Caged (14 page)

Things really were good now, she figured, fondling Woody’s ears. Home life with someone she adored, someone
safe
. The rest of the family practically around the corner. Work she actually loved, and beginning, thanks to Dooley and Simone, to shape into the start of something with real potential.

She heard the den door close inside the house, pictured her mom showing her young patient out, then turning back through the narrow front hallway – and then she saw her coming through the lanai and out on to the deck.

‘I’m sorry.’ Grace gave her daughter a hug, then sat down beside her.

‘It’s fine,’ Cathy said. ‘I’ve been chilling with Woody.’

‘Lunch?’

Cathy shook her head. ‘Going for a run.’

‘It’s lovely to see you,’ Grace told her.

‘I’m actually here,’ Cathy said, ‘to issue an invitation.’

‘Sounds nice.’

‘It’s kind of a weird one, but I’m hoping you and Sam’ll go for it. Dinner at the café Thursday night, but after closing, if you guys can stand to wait.’ Cathy took a breath. ‘The deal is I’m going to cook under Dooley’s tutelage, and Simone says she wants to serve, but I’m hoping to talk her out of that because it doesn’t seem right, especially since the point of my working there is to give her time off to be with her mom.’

‘It’s incredibly kind of them both,’ Grace said.

‘Please don’t say no,’ Cathy said. ‘I really want to do this.’

‘I’m sure we won’t say no, provided—’

‘Saul says he’ll come here to mind Joshua, and I figure even if Sam’s still working flat out, the late night thing’ll probably work out fine for him.’

‘We’ll have to check with him, obviously.’

‘But if he says yes, you’ll come?’

Grace looked at her daughter’s clear, eager eyes.

‘We wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ she said.

FORTY-ONE

S
am and Martinez had been back to the offices of Tiller, Valdez, Weinman.

The business of law continuing, but a sombreness in the air, with everyone who had known the victims patently shocked; and even for those who’d had little contact with either Elizabeth or André, this was still a double homicide much too close for comfort, and Sam for one was glad to hear that Rachel Weinman had arranged trauma counselling for those in need.

Next stop Beatty Management.

Ally Moore’s mention of ‘weird plastic’ in the Easterman homicide was still brewing in the detectives’ minds, but more thorough computer checks into Moore had yielded a big fat zero, and their meeting today was with her boss, Larry Beatty; the early stages of the interview bringing nothing of interest until the conversation moved briefly to Mrs Myerson’s illness and Beatty’s role as attorney-in-fact.

‘Sad business,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful not to be the lady’s health care surrogate decision-maker.’

‘You sound like a lawyer,’ Martinez remarked.

‘Used to be,’ Beatty said. ‘I changed direction some time ago.’

‘Why was that?’ Sam asked. ‘If you don’t mind my asking.’

‘Personal reasons,’ Beatty answered.

His office, on the second floor, above a busy front office area, had wood veneer walls, a large mahogany-look desk taking up much of the space, the detectives sitting in two upright and uncomfortable chairs facing the man behind the desk.

‘Who did you work for, sir, when you were a lawyer?’ Martinez asked. ‘Anyone we might know?’

‘A few firms,’ Beatty said. ‘Is it relevant?’

‘Not at all,’ Martinez said. ‘I was just interested. We get to know a lot of law firms in our line of work, as you can imagine.’

‘I was corporate, though,’ Beatty said. ‘Not criminal.’

‘OK,’ Martinez said easily, and let it drop.

‘We do have a small request,’ Sam said. ‘Would you be willing to provide a voluntary DNA sample?’

‘Why?’

If Moore had looked edgy when she was asked, Beatty looked appalled.

‘A little physical evidence was found in the old gallery,’ Martinez explained.

‘Just a few drops of blood,’ Sam said.

‘Not the victims’?’ Beatty asked.

Sam shook his head. ‘And almost certainly unconnected with any crime. But just as we asked you to provide fingerprints for elimination, it would be useful if you’d agree to provide a DNA swab.’

‘Do you recall cutting or scratching yourself any time there?’ Martinez asked.

Beatty shook his head. ‘No. Never.’

‘Still,’ Sam said. ‘It would be helpful.’

