Eclipse

by Hilary Norman

  ‘We’ll skip right over it,’ Adams said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mildred said, grateful to him for the first time.

  ‘There is a question you do need to answer,’ he continued. ‘And you may want time to consider it.’ He paused. ‘Within reason, you get to help choose the kind of intraocular lens we put in.’

  David saw her pallor returning. ‘This isn’t about the procedure,’ he said quickly. ‘This is about choosing the best kind of vision to suit you.’ He glanced at Adams. ‘Forgive me, Doctor.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Adams said easily.

  David smiled his thanks.

  ‘I believe it’s possible these days,’ he told Mildred, ‘for a surgeon to restore your ability to see at all distances.’

  ‘So to that end,’ Adams said, ‘it’s helpful to know about your lifestyle and preferences. To know if you’re a reader, if you swim or do embroidery.’

  ‘I swim and read. I do not embroider, nor do I knit.’ Mildred tried to smile.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Ethan Adams said.

  ‘I think you have to do a little measuring, Doctor,’ David said.

  ‘I do,’ Adams said. ‘Though a few more tests and measurements will be done as close to the time of surgery as possible.’ He smiled at Mildred. ‘For pinpoint accuracy, you understand.’

  ‘Of course I do. I know I’m a fool, but I do appreciate what you’ve been telling me.’

  Not his fault, after all, that she had this problem.

  ‘Do I have to stay at the clinic overnight?’ she asked.

  ‘In your case, I think it would be easier for you.’

  ‘May I think about that?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Adams said. ‘But though there’s no need for particular haste, I do need to tell you that I’m going away in mid-June for two months.’

  ‘Is there no one else who could do the procedure?’ Mildred asked.

  ‘Not in my clinic,’ Dr Adams said.

  ‘No pressure then,’ Mildred said.

  At noon, Sam had a call from Ida Lowenstein in the ME’s office to say that presumptive toxicology tests – comparatively swift with their field narrowed to a search for a specific drug – had shown that Beatriz Delgado had ingested a large dose of Diazepam some time before her death.

  The drug’s name one of the few details still not known to the public.

  No big surprise for the police.

  Black Hole for sure.

  At six, Martinez picked up a message from Carlos Delgado informing them that Felicia had been moved to a private clinic in Aventura.

  ‘He says she’s still not fit for interview,’ Martinez told Sam. ‘But we’re welcome to talk to the head honcho, Doctor Pérez. I’m checking out the place now.’

  Sam called Joe Duval to appraise him, learned that Delgado had consulted with him on the subject of continuing security, since he wanted to arrange his own twenty-four-hour guard on Felicia’s room.

  ‘I was about to call you,’ Duval said. ‘It’s hard to fault the guy, but it gets us no further with an interview.’ He paused. ‘Any chance this could be a smokescreen? Dad feeling he might have more control over her at this place?’

  ‘We’ll head over there soon as,’ Sam said.

  The Weston-Pérez Clinic on 190th Street gave a solid, comfortable appearance, and Dr Eduardo Pérez was affable and elegant, sporting a trim goatee and open-necked crisp white shirt. He expressed concern for his new patient, said that the clinic prided itself on its own state-of-the-art security, but that as a father himself, he understood why Delgado had chosen to make additional arrangements.

  Delgado had only left his daughter for a couple of hours to go home to shower and change, the doctor told the detectives.

  But at least he had left, Sam registered, was not standing guard twenty-four-seven.

  They met with Delgado in a waiting room.

  He looked exhausted, apologized for not yet finding time to look over payments made on Beatriz’s behalf. Sam asked if he’d thought of anyone who might have had recent contact with her. Delgado pointed out again that they’d only communicated about Felicia, that Beatriz had no reason to keep him informed about her daily life.

  Sam waited while Delgado took some Evian from a small refrigerator. ‘Did your wife suffer from her phobia when you first knew her?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No specific reason,’ Sam said. ‘When we have nothing clear-cut, we ask more questions, look for more tenuous links. Sometimes things that don’t seem insignificant can be helpful.’

