The Governor's Wife (14 page)

I
watched from the window as Bones McIntyre crossed Broadway and kept going. Then I leaned back in my chair, put my feet on the desk, and promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, it was almost four in the afternoon. My mouth was full of sand, and my hand was throbbing. I poured myself a glass of water and popped another handful of Tylenol. Then I picked up the phone and called Marie Perry. There was no answer on her cell or at home. I pulled out a red leather case from a cabinet behind my desk. Inside was a small tool kit and a dozen lock picks. I put the case in a duffel along with a pair of gloves, a roll of tape, and my gun. I was about to leave when the phone rang. I thought it might be Marie. Or maybe Jack O’Donnell returning my earlier call. I was close.

They’d left O’Donnell in his boxers, faceup on the bed. His eyes were open, one hand splayed out to the left, the other curled into a claw. The wound ran across his neck and plunged
in a ragged line to the breastbone. The sheets and mattress on his bed looked like they’d been soaked through to the box spring. His skin was a slushy gray. I stacked the pictures in a pile and shoved them back across to Rodriguez. We were sitting in a Dunkin’ Donuts on Irving Park just west of the Kennedy. O’Donnell lived in a one-bedroom walk-up three blocks south. The detectives working the scene had found my business card among his personal effects and put a call in to Rodriguez. He’d taken a quick look inside the apartment and decided he didn’t want me anywhere near it. I couldn’t blame him.

“The guy lived like shit,” Rodriguez said and shoveled some sugar into a cup of black coffee. There was a plain doughnut beside it. “Did you know he was divorced?”

“I knew he had kids.”

“She left him a couple of years back. Cleaned him out pretty good is what we’re hearing. Anyway, she’s devastated. Wants to know how this could have happened.”

“And?”

Rodriguez broke off a piece of the doughnut and popped it in his mouth. “Been dead at least eight hours, maybe more. The official theory is a break-in.”

“What did they take?”

“Hard to say. Why?”

“O’Donnell made some tapes of the patch-up jobs Beacon was doing on the highway.”

“Didn’t see any tapes.”

“How about notes? Computer files?”

“Only thing in there was a nineteen-inch color TV, and that looked like it was busted. So O’Donnell
was
working with you?”

“He was with me out on the Ike last night but left before I got grabbed. I tried to call him today. Wanted to tell him to stay in a hotel.”

“Yeah, well, he never got the message.” Rodriguez slipped the crime-scene photos back into a folder and glanced reluctantly around the empty coffee shop. “Maybe it’s time you told me the whole story on Beacon.”

So I did, starting with O’Donnell’s midnight tour of the Ike, working my way through the heart-to-heart with Bones, and ending with Iron Belly taking a small ax to my hand. By the time I’d finished, Vince was staring out the window at rush-hour traffic. I thought about O’Donnell and the picture of his little girl. Vince’s voice floated in from somewhere.

“I can bring them in for questioning. Lean on Bones a little.”

“What’s the point? He claims they’ve got the system gamed. Your boss. Your boss’s boss. All the way up.”

“You believe him?”

“When he tells it, I believe him, yeah.”

“So we just sit back and watch the bodies pile up?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“I think I know who hired me.”

“Who?”

“Ray Perry.”

“Ray Perry hired you to find Ray Perry?”

“He hired me to ask questions. Hit some pressure points.”

“And Ray told you this himself?”

“I talked to him this morning.”

“So you know where Ray is?”

“Not exactly, but that doesn’t matter. He wants me to play a lone hand, and he’s right. I need to go after Bones and Beacon where they’re most vulnerable.”

“And where’s that?”

“Bones claims he’s got no time for his daughter, but I don’t buy it. In fact, I think it’s all about her. I’m just not sure how. Did you find someone to watch Rachel?”

“They’ll be there tonight.”

“Drop me a line when they’re in place.”

Rodriguez nodded at the bandage on my hand. “How bad is it?”

“Not as bad as what O’Donnell caught.”

“Go get some sleep.”

“On my way.”

I parked just down the block from Rachel’s place. The engine ticked over, and the clock on my dashboard read 7:45. I turned on the radio, cracked the window, and watched the twisted light reflected in her windows. A pair of headlights swept by, and the past crept in like fog, clouding up the glass and covering my eyes in velvet. I used my good hand to wipe the windshield clean, and there she was, sitting on the edge of my old bathtub, one foot on the rolled rim, doing her nails and drinking a cup of tea. I watched as Rachel painted. Listened as she hummed. Soaked in the things that had a way of circling back, whether you wanted them to or not. Like the way she bit her lip just before she smiled. The way she smiled just before she laughed. The dead eyes that lived inside Jack O’Donnell’s apartment. The past. It came in all shapes and flavors. I snapped my eyes open and shook my head. The clock on my dashboard read 9:23. Rodriguez was sitting beside me in his car. Slowly, he lowered the window.

