Shimmer (8 page)

The boom of the explosion arrested the musing, started Woody barking and the baby wailing again.

‘What the hell was that?' Claudia appeared in the doorway in cream satin pyjamas, not a hint of sleepiness in her face.

‘Everyone OK?' Sam was there now, shorts just dragged on, Woody trotting in behind him, already over the noise and pleased now to find everyone awake.

‘We're fine,' Grace said. ‘It's all right, Joshua, sweetheart.'

‘It sounded so close,' Claudia said.

‘Probably not as close as it sounded.' Sam came into the room, crouched down by the rocker, kissed Grace's cheek and stroked their son's hair. ‘It's OK, sweet boy, everything's fine.'

Joshua's crying was starting to thin again, more of a fretful, weary need for sleep now, his eyes round and anxious, and Grace handed him up to Sam, because it was not uncommon for his dad to be the one to hush him more swiftly, and sometimes Sam crooned softly to him in the fine baritone that had won him lead roles in S-BOP – the South Beach Opera – and Joshua plainly adored his daddy's voice.

‘You think it was a bomb?' Claudia asked.

‘Probably a gas explosion,' Sam said.

Grace glanced at him, had a sense that he didn't really believe that, but like him she said nothing more, perhaps choosing ignorance, at least for a while, because they had a baby son now who they longed to bring up in safety, and bombings of any kind as close as this spelled unacceptable horror.

‘Magic touch,' Claudia said, looking at Joshua, already drifting off in his father's arms. ‘Our two were always like that with Daniel.'

‘I remember.' Grace saw the sadness in her sister's eyes, felt for her.

Sam lowered the baby carefully into his crib and settled his favourite small stuffed toy bear close by. ‘Cup of tea, anyone?'

‘So long as it's chamomile,' Grace said.

Claudia pulled a face. ‘Hate the stuff. I'm going to turn on the news.'

‘Why don't you try going back to sleep?' Grace suggested.

‘After that?' Claudia said. ‘No way.'

20

Cal was huddled naked on his thin, lumpy mattress, eating Cheetos, trying not to make crumbs, and watching the small black and white TV on the floor that his jackass-scumbag ‘landlord' had seemed to think turned the shithole into a positive dump-de-luxe.

Hearing people saying that a boat had exploded, and watching the news crawls at the bottom of the screen confirming that much, was making him more nervous than the weird sound that had dragged him out of his shallow sleep, or even the small shock, two hours before that, of his cell phone ringing with its sharp, bird-like trill – Jewel having decided to pick tonight to call him after weeks of silence.

Witch.

‘Don't imagine you can come back when you choose,' she'd told him, ‘after all this time pissing around.'

Like he was yearning for her.

The early TV reports – still being generated mostly by residents, all jumpy as popcorn but milking their big news-maker moments – had been shifting the possible location and cause of the explosion back and forth. One minute, it was a bomb at Miami Beach Marina, next it was a gas cylinder explosion on a sail-boat in Biscayne Bay, then an accident involving illegal immigrants on the Miami River, then a terrorist attack on a cruise ship in the port.

Cal enjoyed a good shiver of speculation same as the next guy, but all he really wanted right now was a chance to check out
Baby
, make sure she was whole, and for Christ's sake, he was paying good money he could ill afford to keep her safe and legally docked, which still seemed to him the best way to keep from attracting any interest from Customs or cops or even thieves. Not that she was exactly the style of cruiser anyone was going to be standing in line to steal.

If
Baby
had been blown to kingdom come, at least that would be one whole set of potential crime scene problems pulverized along with her.

He reached for his notepad and pencil, made a note of that word –
pulverized
– for the Epistle.

Nice word.

He'd felt it when the boat went up – and that was the one and only thing the news people seemed sure about, that it had been a boat, so someone had to know where, stood to reason. He'd been sleeping, so perhaps it had been part of a dream, but he thought that the shitty old window frames in his room had rattled, that even the cruddy bed, with him lying on it, had shuddered, which had made him think, seconds later, of sex.