  ‘Her problems weren’t as extreme back then, but they did exist,’ Delgado said. ‘When we first met, she said she wore sunglasses because her eyes were sensitive to light. I found it quite attractive, even intriguing, back then.’

  His sadness was almost palpable now.

  Both detectives feeling it.

  ‘Did she ever tell you the root cause of her phobia?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Never. She wouldn’t talk about it.’ Delgado drank some water, set the bottle on the table and stood up. ‘Too late now.’

  ‘Hopefully not for your daughter,’ Sam said.

  Delgado hesitated for a moment. ‘Doctor Shrike said that Beatriz originally wanted Felicia to see your wife, Doctor Lucca, but she was overseas. Perhaps when she’s ready, we could try again?’

  ‘That’s not something I can answer,’ Sam told him. ‘It would have to be between you and Doctor Lucca.’

  And did that question about Grace take suspicion further off the man? Sam wondered. Or was that why Delgado had asked the question?

  Cynicism, all the time, in this job.

  Not one of Sam’s favorite traits.

  Impossible for a cop to avoid.

  At rehearsal that evening, Billie Smith’s singing was so fine that it drew a rare burst of applause from the company.

  She came to find Sam during the break. ‘That was down to you,’ she said. ‘You really helped me.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘You’re doing this all by yourself.’

  ‘That is so not true.’ Billie glanced around. ‘Sam, could we talk?’

  ‘Great job, Billie.’ Linda Morrison came up behind them, checked her watch, clapped her hands. ‘Three minutes, people. Billie, don’t you even breathe too near Carla or Jack. They both swear they’re coming down with the flu.’

  It was late before they finished.

  Sam saw Billie heading his way again, figured departure might be the wisest tactic, threw his libretto in his case, looked around for Linda.

  ‘Gotta go,’ he called to her.

  ‘Rehearse, rehearse, rehearse, big guy,’ she called back.

  Sam blew her a kiss, gave Billie a friendly wave and headed out to his car.

  He didn’t look back until he was in his old Saab, motor started, and then he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that she was halfway down the path, one hand raised, maybe calling to him.

  He thought about his old friend, Larry, and felt a little guilty.

  Hoped to hell that Billie wasn’t in any kind of trouble.

  Though the trouble he’d thought she might have been looking for the other night was the kind he was definitely not interested in.

  And heck, Jacksonville wasn’t that far away, and if Billie did have problems, maybe needed a parental figure, she surely only had to call them.

  Less than a minute later, his iPhone rang.

  Joe Duval calling.

  ‘We got another one.’

  Sam and Martinez arrived within minutes of each other.

  Another young woman living alone, in North Miami Beach.

  Found by her mother.

  Unbearable scene, even worse than the others, because it had patently taken longer to find the body.

  Victim’s name Zoë Fox, age twenty-five. Photographs and horrified neighbors affirming that she had been pretty as a picture, fun-loving, adventure-seeking, sweet disposition, guys lining up.

  Now all that horrifically
destroyed.

  Same as the others, right down to the one variable.

  A Zorro mask covering the horrors this time, its eye slits filled in with black tape.

  Impossible to guess how many retail or online outlets sold those masks, unless this one turned out to have some manufacturer’s code or defining feature.

  Neither Sam nor Martinez holding their breath on that.

  No way of asking the mother yet if she knew if the mask had belonged to her daughter, because that poor woman had, for the time being, lost her mind.

  ‘One thing,’ Joe Duval said to the detectives. ‘Maybe nothing at all, but the security pass in her purse says Miss Fox worked for Shade City in the Aventura Mall.’ He paused. ‘Selling sunglasses.’

  Maybe something.

  Zoë Fox had lived and died in the City of North Miami Beach.

  Not their case.

  Didn’t make Sam or Martinez feel any better.

  And by the time Sam got back in his car to drive home, he felt sick to his stomach and his heart.

  And mad as hell.

  Such a waste.

  Such a sick, evil waste.

  May 17

  The doctor’s reading tonight was, yet again, concerned with the eye. Specifically with the macula lutea, the small yellowish area of the retina near the optic disk that provided humans with central vision.

