The killing song, p.4
The Killing Song, page 4
“Matt, knock it off,” Nora said. She turned back to the man. “Did you watch the couple?”
The man shrugged. “Maybe for a few minutes,” he said. “What’s the harm? They come out here to do that shit, they don’t seem to care about nothing, why should I?”
“What did the girl look like?” Nora asked.
“I dunno.”
“Think.”
“She was like Mexican or Cuban,” the man said. “Lots of thick black hair.”
Nora looked to the cop. “You run a check on this guy?”
“Yeah, he’s clean. And I got his ID and prints, too, figuring you’ll need them down the road if we find the girl dead.”
I felt a clutch in my chest but forced myself to stay quiet. And again it hit me how often I had heard that kind of talk and never thought twice about the indifferent tone.
“If you don’t mind,” Nora said to the other cop, “can we run this guy in on a disorderly so we don’t lose him if we do need him again?”
“Not a problem, Detective.”
The Miami Beach cop took the homeless man toward his cruiser. I was glad they were detaining him but still worried about what else of Mandy’s might be out here on the beach. Where was her purse? It was easy to notice, a big gold thing. Had her abductor taken that, too, and left it nearby? And what if she was out here somewhere, unconscious?
“Nora,” I said. “I’m going to walk down the beach and start looking—”
“No, you’re not,” Nora said. “I have two cruisers on their way here. They’ll search the beach with metal detectors and in another couple hours there’ll be enough tourists and locals out here to do the job for us. You know how people are when there’s a storm coming. We’ll put out some bulletins asking them to turn in anything they find.”
“Yeah, like tourists will do that.”
Nora stared at me, annoyed. “It’s all we can do, Matt. I can’t leave officers out here all day based on what little we have. Especially not with a storm coming.”
“I know,” I said. “But I can’t just stand here.”
Nora drew a notebook from her pocket. “Then start telling me where you and Amanda have been over the last week. Other than this place.”
I stared dumbly at her. But then I realized what she was trying to do. If Mandy had been abducted by someone, there was a chance he had been stalking her. The thought made me sick to my stomach as I conjured up an image of some creep following us, watching Mandy, waiting.
“Matt?”
Nora’s calm voice brought me back. “Okay,” I said. “Let me think.” I was looking around the deserted beach, my mind trying hard to retrieve the last couple of days.
“She flew in Saturday, four days ago,” I said. “We stayed in that night, ordered pizza, because she was fighting off a cold.”
“You still living in that place in the Grove?” Nora asked.
I nodded. “I took her to the Dolphins-Bills game Sunday. It was a four o’clock game. We came right home after because she was still a little tired.”
Nora prodded when I didn’t go on. “What did you do Monday?”
“She wanted to go shopping, so we had brunch in the Grove and then we went to Lincoln Road. We walked around a lot. There was this little shop where they sell old designer stuff and she went in there.”
“The Fly Boutique?”
“Yeah, that’s it. She bought a Pucci scarf. She said she was going to wear it as a belt. That’s Mandy, you know? She’s like that, has a way of taking stuff and putting her special twist on it. Wait, I just remembered. She was wearing the scarf tonight and I—”
“I got that already, at the station. Where else did you go?”
“Yeah, okay,” I whispered. My head hurt and I couldn’t seem to remember anything, like the last four days had vanished. “We went to Books and Books. I wanted to get the new Pete Dexter. I was going to buy her a paperback to read on the plane going home. She told me she had downloaded a Jeffery Deaver book to her phone to read.”
“What else, Matt?”
“We had lunch there at the café, outside. Stone crabs. She had never had stone crabs before.”
Nora was quiet. I felt a small surge of anger building inside me, resentment that Nora was making me relive all this. But I knew she was just doing her job. I drew in a deep breath and pulled up the next day from my memory.
“The next morning we went to the beach,” I said. “Rented a cabana and we just laid around reading. That night it was rainy, so we went to the Fontainebleau.”
