Caged (27 page)

‘What is this?’ Beatty asked. ‘Am I under arrest? Should I call a lawyer?’

‘You’re certainly not under arrest,’ Sam said. ‘And if you’d prefer it, we would come to your office again, but I figured you’d rather we didn’t keep on doing that.’

Moore, even more audibly jarred, also asked Riley if she needed an attorney.

‘It’s entirely your right,’ Riley said.

‘Am I a suspect?’ Moore asked.

‘Not at present,’ Riley said.

Noon the agreed time for Moore.

A half-hour later for Beatty.

EIGHTY-FIVE

C
athy had come to see Martinez.

‘You look so much better,’ she told him.

He looked a million miles from great, but it was true to say that he looked about a hundred times better than he had last time she’d seen him.

Which was more, she felt, than could be said for Jess.

‘You look tired,’ Cathy told her, kindly, she hoped.

‘I am,’ Jess said.

‘That’s because she’s been here forever,’ Martinez said. ‘Best medicine, isn’t that what they say about love?’

Cathy thought it was laughter, not love, but kept that to herself.

‘I can’t believe the change in a few days,’ she said. ‘David and Sam told me, but I needed to see for myself.’

‘You don’t need to keep on coming,’ Martinez told her. ‘You got a busy life.’ He grinned. ‘Not that it doesn’t do me good to see all the pretty girls I can.’

‘This guy,’ Cathy said to Jess, and shook her head.

‘All guys,’ Jess said, a little smile on her lips.

Not in her eyes, though, Cathy thought.

She got up to leave about twenty minutes later, feeling that Martinez looked weary, bent to kiss his cheek, squeezed his hand, felt him squeeze back.

‘You be good now,’ she told him.

‘Always,’ he said.

Jess got up too. ‘I’ll come out with you.’

‘You don’t need to,’ Cathy said.

‘I’d like to stretch my legs,’ Jess said.

They walked past the nurses’ station toward the elevators.

‘Something up?’ Cathy asked.

‘You could say that,’ Jess said.

Cathy stopped, turned to face her, saw that the other woman’s eyes looked weird, angry and distressed. ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘You look upset.’

‘You won’t want to hear this,’ Jess said.

‘Try me.’

‘You probably won’t even believe me.’

‘We’ll never know unless you tell me.’

Jess looked around, making sure no one was close enough to hear.

‘Your dad made a pass at me,’ she said.

‘And the Pope’s a rabbi,’ Cathy said.

Her anger already heating up, stoking nicely.

‘I said you wouldn’t believe me,’ Jess said.

‘And you were right,’ Cathy said, and then – no more screwing around – she went straight on. ‘I’ve had your number since the party at my parents’,’ she said. ‘I don’t trust you, I’m not one hundred per cent sure now that you even know what the truth is, but I don’t believe one word that comes out of your mouth.’

‘Thank you,’ Jess said quietly.

Tears in her eyes.

‘You seem pretty good at that, too,’ Cathy said, harshly.

‘Sam made a pass at me the night before last.’ Jess kept it soft and low, but every word seemed strung out, elongated. ‘I’ve been struggling with what to do ever since.’

‘Well, you go right on struggling,’ Cathy told her. ‘I can promise you that you won’t be able to hurt Sam or Grace with this kind of crap. But if Martinez gets one bit more hurt than he absolutely needs to when you tell him goodbye, then you’re going to have a whole lot of people sitting right on your spiteful little back.’

A nurse walked by, and Cathy saw from her expression that she’d heard at least the end of that, and she felt shaken by her own anger, hated the feel of it, the way it clenched up her stomach, made her heart race.

‘You’re mad at me,’ Jess said, ‘and I can understand that.’

Cathy didn’t trust herself to say any more.

‘But you’ll come to realize I’m telling the truth,’ Jess went on, ‘and that your dad is not quite the superhero you’d like him to be.’

‘You – ’ no
way
was she going to let that go – ‘are a lying little bitch.’

‘It’s OK,’ Jess said. ‘I understand.’

‘Oh, fuck off,’ Cathy said, and turned on her heel.

She was still trembling with rage when she reached the first floor, hated what she had to do now, and Christ knew the timing could not have been much worse – and she wondered if Jess knew about the surprise cruise, guessed that Martinez had probably shared that with her.

