Playing God (35 page)

She reminded Burgess of a girl he'd dated in high school. Same innocent face with impossibly sexy lips, same dark blonde ponytail, even the same touch of blue eye shadow. He looked at Kyle, who was visibly smitten, and remembered getting up the courage to ask for a date. Standing at the mirror, rehearsing his request, trying to imagine that small, delicate body pressed against his own massive one. Back then he'd felt bigger than he did now, and wondered how it all worked? How did big guys like him get together with small girls without hurting them? He'd asked for a date, all tight throat and dry mouth, and she'd said yes. The first time he'd touched her breast he'd gotten dizzy.

When Michelle came back with the wine, Perry flashed his badge at her. "I wonder if you'd mind answering a few questions?"

She stopped struggling to extract the cork. "About what?"

"Are you married?" She shook her head. "Engaged?" Another negative. "Living with someone?"

"That's really none of your business."

"Please?"

"No."

"Well, then," Perry said. "I'd like to introduce you to a really nice guy. You got anything against cops?"

She'd been trying not to smile, now she gave it up. "My uncle's a cop."

"Michelle, I'd like you to meet my friend, Terry Kyle. Detective Kyle. Portland police. Terry, this is Michelle."

"Pleased to meet you, detective," she said, reaching a hand across the table. Kyle had no choice but to reach back. She turned up the wattage on her smile and held onto his hand. "I wondered if you'd ever get up the nerve to introduce yourself. You married?" He shook his head. "Engaged?" Another shake. "Living with someone?"

"Nope."

"I get off at eleven," she said. "Maybe you could give me a ride home." She dropped his hand and finished with the wine, pouring for Kyle first. Watching attentively while he tasted it, then pouring for the others. She pulled out her order pad. "You all know what you want?" They ordered New York sirloins, medium rare, baked potatoes, and salad. "I'll go get you some bread," she said. "Be right back." She winked at Kyle.

"What am I missing here?" Burgess asked.

"You're the detective," Perry said.

"Running on fumes right now. How about Terry's been coming here and mooning over Michelle, but he's too shy to do anything, so Stan decides he's going to help out? This dinner isn't about talking shop or food. We're playing the dating game. What am I, by the way, the chaperone?"

"That's right. When's the last time you picked up a girl in a bar? Jesus, Joe, you live like a fuckin' monk," Perry said. "You're so goddamned smart, tell me this—are we getting anywhere with this fucking case?"

"Think we're getting closer. Want me to run it down for you?"

Perry drained his glass and refilled it, his eyes on the hostess, who'd paused after seating another party to let him admire her. "Maybe later."

"Oh, right," Kyle said. "You're so eager to be the world's best detective you'd eat dog food if it'd help you get ahead, but you don't wanna listen to Joe Burgess, who was solving crimes while you were still peddling your tricycle?"

"Give it a rest," Stan snapped.

"I want to hear it," Kyle said. "This mean you got something today, Joe?"

"A woman who really hated Pleasant. One long blonde hair and a big stonewall. I'm peeking through a crack..." They'd come to talk, but he wasn't ready. This was too nebulous. And despite the elevated lust levels, they were still too irritable. "So we got nothing on O'Leary?"

Kyle sighed. "You heard Stan. His mother hasn't seen him. His girlfriend hasn't seen him. His scumbag friends haven't seen him. He's vanished off the face of the earth. O'Leary's like a lot of dumb guys, keeps regular habits, so something's going on."

"Other than that he knows the cops are looking for him?" Perry said.

"Something to check—what size shoes he wears. What kind," Burgess said. "Dani's print is an 11 Reebok."

Kyle was quiet but not morose like he'd been earlier. The slouch was gone and his eyes were open. There was even the touch of a smile on the narrow mouth. He was arranging his forks so the tines lined up. "O'Leary as the killer doesn't make sense," he said suddenly. "If he was pimping for Pleasant and moving the drugs, he was making too much money. Just look at Oscar Libby. Pleasant prescribes a month's supply of 80 mg. pills just days before he dies. Call it maybe fifty pills, with a street value of eighty bucks per, you've got four thousand dollars. Even if he got only half the money, that's not bad. And that's only one patient. We ask around, I bet we find Pleasant was writing scripts for O'Leary, too, and maybe some of his girls. I've got another idea."

"You said he was stupid," Perry said, reaching for the wine bottle. "Why not go for the quick buck?"

"Wait," Burgess said.

Michelle set a basket of rolls in front of Kyle. "I'll be right back with your salads." She rested her hand lightly on Kyle's shoulder. Burgess hoped the poor guy could hold his thought in the face of the obvious rush he was experiencing. "You need anything else?"

They shook their heads, but as soon as she was out of hearing range, Perry said, "Yeah, honey. He needs a blow job. Quick!"

"Don't," Kyle said.

"Your theory?" Burgess reminded him.

"The mystery girl. She set it up for the guy in the truck. He did Pleasant, then he did O'Leary because O'Leary knew too much about Pleasant's dirty business."

"Then how come we got nothin' on this guy in the truck? You're making this too complicated," Stan said. "Your mystery girl's just a hooker. That's all a wild goose chase."

"She was looking for Pleasant," Burgess said quietly. "Asked to be set up with him. Couple different people saw her and the guy. And nobody we talked to, none of the hookers or pimps, had ever seen her before."

"Too fuckin' weird. Mystery girls. Mystery guys. Maybe the guy was O'Leary?" Perry suggested.