“Why?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s so fucking Florida. She loved it. She wanted to have a cosmo because that’s what the women in Sex and the City drank. After that, she walked down the staircase to nowhere. She made me take her picture.”
I pulled out my phone but didn’t have the energy to punch up the photograph.
“Anywhere else?” Nora asked.
I hesitated. “I took her to Mac’s.”
Nora’s eyes swung to me. We had both been to Mac’s Club Deuce on Fourteenth Street many times. It was a classic dive bar that attracted drunks, cops and drag queens. I had taken Mandy there because I knew it was the kind of place she needed to see and never would in Raleigh.
“Did you ever notice anyone?” Nora asked finally.
I felt a sudden wave of fatigue rush over me and I shook my head slowly.
“Matt?”
“No,” I said softly. “I didn’t notice anyone.”
Nora let the quiet grow. It had stopped raining and she used the moment to cup her hands and light a cigarette. I knew she never lit up unless she was nervous. “What about yesterday?” she asked finally.
“We came back over here to the beach. We went up to the old boardwalk by Twenty-first Street and just walked. That’s how we ended up here.”
The name came to me, totally unexpected.
“Reginald and the Retros. The song was ‘Moonglow.’”
Nora heard the catch in my voice and looked over at me. “Matt?”
“These old couples were dancing and having a great time. I was singing along and Mandy was laughing. God, she was laughing. She was laughing and telling me I was an old soul at heart.”
I ran a hand over my face and turned away, facing the surging green waves. The sting of salt air hit my face and I started to wonder about the hurricane. How could we look for Mandy in a hurricane?
“What about after you left here?” Nora asked gently.
“I wanted to show her the art deco stuff, you know, the old hotels. We had dinner at the Essex and then went to the Clevelander so she could dance.” I paused, spent. “That’s all,” I said.
Nora’s cell phone rang, the same ringtone she’d had when we were together. The Beatles’ “Let It Be.”
She tossed the cigarette to the sand. “I need to take this,” she said. “Maybe you should think about calling your family. Wasn’t Amanda scheduled to fly home this morning?”
Nora walked away from me before I could answer her. I checked my watch, surprised to see it was already seven thirty A.M. At the moment, I couldn’t remember the exact time Mandy’s flight departed, but strangely, I did remember that she was due to land in Raleigh at twelve thirty. And I knew my father would be waiting there, in his black Cadillac Escalade, to pick her up.
“Matt.”
There was an edge in Nora’s voice that made me spin back to her. The wind was blowing her hair in windmills and her nylon jacket flapped against her body. The look on her face dissolved what remained of my strength. I put out a hand to steady myself but found nothing but air.
“We’ve found a body, Matt,” Nora said. “We think it’s Amanda.”
5
It was raining hard by the time we got there. I saw the lights first, a blur of strobing red and blue that made my eyes hurt. Then, with each pass of the wipers, the details emerged. An old hotel, its limestone façade gray with age, its windows covered with plywood. It had taken us no more than ten minutes to get here from the band shell, so I knew we were still somewhere in the art deco district.
Nora slowed the RAV to a crawl as she peered for a place to pull in among the squad cars. The car was still moving when I yanked on the door handle.
“Matt!” she yelled.
But I was already halfway to the hotel steps. A big cop in a black slicker grabbed me by the shoulders and tossed me back. I went sprawling into a bush and sprang back on my feet. Before I could catch my breath, Nora was at my side, one hand pressed on my chest, the other holding out her badge.
“It’s all right!” she said to the cop. “I got him.”
I didn’t hear what else she said to him. I was staring at the open door beyond the yellow crime tape. I couldn’t see anything but a blur of bodies inside. A hand on my sleeve made me jerk around. Nora was there, her hair hanging wet in her face, her badge on a chain around her neck now.
“You can’t go in there,” she said.
“Bullshit! I have to—”
“Matt, stop! You’ve got to stay calm here.”
