The Angel of Knowlton Park (48 page)

She was lying on a stretcher, covered with a clean white sheet, the blood streaking her pale face and arms giving her the look of a savage painted for war. Her bright hair was vivid against the white. Her eyes were closed and she looked utterly spent, her face finally peaceful. She looked so small and fragile. The EMT, a comfortable-looking middle-aged woman, smiled up at him. "Another one of your waifs, Joe? She was asking for you."

He nodded. "I'm the only person here she knows."

The EMT nodded. "Sweet little thing." Burgess's mind flashed on Nina crouched against the wall, hissing and snarling, clutching that enormous knife. Sweet wasn't an adjective he would have chosen. "She's in remarkably good shape, considering. We're just going to take her in, check her over. They'll probably send her home."

He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. Mary Turner was a nice woman who cared about Nina, probably as good as the state could do. But sending the girl back to a houseful of children and a distraught caretaker after the experience she'd just had? With her brother lying on the cusp of death? What she needed was a long, long sleep, some intensive short-term therapy and then a course of long-term therapy in a setting where she'd be carefully watched. Not a bin. Just a place where she couldn't wander at will or fall through the cracks, or be immediately subsumed back into the life of a little mother, a place where she could come to understand she wasn't to blame for the bad things grown-ups did. Nina needed to finish being a child.

"You want to ride along or meet us there?"

"I'll meet you," he said. "I'll need the car. It's looking like a long night."

"Hold on," she said, swiping at his forehead with a piece of gauze. "You've got a couple spots could use some stitching. And you might consider a shower."

"You got something against a natural man?"

"Joe..." Her voice soft with affection. Cops and EMTs worked together a lot. "You're filthy, you stink. You should find a mirror before you go anywhere like that."

He watched as they loaded the girl into the ambulance, then went back to Melia. "Thought I'd take a ride over the hospital and check on my kids," he said. "Unless you need me here."

Melia gave him a weary smile. "You weren't listening when I said go home?"

"Guess I wasn't. Guess I'm still not, huh?"

"Guess not. Let me know what's up, okay?"

"Cote know what's happening?"

"Beats me. I haven't been able to reach him. Dispatch hasn't been able to reach him. He's gonna be some pissed when he finds out what a PR op he missed."

"He's always pissed." He turned to leave. "I'll call you."

"Joe? Soap and water? Clean clothes? Please? I don't want you in the paper looking like that."

"I don't want my picture in the paper, period. And Vince? Keep an eye on Terry. He was about to drop three hours ago."

"They're my people, too, Joe."

"What about a warrant for the McBride place?"

"Rocky's working on it."

"I want to be there."

"You and everyone else." Melia cleared his throat. "Soap and water. Clean clothes. That's an order."

Burgess set off on the long uphill walk back to his car, using the heavy flashlight to light his way along the rows of ancient stones. The thunder and lightning had gotten closer and as he reached for his door handle, the first fat raindrop hit. Just as he'd predicted, the weather had refused to break until Timmy Watts's killer was found.

He switched on the interior light, looked at his clothes and hands, peered into the mirror. Melia and the EMT had been kind. He looked like something from a slasher flick. The Creature from the Blood Lagoon. He turned off the light and picked up his phone. It was time to call Chris. After that, time to keep moving. Put as many hours as he could between himself and the horror before he collapsed.

She answered on the first ring, a worried, breathless, "Joe? Are you okay?"

"Can you meet me at the hospital?"

"You're hurt again? More?" Worry shifting to panic.

"Not me. I have to check on some people. I just wanted to see you. Maybe we could sit a while. Have coffee."

"Why don't you just go home?" Irritated now because he'd scared her.

"Because I've got three hurt kids. A suspect who's out of his mind. Another body on my hands, and a search warrant to execute."

"Doesn't sound like you've got time for me."

He felt her pull away, getting ready to put down the phone. "I need you," he said. "In the midst of all this bad stuff, I need something decent and good to keep me going. Please?"

"Decent and good sounds like Wonder Bread."

"Chris, I am drenched with blood from head to toe, I've got a little six-year-old boy hanging on by his fingernails and a thirteen year old girl who thinks it's all her fault. I've been tap dancing around a man who was gutted like a deer, and I am starved for the wholesome goodness of Wonder Bread."

He heard her take a deep breath and slowly let it out. "You are the craziest man I've ever met, Joe Burgess."

"I hope so."

"You want me to bring you some clothes?"

"I want you to peel off my clothes and make my body sing, but I'm going to have to ask for a rain check."

"That's right. It is raining, isn't it? Where shall I look for you?"

"Try the ER. Don't rush. I've got to shower and change."

There was another call he had to make. He got out his notebook, found the number for Henry Devereau, and dialed. Devereau was home, and when he answered, was predictably surly. "Who the fuck's this?"

"Burgess. Portland Police."

"Oh. That asshole. So?"

He kept it short. "You remember the other day I said your niece might be in trouble? Well, someone tried to kill her tonight. Wrapped her in duct tape, stuck her in a crypt, and left her to die. She's at the medical center. You might drop by. Let her know someone cares."

There was silence on the other end. He thought Devereau'd hung up. Was about to disconnect when the man said, "She gonna be okay?"

"Physically." He turned the phone off and the engine on, and headed across town, driving on autopilot, but that was okay. The horse knew the way.

