Playing God (22 page)

"Joe, will you let me finish? I just wanted to get out of there, so I said I couldn't help him but probably one of the other girls could and to please take me back."

"Did he?" She looked tired. He wondered if she'd stayed awake, watching over him? When she moved, her breasts bounced gently under his shirt. Trying not to look at them was like trying not to stare at the sun during an eclipse.

She shook her head. "Not everyone's a gentleman like you, Joe. Lotta mean people out there. He got really mad, maybe 'cuz he was nervous and I wasn't making things easy. He said, 'You could help,' and shoved me out of the truck. And wouldn't it be the one time I wasn't carrying my phone? I had to walk miles in my damned high heels, freezing my ass off, and then business was dead."

"Ever see him again?" Kyle asked.

"Why didn't you tell me about this the other night?" Burgess asked.

She looked from one to the other, confused. "Who's first?" she asked.

"Kyle."

"Yeah, I saw him again. Yesterday afternoon, across from my place. I was wondering what some guy was doing, just standing out there like he's waiting for something. Not even a Portland cab takes that long to come. Hell..." She grinned wickedly. "Not even a geriatric takes that long to come. Then I saw his face and I remembered. That's when I called Joe and took a cab over to Dunkin' Donuts. He must have followed me."

"Why didn't you—"

"Oh, gimme a break, Joe. I forgot all about it until I saw him in front of my house. Then, it all came back, that the guy he wanted was a doctor. So I called you. Okay?"

Yeah, right. Alana and her goddamned games. Who knew how long she would have held it back if the guy hadn't spooked her. "What did he look like?"

"What was he driving?" Kyle added.

"What is it with you two?" She checked her watch. "You look like shit, Joe. It's time for your pills and then you should go back to bed, shouldn't he, Terry?"

Kyle stayed diplomatically silent.

She started crumbling her toast. "You think he's connected to what happened to Dr. Pleasant?" When they didn't respond, she said, "Hey, come on. You guys are used to this stuff. It scares me." When they still didn't respond, she went back to shredding her toast. Finally, sighing, she said, "He was real good looking. A big guy like Joe, strong but not as heavy, like his work was physical. Dark hair, curly, I think. Hard to tell. He wore a bandana. Neat beard, not that little fagggoty thing some men wear. He looked, I don't know..." She glared, obviously expecting them to laugh "...like a pirate. When I saw him out there yesterday, he was all bundled up. I only recognized him because of the bandana. He had nice eyes, too. That browny-green color, hazel?"

"You noticed a lot for a scared girl who was anxious to get out of there," Kyle said.

"Yeah, so maybe I shoulda been a cop, like you, Terry." She tossed her hair and shot him a challenging look. "Sure as hell wouldn't have worked the other way. Guy as homely as you'd never make it on the street." She regretted it as soon as she'd said it, sliding an apologetic hand up Kyle's arm, leaning in with a breast for emphasis. Kyle's pale face reddened.

"Sorry," she said. "I meant girls in my business have to watch people closely to figure out what they're going to do—whether they're honest, or crazy, or mean, or violent. I can look at a guy's eyes and know he wants to hurt someone. Now this guy, he was scared and determined, but not out to hurt someone. He was..." She twisted a piece of hair. "On a mission. And I was in his way. So he pushed me out of the truck and drove off."

Burgess swallowed the pills. He didn't like the way they dulled him down, but the pain in his head made him sick. He couldn't afford to be sick. He was following a faint trail of goddamned crumbs through the great dismal swamp. Couple days off the job, the animals would eat them, trail would disappear. "Notice anything about the truck?"

She took her time, fiddling with her hair until he wanted to slap her hands. "Like a million other ratty pickups. Dark and dirty and dented, with a cap on the back. He had a gun rack and one of those deodorant trees. Only thing missing was a half-empty six-pack, which guys in trucks usually need to get up their courage. Dog was a nice touch. Guys don't usually bring their dogs along when they come to get blown."

She cast a quick glance at him. "Sorry, Joe." She came around and started massaging his neck. Her hands were rough and jittery.

"How old?"

"Early forties, maybe?"

"You know something about this guy, Joe?" Kyle asked.

"Fill you in when everyone's there," he said. "It ties into something I picked up yesterday." He was eager to dump Alana and sit down with the guys, see if they could make sense of all this. Do that, put more things in motion, then come back here and be alone. Alana in his bed, his closet, his kitchen. He felt too exposed.

"Yeah and when I'm not," she said, her fingers pinching.

He moved away. "Pass me the phone, Terry." He dialed his sister's number. "Sandy? It's Joe." He listened to a small explosion of concern. "Right. Don't believe everything you read in the papers. I know you would have come if your street was plowed. Look, I'm fine, really, but I need a favor." Alana took an audible breath. "Alana's got a guy stalking her, needs to get away for a few days until we can grab him. Can she stay with you?" He covered the mouthpiece. "She wants to know if you eat pot roast."

Alana's fist pounded his shoulder, sending pains down his arm. He winced. "She says she loves pot roast. She'll even help peel potatoes. You plowed out now? How about half an hour?"

"I'm not a piece of baggage to be picked up and dropped off," Alana exploded. "Someone has to take care of you. You haven't got a clue how to do it yourself."

"Last fifty years were just a fluke," he agreed. "I'm going to work. We'll drop you at Sandy's on the way."

"I don't want to go to Sandy's."

