Playing God (43 page)

Chapter 32

"Only an hour before," Burgess said, "this guy's shoving me around, trying to throw me out of his hospital.
His
hospital. Soon as Terry and I leave, he and O'Leary jump in his car and head for the video store where O'Leary tries to rape that girl."

Melia stared at the screen, fingering his tie and frowning. When they finished, he nodded. "You've got witnesses and video that put him with the suspect at the scene of an assault and attempted rape. You want to talk to Dr. Bailey, I've got no problem."

Burgess saw a problem. "Captain Cote," he said, "wants to be informed when we're thinking about bugging a VIP. Meaning, wants a chance to warn Bailey that we're coming. Wants a chance to screw things up again."

Melia frowned. He knew how Burgess felt, but rank was rank. "You check with him before you went larking off to Boothbay last night to get yourself shot?"

"I tried to return his six messages," Burgess grunted. "He couldn't be found." Something like this, he knew, Cote would expect them to make a greater effort to find him, but Burgess wasn't coming this far and taking this kind of punishment only to have the thing snatched away from him.

"You left messages, right?" Burgess nodded, hoping Melia'd make the right call. "So when you get there, leave a message on his voice mail."

"That going to cover your ass, too?"

Melia gave him a light-weight version of the look he'd given the lawyer. "I'm not worried about my ass," he said. "Why don't you guys get going. Give your cousin a courtesy call, let him know you're coming." Burgess and Kyle stood up. "Anything special you'd like me to do with these women you've dragged in?" Melia said.

"Aucoin's taking Alana home."

Melia rolled his eyes. "And the other one?"

"Kara Allison? Find out what she was wearing and where it is now. Then put it in the affidavit and the warrant to search her place. Do whatever it takes to hold her until we get back. Either she's the doer or a material witness. She walks out that door, she's gone." Cop's instinct again. "Stan's burned out." He shrugged. "You might give it a whirl yourself. Keep asking about Randall Noyes. Maybe she'll get tired, let something slip."

Melia's laugh was short. "Don't hold your breath. She's not a woman, she's a robot." He headed for the door. "You guys be careful. I don't want Burgess any more ventilated than he already is."

"Vince," Kyle said, "we're on our way to see a respected physician. Friend of the Governor. There's no danger."

"A respected physician who transported a pimp and blackmailer so he could commit an assault," Burgess said. "Who's the star of an incriminating video tape. Who hates my guts."

"You're wearing vests. My orders," Melia said. "Like Joe should have last night."

"We live and learn," Burgess said. Last night's exploits made him a textbook case of cop carelessness, but every cop made mistakes, the ones that could get you killed. Every cop.

He and Kyle went down to their lockers and got their vests. Burgess got out his leather jacket. It was stiff and heavy but his other one was dead and he wasn't calling on Bailey in a snowmobile suit. He grabbed the nearest phone, dialed the familiar number. "Sam? It's Joe...."

"Been keeping an eye on the place, cuz. Nothing happening."

"This is just a heads up. Couple of us coming out to see one of your citizens. Dr. Kenneth Bailey."

"Great guy, Dr. Bailey," his cousin said. "Saw him at the hardware store a while ago, pickin' up some cement to mend a patio. A big Rubbermaid container to store boating equipment in. Enough duct tape to wrap a mummy. Some folks use duct tape for everything. I told him it was too cold for cement, but he said his wife was after him... and didn't I know how that was?"

Burgess nearly dropped the phone. "Sam," he said. "Let me tell you what I got. We're looking for Kevin O'Leary, the pimp who set up the party for Pleasant the night he died. Well, I got Bailey on surveillance video, two days ago, driving O'Leary to a video store. O'Leary tells the clerk he's come for some tapes they're storing for him. She doesn't know about any videos, so O'Leary assaults her, then Bailey drives him away. We respond to the assault, find O'Leary's homemade tape of Dr. Bailey with a prostitute. Later the store gets firebombed and O'Leary, who's a steady source of drugs, hasn't been seen since."

He waited for his cousin to process all that. "Maybe you want to come with us on this. Get someone over there to watch Bailey's house?"

"Sounds like a plan."

He hung up, filled Kyle in. "We'd better tell Vince. This thing's getting crazy. A big plastic container, cement and duct tape. What's that sound like?"

"Like the man's arrogance knows no bounds." Kyle shook his head. "How dumb does he think we are?"

Melia listened without comment, his face grim. "You called your cousin?"

"He told me about the Rubbermaid and the duct tape. He's waiting for us."

"You better get moving. Take Stan." Burgess nodded. "Be careful. Stay in touch." Melia's smile was brief and thin. "And
not
on my voice mail."

"So Stan," he asked, as they drove over the Million Dollar Bridge toward South Portland and Cape Elizabeth, "you get any sleep last night?"

"What you really wanna know is, did I get laid, right? And the answer is a big, fat
yes.
How 'bout you, Terry?" Kyle just smiled. "Hey," Stan complained from the back seat. "I can't see his face. What's he doin', Joe?"

"Smiling."

"Fuckin' A," Stan said.

Burgess's cousin was waiting in front of the station. He motioned for them to follow and pulled slowly away from the curb. Kyle followed through a maze of twisty roads, past pleasant, well-maintained houses, stopping at the tall white fence sheltering Bailey's house from the street. Burgess got out and followed Sam up the drive. Waited while Sam knocked. A smiling, pear-shaped woman with graying hair, gray slacks and an oversized gray sweater opened it. "Why, Sam Burgess, what brings you out here? Come to arrest me for leaving too many brownies at the station?"

"You can't do too much of that, Madeline," Sam said, patting his girth. "No. The boys appreciate that. They really do. This is Sergeant Joe Burgess, Portland PD, working on the Stephen Pleasant case. Ken around?"