“I didn’t tell you to sleep on the street.”

“I just closed my eyes for a second. How did you know I’d be here?”

The detective shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“Are your people in place?”

“They see you. You don’t see them. Tomorrow, they’ll go in and check out her place.”

“Thanks, Vince. I owe you.”

“You want to tell me how much danger she’s in?”

“It’s just a precaution.”

“You gonna talk to her about it?”

“Not sure.”

“You ever gonna talk to her?”

“Not sure about that either.”

“Mature as hell, Kelly. Go home and go to bed.” Rodriguez raised his window and pulled away. I watched for another hour, until the lights went out in Rachel Swenson’s bedroom. Then I left.

T
hey found Ray Perry’s body the next morning. I was in my office, drinking a cup of coffee and thinking about phoning Jack O’Donnell’s ex-wife when the call came in. Rodriguez was en route and didn’t have a lot of details. I got in my car and drove out to the Ambassador Motel, one of a string of rent-by-the hour dumps that populate a stretch of Lincoln Avenue just south of Devon. The parking lot was empty, save for a single squad car, a couple of county medical vans, and Rodriguez’s unmarked unit. He was just getting out as I pulled up.

“You been inside?” I said.

The detective shook his head. “All I know is they got an anonymous tip on a body, and they’ve ID’d it as Ray. Manager says the room wasn’t rented out.”

“So someone broke in?”

“Looks that way.”

“What about the press?”

“Caught a break there. The cop who took the call recognized
Ray and kept it off the radio. Right now it’s just a couple of uniforms, us, and the coroner. Let’s go.”

Rodriguez led me up a flight of steps, down a gangway, and past a bunch of closed doors.

“Who’s keeping the other guests quiet?” I said.

“The owner told his patrons the cops were on their way. Maybe a few news cameras as well. Everyone cleared out pretty quick after that. Right here.”

A single uniform stood sentry in front of room 235. He watched as we put on booties, masks, and gloves. Then we stepped inside. A medical team was working over the bed, taking pictures and talking quietly. Otherwise, there were just a couple of cops and us. A woman detached herself from the group and came over.

“Kelli Spencer from the coroner’s office.”

“Detective Rodriguez from Homicide. This is Michael Kelly. He’s a PI who’s been helping us look for the deceased.”

We shook hands all around. All I could see of Spencer was a set of light blue eyes above her mask. And they seemed entertained as hell. I’d been around enough crime scenes to know Spencer had a secret. And she thought it was a pretty good one.

“Where are we at?” Rodriguez said.

“We’ve photographed the body and examined it.”

“And?”

“Maybe you should take a look first. Then we can talk.”

The small circle of folks around the bed parted as we approached. Ray Perry lay on his back. Wrinkled, gray, and dead. They’d stripped him down to his underwear and covered his hands and feet with plastic bags. A pair of chinos, a blue-and-white checked shirt, and black lace-up shoes sat in a pile at the foot of the bed. His hands, bags and all, were laid across his chest, and his mouth was set in an eternal pucker. The Ray I remembered wouldn’t have liked that at all.

“How did he die?” Rodriguez said.

“That’s the thing,” Spencer said. One of her assistants leaned over to whisper in her ear. Spencer nodded, and the assistant left the room. Spencer turned back to us. “Best we can tell, Mr. Perry died of natural causes.”

“What kind of natural causes?” I said.

“We won’t know until we do a full autopsy, but I’d say massive organ failure, probably related to some form of cancer.”

“Cancer?” Rodriguez glanced at me, then back to Spencer.

“Given the jaundice and general condition of the body, I’d guess leukemia. The blood work, of course, will tell us more, but that’s my guess.”

“How long’s he been dead?” I said.

“A couple of days, at least. That’s the other interesting thing. The temperature reading we got indicates the body has been refrigerated.”

“So you don’t think he died here?” Rodriguez said.

Spencer looked around. “Not unless this place doubles as a walk-in cooler. Of course, we’ll know more when we do a complete autopsy.”

“How long can you keep this quiet?” Rodriguez said.

“A few days, maybe a week, before we file a report. Is that what you want?”