Not a bad feeling at all.

Probably not so good if you were
inside
the explosion.

Or maybe that could be the best possible way to go.

Not yet though.

Right now, Cal wanted two things. To go see
Baby
and to start going out again, at the right time, the best time of night, seeing his kind of people again. Doing his thing, maybe making some money.

What he could use, financially, was another trick like the Wilmington woman, someone of means, preferably someone who'd stay
alive
after they'd paid him, so he didn't have to go through all that hassle and angst again.

Angst
was another good word.

One he was familiar with.

21

In the house on the island, the phone rang at four-fifty, after Sam had come in off the deck where he'd been standing with Woody, listening to not-too-distant sirens, trying to pinpoint the location, wondering which of the TV reports was going to turn out to be right, knowing that he could have either made a call or simply listened to the police dispatcher to find out more, but actually glad, for now, not to be directly involved.

Grace and Claudia were at the kitchen table when the ringing began, had been about ready to go back to their beds.

‘A bomb then,' Grace said as Sam came in to pick up the phone.

Nothing more than that occurring to her, no fears, just a general grim certainty.

‘Oh my,' Claudia said, thinking of her boys.

‘A fucking boat blew up,' Martinez was telling Sam. ‘Alvarez wants us all in.'

‘Where?' Sam asked.

‘Biscayne Bay, south-east of Treasure Island.'

Too damned close.

‘You picking me up?' Sam asked.

‘In fifteen,' Martinez said.

Sam pondered as he dressed for work – suit, holster, Glock, the usual, since this early Sunday shift would be followed by a full day's work and maybe more – what exactly they might be up against here. It was too soon for anyone to know the cause of the explosion, unless there had been confirmed intelligence or perhaps a coded threat, in which case Homeland Security would be calling the shots, and then at the very least the FBI's Miami Field Office would be ruling the roost, with the ATF not far behind.

‘Isn't this a job for the Coast Guard?' Grace asked, handing him a tie.

Sam nodded. ‘Along with the Fire Department.'

‘So why are you being called in?'

‘I don't know yet,' Sam said, heading out of the bedroom and back downstairs. ‘If this is no accident, it doesn't automatically mean it's terrorism. Could be an old-fashioned kind of crime.'

‘Lovely,' Grace said, right behind him.

‘Or maybe this is just Alvarez or the Captain figuring that if someone's bombing Miami, people are going to get a little crazy.'

Grace kissed him at the door. ‘Whichever, please be careful.'

‘Always,' Sam said.

She wished, with all her might, that were true.

‘What?' Daniel sounded bleary, as well he might at this early hour.

‘I had to call,' Claudia said, up in Cathy's bedroom, ‘because of the bomb.'

‘What bomb?' Instantly awake. ‘Where? Are you OK?'

‘I'm fine.' She felt comforted hearing his voice, even more consoled because he sounded concerned, and because clearly there had been no visit from Jerome, at least not yet. ‘I'm sorry to wake you, Dan, but we're all so wide awake here, and I just had to hear your voice.'

‘What bomb, Claudia?' Daniel persisted. ‘I don't know anything.'

She told him what little she knew. ‘It must be something big for Sam to get called out like this.'

‘That's what happens with cops, surely,' he said.

Plainly hoping to go back to sleep.

‘I'm sorry,' Claudia said. ‘I guess it was a shock. It made me want to check that my husband and children are OK.'

‘We're thousands of miles away,' Daniel said, ‘so of course we're OK.'

‘Well, good,' she said.

She felt her hackles rising, wanted him to have said more, to have been happier to talk to her, whatever the hour, but then she reminded herself that their separation was entirely her fault.

Except Daniel didn't know that, and he hadn't even asked after Grace.

‘Go back to sleep,' she said. ‘And tell the boys I love them.'

‘How's Grace doing?' he asked.

Guilt sent her spirit crumbling again.

‘A little better,' she said.

‘That's great,' he said. ‘So when do you think you'll be coming home?'

