Playing God (18 page)

He drove back through thickening snow, found the security guard in the hospital lobby. He thought when he finished here, he'd pay an unannounced visit to Jen Kelly. "Coffee break?" he suggested.

"If anyone's looking for me," Charlie told the receptionist, "I'm in the cafeteria."

Charlie pointed to an empty table by the window. "Why don't you grab that one. I'm having coffee. You want something?"

He did. He wanted a clue. He wanted the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He wanted his knee to stop hurting. Wanted to put this homicide, and himself, to bed. "Diet Coke?" Charlie made a face and walked away. Burgess sat by the window, looking through streaky glass at the falling snow, allowing himself a recreational minute to think about Chris Perlin.

Charlie arrived with the drinks and three donuts. "This time of day, I need sugar."

"One of those donuts isn't for me?"

"Sure, one's for you. Not 'cuz you're a cop. I just hate to sin alone. So..." He tore open two packages of sugar and poured them into his coffee. "You want to know about Dr. Unpleasant, huh. Ask any of the nurses who've worked with him. For him. They'll all tell you. Guy was a son-of-a-bitch. Treated everyone like dirt, except other doctors. I used to wonder what makes a guy like that? Toilet trained too early or maybe his daddy beat him, or he grew up eating out of garbage cans? That place you park? He thought it was his private spot. He'd fling me the keys, say, 'I'll only be a minute, Chuck. Move it if you have to,' and not come back for hours. Like I was a doorman."

"You didn't like him."

"I ever tell you how much I hate being called 'Chuck'?"

"So you killed him."

"There were moments, but if I killed him, I'd lose my job, and my wife, she'd be real upset. Know what I mean? Not like he's the only arrogant asshole around here. You learn to live with it. Start killing people 'cuz they're assholes, pretty soon the pile of bodies is sky high. There's good people, too. There are nurses around here who are saints."

Burgess sipped the Coke, shuddering at the nasty chemical taste. His first sergeant, back when he was on patrol, had taught him not to overlook the invisible people—store clerks, gas jockeys, street people, security—advice that had paid off hundreds of times. "Give me something, Charlie."

Charlie tore a donut in half, then in half again, and shoved a quarter into his mouth. "About a month ago, I saw this guy, sitting in a car in the parking lot, watching the door. Not so unusual. Guys sit over there while their wives and girlfriends come visit. Better to sit in a cold car than look at a sick person, much less talk to them. Strange thing was, when Dr. Pleasant left, this guy followed. And a week later, I saw him again."

"Just those two times?"

"Saw him again last week."

"Get a good look at him?"

Charlie shook his head. "It was night. Light's not that good."

"Thought you worked the day shift."

"Sometimes I do double shifts, covering for other guys. Saving for retirement."

"So there might have been other times?" Charlie nodded. "What was he driving?"

"Pick-up. Big old beat-up thing. Some dark color. Black or green? GMC, I think."

"License plate?" The guard shook his head. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Not much. I had the impression he was big. Beard. Mustache. Wore a bandanna, like Willie Nelson. Pretty good driver."

"What makes you say that?"

"One night it was damned slippery. Pleasant's Mercedes was all over the place. This guy wasn't. When I went home, it was like ice skating. He knew what he was doing."

"Pleasant ever notice?"

"He left here, he had his mind on nooky, know what I mean?"

"Everyone knew about that?"

"People who were observant. He wasn't very discreet." Charlie's head bobbed. "I felt sorry for his wife. Nice kid. She tried to keep him straight. Used to come meet him after work. Then she just stopped coming. I always wondered what happened. Maybe the pregnancy. She always seemed worn-out."

"You ever see them fight?"

"Not really. Once or twice she was crying and he seemed angry. That's all."

"Anything else?"

"Last week the guy in the truck had someone with him." The guard ate another chunk of donut. "Aren't you gonna eat yours?"

