Busted (25 page)

Billy looked up. "How do you know what happened to her?"

"I was the one that found her. I had to hold her while she told the police what happened. I got to find out she was my goddamn niece from the cops, because they had a picture of
you
in their apartment."

Billy slumped. "Doesn't matter. She's better off without me. I'm a dead man."

For a single, wild moment Joe thought that might have been true. He reached out and slapped Billy upside his head. The noise echoed through the bar. A few of the more coherent patrons spared him a glance.

"You're not dead, asshole."

"I will be," Billy said. "He's going to kill me like he killed them, like he killed the Spiders. I've been hiding, but it doesn't matter. He's gonna get me anyway."

"Who's he? And who the hell cares that he killed some spiders."

"They call him the coyote. And it's
the
Spiders," Billy said. "They worked out of the north end of Hartford. Drugs and hookers and crap like that."

Joe frowned at Billy. He knew his family was scum, but this was lower than he thought they'd go. "And you worked for them."

"Busted heads," Billy said with a shrug. "Paid the bills."

"And the drugs."

Billy just nodded. "They're dead. He got 'em."

"And he's coming after you next?"

He shuddered. "Gonna carve me up like a turkey, suck out my eyes, and eat my soul. Maybe they'll get me first. That'd be better."

It was morbid, but he was curious. "When did it happen?"

"Last month. He killed eight guys and they just let him. And Miss Nancy. I don't know. When it started I just… ran."

"Knife?"

"Like a fucking lover," Billy said. He shuddered.

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"What, you a cop now?"

"Dating one's brother," Joe said.

That surprised Billy. "You're a fag?" he asked. His voice didn't hold any malice, just curiosity.

"You're surprised? You and your friends gave me shit about it for as long as I can remember."

"Yeah, well… We didn't… whatever. Doesn't matter." That reignited Joe's anger. He'd always assumed that he'd caught hell because he was gay. He'd been desperately ashamed because of it, all through high school. It wasn't until college and therapy that he'd finally come to terms with it.

And all the crap he'd gotten about it had been a lie. Just a way to make him miserable. Just the cruelty of the young. They didn't know there was anything behind it.

"You stupid ass. I don't care how screwed you are, you're not going to fuck over Stephanie too.
 
You're gonna go home, and tomorrow you're gonna drive to the cops. You're going to ask for Detective Gagnon and you're going to tell him everything.
Everything
, you got that? You're gonna spill, names, dates, whatever.

"And you had damn well better tell him about Stephanie's mom's family. Tell him
first
. 'Cause he may well fucking shoot you when he figures out what you are, and I wouldn't blame him one bit."

Joe pushed his chair out and got up to leave.

"Tomorrow, Billy. Or I'll find you and you'll only wish he'd gotten you first."

Joe stormed out of the bar. That last statement had probably been the only thing the rest of the bar had heard, and he didn't care. He meant it, too.

Outside it had gotten dark, though the moon was hanging full in the sky. It had gotten humid, and the air felt oppressive. He felt a prickling between his shoulder blades, like there was someone watching him. There was a faint stench of something in the air that made his stomach churn.

He pulled his jacket tighter around him. It didn't help much, but it did a little. He whistled, or tried to, as he walked to his car. His Nan had always told him it kept the Little People away, and the feeling he was being watched faded. Not entirely, but enough to get him to his car and away from the Pony.

Billy
O'Malley stood in front of the police station, hands jammed in the pockets of his black leather vest. He was looking the quintessential biker in his ratty jeans, white t-shirt, and vest. He was nervous as hell.

This wasn't the first time he'd ever been in a police station, of course. The first time had been the morning after his twelfth birthday, for stealing six bicycles and lighting a neighbor's car on fire. It was just the first time he was going there voluntarily.

He wasn't coming back out again either. He knew that. He'd gotten his stuff in order, as best he could, given his bike away, and was taking the last breath of freedom he was going to have for a very long time. If he was lucky. If he wasn't he'd be dead soon.

Taking a breath he gathered what was left of his courage and walked inside.