"Well, where
do
you want to go? That friend up in Brunswick? I need you someplace safe where I don't have to worry about you."

"I'm a working girl, Joe."

"You want to get dead, Alana? That guy wasn't hanging out across the street from your house because he wanted to apologize for being rude. I'm getting dressed. Terry, see if you can talk some sense into her."

As she turned her back on them, Terry gave a slight shake of his head and Burgess realized he'd made a mistake, letting her con him into thinking she was okay because she acted okay. Thinking like a John, buying her tough girl act, instead of a cop. He knew better. If he couldn't handle this, he might as well stay home. Dealing with people required attention. Act on assumptions instead, you put yourself and everyone else in danger.

"I could use a little help, Alana, if you don't mind."

She followed him into the bedroom, slapping her feet angrily against the floor. He backed her against the wall and held her there, cupping his good hand around her head, feeling the vibration in her body, the potential explosion of her fear. "Listen to me, Alana. It's going to be all right," he said. "You're going to be all right. I know you were with Pleasant just before he was killed and now someone's after you, but you're going to be all right. Look at me." She pressed her face against his chest. "Alana, please?"

She shook her head. "I can't."

"All right," he said, stroking her hair, slow and steady, taking time he didn't have. "Just listen, then. You'll be safe with Sandy. She cares about you. And I've got a murder to solve, which takes concentration. I can't concentrate if you're in danger."

He felt the shiver of resistance. "I want to stay with you!"

"But I won't be here."

"You can't go to work, Joe. You're hurt."

"I'm stubborn. Like a dog with a stick. Once I get my teeth into something, I don't let go. God, Alana, you know that." Waiting for her to remember what he'd done after he found her in the park. "Is there anybody in this city who'd work harder to make you safe? Who cares more?"

Forcing a patience he didn't have—the day, and the case, were getting old—he asked, "Will you help me get dressed?"

"But Joe.... I..."

He felt that quiver of resistance again. "Take a deep breath." He waited. "And another. That's good." Working it until she was breathing normally again. "Now look at me and say 'I'm going to be okay.'"

"I'm going to be okay," she said. "I'm going to be okay."

Outside was a big, white beautiful mess. Overcast and still too bright for tired eyes, the air filled with the scrape of shovels and plows, muffled moans and curses, the whine of spinning tires, the cries of playing children. Kyle was grim and intent as he navigated the half-plowed streets, Alana silent. Burgess tried a few more questions—did she know any more than she'd told them about people getting drugs from Pleasant? She didn't. What could she tell him about O'Leary? Not a damned thing. He was sure she knew more, but O'Leary really scared her. He gave up.

They left Alana, angry and sullen, on his sister's doorstep. "You'll be sorry, Joe," she said, shaking her fist. He gritted his teeth and nodded. In complete agreement. He hadn't chosen this because it was a happy job, had he? By the time her parting snowball smashed against the rear window, he'd moved on, already putting Alana's story together with the security guard's, and wondering how to learn more about this guy who'd come looking for Pleasant.

Chapter 18

Though the hot conference room made him drowsy, Burgess didn't dare put more coffee in his uneasy stomach. The joys of medicine. What cures one thing usually harms another. There were four of them around the table, himself, Kyle, Perry, and Vince Melia. Captain Cote had been invited and declined. He'd rather bitch than be informed. No one was cheerful or rested. There were no jokes or wisecracks. The Mayor and the Chief had the press breathing down their necks and were passing it down the food chain. Too many citizens were playing see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. From now on, the case would be pure drudgery.

He couldn't stand himself in this tamped-down state. He wanted to take the pipe that had beaten him down and use it on a few people himself. "All right," he said, "let's look at what we've got." He went to the dryboard and wrote:

1 - Robbed by a hooker and her accomplice;

2 - Angry current/former wife;

3 - Stalked by someone/Disgruntled patient?

4 - Embarrassing video tape/blackmail gone wrong?

5 - Complications from drug dealing;

6 - Debts/financial problems.

"Anything else?" Only a chorus of groans. As they shuffled through their notes, a wave of dizziness rocked him. He put a hand on the wall and closed his eyes. Goddammit! How was he supposed to work this if he couldn't even stand up? "Stan, you mind taking over?" He handed over the marker and sat down, weakness doing nothing to improve his mood.

They called things out, attaching what they'd learned to the possible scenarios on the board. Among the surprises—that both Janet Pleasant and Jack Kelly had been arrested, at different times, for assault on Stephen Pleasant. In both cases, the charges had later been dropped.

When they finished, it was like a secondhand jigsaw puzzle. Too many missing pieces.

"Any sign of O'Leary?" Burgess asked.

"Gotta snitch hangs out at the Big Apple, saw him buying gas yesterday morning. Day after our vic bought the farm," Kyle said. "Guy's got even half a brain, he's in Florida by now."

"Half a brain's about what he's got," Perry said, waving a sheaf of papers. "Got a sheet a mile long. Lotta drug stuff, the occasional recreational rape."

One of the few things that worked to their advantage was how many criminals did have only half a brain, Burgess thought.

"Oxycontin?" Kyle asked.

Perry nodded. "Tommy Duggan in Narcotics says he was a reliable source. Natives been getting restless since he disappeared."

"You think this was a drug thing, Joe?" Melia asked hopefully. As head of criminal investigations, the weight of this was on his shoulders and they were sagging a little.

"Why kill the golden goose? Stan, drug guys heard anything that connects Pleasant and drugs?"