrs Delgado said.
‘Do you think our short session upset her?’ Magda asked.
‘Everything upsets her.’
‘It’s too soon even to say “early days”, Mrs Delgado.’ Magda walked into her office and opened her datebook. ‘We haven’t really begun.’
‘Do you think you can help her, Doctor?’
‘I’m certainly going to do my best,’ Magda said.
‘I have to go,’ the other woman said suddenly.
‘The appointment,’ Magda said.
But Beatriz Delgado had already gone.
Billie Smith looked a treat, reminding Sam, a little, of a very young Halle Berry.
‘This is so kind of you.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, held out a bottle of red wine.
‘Hey,’ Sam said lightly. ‘This is a rehearsal. No alcohol allowed, orders of La Morrison.’
‘Who’s not here,’ Billie said, ‘and I need to relax into the singing a little more, which is part of the point of tonight.’
‘Extra practice is the point of tonight,’ Sam said, like a schoolteacher.
Claudia came out of the kitchen into the hallway, the dogs behind her: Woody, the Becket’s ageing mini dachshund-schnauzer cross, and her own three-legged spaniel, Ludo.
‘Hi there,’ she said warmly. ‘I’m Claudia Brownley, Sam’s sister-in-law.’
Billie shook her hand. ‘Good to meet you. I’m Billie Smith.’
‘Sam tells me your father’s an old school friend of his.’
‘Uh-huh,’ Billie said.
‘And you’re playing Carmen,’ Claudia said. ‘I’m incredibly impressed.’
‘I wish I was,’ Billie said.
‘You have a beautiful voice,’ Sam told her. ‘And nerves are just part of the whole process.’
‘Do you suffer from stage fright?’ Claudia asked her.
‘God, yes,’ Billie says. ‘That’s why I’m here, because Sam’s so much kinder than our director, so I’m hoping he’s going to give me a boost.’
Sam thought he almost saw his sister-in-law’s brows rise.
‘Well, let’s hope,’ Claudia said. ‘It was good of you to bring wine, Billie, though I gather alcohol isn’t good for the singing voice.’ She took the bottle. ‘A few sips will go nicely with our supper, though. I made a lasagna. I hope that’s OK for you, Billie. I made it vegetarian, in case.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Billie said.
‘You didn’t need to do that,’ Sam told Claudia. ‘You’re doing far too much for us already.’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
The supper was delicious, if a little strained. Sam and Claudia asked Billie a few questions about her life, her job, her classes, about Larry and Jill, her parents; both trying to draw her out, relax her, but she seemed reluctant to give up much about herself, and Sam wondered if there were family issues.
Though it was later, while he and Billie were working through their Act Four scene – ‘If you love me, Carmen’ – that the really awkward moment of the evening occurred.
Not a pass, exactly.
Just Billie brushing up against Sam.
In a way that felt more than merely accidental.
Enough to put him on alert.
Definitely not what he wanted.
‘You guys want some coffee?’
Claudia again, right on cue, making Sam wonder if she’d been on patrol, and in other circumstances that might have been irritating, but right now it just felt welcome.
‘I’ll get it,’ Sam told her. ‘I want to look in on Joshua anyway.’
‘Can I come?’ Billie asked.
‘He’s been a little restless,’ Claudia said. ‘Better if it’s just his dad.’
Before long they were back to rehearsing, and it was a real pleasure listening to Billie and good giving his own voice an extra airing. And a little later, Joshua came down and brought the dogs in with him, and Billie was sweet and natural with them all, so Sam let Joshua hang with them for about fifteen minutes until Claudia coerced him back upstairs with a promise of an extra story.
‘You’re a lucky man,’ Billie told Sam.
‘Y
ou don’t have to tell me.’
‘When’s Grace due back?’
‘Day after tomorrow,’ Sam said.
For an instant, he thought he saw wistfulness in her eyes, and she’d spoken briefly about her parents’ move up to Jacksonville a few years back, and he guessed she missed them. And for all Billie’s natural beauty and talent and sweetness, Sam found himself feeling sorry for her.
You could never tell just by looking who were the lonely ones.
May 12
The call came in to Violent Crimes just after eleven on Thursday morning.
Bay Drive in North Beach.
Woman shot to death in the bedroom of a single-story house.
‘Sounds like Black Hole finally hit the Beach,’ Beth Riley, their sergeant, informed them, and appointed Sam lead investigator on the case.
Sam said little, Amelia Newton’s deathbed still vivid in his mind.
‘We got a name?’ Martinez asked Riley.
‘Beatriz Delgado,’ she said.
Nice little house with a small, well-maintained driveway, pretty backyard, plenty of neat palms and flowers. Wood flooring inside, vaulted ceilings, marble in the bathrooms, granite and steel in the kitchen. Expensive.
No signs of struggle or forced entry.
Patrol officers put the detectives in the picture, fast and somber.
The man presently slumped on the couch in the living room, his face in his hands, had reported the crime. Carlos Delgado, the victim’s ex-husband, whose cries when he’d found Mrs Delgado had been – according to a female neighbor – enough to ice her blood.
Even Dr Elliot Sanders, the Chief Medical Examiner, was grim-faced when he joined the party. ‘I gather you saw Fort Lauderdale,’ he said to Sam.
‘Bad scene,’ Sam said. ‘Lot of similarities.’
As in that previous case, the victim was in the bedroom. The late Mrs Delgado looking even worse, or maybe just more bizarre, than Amelia Newton had.
No sunglasses this time.
A pair of small, old-fashioned white lace doilies covering her wounds.
Sanders took his first look beneath them.
‘Gauze again, stuffed into the sockets under those things.’
‘Holy Mother,’ Martinez said quietly.
Sam stayed silent, pushing through these first tough moments so he could get straight to work.
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