Billy hadn't ever seen this part of the station, the part normal people saw. It was actually kind of nice, almost like a doctor's office waiting room, except for the receptionist wearing a uniform and sitting behind bulletproof glass.

"Can I help you?" asked the officer manning the front desk.

"Yeah, I need t' see Detective Gagnon. He in?"

"And you are?"

"The guy that needs to see him," Billy said. He didn't want to get into it with the kid. Billy was pretty sure he had a whole bunch of people who wanted to get a piece of him. The last thing he wanted was to get tossed into a cell before he had a chance to talk to Gagnon.

"Have a seat and I'll see if he's in, sir," the officer replied. Billy could see the effort the 'sir' had taken.

The thirty seconds Billy waited felt like an eternity. He wanted to bolt so badly it hurt. It just wasn't right, sitting there in the waiting room. He ought to be in handcuffs in the lockup, or at a bar very far away getting drunk.

"Can I help you?" The same words as the desk officer, but these were deeper. Dangerous. Billy looked up. The blonde man standing next to him was clearly dressed for work, white shirt, tie, jacket, and dress pants. It was just as clear he was a cop.

"You Gagnon?" he asked.

The man shook his head. "Russell. You are?"

"Joey said 'ta talk to Gagnon," Billy said. He crossed his arms and glared at Steve.

"Joey did, huh? About what?" Steve wasn't sure exactly what he was talking about. He and Chris knew a few Joeys, but nobody he'd trust much, nor anyone who owed him a favor enough to send a thug to talk.

Billy debated just up and leaving then. He knew that once he walked through the door to the back with Detective Russell, he was probably never walking back out. On the other hand, dead men didn't walk at all, and if he left the station that's what he'd be.

"You guys got my daughter Stephie," he finally said.

The pieces clicked for Steve. "Billy O'Malley," he said. "We've been looking for you."

"Joey said t'talk to Gagnon. You ain't him."

"He's my partner. C'mon."

Steve opened the door next to the bulletproof window, Billy trailing behind. "Buzz Chris and tell him to meet me in three," he told the officer manning the reception desk.

The two of them walked down the grey cinderblock corridor towards the interview rooms. Steve thought it was a little ironic they were questioning Billy in the same room as they had his brother a few weeks ago, but Steve couldn’t really see BIlly diving after Chris the way Joe had.

Billy wasn’t really noticing anything. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, a tunnel deeper into the hell he’d been living. He was well past redemption, but he still didn’t want to die. Every moment, as barren and empty as they might be, was one more the demons weren’t feasting on the tattered remains of his soul.

Chris was already in the room when Steve and Billy entred, sitting behind the table watching the door. There was a scowl on his face, his tie pulled loose and the top button of his white dress shirt undone. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Billy dropped into the chair in front of the table like he’d done a hundred times before as Steve sat next to Chris on the other side.

Chris made a quick note of the date and time in his notebook as Steve flipped on the tape recorder.

“Okay, Billy. This is an interview. You’re not currently charged with a crime, and everything you say is being recorded and may be used as evidence. Do you want the presence of counsel before we continue?” asked Steve.

“No,” Billy said. “I gotta get this out.”

“That’s fine. We’ll note that the interviewee has declined counsel. So, Billy, you wanted to talk?”

“Joey said to talk to ya about the guy what killed my kids.”

“And your ex?”

“Yeah, right, and her. Bitch.”

Chris glared at him but Billy didn’t notice. He was too busy staring at his hands, the knuckes gone white.:

“What do you know about this guy?” Steve asked.

Billy shuddered as he remembered. “Spiders had a place in the north end’a Hartford. Jamal ran ‘em. Normal stuff, hookers ‘n drugs an’ shit like that. Mostly weed and coke, some smack for the Trinity brats. I busted heads, did some collections. Nothin’ big, but it payed the bills.

"He was there, y'know? I'd finished with a kid in Enfield who owed, and he was there. Jamal and Frankie and some of the boys and they were all… dead. He'd killed 'em all. They were just lying around the room, bleedin' out.

"He had Miss Nancy there too. She was Jamal's grannie, owned the building, ran a storefront palm reading scam
 
t'make it look legit. She was an old Jamaican lady, ‘been running scams since forever. Got all the whack jobs in lookin’ to see the future and score crap t’open their third eye or whatever. She did the ‘shrooms and acid, but that was small time shit.