"Someone with him?" Charlie was enjoying this and didn't want to be rushed. Burgess picked up his donut and bit off a chunk. Crisp on the outside, greasy inside. Just the way he liked 'em. He chewed and waited.

"A girl. Blonde. Long hair. When Pleasant came out, the man pointed him out to the girl. She nodded. When Pleasant drove away, they followed."

"Charlie, don't tell anybody about this, okay? You may have seen the killers."

The guard's homely face crinkled up in a grin. "You mean it?"

"I mean it. You're pretty observant. I wonder if any of the other guards, the regular night guys, noticed the man in the truck."

"Guess you'll have to ask them." Charlie shrugged. "No one ever mentioned it to me, but then, I never mentioned it to anyone either. So who knows?"

"Notice anything else unusual about Dr. Pleasant?"

"Other than that he used to leave around eight, come back a little later, run in, and rush out fifteen minutes later, with wet hair?" Charlie paused. "Washing off hookers!"

"Anything else?"

"You're greedy, detective."

"Have to be. Never know what might turn out to be important."

"You're right there. Let's see." Charlie ate the last donut as he considered.

How could a man who led an essentially sedentary life and feasted on donuts stay thin? Metabolism and genetics. Charlie was meant to be a skinny, pale-skinned, red-haired banty rooster of a man. Burgess was meant to be a beefy hulk. His father, the violent drunk, had been a beefy hulk. So had his uncles. And his grandfather. He had no sons, so the beef stopped here.

"One night I spotted this guy in the parking lot, hanging around the Mercedes..." Most of his life, Charlie was invisible, now he was enjoying the spotlight. "I went over to ask him his business, show a little badge, and he tells me to screw off, he's waiting for Dr. Pleasant and it's okay. This guy is all attitude. But he doesn't look like Dr. Pleasant's type, you get me? He's got a shaved head, leather jacket, tattoos. So I say suit yourself but I'll be watching, and I go back inside."

He looked sadly at the empty tray. "Then Pleasant comes out, goes up to this guy, and damned if they don't get in the car and drive away. You coulda knocked me over with a straw. Normally, Pleasant wouldn't give someone like that the time of day."

"This bald guy. Tall or short? Fat? Thin? How old?"

"Medium tall. Thirties. Beer gut." Charlie fingered his chin. "Big jaw. Stuck-out ears and a broken front tooth. Lotta prison muscle."

Kevin O'Leary. "Only time you saw this guy?" The guard nodded. "You're doing great," Burgess said. "Got anything else in that bag of tricks?"

"Only other things were the sad things. An old man once, came up to Dr. Pleasant, tried to grab his arm, and he's saying, 'You killed my wife. You know that. You killed my wife.' Pleasant just shook him off and walked away. Couple times, I saw stuff like that. But you see that here. This can be a pretty sad place. You know it yourself."

Burgess nodded. "Thanks, Charlie. You've been a big help. I'll come back, show you some pictures, see if there's anyone you recognize."

"Anytime." The guard consulted his watch. "Guess I'd better get back to work. Keep my eyes open. Who knows what I might spot? I've got ten minutes."

They passed a frowning Ken Bailey in the hallway, the frown following them until they were out of sight. Charlie took up his post near the door, Burgess went out into the swirling snow. He called Perry and Kyle, told them about the man in the truck and Pleasant's meeting with O'Leary. Passed on Chris Perlin's suggestion about checking with the medical board. Said he was on his way to see Jen Kelly, he'd call in when he was through. He urged them to get some rest, though he doubted they would.

It was only four, but daylight had been swallowed up by the dark sky and the snow. Street lights were lit. Cars slowed by the blinding white crept up to traffic lights and stop signs and fishtailed around corners. Pedestrians ducked their heads and hugged their coats around their chins, struggling against a rising wind. No namby-pamby flurry, this was a real snowstorm, the kind of day the Explorer was made for.

