Playing God (27 page)

"Hey, if we truly understood human nature, we'd hang out shingles and rake in the bucks, instead of getting worn out and nasty peering into the sewers of human lives."

"Thought I was the one in the black mood."

"It's contagious."

"I sure hope not. Bad enough looking in the mirror, seeing all that ugliness coming back at me. Hate to see it spread around the office."

"Alana thinks I'm ugly."

"No, she doesn't. Alana thinks you ought to pay more attention to her. Give her more respect." Truth was, Kyle wasn't bad looking, just cold-looking. His efficiently-short black hair did nothing to soften the sharpness of his face. A lean, bony face with probing gray eyes and a narrow mouth. People complained that Burgess's face was fierce, but it was Kyle whose cold eyes could stop conversation with a look.

"A whore who wants respect? Why not," he said. He arranged a forkful of meat and potatoes. Chewed thoughtfully. "So you finally slept with her. Can you handle it?"

"I've got no choice."

"You know what I mean."

He stared down at his untouched soup, soggy brownish bits floating in a brownish liquid, and saw Dr. Lee's knife slicing through Pleasant's stomach. He pushed the bowl away. "I'm supposed to be the master of self-control and I let it happen. Hell, Terry, I don't know. It's another goddamned albatross around my neck. She'll never keep her mouth shut. Why'd you leave her, anyway?"

"You needed to be taken care of." Kyle looked guilty.

"Oh, I was taken care of."

"I'm sorry. You gonna eat that?"

"Can't even look at it."

"You've got to eat something, Superman. You're flying too close to the earth." Kyle signaled for a waitress, ordered grilled cheese and tuna, fries on the side.

"You're so nurturing," Burgess said.

"Self-interested. I don't want to work this alone and Cote's dying to send you to your room. If I can't help keep your soul together, at least I can help with the body."

"Maybe I belong in my room."

"That's right. The case is a bitch and you're running on two cylinders, so you might as well give up. Sit in your room and stare at pictures of a dead kid, see if you can tie yourself in a couple more knots. Give Bailey and Cote the satisfaction of having sent you packing. Score one for the bad guys."

"Sometimes I wonder if any of it makes any difference."

Kyle leaned in, his voice low and angry. "Get a grip, Joe. Not every case is Kristin Marks."

"I hated that man, Terry."

"Pleasant? I know. I also know it'll only make you work harder to find his killer."

They sat in silence, Kyle because he'd crossed the line, Burgess because Kyle was right. If he was going to let the Kristin Marks fiasco run his life and stop trying because the criminal justice system was fucked up, he should have quit long ago. If he was going to stay, he owed it to Kristin to keep bringing in the bad guys. The sandwich arrived and he ate without tasting it. Around them, people came and went, ordered, talked and ate loudly. A road grader doubling as a plow did a noisy back and forth outside. Someone could have been killed at the next table and he wouldn't have noticed. He was trying to pull himself out of a black lagoon.

Kyle's shoulders slumped. "Where the hell are we going with this?"

"Toward an arrest, I hope," Burgess said. "Death is in the details. While I'm enjoying the company of Attorney McFarland, you want to pop over to the courthouse and see if you can find any lawsuits against the hospital which mention Dr. Pleasant? Or lawsuits against Dr. Pleasant, just in case she isn't forthcoming?" He wasn't optimistic about a lawyer being frank.

"It would be my pleasure. What's in the envelope?"

"Letters from Pleasant's patients." Burgess passed it across the table. "Try not to get grease on them."

Kyle pulled out the letters and started reading. Scanning at first, then becoming absorbed. He didn't even hear the waitress ask if they'd like dessert. Burgess ordered two apple pies with ice cream and more coffee, watching Kyle as he read. Watched him read through one of the letters, then another. Watched him read a letter, then go back and read it again. He read it a third time and looked up.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Pleasant's nurse. Chris Perlin."

"Well, this is it," he said. He shook the letters until they rattled. "Forget the lawyer, in-laws, out-laws, partners. Man who generates this much anger, it's here someplace."

"Stan likes the Oxycontin angle. I kind of like the wife or her father... step father."

His phone rang. Lt. Melia. "Joe? Got an assault on a clerk at a video store, couple blocks from O'Leary's place. Sounds like it might tie in. You want to follow up?"

"We're on it." He got the address, asked a few questions, and nodded to Kyle. "Guy who fits O'Leary's description went into a video store looking for some tapes he said they were keeping for him. When the clerk said she didn't know what he was talking about, he started beating her up. Ran off when another customer came in."

"Could be a break." Kyle grabbed his jacket. "Sounds like the shitheads are getting squirrelly."

Chapter 21

The clerk was Vietnamese or Cambodian, small as a child and young, with waist-length hair caught in a butterfly barrette. She sat behind the counter on a stool, shielding her face with her hand. There was blood on her gray GAP sweatshirt. A young patrolman was with her, one hand solicitously on her shoulder. His hand was very big and black, the girl's shoulder small and narrow. His other hand held a clump of bloody paper towels.

He looked up when they entered. "Patrol Officer Gabriel Delinsky, sir," he said. "Her name is Mai Phung. Says she's seventeen. Works here after school. I think her nose is broken. She won't let me call an ambulance." He had a calm, easy voice.

The place was littered with spilled candy, an overturned gumball machine, packets of microwave popcorn and scattered videos. Whole shelves of videos had been swept clean, tumbled onto the floor. A smashed phone lay among them.