Bitch
.

She thought about doing nothing, about trying to keep that nasty encounter to herself, but she was all too sure that Jessica Kowalski did not intend for that to happen.

‘Bitch,’ she said out loud.

And headed for the Mazda.

EIGHTY-SIX

‘
T
his feels like the last-chance saloon,’ Sam told Martinez on the phone at eleven thirty, having decided that his partner was probably right, that keeping him in the loop might do more good than harm at this point. ‘One of my hunches.’

Besides, keeping Martinez’s mind on work might be the best plan in more ways than one.

‘I’ve always trusted your hunches,’ his partner said now.

His voice was still weak and a little unfamiliar, but at least he was there to talk to, and that felt great to Sam.

‘I just hope it isn’t an over-reaction because I’m almost out of time.’ He paused. ‘Or because I have another goddamned hunch that I may find myself taken off the case altogether when I get back. Maybe this is an ego thing.’

‘Do you really believe that, man?’ Martinez asked.

‘Not really,’ Sam said. ‘But it is more a case that Beatty and Moore are still all we have.’

Cathy had called just after ten thirty and told Sam about her encounter with Jess.

‘I’m not sure I wasn’t meaner than I should have been,’ she’d said.

‘Can’t say I blame you,’ Sam had said.

‘I’m just so worried about Martinez,’ Cathy said.

‘I know,’ Sam said. ‘Me too.’

‘Can you call Grace?’ she said. ‘Warn her, just in case Jess tries to get to her. Or do you want me to go tell her?’

‘You’re due at the café soon,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll call Grace.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Cathy said. ‘I just thought I had to tell you.’

‘You were right, sweetheart, and it isn’t you who needs to be sorry.’

‘This timing’s all such a bitch for you,’ Cathy had said.

And that was without his best friend’s so-called fiancée.

His call to Grace had been of necessity short and less than sweet.

‘This is beginning to feel a little surreal,’ he’d said after passing on Cathy’s distasteful alert.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Grace had said, ‘for you, but especially for Al.’

‘I love you,’ Sam said.

‘Me too,’ his wife had told him. ‘More than ever.’

It had only come to him after the call that neither of them had felt even the slightest tug of need to affirm that Jess was lying.

It didn’t come sweeter than that.

He’d made another call that morning, to Elliot Sanders, who’d been out on a case.

Sam had tried his cell, which had gone to voicemail.

‘I need a word, Doc,’ Sam had said. ‘It’s pretty urgent.’

All part of the same hunch.

But nothing ventured and all that jazz.

EIGHTY-SEVEN

A
llison Moore had come to the station without an attorney, but her frame of mind was plainly hostile.

‘I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a little sick of this.’

They were in an interview room, everything simple, stark, designed to concentrate the conversation on what counted. Sam and Riley on one side of the table, Moore on the other, having given permission, after a few minutes of irritable resistance, for the interview to be recorded.

‘It’s as much for your protection as anything else,’ Sam had told her. ‘It’ll save you from having to repeat stuff yet again.’

‘That’s assuming I have anything more
to
tell you.’

‘Of course,’ Sam had said.

She’d shaken her head, then sighed. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ she said.

‘We’re very grateful for your cooperation,’ Sam had told her.

‘We just need a little more,’ Riley had said.

Moore had shrugged, said nothing.

Sam had started the machine, noted date, time and those present, and waited a count of two.

‘On the night of Friday, February the sixth to Saturday, February the seventh,’ he began, ‘were you inside the former Oates Gallery?’

Moore stared at Sam. ‘Of course not.’

Only a split second’s hesitation, but it had been there.

‘We have reason to believe,’ Riley said, ‘that you may have been in the house either alone or with one or more others.’

Moore took a deep breath, seeming to compose herself.

‘No,’ she said.

Sam smiled. ‘Would you like some coffee now, Ms Moore?’

She’d refused their first offer, had said she’d rather start and finish as swiftly as possible.

‘No,’ she said again now. ‘No coffee.’

‘Only we need to ask you to wait just a few minutes,’ Sam said.

‘What for?’

‘While we do a little checking,’ he said.