  A tiny miracle, in its center a depression called the fovea, containing nerve cells known as cones, which were associated with color vision and perception of fine detail.

  He had read this more times than he could count. About the wonder of perfect vision and about the disorders, accidents and degenerative conditions that could disrupt or destroy that perfection.

  Some of them bringing darkness where there had been light.

  Sometimes slowly, like an eclipse, sometimes terrifyingly swiftly.

  And then, new miracles were needed.

  Wonders of medicine.

  Brought about by scientists and doctors.

  Learned people.

  The good and the great.

  Like him.

  He would always read, study, go on learning, no matter how complete his knowledge or finely honed his skills. He understood that there would always be room for improvement, and that was one of the things that would set him apart from the rest, raise him higher.

  Make him the very best.

  Grace had been waking earlier since her return, giving her and Sam a little welcome extra time together, while Joshua still slept and the demands of the day were not yet eating at either of them.

  It had been late when he’d got home last night, his mind filled with poor Zoë Fox, but this Tuesday morning, Sam knew he should wait no longer to revisit the subject of Felicia Delgado.

  ‘Her father intimated to me yesterday that when she’s ready, he might like her to see you professionally, since it was you his wife had initially tried to approach.’

  ‘How did that come up as a topic?’ Grace was frowning.

  ‘He found out you’re my wife,’ Sam said simply. ‘I think he was just asking me to pass on the message.’

  ‘Very inappropriately,’ she said.

  ‘As I told him. But if you and Magda were to feel you were the right therapist for Felicia . . .’ He paused. ‘You have very specific experience.’

  The old package of dismay landed between them with an almost palpable thud, Cathy’s horrific times returning again.

  Not the same, but still . . .

  ‘I just didn’t want this to come out of left field,’ he said. ‘And though in some ways I’d rather it didn’t come your way, I know there could be no one better qualified to help Felicia Delgado.’

  ‘I’m not sure whether to thank you for that or not,’ Grace said.

  ‘Know just what you mean,’ Sam said.

  Duval called early from MROC to keep them in the loop.

  Zoë Fox’s work location had, as they’d thought, given them a glimmer of hope because of Aventura’s sophisticated CCTV system.

  If Black Hole had been a customer of Zoë’s, or maybe stalking her, then he or she might appear somewhere on footage recorded in the days preceding her murder – or if they got real lucky, on the day itself. Even if the victims were not random, even if Zoë Fox had been preselected – or was on some kind of list – it did not preclude her being watched at work or approached under some pretext. So anyone recorded looking even remotely suspect would be tracked on their route through the mall into one of the parking lots. Maybe even to their car.

  It would take time.

  ‘I’d like to look at Shade City’s records for our own investigation,’ Sam said.

  ‘Big sunglasses are being sold all over,’ Duval said. ‘Very fashionable, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Hell of a long shot,’ Martinez said.

  ‘Anyone got any better ideas?’ Sam asked.

  May 18

  Mid-morning Wednesday, Carlos Delgado called to say that Felicia had emerged from her semicatatonic state, had immediately become hysterical and was now under sedation.

  City of North Miami Beach were studying CCTV footage at Aventura, but customer details from Shade City were going to have to be sought from their head office.

  Nothing to stop Sam and Martinez getting straight over to the clinic, where Dr Pérez interrupted a meeting to confirm that his patient was still unfit for interview.

  ‘Did she say anything before you sedated her?’ Sam asked.

  Pérez shook his head. ‘She was incoherent.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Martinez said, ‘even in that state—’

  ‘Miss Delgado said nothing.’ The doctor cut him short.

  ‘Just trying to do our jobs here, Doctor,’ Martinez said.

  ‘Trying to help Miss Delgado with what she’s going to need most,’ Sam said. ‘For us to find who murdered her mother.’

  ‘And scared her half to death,’ Martinez added.

  The doctor promised his full cooperation the moment Felicia was ready.

  Neither Sam nor Martinez had reason to doubt his word.

