Authors: Kate Flora
He always longed for a shower after he'd been in Cote's office. It was an ugly fact of his ugly life that the bastard could wear him down. Like the song says, though, you can't always get what you want. If he couldn't be alone, being with Kyle was the next best thing. He reported on his talk with Maude Libby, Kyle grunted, and they lapsed into silence.
The short trip from Middle Street to Bramhall took forever. The plows had made little progress. Bundled pedestrians shuffled and minced. Cars slithered and tires whined. In the cold, bright light, the city looked like hell, all dirty snow and sandy muck the color of dog turds. Even the normally warm red brick buildings seemed hard-edged and dingy. Was it all in the eye of the beholder? Was it unreasonable to have a jaundiced moment when getting to be lead detective through the accumulating heaps of shit didn't make him feel like Little Mary Sunshine?
After he'd tried to dismember Cote, they'd taken his gun and sent him to a shrink for some anger management and grief counseling. SOP for a cop under stress. After the required meetings, the shrink opined that he'd benefit from some long term work. He was saved by department regulations, which only asked whether he could perform the job without being a danger to himself or others. The shrink had agreed he could, and Burgess had stuffed his anger and sorrow into emotional footlockers and gone back to work.
Days like this, worn down and mired in death, when he'd had the dreams, it felt like the lids were coming loose. He needed to get back in balance. Therapy. Prozac. Alcohol. Drugs. Violence. So many solutions to choose from. Some days, when he couldn't avoid thinking how they'd totally failed Kristin, his gun looked too good.
Kyle broke the silence. "Think you're losing it, Joe?"
"Why?"
"You're wearing your 'don't mess with me I'm a crazy fucker' look."
They rode in silence a while, then he said, "I am a crazy fucker."
"I know that." Kyle swerved around a pile of snow extending half-way across the street. "Sweet Jesus," he said. "Doesn't this city know how to plow snow?" He swerved around another pile, grinning. "This is like bumper cars. You want to eat somewhere?"
"Not hungry."
"Got any idea who did it?"
"You saw the board."
"Sure I saw it. I'm asking what does Joe Burgess think?"
"Got two ideas running a dead heat, bunch more right on their heels."
"Wanna share or are you into cherishing the mystery, see if the rest of us peons can figure it out?"
"You think you're a goddamned peon?"
"No."
"You think I think you're a goddamned peon?"
"Get a grip, Joe." Kyle wasn't getting dragged into his bad mood. "Your theory of the case?"
"Theories. Either it was an arranged hit, for which we've got a bunch of candidates, or he was killed by a former patient, or the relative of a former patient, which seems a little far-fetched at this point." He recalled Chris Perlin's reluctant hints on that subject.
"What about rolled by a hooker or her pimp? Too obvious?" Burgess nodded. "Okay, arranged by whom?"
"Pick one. Ted Shaw. Jack Kelly. Pleasant's wife. Or ex-wife. Unless it was Pleasant's partners. Unless it was someone he was dealing drugs with. Or to."
At the hospital, Kyle pulled into Burgess's favorite spot and killed the engine. "Why?"
"To avoid potential embarrassment. Whatever people say, avoiding scandal is a powerful motivation. Look what we know about Pleasant. He went to hookers, which was expensive and dangerous, maybe spinning out of control. His wife knew it, Jack Kelly knew it, Ted Shaw knew it. His partners knew it. Hell, half the hospital knew it."
"But if it was embarrassment, why kill him in such a compromising position?"
"Easiest way to get to him?" Burgess shrugged. "Then there's money. He was in financial trouble. Shaw had bailed him out at least once. He was the star of an incriminating video tape—and we don't know that this was the first. That could be the financial trouble Shaw mentioned. Blackmail. Docs are a lot like cops, the way they cover for each other. So are rich folks. But everyone's got their limits. Maybe he was improving his financial position by selling Oxycontin and his partners knew and couldn't get him to stop. People have killed for a lot less."