He crossed the Million Dollar Bridge in a world so white it hurt, the big metal girders folding around him like a gray skeleton coated with white cotton. Then he was back on the streets, among the cars and lights and half-hidden buildings. He bent low over the wheel, peering through the bright needles. By the time he turned in at Jen Kelly's house, the road was a smooth white blanket with no tracks at all. Her father's truck was still there, surrounded by undisturbed snow. Burgess pulled in behind it.

His steps were soundless, his feet disappearing as he walked to the door, the world engulfed in the peculiar silence of a snowstorm. He reached out a gloved hand and punched the bell. Falling snow tickled his face, piled up on his lashes and clung to his hair. He rang again. Little piles grew on his shoulders. Snow sneaked in the front of his jacket and began to melt. He watched the clouds of his breath and wondered what was happening on the other side of the door.

When it opened, Jack Kelly filled the space, glaring up at him belligerently. "Haven't you got anyone else to bother, detective?"

Last night, Kelly had been eager for him to talk to Jen. One problem with letting time slip by. Families quickly circled the wagons and wanted the cops to go away. He blinked the snow off his lashes. "May I come in?"

"She doesn't need this right now."

"I'll be as gentle as I can, Mr. Kelly, but I need to talk to Jen."

"Daddy, who is it?"

"It's that detective. Burgess."

"Let him in, then. There's a blizzard out there. Maybe he'd like some coffee?"

He'd like a heater. His ears and neck were freezing because he'd left his hat in the car. A heater and a bottle of aspirin and twelve hours sleep. His arms and shoulders ached from holding the car on the road, and his eyes stung from peering through the snow. He was ready to sweep Kelly aside.

Jen Kelly, holding the baby, appeared behind her father. "Come in, Detective. I suppose this is neither rain nor snow?"

"That's the post office." He stepped past Kelly, who'd moved a grudging few inches to let him pass. He ran a hand over his head, sending clods of snow cascading onto the polished wood.

"Come in the kitchen," she said. "You can't hurt that floor." The room was dark and gloomy without the sunlight pouring in. Beyond the windows there was no view, no lights, just blackness. "You want coffee?"

He shook his head. Too much sitting, too much food, too much coffee. "I'd do tea," he said.

"Two for tea and tea for two," she said. "Daddy, you want anything?" Kelly just stood in the doorway, arms folded, looking stubborn and unfriendly. "And please don't pick a fight. I don't need any more discord around me. Take off your coat, detective, and hang it on one of those pegs. You're making a puddle on my floor."

Feeling like a chastened two-year-old, he slipped off his coat and hung it as directed. A huge register in the floor sent up a wave of heat. He stood a moment, holding his hands in the warmth.

She looked like she could use a month in bed. Beneath her eyes were deep purple bruises and the skin drawn tightly over her bones was pale and dry. Her unwashed hair was pulled into a thin braid. She wore yesterday's shirt. Seemed too young and frail to have a borne a child and lost a husband. "Stay there if you want," she said. "You look cold."

He didn't like taking kindnesses from people he was unsure of, but he was a practical man. He was cold and wet. Insisting on remaining so did no one any good. He used his handkerchief to dry his face and hair.

"Better?" she asked. "Here, Daddy. You hold Stevie. I'll make some tea."

Kelly took the baby and was transformed from pugilistic anger to a kind of smiling wonder. His daughter nuzzled his shoulder with her chin and then leaned over to kiss his cheek. "Softie."

"I think he needs changing," Kelly said. He carried the baby out of the room.

"He thinks it's all his fault. That he should have kept me from marrying Stephen."

"Could he have stopped you?"

"Of course not. Doesn't keep him from blaming himself, though." She filled the kettle, put it on the stove, and dropped into a chair, her head in her hands.

"How are you?"

"Stunned. It's so unreal. I don't know what to feel. I don't think I believe it yet."

"I need to ask a few more questions."

She didn't look up. "What?"

"About financial stuff. I was talking with your father last night. Ted Shaw. He said he'd bailed your husband out of some financial scrape. What was he talking about?"

She stiffened, her eyes going to the viewless window. "Why didn't you ask him?"