My chest ached. It hurt to take a breath. I looked at the hotel, then back at Nora. “Is it her?”
Nora wiped a hand over her face. “I don’t know. The uniform said that it’s a young blond woman.”
“She was wearing a blue blouse, a turquoise thing that—”
“The body is nude,” Nora said.
I shut my eyes. “I have to get in there,” I said.
“They’ll never let you in if they think it’s your sister.” She was quiet for a moment, then I felt her hand on my arm. “Stay here,” she said.
I watched her go back to the cop, talking to him, pointing my way. Then she waved me forward. “I told him you’re with the Times. He wants to see your press ID,” she said.
I fumbled for my wallet and held out the card. The cop gave it a glance, then waved us past the tape. “Stay behind me and don’t touch a thing,” Nora said as we went up the steps.
“I know the drill,” I said.
She shot me a look, then went inside. I trailed behind her, not making eye contact, trying hard to conjure up a mask of indifference. As we climbed a trash-strewn staircase, I could feel a change come over my body, like my temperature was dropping a few degrees and my heartbeat was slowing. Details registered now with startling clarity—the glare of graffiti, black streaks of mildew on the old flocked wallpaper, a smell of must and sea salt, the smudge of brown rust on my palm as I lifted it off the iron stair railing. I had moved into that blessed out-of-body state that had always served me so well. I had become a reporter.
The feeling stayed with me as we climbed to the third floor. More uniforms and black slickers. I followed Nora down a dim hallway with light sconces hanging from wires. The smell of dirt and decay was heavy here. I felt the soft press of bodies decades dead, and weirdly, an echo of music, like what those old men had been playing at the band shell.
Nora had stopped at a wide entranceway. The two French doors had been taken off their hinges and were propped against the peeling walls. The entrance was guarded by another cop. It was a big room, filled with gray light. The wind was stronger here, the smells stronger here. I stood five feet behind, unable to move.
“Matt?”
Nora was in front of me. She had a white net over her hair and she was pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “You have to stay here,” she said. “I can tell if it’s Mandy.”
The reporter in me was gone. I wasn’t sure what was left.
I nodded. Nora gave my arm a squeeze and I watched her walk into the room wearing paper shoe covers. I closed my eyes in an effort to relieve the sandpaper feel on my lids and leaned against the wall. I could hear the roar of the storm intensifying, feel the cool swirl of wind on my face. Then something awful happened. I tried to pray. I had never prayed before, not even all those times my mother had dragged me to church. I had watched her, watched the pastor, watched the faces of everyone else, and wondered what they were praying for.
I tried to remember the words, any words. But there was nothing there.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please.”
Wind. Just wind. I opened my eyes and looked toward the doors.
Beyond the cop, I could see bodies moving. More black slickers, uniforms. No sign of Nora. I moved closer. Between the movements of legs, I caught a glimpse of something pale on the floor. But I couldn’t see what it was, and suddenly I had to.
A thudding sound drew my eye to the hallway. Three more slickered cops coming forward and two guys in sports coats. The cop standing guard at the open door was distracted checking IDs and it was just enough of an opening for me to slip behind him.
My brain was working enough for me to know I had to be careful or I would get thrown out. I couldn’t bring myself to look to the center, so I focused on the room. It was large and circular, with a raised stage at one end. I heard a tinkling sound and looked up. A chandelier, webbed with dust, most of its crystal strands broken, swayed in the wind.
To the east were big windows with broken glass panes framed by faded blue drapes that were moving like ocean waves. I forced myself to look down. The floor was old terrazzo, a pattern of stars. It might have been blue but it was caked with litter, debris and dust. I crept around the edges of the black slickers, circling, circling, moving closer to that pale thing that was the center of attention in the middle of the floor. I spotted Nora kneeling down and saw something on her face close to relief. For the first time, I had hope that it wasn’t Mandy there on that dusty floor.
Then, suddenly, the circle opened for a second.
I let out a long hard breath.