‘No reason to be concerned about it,’ Martinez said.

‘But it’s your right to refuse,’ Sam said.

Now there was a flush on Larry Beatty’s smooth face. ‘The fact is, I’ve given a sample before, voluntarily.’

‘How so?’ Martinez asked politely.

The flush deepened. ‘I was falsely accused of something. I knew that my DNA would prove my innocence, which it did, and my accuser later withdrew the allegation, but it still left a bad taste.’

‘That’s understandable,’ Sam said. ‘As I said, it’s your right to refuse this.’

‘Except refusal might look strange,’ Beatty said. ‘Maybe even suspicious.’

‘You’re not a suspect, sir,’ Martinez said.

‘I can’t imagine why I would be, but I’m glad to hear it.’ Beatty paused. ‘Was that blood old or recently shed, do you know? Only I’m a little surprised, with the cleaners coming in regularly, that it would be there at all.’ He picked up a ball pen and made a swift note on a pad, then looked up. ‘Maybe you should ask them for samples, too.’

‘We may do that,’ Sam said.

FORTY-TWO

A
swift new search back at the station brought forth a coincidence.

The last firm Lawrence Beatty had worked at had been Tiller, Valdez, Weinman.

Neither Sam nor Martinez believed in coincidences.

They went back to the law firm and found Michelle Webster in her office, a windowless space, tiny but her own, made friendlier with green plants, a couple of framed photographs and a cross-stitched sampler up on the wall with a Benjamin Franklin quotation.

‘I’m so glad to see you,’ Michelle said.

‘That doesn’t often happen,’ Sam said.

She walked around her desk, pulled out two folding canvas director’s chairs from behind a filing cabinet and began to straighten them out.

‘Please,’ Martinez said. ‘Let me do that.’

Michelle stepped away, waited till both men were seated. ‘I guess I’ve been playing at working, but frankly it’s all such a struggle. I want to
do
something for Elizabeth and André, and I know I can’t, but now here you are.’

Sam wished they’d come with something more than what would, almost certainly, turn out to be innocent coincidence.

‘All we have is one question,’ he said.

‘Please,’ she said, back behind her desk, still standing. ‘Anything.’

‘Did you ever happen to know a guy name of Lawrence Beatty?’ Sam asked.

‘Larry Beatty?’ Michelle looked surprised. ‘What does he have to do with Elizabeth and André?’

‘Probably nothing at all,’ Martinez said.

She sat down. ‘He used to work here, but obviously you know that.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t really know him personally, and he left soon after I joined TVW, but I do recall there was a little gossip going around when he went.’ Michelle hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m actually not sure it’s right for me to talk about it.’

‘That’s fine,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Who do you think might be able to help us?’ Martinez asked.

‘Human Resources, I guess,’ she said.

Martinez smiled. ‘I meant with the gossip.’

‘I don’t really know.’ Michelle thought. ‘I remember one of the girls talking about him, but she’s not here any more either.’ Frustrated, she raked a hand through her short hair. ‘You ask me one small thing and I can’t help you.’

‘You have,’ Sam said gently.

‘Every little bit helps,’ Martinez said. ‘It’s like a jigsaw, you know?’

‘I guess it must be,’ Michelle said.

They went in search of Victor Valdez, who made himself instantly available.

His corner office, Sam estimated, was about eight times the size of Michelle’s, modern with an abundance of oak and steel, and immense windows.

‘Please, gentlemen, take a seat.’ Valdez gestured at a large leather couch. ‘How can I help?’

‘Lawrence Beatty,’ Martinez said.

Valdez’s dark eyes snapped suddenly to black. ‘What about him?’

‘Can you tell us about him?’ Sam asked.

‘Is it connected with the homicides?’

‘Almost certainly not,’ Sam said.

Valdez glanced down at his gold Rolex. ‘Then I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I have a meeting.’ He rose, played briefly with his left cuff. ‘If you need any more information about Beatty, I’ll ask Human Resources to make his file available.’

Rachel Weinman was more forthcoming.

Her office was smaller than her partner’s and had the feel of a busy, untidy worker, the surface of her desk buried beneath stacks of files. Weinman frowned on hearing Beatty’s name, but then she nodded, asked them to sit – her couch, too, smaller than Valdez’s – offered them water and then sat down close by.