Chapter 37

Crouched in a basement corner, she looked like a rat, eyes glittering, hands curled like paws, her dull brown clothes coated with gray dust and cobwebs. She blinked a few times, her head swiveling from one flashlight beam to the other, but didn't speak.

"Regina McBride?" Kyle waved the paper at her. "Detective Kyle, Portland Police. This is a warrant to search the premises."

She blinked again, still silent, then a paw uncurled and she snatched the paper. Her teeth seized her bottom lip, biting hard. Her eyes blinked again as Kyle held out a second paper. "A warrant to search your car." She grabbed it and thrust them both into her pocket.

"You need to come upstairs with us now," Burgess said. "We have to talk with you about your son."

"Where is Matthew?" she said, straightening up, hands falling to her sides. "What have you done with him?"

More like what have you done with him? And what has he done with himself?
"I'm afraid we have some bad news," he said.

Her body fell back into its defensive crouch. Her hands came up and her head started swiveling again. She took a step toward Burgess, and then another. He could see both hands and both pockets. Her sleeves were short. There was no visible weapon. Yet she moved with a definite sense of menace and he knew what she was capable of.

He shifted his flashlight to his left hand, leaving his right hand free and took another step back toward the stairs. Kyle, feeling it, too, moved closer.

"Mrs. McBride? If you could step upstairs."

"Don't you dare!" she exploded. "Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own house. You can step upstairs if you want. You've already invaded my home and my privacy. I will come up if and when I please. For now, I prefer to remain down here."

"Suit yourself," he said. "I'll send an officer down to stay with you."

"That's not necessary."

"Routine procedure, ma'am." No way was he leaving her alone. She might try to flee. Destroy things. Set the house on fire. Ruthless women were rarer than ruthless men, but they existed, particularly where their children were involved. He took a step backward. "Detective Kyle, could you send an officer down." He shifted his attention back to her. "Is there a light down here?"

"What have you done with Matthew?"

"When you're ready to come upstairs, we can discuss your son."

"We can discuss my son right here, Detective. Matthew is innocent. Whatever you may think, he isn't involved in what happened to that little boy. I told you. I was with him that night. Except when we went out to dinner, he never left the house."

She should have saved her breath. Despite her meticulous housekeeping, the forensic team, on a preliminary walk-through, had noted fibers to match the bloody carpet and traces of blood. Matt's room, a typical teenager's hole, hadn't been cleaned at all. There, in addition to a blood stain under the carpet suggesting the stabbing had begun there, they'd found a 6-pack of empty Coke bottles, one with blood and traces of hair. They'd find much more.

Burgess was always grateful for stupid criminals, but this one surprised him. Why get rid of one carpet and repaint one room, and neglect to do the same with another? Had she thought the attack was confined to the living room? Where had she been while it was taking place? He doubted he'd hear the answer from her.

The thud of feet on the stairs announced Delinsky's arrival, Kyle behind him, carrying a light bulb he screwed into the empty fixture. When bright light flooded the room, Burgess felt a sense of relief. It had made his skin crawl being in the dark with her.

She stared at Delinsky, then back at Burgess. He didn't know where she'd been hiding, but her head was covered with cobwebs. "You can't leave me down here with him."

"Your choice. Stay here with Officer Delinsky or come upstairs."

"You can't leave me alone with a black man."

"Your choice," he repeated, starting up the stairs. Some ingrained instinct kept him from turning his back on her. Kyle was at the top of the stairs, and Burgess two steps up, when she suddenly started yelling at Delinsky.

"It's all your fault," she screamed. "Your fault. If you hadn't always been going around sticking your nose into people's business, no one would have thought about Matthew."

Her hand plunged into her pocket, rustling the papers, and came out with a knife. She lunged at Delinsky. The blade, powered by rage and insanity, slashed right through his shirt. As she pulled back, preparing to strike again, Burgess launched himself off his step, carrying her to the floor. He twisted her arm, trying to force the knife out of her hand. Before Kyle could even get down the stairs, Perry had pushed past, flown off the stairs, and twisted her arm behind her back.

"It's okay, Joe. I got her. I got her," he said. Burgess let Perry handle it. Happy to defer to that youthful energy. He'd had enough crazy people today. Deftly, Perry flipped her onto her face, grabbed her other arm, and looked at Delinsky. "Your cuffs?"

Dazed, Delinsky got them off his belt and handed them over. Then he sat down on the steps, hunched defensively, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle. When Regina McBride was secured, Kyle knelt beside him, pulled Delinsky's hands away, and untucked his shirt. He loosened the vest, checked underneath, and straightened with a grin. "Score one for the good guys," he said. "Nothing a Band-Aid can't fix."

Delinsky was still in shock. "You mean I'm not dead?"

"You feel dead?" Kyle asked.

With the trepidation of a man expecting to find a gaping hole in himself, Delinsky slipped a hand under his vest. His fingers scrabbled around, around again, and came out, two fingertips streaked with blood. "Hot damn!" he said. "Hot damn!" He thumped his vest with a fist, his voice low and full of wonder. "It was so hot, I wasn't going to wear it. My wife made me."

On the floor at their feet, Regina McBride squawked and thrashed. Perry put an admonitory foot on her back. "Lie still," he said. He shot a wicked grin at Kyle and Burgess. "Remember when this was a peaceful little city? Now even the accountants carry knives. Selling real estate is looking better all the time."