The girl's dark eyes studied them cautiously. She was pale, but Burgess didn't know whether it was shock or her natural color. As he watched, a tremor ran through her, like the shiver of a horse's hide, and he understood why Delinsky kept a hand on her.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

She moved her head slowly back and forth, eyes wide with fear. She couldn't.

"Sergeant Burgess," he said, "and this is Detective Kyle. We need to ask you some questions." To Delinsky he said, "What did she tell you?"

"Not much. Obviously, she speaks English well enough to get this job, but when she's this scared, it deteriorates. She says..." He hesitated. "I'm afraid I haven't written all this down yet, sir. I didn't want to leave her."

Burgess's reputation again. He'd yelled at more than one young cop for not writing things down, so details got left out or lost. "You're doing fine," he said. "Go on."

"She says a big, ugly white guy came in. Excuse me, sir. Those are her words, not mine. A big, ugly guy with tattoos and stuck-out ears... ears like cups... and he said he'd come to pick up some tapes." The girl made a little moaning sound and Delinsky tightened his steadying hand.

Burgess noticed her jeans were undone and remembered what Alana'd said about O'Leary. "Was she assaulted?"

Delinsky shook his head. "She'd never tell me, sir, but I don't believe so. I think he was trying to, but was interrupted by some customers. Bunch of teenagers. Two of them, two girls, ran across the street and called us, the four guys chased him away." He patted his pocket. "I got their names and addresses. Look, there's not that much more to tell. Let me give it to you quickly, then I'd like to take her over to the hospital."

"No!" The girl cried. "No hospitals. No doctor."

"She's worried about medical bills," Burgess said. "Get the hospital to explain that they have to treat her for free, if she doesn't have any money. So the guy comes in and says he's come to pick up some tapes they kept for him. Did she know what he meant?"

"She's only worked here for a few days. When she asked if they were tapes he'd reserved, he grabbed her and dragged her right over the counter. Screamed at her and swore at her, throwing things, then he started knocking her around, yelling, 'Sun knows.' He was trying to get her pants off when the kids arrived."

"Who's Sun?" Kyle asked.

"The owner."

"Can she do better than big ugly white guy?" Burgess asked. "I'm a big, ugly white guy." He asked Delinsky, but watched the girl. Caught the glimmer of a smile.

"Bald," she said in a tiny voice. The hand that wasn't shielding her face described girth. "Strong. Fat." The hand swooped out, sculpturing a pregnancy-sized belly in the air, touched her mouth. "He had a broken tooth."

Kyle was prowling around, looking the place over. Standing at a doorway closed by a blue curtain. "What's in here?"

Delinsky grinned. "Thought you were a detective? That's the adult videos."

"Guess I'll check it out." Kyle disappeared through the curtain.

Burgess pulled out the picture of Kevin O'Leary that was folded inside his notebook and handed it to the girl. "This the guy?"

She looked at it, moaned, and closed her eyes, leaning against Delinsky as if she needed his protection, even from a photograph. The young cop steadied her as she shoved the picture toward Burgess. "Yes. That's the man." Her voice was a whisper.

"Thank you," Burgess said. "You've been a big help. Did you notice how he got here? Whether he had a car?"

"A big black car," she whispered. "It waited for him outside."

"Do you mind if we look around?" he asked.

"No. Please. Maybe you find those tapes. Take them away?"

"Has the owner been notified?" Burgess asked.

"Yes, sir. He's supposed to be on his way over." Delinsky pointed to a sheet of paper on the wall. "His name and number are right here."

"You want to take her to the ER, go ahead," Burgess said. "Her family been contacted?"

"She doesn't want to bother them. She says that they'll be scared, and she doesn't want to scare them when she's all right. She wants to know if I'll drive her home."

Burgess shook his head. "Don't take any chances. Take her to the hospital. And stay with her. She trusts you. We'll swing by later, see how she's doing."

Delinsky reached under the counter, grabbed her coat and purse, and helped her into the coat. She was as floppy and loose-jointed as a sleepy child. Delinsky didn't wait to see if she could make it to the car on her own. "If you'd get the door, sir?" he asked, scooping her off her feet, cradling her against his chest in a way that suggested children of his own. Where her sweatshirt rode up, Burgess saw raw, red scrapes on her stomach.

He followed Delinsky out to the cruiser, opened the door, and watched him settle her in the passenger seat, buckle her seatbelt, put his coat over her. "Good job, Delinsky. Looks like this could be O'Leary."

"I thought so, sir, when I heard her story. That's why I called Lt. Melia."

"I'll take the names of those kids. Kyle and I will follow up."

"Your witnesses are four guys, basketball players, and two girls who are cheerleaders. All friends of Mai. They said there was a man in the car, waiting. Couldn't describe the car other than big, dark, and expensive. They say it took off as soon as O'Leary got in. Nearly collided with a truck as it pulled into the street." Delinsky shrugged. "Maybe you can get more out of them, sir." He took out his notebook, copied six names and addresses, and tore out the page.

"Hard to believe, isn't it, sir? She can't be a day over fifteen. It would be like raping a child." Burgess looked away and Delinsky suddenly became very interested in adjusting his belt. "Guess I'll get moving."

Burgess watched the car drive away. That was a good cop. Smart and compassionate. If only he didn't burn out. He turned and went back inside, past the mess by the counter and into the back room. Kyle was kneeling on the floor, gloved, opening and closing video cases, piling the ones he'd checked on the floor beside him. Suddenly he bent forward, slid a bit of shelf aside, and reached into the hollow space, fishing around. Grinning triumphantly, he dragged out a plastic trash bag. "I wonder what's in here?"