"This guy had dark, curly hair. Hazel eyes. Handsome," Burgess said. "That sound like O'Leary to you? This is a guy who tells Alana Black he's not interested in sex."

"Then who the hell is he?" Stan said.

"Hold on," Kyle interrupted. "Getting back to O'Leary for a minute. If he wasn't acting on his own, who hired him, Joe?"

"Couple good possibilities are Shaw or Bailey. Guys with big money looking for the easy solution to a blackmailer? Or what about Jack Kelly? He's not rich, but he loved his daughter. And he was way pissed at Pleasant."

"What about the wife?" Kyle began, but Perry interrupted.

"Salerno's. Guy who owns the place remembered Pleasant coming in there. Came in with a girl. A real babe, the guy said. Stacked. Blonde. It was close to closing time. They ate pizza, mooned about like lovers, then left."

"Doesn't sound like Pleasant. I keep hearing cold and indifferent," Burgess said.

"Me, too," Kyle said.

Perry shrugged. "He ID'd the photo. Maybe this girl was something special. Or it was the transforming power of love. Not that he hadn't already been in every available orifice and paid for the privilege. How the hell should I know?"

"You sound cranky, Stan," Kyle said quietly.

"Why the hell shouldn't I? I spend the whole fuckin' day rubbing people's faces in their own sorrow and here we haven't any of us got the balls to march out to his big house and ask Ted fuckin' big shot Shaw if he offed his son-in-law. If we were to even suggest it, Cote would soil his pants, wouldn't he, Joe?"

"You'd be back in uniform, working traffic. I'd be pushing papers and writing some damned report on the correlation between traffic stops and the age, race and sex of the drivers. And only Terry here would be left to carry the torch of justice."

"How come he gets to stay?"

Kyle was right. Perry did sound cranky. And Kyle, despite the magic of Michelle's presence, wasn't far behind. "Terry's our secret weapon. Cote thinks Terry's a quiet little goody-goody."

"Where the fuck's he been?" Perry muttered.

Kyle snorted and moved his spoon over to join his forks, carefully adding it to the line, then flipped back the napkin and took a roll. "Skipped lunch," he said. "Too depressed to eat. God, what a rotten day!"

"Anybody see the surveillance tape from the video store yet?" Burgess asked. "Or the results of the door-to-door on that street? Any news about the car?"

"We were on the fucking road," Stan complained. "You know that. We were at drug stores and pizza joints. We haven't exactly been sitting on our butts pushing papers. You're beginning to sound like that asswipe Cote."

He'd rather die. Burgess held up his hands. "Okay. Okay. I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's been a lousy day. Let's just eat."

Michelle hurried up with their salads, looking flustered. Some of her hair had come out of her ponytail and her tie was askew. "Couple guys being jerks, tried to make me sit with them." She shrugged. "It happens." There was run in her stocking, like someone had grabbed her leg with rough fingers.

Kyle reached for
her
hand. "Hey," he said, half rising, "want me to talk to them?"

She gave him that smile again, eyelids coming down shyly over her eyes and didn't pull her hand back. "It's under control. I think. But thanks."

"You let me know." Reluctantly, he let go and dropped back into his seat.

They ate their salads in silence. Finished the wine and ordered another bottle, food becoming a substitute for conversation, a space between where they'd been and where they hoped to go. Kyle broke the silence. "We working tonight?"

"We've been working."

"Later?" He was a man with a plan.

Burgess shook his head. "I'm going back. See if the lab has anything for me. You can ride back with me to get your cars, but unless something breaks, you might as well get some rest." He smiled. "Or whatever."

"I'm hoping for whatever," Perry said. "Aren't you, Terry?"

Kyle just smiled.

When the check came, Burgess slapped down his credit card. "This one's on me."

"Thanks, Dad," Perry said. "'preciate it."

Burgess thought he had it just right. All evening he'd felt like a father out with his grown sons, putting up with their bad moods and flirtations, alternating between wanting to reel them in, and hoping they were going to get laid. He hoped they'd come back, pick up Tina and Michelle, and have some fun. Hoped nothing would happen so he'd have to call them away, though he had an uneasy feeling it might. He looked at his watch, amazed at the hour. The place was almost empty. Something to that old adage about time flying when you're having fun. "Let's go, kids. It's late."

There was a pause at the door, while Kyle and Perry said goodnight to their respective ladies and firmed up plans for later. The door was just closing behind them when a voice, unmistakably Michelle's yelled, 'Hey! Stop that! Let me go."

The two aggressive young businessmen who were trying to force Michelle to join them by grabbing her and dragging her into the booth were surprised to find themselves facing three men with guns on their belts. Michelle was liberated, and, in the interest of avoiding further calamity, she was removed from the premises by the police, and placed in the back seat of an official vehicle. She and Kyle billed and cooed all the way back to the station.

By the time he'd parked and thrown the car into gear, Burgess had had his fill of human contact. He left them to sort things out, and went upstairs to check his messages. Hoping Sarah Merchant had decided to do the right thing. Knowing she hadn't.

Chapter 27

Some people think there's nothing lonelier than an office in the middle of the night, but Burgess liked the emptiness, the distant building sounds around him. During the day, it was all commotion. At night, walls creaked and the elevator whirred and clocks ticked. Doors shut with metallic thuds, latches clicked, casters on chairs whizzed audibly across plastic rug protectors. You could hear a piece of paper fall into a trashcan.

He checked his voice mail. Nothing from Cote, which didn't surprise him, nor from Wink, which did. He called down to the lab. Got Wink's weary, "Devlin, crime lab?"

"It's Joe. Got anything for me?"