Hell by Hilary Norman Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Hilary Norman
living here, the way people do, you know.â
âSure,â Sam said.
âThey said they were real sorry if theyâd upset the lady, but the guy said he figured that if he rolled down the window and spoke to her, that might have freaked her out more.â The officerâs grin was relaxed. âHis words.â
âAnd they checked out?â Sam asked.
âGoes without saying, Detective,â the officer said.
âIâm grateful to you,â Sam told him.
The guyâs partner looked a little awkward.
âMrs Becket sure looked edgy,â he said.
âShe has good cause,â Sam said.
âI guess she does,â the other man said.
Some good news for Gail Tewkesbury.
Comparison of Andrew Victorâs dental records proved that he was not their John Doe, though her concern for him remained undiminished, especially as it was too soon to say if Victorâs DNA was a match for the heart found three days after his disappearance.
âNice woman,â Martinez remarked after Sam had gotten off the phone, having assured her that her fears for her friend were still being taken seriously.
âVery,â Sam agreed.
âOne link less to Cooper,â Martinez said.
That particular gay connection having been wiped out.
Which ought, perhaps, have been allowing Sam to feel easier about his familyâs safety, but was doing no such thing, because the news had reduced his justification for any kind of patrol at their house.
No one had suggested that the dinghy and contents tied up to their mooring had been a random act, but the location of the second heart had been wholly unconnected to them, added to which Sam feared that Graceâs visible jitters might stop some people taking his concerns as seriously as they ought.
Especially with the copycat theory gaining strength.
âAnything I can do, man?â Martinez asked.
âI wish,â Sam said.
âPatrolâs still out there,â his friend said.
âFor now,â Sam said.
Just before six, more news in from Ida Lowenstein in the MEâs office.
A DNA match.
The second heart â the one found in the pool at the Fontainebleau â belonged to their John Doe.
The turnaround for DNA checking in Miami-Dade usually a whole lot longer.
âGuess Ida came through for you again,â Martinez said.
He was always claiming that the lady had a soft spot for Sam â though they both knew this was Doc Sanders himself leaning on the lab to speed things up.
No body yet for the heart left outside the Becket house â that possible DNA matching still in the systemâs backlog.
No more missing persons reports to help ID the Doe.
âThis I hate,â Sam said.
âKnow what you mean,â Martinez said.
They all felt bad about unnamed victims. No one able to mourn them and no solid start at chasing down the perpetrators, let alone getting justice for the deceased.
And this case, with its disturbing but inconclusive links to Cal-Cooper . . .
Sam had never wished for great wealth, knew he had a good life, that he was blessed with more comforts than he had a right to, that he had all the things that really counted. Family, love, good health, a home he loved; the ability to help make his dadâs wedding day memorable; occasional extravagances like the tickets heâd bought months ago for tomorrow nightâs performance of Don Pasquale â opera a big thing with Sam, though he hadnât sung for a long while now.
Lucky man, and he knew it.
But just for once, he would have liked to be rich enough to whisk every member of his family away to safety. Just until they put away this killer â copycat or Cooper.
Then, and only then, would Sam feel able to rest.
ELEVEN
April 24
L ate Saturday evening, in the hubbub of a semi-wild party at a warehouse on NE 2nd Avenue in Wynwood, the man just embarked on his latest mission took his first look around the throng of
âSure,â Sam said.
âThey said they were real sorry if theyâd upset the lady, but the guy said he figured that if he rolled down the window and spoke to her, that might have freaked her out more.â The officerâs grin was relaxed. âHis words.â
âAnd they checked out?â Sam asked.
âGoes without saying, Detective,â the officer said.
âIâm grateful to you,â Sam told him.
The guyâs partner looked a little awkward.
âMrs Becket sure looked edgy,â he said.
âShe has good cause,â Sam said.
âI guess she does,â the other man said.
Some good news for Gail Tewkesbury.
Comparison of Andrew Victorâs dental records proved that he was not their John Doe, though her concern for him remained undiminished, especially as it was too soon to say if Victorâs DNA was a match for the heart found three days after his disappearance.
âNice woman,â Martinez remarked after Sam had gotten off the phone, having assured her that her fears for her friend were still being taken seriously.
âVery,â Sam agreed.
âOne link less to Cooper,â Martinez said.
That particular gay connection having been wiped out.
Which ought, perhaps, have been allowing Sam to feel easier about his familyâs safety, but was doing no such thing, because the news had reduced his justification for any kind of patrol at their house.
No one had suggested that the dinghy and contents tied up to their mooring had been a random act, but the location of the second heart had been wholly unconnected to them, added to which Sam feared that Graceâs visible jitters might stop some people taking his concerns as seriously as they ought.
Especially with the copycat theory gaining strength.
âAnything I can do, man?â Martinez asked.
âI wish,â Sam said.
âPatrolâs still out there,â his friend said.
âFor now,â Sam said.
Just before six, more news in from Ida Lowenstein in the MEâs office.
A DNA match.
The second heart â the one found in the pool at the Fontainebleau â belonged to their John Doe.
The turnaround for DNA checking in Miami-Dade usually a whole lot longer.
âGuess Ida came through for you again,â Martinez said.
He was always claiming that the lady had a soft spot for Sam â though they both knew this was Doc Sanders himself leaning on the lab to speed things up.
No body yet for the heart left outside the Becket house â that possible DNA matching still in the systemâs backlog.
No more missing persons reports to help ID the Doe.
âThis I hate,â Sam said.
âKnow what you mean,â Martinez said.
They all felt bad about unnamed victims. No one able to mourn them and no solid start at chasing down the perpetrators, let alone getting justice for the deceased.
And this case, with its disturbing but inconclusive links to Cal-Cooper . . .
Sam had never wished for great wealth, knew he had a good life, that he was blessed with more comforts than he had a right to, that he had all the things that really counted. Family, love, good health, a home he loved; the ability to help make his dadâs wedding day memorable; occasional extravagances like the tickets heâd bought months ago for tomorrow nightâs performance of Don Pasquale â opera a big thing with Sam, though he hadnât sung for a long while now.
Lucky man, and he knew it.
But just for once, he would have liked to be rich enough to whisk every member of his family away to safety. Just until they put away this killer â copycat or Cooper.
Then, and only then, would Sam feel able to rest.
ELEVEN
April 24
L ate Saturday evening, in the hubbub of a semi-wild party at a warehouse on NE 2nd Avenue in Wynwood, the man just embarked on his latest mission took his first look around the throng of
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