“Probably. You ready to move the body?”

“Just about.”

“All right, I’m gonna get a team in here to sweep the place for evidence. Let them get a look before you move him.”

“Of course.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

We shook hands, and I got the feeling Dr. Spencer was still having a laugh at our expense. That was fine. Someone should. We walked back out onto the balcony. Rodriguez took a moment to examine the lock to the room.

“Take someone twenty seconds to jimmy this. They pull the car in below, carry him up in the middle of the night.”

“No one’s gonna be looking out the windows in this place,” I said, staring down a row of silver doorknobs.

Rodriguez grunted his assent and stripped off his mask and gloves. Then he leaned up against the chipped iron railing and studied me in the shaded light. “You want to explain something to me?”

“What’s that?”

“How is it that Ray Perry’s been dead for two days, but he was talking to you yesterday?”

“It was more like an e-mail.”

“An e-mail. That’s not really like talking to someone, is it, Kelly?”

I glanced back through the open door, at the body on the bed. “Apparently not.”

Rodriguez was about to respond when a black Lexus pulled into the lot below.

“Vince.”

“What?”

I nodded as Marie Perry got out of the car, dark sunglasses dropped over her eyes. Rodriguez cursed under his breath and met her at the top of the stairs, detective star out and in his right hand.

“Ms. Perry.”

“I was told they found my husband’s body?”

“Yes, but it would be best to ID him at the morgue.”

Marie took off the sunglasses. “I’ve already talked to your boss. I told him he could tell me where my husband’s body was or I could hold a press conference this afternoon. Now, am I going to have problems with you?”

Rodriguez glared at me as if it were all my fault and stepped aside. Marie walked down the gangway and straight into room 235. Kelli Spencer looked like she’d been waiting for her. Spencer took Marie’s hands in hers, and the two women walked over to the bed. Spencer whispered a few words. Marie took her time, leaning in for a last look at her husband. When
she was satisfied, she nodded at Spencer, who wasn’t laughing with her eyes anymore.

“That’s my husband.”

The three of us stood in the parking lot of the Ambassador Motel. Marie had herself a smoke. The morning sun was harsh on her face, and I thought she didn’t look much different from her husband lying upstairs.

“What happened to your hand, Mr. Kelly?”

“I cut my finger. I’m sorry about Ray.”

Her eyes flashed, then went flat again. “I told you he was dead.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t know. It was just a feeling.”

“We suspect Ray died from natural causes,” Rodriguez said. “Maybe cancer.”

She responded with a flick of her shoulders. “The coroner explained it all.”

“Was your husband in good health when you last saw him?” Rodriguez said.

“That was more than two years ago, Detective, but yes, Ray was in perfect health.” She pointed the burning end of her cigarette at the cinder-block building. “How did he wind up here?”

“Good question, ma’am. Except for his clothes, we found no personal belongings in the room, and the desk downstairs says he never checked in.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone broke into the room, probably last night, and left the body. Then they tipped the police to its whereabouts.”

“That’s difficult to believe.”

“The coroner also thinks he’s been dead awhile. His body temperature indicates he might have been stored in a refrigerated
space somewhere.” Rodriguez watched Marie closely, daring her to fill in the blanks. Her gaze shifted from Rodriguez to me and back again.

“Are you expecting me to provide some explanation, Detective?”

“Ray died of natural causes, Ms. Perry, but he wasn’t alone. Someone clearly moved the body and they must have had a good reason.”

“Sorry I can’t be of more help. Am I free to go?”

“What’s the best way to reach you if we have some followup questions?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow morning. Otherwise, I should be available on my cell. I assume you have the number?”

Rodriguez nodded.

She dropped her cigarette to the ground and crushed it with a twist of her toe. “By the way, the media…”

“So far, it’s been quiet. At some point, the coroner will make a statement saying they found Ray. After that…” Rodriguez shrugged.

“How long?”

“A couple of days. Maybe a week.”

“Will they call me before they release the report?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

We watched her walk across the lot to her car. She gave me a final look before ducking inside. Then she was gone.

“What do you think?” I said.

“If Ray hadn’t died of natural causes, I’d be taking her in for questioning.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Count on it.” Rodriguez pulled out a long yellow envelope and handed it to me.

“What’s this?” I said.

“Your boy, Rafael Ramirez.”

“What about him?”

“He’s working tonight. Gets off at midnight. I’ll pick you up.”

“Why?”

“Read the report. I’ll see you tonight. And if I were you, I’d keep an eye on the widow Perry.”