"So you don't think it was a woman?"
"Despite Cote demanding I find this mystery woman and arrest her? Don't know, Ter. Got no gut feeling about this one. There's the woman O'Leary brought in, but we've also got Dani's footprint."
Kyle parked at the hospital. "You think maybe someone hired O'Leary to kill Pleasant, and the mystery girl was just the bait?"
"It's a thought."
"Then why not kill Alana? And this mystery girl—you think she's dead?"
"Maybe they tried to whack Alana and we got in their way. Maybe the mystery girl is dead. If I had all the answers, Terry, I wouldn't need you."
"What's our game plan here?"
"We'll start with the docs. Lunch time, we might find them with a bit of free time on their hands. You take Stavros. I'll take Shorter. I'll do the Administrator's Office, you see Conklin. Then I'll see the parking lot attendant, you get contact info for the other attendants and security guards, and we'll meet back in the lobby."
"This place gives me the creeps."
"To paraphrase Robert Frost, it's the place that, when you have to go there, they have to take you in. And you're usually bleeding."
He found Dr. Shorter in the cafeteria with some other doctors. Burgess pulled up a chair, introduced himself, and asked for a few minutes of the man's time. Shorter looked irritated but he agreed. As the others moved away, Burgess pulled out his notebook, but before he could begin, Shorter said, "What happened to you?"
"Colonel Mustard with a lead pipe in the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot."
"Oh, right. Read about it in the paper."
"I have some questions about Stephen Pleasant."
But Shorter was studying his eyes. "You still have a headache?" he asked. Burgess nodded. "Any dizziness?"
"Slight," Burgess said. "Occasional." Been through this drill before.
"Nausea?"
"Some. Look, doctor, I—"
"Detective, what are you trying to prove? You should be in bed. Head injuries aren't something to mess with."
"Appreciate your concern, doctor, but I've got one man dead, another missing, and last night there was the attempted abduction of a witness. I catch a break and maybe next week I can stay in bed."
"Who's missing?"
"Pimp named Kevin O'Leary." Watching Shorter's reaction. He'd hoped for recognition. Got a mixture of regret and distaste.
"So you know about... Stephen's problem?" Shorter stood up. "You mind if we talk in my office? This is awfully public."
In the elevator, Burgess refrained from rubbing his head, aware of Shorter's scrutiny, of the way, in the manner of their respective professions, they circled each other like fighters in a ring. Shorter jumped out ahead of him and held the elevator door, making Burgess feel geriatric and cranky. He followed Shorter into his office and dumped himself gratefully into a chair.
Shorter switched on the lamp and leaned forward. "So what can I tell you?" He might be old enough to practice medicine, but he had the downy, unformed look of a prepubescent boy.
"You and Dr. Pleasant were golf buddies?" Shorter nodded. "Other than that, did you socialize together?"
"Some. Dinner parties. Restaurants. Movies. My wife Lauren is friends with Jen."
"Seen from the outside, was it a good marriage?"
"I guess. Jen was kind of fragile. Demanding. She had a lot of trouble with the pregnancy, you know. She was scared, and she's awfully young. It made her short with Stephen sometimes. Lately. Otherwise, things seemed fine."
"How did Dr. Pleasant respond to his wife's demands?"
Shorter shrugged. "I don't know. He was impatient with her. Supercilious. That's how Stephen was. He didn't mean anything by it. Why is his marriage relevant? You can't possibly think Jen killed him."
"Why not?"
Shorter stared. "Well, because she loved him, that's why."
"Do you think she knew about his infidelity?"
"Infidelity?" He seemed to be trying to decide whether quickies with prostitutes constituted infidelity. Burgess decided to help him out. "The hookers he picked up. The women he paid to give him blow-jobs in his car."
"I don't know," Shorter said, reddening. "Stephen never mentioned—"
"Would your wife know? You said she was Jen's friend."