  From the clinic, they headed over to the Bay Drive crime scene to meet Duval for another scout around ahead of next day’s second multijurisdictional meeting.

  He was out on the sidewalk, blowing his nose.

  ‘We got something new in Naples.’

  Homicide number three. Lindy Braun, the bar owner.

  ‘A neighbor’s come forward – she’s been in the UK for almost two months, didn’t know about the killing, but claims she saw someone visiting that morning.’ Duval sneezed. ‘Sorry, guys. Damned head cold.’

  ‘Gesundheit,’ Sam said.

  ‘The neighbor?’ Martinez said.

  ‘Says she saw a red-haired female – though she also says she wouldn’t swear that she was female, because she was wearing a uniform with pants, and the hair was big and could have been a wig.’ Duval blew his nose again. ‘But she – or he – was wearing big dark glasses and got out of a black SUV with tinted windows, carrying two bags.’

  ‘What kind of bags?’ Sam asked. ‘Purse or travel size?’

  ‘Quite large and black, she thinks.’

  ‘Was the redhead alone?’ Sam asked.

  ‘She only noticed her – or him.’

  ‘No make or license plate for the SUV, I take it?’ Martinez said.

  ‘Why would she have looked?’ Duval said.

  ‘When she says this person was “visiting”,’ Sam said, ‘did she see them go to Miss Braun’s actual front door?’

  ‘She did.’ Duval’s voice was husky with his cold. ‘But she didn’t see if they went inside.’

  ‘So Lindy Braun might not even have come to the door,’ Martinez said.

  ‘Do we have an exact time?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Mid or late morning,’ Duval said. ‘I wouldn’t depend on that.’

  ‘Is she even sure about the date?’ Martinez asked.

  ‘She claims to be,’ Duval said.
/>   ‘Does she think she’d recognize the redhead again?’ Sam asked.

  ‘She says that if she saw the whole deal again – the vehicle, uniform, wig, sunglasses, carrying the bags – she might be able to tell by this person’s walk.’

  ‘Something special about that?’ Martinez asked.

  ‘Nothing noticeable like a limp,’ Duval said. ‘But the neighbor believes everyone has a unique way of walking, says she’s made a study of it.’

  ‘Fruitcake,’ Martinez dismissed.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Sam said.

  ‘I’m inclined to believe she saw a redhead in a uniform,’ Duval said.

  ‘Who might possibly be a scared witness,’ Sam said. ‘If she went inside.’

  ‘Or Red could be Black Hole,’ Martinez said.

  ‘No similar sightings in Orlando or Jupiter?’ Sam checked.

  ‘Yeah, I just figured I’d leave that out,’ Duval said, wry.

  They went inside for another look at the crime scene.

  Not a glimmer of new inspiration.

  Nothing new here or anyplace else.

  Just an unidentified redhead in Naples.

  The doll maker was working on a sweet-faced poupée.

  French in origin, taller than those that had come before.

  Not as slender as Zoë Fox.

  But with lovely, sky-blue eyes.

  Their color not dissimilar to the late Ms Fox’s contacts.

  For just a moment, the hand gripping the scalpel clenched a little too hard.

  Not good for control or accuracy.

  Relax.

  Breathe.

  Better.

  The work continued.

  Sam and Martinez headed back to the station for the remainder of the day, Duval staying with them.

  All trawling back again through each Black Hole case file.

  Reading and cross-checking, duplicating the work of the other investigating offices, knowing that others were probably doing likewise, sifting for that one tiny clue that another jurisdiction had missed. Because cops were human and therefore fallible, and the victims deserved every ounce of resolve and indefatigability they could offer.

  Nothing new.

  They rechecked details of each woman’s vision, found nothing significant. Arlene Silver had used glasses for reading and Lindy Braun had worn contacts for myopia. Amelia Newton had twenty-twenty vision, according to a recent eye test, the details found in a file at her home; Zoë Fox likewise, though she had sometimes worn striking blue contacts to enhance her paler blue eyes. Beatriz Delgado’s eye problems of a different kind.