"Oh, Sam, you just missed him. Ted Shaw called. Something about Jen, I suppose, so he's gone over there. Is it anything I can help you with?"

"Just some follow-up questions," Burgess said.

"I could call over there," she offered. "See when he'll be back."

"No." He struggled to keep from shouting. "No. Thank you, ma'am. It wasn't urgent. I just thought I'd stop, since I was visiting Sam. Save myself a trip..."

"Ran into Ken at the hardware store this morning," Sam said jovially, moving smoothly into the breach. "Sorry to hear about your patio falling apart, but I told him this is no time to be trying to use cement."

"Cement?" she said. "Patio? There's nothing wrong with my patio. What on earth was that man talking about?" Mrs. Bailey looked from one to the other, scrutinizing them closely. Burgess tensed against some hard question, some articulated suspicion that might send her to the phone. "Are you two related?" she asked. "You look alike."

"Cousins," Sam said. "I'm the handsome one. We'd better be going. Sorry to have bothered you." He gave her a smile. "And keep those brownies coming."

"You can count on it." She closed the door.

"Guess we're off to Shaw's."

"Let me call first. See if Bailey's there." Sam slipped into his car and used the radio. "Got there about half an hour ago. Drove his car right into the garage."

"Delivering the coffin," Burgess said. "Along with cement to weight it down and duct tape to seal it. A burial at sea, perhaps. Or at the bottom of the garden? Maybe wait 'til dark and dump O'Leary off a pier somewhere."

They wound their way to Shaw's. Burgess, who'd only made the trip at night, marveled at how well some people lived. It was more troubled and challenging, but he preferred Portland. He liked it that his Portland landscape was filled with black and yellow and white faces, faces lined with experience, marked by sorrow or glowing with hope. He knew dozens of street people, some Vets he looked after. Had been invited to a Cambodian wedding. People bored him when they were all the same brand.

They pulled into the drive and parked behind a Volvo that looked like Jen Kelly's. Kyle made the call to Cote's machine. Shit! If this was nothing more than Mrs. Bailey thought—a consult with Dr. Bailey about Jen's welfare—he needed his gut examined. His cop's gut. But instinct said he was on the right track here. Once again, he climbed the steps behind Sam. God, his cousin's rear end had gotten big. Was his that bad? Did they now resemble not so much aging football players as hippos? Sam was only two years older, but his hair was gray, neck wrinkled, hands spotted. He watched Sam lift one of those hands to the doorbell. Felt an adrenaline surge. Looked back toward Kyle, sitting there watchful.

Ted Shaw gave them a cold, appraising look, like they were tradesmen coming to the wrong door, which, in his social hierarchy, they probably were. "Sam," he said, ignoring Burgess completely. "I'm busy. My daughter and grandson are here. Could we do whatever it is some other time?"

"No problem, Ted," Sam Burgess said. "You go right on visitin' with Jen. No need to disturb you at all. We had some questions for Ken Bailey. Madeline said he was here."

Shaw looked back into the interior of the house, a space they couldn't see because he blocked the opening. "I don't know why she'd say that. Ken's not here." Behind him rose a baby's cry and a woman's soft voice.

Burgess realized that Perry hadn't been in the car. A typical Perry move. Like an impulsive ten-year-old. Tell him to wait in the car and he can't sit still. He has to get out, just for a minute, to look at something.

Shaw looked down at them. "I'm sorry. I'm busy. Come another time." Ready to shut the door in their faces.

Burgess was suddenly rocked by a wave of dizziness. Instead of fighting it, he saw an opportunity. He let himself sway, staggered into Sam, pushing him toward Shaw and stumbling inside as the door yielded to his weight. Sam, quick to see what was happening, got an arm around his shoulders and helped him to the nearest chair. He rested his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. This better bring them something. Sam's rough handling really hurt. "Sorry, Sam, Mr. Shaw," Burgess said. "I was on the wrong end of a shotgun last night."

"That's no concern of mine," Shaw said. "Sam, now that you know the person you're looking for isn't here, will you please remove this man from my house."

"I'm sorry, sir," Burgess said, deliberately exaggerating his weakness. "I never expected this or I certainly wouldn't have bothered you. I was fine a minute ago."

Sam fussed over him, loosening his tie, unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. "You sure, Joe?" he asked. "Sure? You look awful. Shouldn't I call an ambulance?"

Quick, light footsteps approached and then Jen Kelly's voice from the other room. "Dad? Can you come here a minute? Dr. Bailey says he needs some help...." She hurried into the room, stopping with a gasp. Burgess opened his eyes.

"Chief?" she said. "Detective? What are you doing here?" She stared from one to the other, her hand over her mouth like a child caught in a lie. Then, with a cry, she turned and ran from the room.

"Goddammit, detective, I told you not to upset her, didn't I?" Shaw bellowed. "Isn't that the one thing I asked of your hopelessly incompetent department? To leave the poor child alone and not upset her? Get out before I call your boss and have you fired."

For what, the unpardonable sin of getting dizzy in a rich man's foyer?

Arriving unannounced for tea?

Upsetting people was what cops did. Burgess smiled politely up at Shaw. "Could you tell Dr. Bailey we're here and ask if he would give us a few minutes?"

"I've asked you to leave, which means you no longer have permission to be in my house. Now go."

Under Sam's worried gaze and Shaw's wilting one, Burgess pushed himself to his feet and stood a minute. "Better," he said. He forced a smile, wanting to grab the arrogant prick by his long, skinny neck and shake him until his cold WASP brain rattled in its patrician cage. "Thank you for your hospitality."