Shorter made a quick, defensive gesture. "Look, it's bad enough having to deal with this here in the hospital. I don't want you coming into my home, bothering my wife. That's not necessary. Stephen had a weakness. He indulged that weakness with the wrong woman. She stabbed him. End of story. Find the woman and arrest her. This murder has nothing to do with the hospital or his family or my family. Nothing to do with any of us. You have no right suggesting it does."
If he had a dollar for each time he'd been told he had no right to do things, he'd be retired and rich. Anyway, Shorter was wrong. This murder had everything to do with Pleasant's family. Families. They'd never be the same again. Death, like life, didn't occur in a vacuum. "Dr. Shorter, what kind of medicine do you practice?"
Shorter looked puzzled. "I'm an internist."
"If I came in here and told you how to treat a patient, what would you think?"
"You don't know anything about medicine."
"And you don't know anything about investigating a homicide."
"I watch TV."
"Then you know that the majority of people are killed by someone they know."
"You can't possibly think that Jen—"
"What I think is I should ask the questions and you should answer them."
Shorter pushed back from his desk and stood up. "This is outrageous!"
"So's the willful taking of a human life. Sit down, doctor. I'm not done." Cote would say he was stepping on toes here. But curtsying hurt his knees and he was too tired for patience. "Was Jen Kelly aware of her husband's infidelities?"
Shorter no longer looked pleasantly boyish, but like a spoiled kid who'd been on the wrong end of a fight—his cheeks blotched red, his mouth sulky. "Yes," he said.
"Yes, you know, or yes, she was?"
"Yes, goddammit, she knew! She told Lauren. Then Lauren got on my case to do something. I told Stephen he was being an idiot. He told me to mind my own business. Look, he wasn't my best friend or anything."
"How did Jen Kelly react when she learned about her husband's other women?"
"They weren't other women. It wasn't like he had a relationship with them."
"You're saying she shouldn't have cared?" Shorter shook his head. "So, how did she react?"
"The way any woman would. She was hurt. Angry."
"Do you know whether she communicated this to her husband?"
"No. Well, yes. Maybe. She told Lauren she was going to speak to him. Actually, she told Lauren her father had spoken with Stephen and he'd promised to stop."
"A promise he didn't keep?"
Shorter looked miserable. "No."
There was something behind the no. "And?"
"Lauren said Jen wasn't going to put up with it. That he would stop humiliating her or it was over between them." Shorter swallowed. "I don't know. Jen's money was very important to Stephen. If Jen told her father..." He trailed off. "But I don't see what this has to do with what happened."
Burgess changed the subject. "Did Dr. Pleasant talk to you about his finances, ever mention financial difficulties?"
Shorter ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Jesus, detective. I hope no one ever murders me. I'd hate to have someone pawing through my private life."
"His finances," Burgess repeated.
"He was always complaining about money. Worrying about it. Doctors have a reputation for that, but this was worse. See, Stephen was the one who'd persuaded the practice to expand. In the long run, it would have made them all much richer. But in the short run, there were big expenses setting things up. And he liked to live well, wanted to give Jen a nice house. Janet was always nagging about support. Plus..." He tried for a laugh. "I don't suppose a three-hooker a week habit came cheap."
"His predilection for hookers was common knowledge? Any idea how his partners reacted to that?"
Shorter glanced at the closed door. "Ken Bailey was furious. I've heard... pure rumor, you understand... that he'd given Stephen an ultimatum—shape up or ship out. And Pine State's practically the only game in town." He shrugged. "Look, detective. I'm cooperating. I want you to give me your word that you'll stay away from my wife."
He'd never given a promise like that. He went where the story sent him and Lauren Shorter sounded like she could be helpful, but he was supposed to be practicing his curtsy. "The way things look, I see no need to bother your wife. Just a few more questions," he said, "and I'll go." Go? Even getting out of this chair seemed too hard. "Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm him?" Shorter shook his head. "Did he ever mention that someone might be following him?"