‘I need you to respect that what I tell you is confidential,’ she said.

‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ Sam said. ‘Unless it turns out to have some bearing on our investigation.’

‘I can’t imagine how it would.’ Weinman paused. ‘Some time ago, a staff member here made a very serious allegation against Mr Beatty, which led to considerable unpleasantness. The allegation was false, as it turned out, and was later withdrawn, but Mr Beatty chose to resign.’

‘What was the allegation, ma’am?’ Martinez asked.

‘The
false
allegation,’ Weinman reminded him.

‘Understood,’ Sam said.

‘The young woman claimed that Mr Beatty had raped her. He denied it absolutely and offered – actually, he insisted – on giving a DNA sample to clear himself, which it did.’

‘Had the victim gone to the police?’ Martinez asked.

‘No.’

‘And didn’t the firm report it?’ Sam asked.

‘A decision was made to handle the matter quietly in the first instance.’ Weinman paused again. ‘The DNA sample was sent to a private lab, and I can assure you that had there been any possibility of a case to answer, I would have insisted on it.’

‘Why the cover-up in the first place?’ Martinez asked.

‘No cover-up, Detective,’ Weinman said firmly.

‘So why the initial decision to keep it quiet?’ Sam amended.

‘Are these questions absolutely necessary?’ Her expression was hard to read.

‘We wouldn’t be asking them if they weren’t, ma’am.’

‘The young woman in question was Mr Valdez’s niece.’

‘I see,’ Sam said.

‘To be candid,’ Weinman went on, ‘she already had a history of having a somewhat over-active imagination.’

‘So she lied,’ Martinez said.

‘She certainly exaggerated.’

‘Didn’t Mr Beatty take any action of his own against his accuser?’ Sam asked.

‘He did not.’

‘Was that his choice,’ Martinez asked, ‘or was he persuaded not to?’

‘The young woman was in a bad emotional state, and Mr Beatty let the matter drop. It was definitely his choice. As was his resignation.’

‘Is the woman in question still working here?’ Sam asked.

‘Not any more,’ Weinman said.

‘But she stayed on after Beatty quit?’ Martinez said.

‘For a short while.’

‘When you used the word “exaggerated”,’ Sam said, ‘were you implying that there might have been something to the allegation?’

‘I wasn’t implying anything,’ Weinman said. ‘I can assure you there was no rape.’ She shifted in her chair. ‘And that really is all I can say about the matter.’

‘Did Elizabeth Price or André Duprez know Beatty?’ Sam asked.

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ Weinman replied. ‘It’s probable that their paths never crossed. Mr Beatty was in our corporate section, not divorce. I can ask around, if you’d like.’

‘It’s probably of no consequence,’ Sam said, ‘but if you should hear anything, we’d appreciate being kept informed.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll be discreet, obviously.’

They all stood up.

‘Does the name Allison Moore ring any bells with you?’ Martinez asked.

‘None,’ Weinman said. ‘But I can check our files.’

At the door, Sam turned back.

‘I don’t suppose you happen to recall if Larry Beatty was a golfer?’

‘If he was,’ Rachel Weinman said, ‘I never knew about it.’

FORTY-THREE

P
romise went on draining out of Monday with every passing hour.

As keenly as they searched, they found nothing further of note regarding Beatty; nothing from the Florida Bar, no other scandals, no scams, no actions pending against him. Nothing from the FBI’s NCIC nor the FCIC.

No gurneys or hoists reported missing from hospitals or nursing homes.

No plastic domes on anyone’s missing list either.

No stores or websites admitting to selling unusual quantities of glue.

Neither Suzy or Michael Easterman had, to anyone’s knowledge, either sought or been in need of any form of counselling or medication for anxiety – slamming the door on that possible link with André Duprez.

Rachel Weinman called less than two hours after their visit to say that she’d found no mention of Allison Moore on the firm’s files.

‘I guess sometimes,’ Sam said, ‘coincidences are just that.’

‘Maybe,’ Martinez said. ‘They’re still both of
interest
, though, right? And the rape allegation doesn’t hurt.’

Sam made a noncommittal sound.