Flashes of images like quick camera clicks. White flesh. Blond hair. Arms and legs spread wide, her body positioned carefully so her head and each limb matched the star pattern in the middle of the terrazzo floor. And a dark hole in the middle of her chest.
“Oh,” I said.
Faces turned to me.
“Oh, oh, oh no …”
Nora was suddenly there, blocking my view. I tried to push her aside so I could see more, see if Mandy would get up and move. But Nora was stronger than me. She had my arms and was pushing me back, the white net thing on her hair falling off as I flailed against her. I hit the wall with a jolt. My legs gave way but Nora held me up.
“We’re going to walk, Matt,” she said. “We’re going to walk out of here, okay?”
I was weeping.
“Come on,” she said quietly.
I made it down the stairs to the second floor and then had to jerk away from Nora. I retched and everything came up onto the dirty floor. I put out a hand on the wall to steady myself as my stomach went through spasms of dry heaves. Finally it stopped. Nora’s hand was cool on my neck. I wiped my face and looked around at the faces of cops standing in the hallway.
“Get him out of here, Brinkley,” someone said.
I half fell, half staggered down the next flight of stairs, my momentum stopped only by a man sitting on the bottom step. I glanced at him as I pushed by, catching a glimpse of yellow hard hat and plaid shirt. His eyes locked on mine as I passed. His face was streaked with tears.
I stumbled to the door and rested my head against the frame. I felt Nora come up behind me. I turned and looked back at the man sitting on the stairs.
“Is he the one who found her?” I asked.
Nora looked back at the man. “Yes. He got here at seven thirty to open the site. They’re renovating this place.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“No. Not now.”
I looked out at the pouring rain. A white van pulled in between two cop cars. Two guys carrying cases got out and trudged up the stairs. The trailing one paused to take one last drag on his cigarette and tossed it to the gutter before going in. Their slow pace irritated me. I closed my eyes. Through the haze of my pain I heard words, the stutter of men’s voices, and then a low chuckle. Football. They were talking about a fucking football game. I turned to the two uniforms.
“Don’t,” Nora said sharply.
I turned away, back toward the open door and the rain. I don’t know how long I stood there like that, just staring out into the gray sheets. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Then I felt Nora touch my arm.
A short woman with dark curly hair stood next to her. Pantsuit the color of the rain, white blouse, gold badge dangling. She had to look up to meet my eyes but I felt as if she was looking down. Nora gave a nod toward her.
“This is Detective Janet Molina. She’s in charge of your sister’s case.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman said.
I gave a tight nod. I tried to think of something to say but nothing was coming. Whatever adrenaline had kept me going in the last couple hours was now gone. My bones ached from the effort of standing.
“You’re her only next of kin?”
I blinked hard, trying to focus. Kin?
“No,” I said. “No, I’m not.”
“Excuse me?”
“My mother and father … I mean, Mandy has, we have …” I wiped a hand over my eyes. I looked at Detective Molina’s bland face and then at Nora’s stricken one, then held up a hand. “I have to … would you excuse me for a moment?”
“Matt?”
I ignored Nora and moved away. I walked down a dark hall and found a corner. A desk, with cobwebbed cubbyholes and old keys still dangling from their hooks. I slipped behind the desk and into the shadows. I pulled the cell from my pocket. My hands shook as I dialed the number. He picked up on the third ring.
“Dad? It’s Matt.”
6
There were bodies everywhere. Slumped on chairs, lying on the floor, crammed in every corner. And the noise. Babies crying, voices braying in a babble of languages, all amplified by fatigue and nerves spun tight to the breaking point.
He stood perfectly still, a tall figure in the middle of the chaos, and tried to figure out his next move. He looked up again at the board that announced the departures, but nothing had changed in the last two hours. And a glance up at the big-screen TV, tuned to CNN, confirmed what the ticket agent had already told him: Hurricane Jackie, now swollen to a category three, had stalled just west of Nassau. Everything on the board at Miami International read DELAYED or CANCELED.