‘I'm not sure,' Claudia said. ‘Soon as I can.'

‘Right,' Daniel said. ‘So if it's OK with you, I'm going to try and get a little more shut-eye before I have to get up and start our day for real.'

‘Of course it's OK,' Claudia said. ‘I really am sorry.'

‘No problem,' Daniel said, and hung up.

22

It was still too soon to say what had caused the explosion, but first light had turned up, in the flotsam in Biscayne Bay, the destroyed boat's decal bearing its registration number. A Sunseeker 75 yacht, the most modest of a small fleet of yachts belonging to one Adrian Leehy, a big cheese music business guy with a part-time home on La Gorce Island.

Leehy and his family were all safe and sound in New York City. The yacht – named
Darryl
for Mrs Leehy – had apparently been stolen from its mooring sometime between eleven p.m. Saturday night, when the housekeeper had last laid eyes on it before retiring, and around three thirty, half an hour before the explosion.

No eyewitnesses to the theft, and though it had occurred on this island of immense wealth and private guard-gated security consciousness, it was too soon to say if the crime had been recorded on any surveillance system.

Three reasons had been given for the rousing of all available personnel in Violent Crimes. One: the location of the explosion. Two: Adrian Leehy was not only wealthy, but he was also, according to Mike Alvarez, a hugely generous supporter of a cerebral palsy charity close to Chief Hernandez's heart. Both the police chief and the billionaire happening to have a child with that disease in common, along with an apparently great mutual respect.

There was a further, far more significant reason for the summoning of all detectives.

Something else had been found in the wreckage.

Human remains.

Claudia wanted to go shopping.

‘I need some good old retail therapy with my sister and nephew.'

They had rested since Sam had gone to work, and now they knew as much and as little as the rest of the local population; namely that the explosion had occurred on a single boat, and so, because these things were known to happen accidentally now and then, it was unsettling, but so long as no one was hurt, life could perfectly easily go on.

And Grace and Sam did happen to have a glitzy mall practically on their doorstep, and suddenly an hour or two spent browsing through Neiman Marcus and Saks, and window ogling Jimmy Choos and Tiffany jewels seemed just what Claudia needed.

‘We can pop Joshua in his stroller and walk,' she said.

‘It'll be much too hot for that by the time we're ready to come back,' Grace said.

The doorbell rang.

‘Expecting anyone?' Claudia asked.

Grace shook her head and went to open the door, Woody glued to her heels, his sharp barking resonating in her head.

‘Don't open it,' Claudia said.

Too late.

‘Yes?' Grace said to the man on the doorstep.

He was young, mid-twenties, with brown hair, a thin, weak mouth and beady light brown eyes.

‘I don't believe this,' Claudia said from the hallway.

‘I'm Jerome Cooper,' he said to Grace. ‘Your stepbrother.'

‘What the hell do you want?' Claudia came up close behind her sister.

Woody stopped barking and growled.

‘I don't like dogs,' said Jerome Cooper.

‘I do,' said Grace.

‘Aren't you going to invite me in?' her stepbrother asked.

Grace didn't budge. ‘What can I do for you, Jerome?'

‘Shut the door, Grace,' Claudia said.

‘You don't want to shut the door on family,' Jerome said.

‘You're not family,' Claudia said, still right behind Grace.

‘Claudia, go and call Sam,' Grace told her.

‘Just shut the
door
,' Claudia said.

‘Go ahead,' Jerome Cooper said peaceably. ‘I won't push my way in.' When he smiled, his mouth stretched and became even thinner, but the eyes stayed sharp. ‘But I won't go away either.'

‘Claudia, make that call,' Grace said. ‘Now.'

She shut the door.

Sam had gunned his Saab all the way up Collins, but there was no sign of Cooper by the time he reached the West Island.

A patrol car could have reached them five times over, but Grace had insisted that she wanted no official police involvement because they were in no danger, Cooper had made no threats, and patrol officers would mean reports, which neither she nor Claudia wanted.