“He had her. She wasn't dead, but near as. Laid out on the table and he… he was eating her eyes."

Billy looked at the detectives, his expression empty. "They were just hanging out of her head, and he sucked on 'em like candy. It was…" He stopped and shuddered.

"When, Billy? When did this happen?

“‘Bout a month and a half ago. Th’ fucker saw me come in and just grinned. Opened his mouth and showed…” Billy shuddered. “Showed me her eyeball, between his teeth like it was staring at me. I just… I just cut ‘n ran. Been hiding ever since, but it don’t matter. He saw me and he’s gonna get me and he’s gonna eat my eyes just like he ate hers.”

“Did you report this to anyone?”

Billy’s snort was the only answer the question needed. “Didn’t matter. Building got torched a couple’a days later. Nobody cared anyway. Just ‘nother burning crack house.”

“The killer?” Steve asked.

Billy shrugged. “Probably the Blades,” he said, naming one of the city’s smaller gangs. “They were always lookin’ to get Jamal since he fucked Zabo’s baby sister. Fuck’n punks.” Billy scowled at that.

Steve gave Chris a half smirk, Billy’s indignation a bizarre counterpoint to the carnage he’d described. It shouldn’t have been funny, but it was anyway.

“What did he look like, Billy? The murderer?”

“He…” Billy paused and shuddered as a wave of remembered nausea swept over him. “He was an old guy. Scrawny, shorter’n me. Grey hair, an’ dark.”

“Dark like black, or dark like latino?” Steve asked.

“Dark like… like him,” Billy said, pointing at Chris. “Tan, ‘yknow, only more. Wrinkled” Billy squinted as he stared at Chris. “He kinda looked like him, I think.”

“You think?” Steve prodded.

Billy’s temper flared. “Gimme a fuckn’ break, I saw the bastard eatin’ Miss Nancy’s goddamn eyes. Made me sick to my stomach. An… he was kinda tough to look at. Made my eyes water. Didn’t want to look too close.”

“Afraid what you might see?”

“Afraid what might see me,” Billy mumbled.

Chris just raised an eyebrow at Billy. He almost pitied the man for what he’d seen. Almost. There was enough in the file he’d dug up while researching the McManus murders that he was hard pressed to be too sympathetic. Still, he saw the look on Steve’s face, a barely restrained grin that always presaged something just a little evil.

“Well, thanks for your time, Billy. We’ll call in the sketch artist, and after that you can go.”

“Go? What?”

“Well,” Steve drawled, trying hard not to smirk. “What you’ve told us is helpful, and with the picture we might be able to catch this guy. Other than that we don’t have anything we can hold you for, so you’re free to go.” It really, really wasn’t right for him to enjoy making Billy squirm. The man really was a piece of work, and the city would be better off with him behind bars for a good long time. It wouldn’t be tough to dig out enough evidence to get him arrested. This was just a little more fun.

“What? No way, he’ll fuck’n get me!” Billy was in a panic.

“The law is clear, Billy. We don’t have anything to charge you with. It’s not a crime to see someone else get killed.”

“He’s gonna eat my fuckin’
soul!
You gotta help me! Joey said you would!”

“Billy… all you’ve told us is that his,” Steve said as he jabbed a thumb at Chris, “grandfather killed some folks. Grusomely, too. I mean, eating eyeballs? Pretty sick. I don’t even want to think what he might do with a knife and someone’s intestines or something.”

Billy turned green at that.

“I’m out there, I’m dead,” he whispered.

“Better make sure we have good reason to make sure you never get out there,” Steve said, sounding realistically sympathetic.

And for the next two hours, with the tape recorder running and Chris making careful note of the very few lies, Billy did.

* * *

Tuesday evening Joe tried to knock off work early. He was supposed to meet Steve at the firing range. Steve had been right – not only had he enjoyed himself that first time, he was tempted to get a membership. The universe had conspired against that, though. Three employee melt-downs, an unhappy client, and a restraining order had kept the whole department busy until far too late.