‘What kind of checking?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Riley told her.

‘Please don’t patronize me,’ Moore said.

‘I wasn’t meaning to,’ Riley said.

‘Detective Riley was merely reassuring you,’ Sam said, stopped the recording and stood up.

Beatty was in another room, had also come without legal representation, had also granted permission for the interview to be recorded, but Sam and Riley had known right away that this was going to be a whole different ball game.

He seemed like a man who couldn’t take any more.

Ready to talk.

‘OK,’ he said, within seconds of their first question about the Oates Gallery. ‘I have to tell you something, but I need you to promise me you’ll keep it confidential.’

‘That depends,’ Sam said.

‘On what?’ Beatty asked. ‘Because I’m telling you, it has nothing –
I
had nothing – to do with any killings. Lord God, I’ll swear that on all my family’s lives.’

‘Not on the Bible,’ Riley said, then twisted her mouth a little. ‘I guess not.’

‘Oh, Christ,’ Beatty said. ‘You know.’

‘What do we know?’ Sam was quite gentle.

‘Please, Detective Becket.’ Beatty’s pleading was more intense, his eyes flicking back and forth between the recording machine and the detectives’ faces. ‘I need to know this isn’t going to go public.’

‘Like the man said,’ Riley said, ‘that depends on what you have to tell us.’

He took another moment, then made up his mind, and once he began, it was the way it sometimes went with people who’d stepped into something way too deep for them. A torrent of words with no order, powered by fear.

‘I only went this one time,’ he said, ‘because I was a little intrigued, I guess, and because of Ally. Not that there’s anything really going on with us, it’s just that she’s pretty and – you know, you’ve seen her. But once, when we’d gone out for drinks after work, she started talking about her
group
and at first I thought, hey, that’s disgusting, how can this nice young woman spend time with people like that? But then it seemed to prey on my mind, and she talked about how everyone in the group had to provide a location for a meeting at least once every few months.’

‘OK.’ Sam hated to interrupt the flow, but he needed clarification for the record. ‘When you say her “group”, and when you say “meeting”, can you be more specific?’

Beatty stared at him, his hazel eyes swimming someplace between defiance and horror, and then he gave it up and visibly sagged.

‘Coven is what I mean when I say group,’ he said. ‘Coven, as in a gathering of witches.’ He shook his head. ‘I can hardly believe those words are coming out of my mouth, it’s so crazy, so idiotic, and I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. God knows I’ve made mistakes before, but I’m not a stupid man.’

‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Sam said. ‘Go on, please, Mr Beatty.’

‘So she said she wanted to use the old gallery this one night, and I said no, it was out of the question. But she said it was so perfect, and it wasn’t as if anyone could ever find out, because the only people who ever went in to check the place out were her and the cleaners, and they – the group – always cleaned up after themselves. And no damage would be done, she said, because the meetings weren’t like that, and anyway, there was nothing in the house to damage.’

‘So what are these meetings like, Mr Beatty?’ asked Riley.

‘I can only tell you about that one meeting,’ Beatty said. ‘That one night.’

‘That’s OK,’ Sam said.

‘It was a ceremony.’ Beatty paused. ‘An initiation ceremony. That’s what I’m so damned ashamed of, you have to believe me. As I said, I was intrigued, but when it came to it, I was repulsed by the whole thing, and if people find out, I will never live it down, the shame of it.’

‘What happened?’ Sam asked, keeping his manner easy, interested.

‘Sex,’ Beatty said frankly. ‘That’s what it came right down to, at least that was what it looked like to me. All kinds of weird stuff, some of it almost funny because it was so bizarre – but what it was really about was sex. Not full-on intercourse, but real sick stuff.’ He shrugged, relaxing just a little. ‘At least, to my point of view.’

‘So were you the one being initiated, Mr Beatty?’ Sam asked.

‘No
way
,’ Beatty said. ‘It was a young woman.’ He shut his eyes briefly, the small respite gone, gritted his teeth, then went on. ‘Ally told me just before it began that the initiate is supposed to study and prepare for the ceremony for a year – a year and a
day
, was what she said.’ He shook his head. ‘Everyone in the coven votes before the new person can go through this garbage.’