Playing God (44 page)

Their host barely gave them time to get through the door. They went down the steps and leaned against the car. "Down the road a block or so?" he suggested. Sam walked to his car, and drove away. Burgess got in, glad to see that Perry was back. Kyle cruised smoothly out of the driveway.

Burgess closed his eyes again. He didn't know what he looked like, but he felt gray and clammy. He felt fragile and explosive, like a Faberge hand-grenade. "Stan," he said, "next time you decide to go larking, ask permission. Shaw wasn't going to let us in the door. I had to fake a fainting spell just to give you time to get back."

"Sorry, Joe. So I guess you don't wanna know what I saw?"

"Of course I want to know what you saw. I deserve some reward for making an ass of myself in front of a guy like that."

Kyle fanned himself with his hand. "Oh, Joseph," he said in an affected voice. "We start rewarding you for making an ass of yourself, and who knows where it will end."

"Up yours," he grunted.

Kyle pulled in behind Sam's car. Sam came and climbed into the back seat with Stan. "So?" Sam said. "What do you want to do, bearing in mind that that's my most prominent citizen you just pissed off."

Perry grinned. "In the garage, on the floor under a tarp, is a human body, or at least pieces of a body—a large lump and some visible legs and feet. Naked legs and bare feet. How many people you know lie down naked on a cement garage floor in February? Besides, they weren't a normal color. The toes and front of the legs were a purplish color, the heels and backs of the legs dead white. What our friends in the ME's office call lividity. You've got a plastic storage container and a man I've been told is Dr. Kenneth Bailey stirring up some cement. I wouldn't wait too long to see what happens."

"And how," Sam asked, "did you happen to be in a position to observe all this?"

Perry's grin broadened. "I was leaning against the car, getting some air, waiting for my superior officer to return from the house, when I heard a cry which sounded like someone in distress, coming from the direction of the garage. I immediately proceeded in the direction of the sound. When I looked through the window to determine whether someone was in need of assistance, I observed Dr. Bailey and the body. Not to mention a maroon Jeep the cops have been looking for, possibly the property of one Kevin O'Leary?"

"No shit, Sherlock," Sam said. "Guess we'd better go type us up a warrant. You gonna be the affiant?"

"Why the hell not?" Perry said.

"Then let's move. We could just burst in, but under the circumstances, I'd prefer to have a warrant. You happen to note the license number?" Perry nodded.

"I'll stay here with Terry. Keep an eye on things," Burgess said.

"He'll be okay. I've got a guy around the corner. You're coming with me."

"I'm fine," Burgess said.

"Have you seen yourself? You're scary."

"I don't scare these guys."

"They know you're a crazy fucker."

"I didn't scare Shaw."

"Don't be so sure. That's why we've got to move. Because they're going to. Stan and I will do the warrant. You're going to eat some nice chicken soup."

"You're so thoughtful, Sam."

"Stow it, asshole. This little escapade's about to screw up my whole day. Gonna have state police all over my ass."

"Just think," Kyle said. "Your first murder."

"You can put a cork in it, too," Sam snapped. "I got no patience with smart-mouth big city detectives."

"Aw, shucks," Kyle said. "Portland's just a small town."

"Come on. Let's move," Sam said. Meaning type up an affidavit and a request for a warrant ASAP and find a willing judge on a Saturday afternoon.

So much for the excitement and danger of discovering a body. The thrill of the chase. Burgess shifted the accumulated bundle of misery he called a body into the back seat of his cousin's car and rested his eyes.

Chapter 33

He woke abruptly when both doors popped open, Sam and Stan Perry jumped in, and the car was rolling. "Got a call, Joe," his cousin said. "Kyle's in trouble."

He fumbled for consciousness and his seatbelt, the car already moving fast. Sam hunched over the wheel, cursing steadily under his breath. "Stan, what's going on?"

"Officer watching the place says a big Suburban came barreling out of Shaw's driveway few minutes ago, drove right into Terry and kept on going. There's an ambulance on the way."

"Deliberate?"

"Looks that way."

"What about the warrant?"

"Got an officer picking it up from the judge at this very moment," Sam growled. "Not that it'll do us much good now. Most likely what we're looking for's in that Suburban."

"Not necessarily," Burgess said. "Sometimes the smart guys make the dumbest mistakes. Your guy follow them?"

"Nah. He stayed behind to call it in and look after Kyle...." Sam broke off to control a skid. "No way he'd leave an injured officer to go chasing after bad guys. We've got a BOLO out with the plates and description." He fishtailed through a series of curves, then slammed on his brakes and pulled in behind a flashing patrol car.

Burgess was out before the car had stopped rocking. The driver's door of the Explorer was punched in; the rest of the vehicle untouched. A neat, surgical strike. A young cop, looking a little blue in the cold, stood beside the car.

"How is he?" Burgess asked.

"Looks like a concussion and a broken leg, sir."

He went around to the other door and got in. Kyle lay white and silent in his seat, blood from a gaping head wound dripping down his face. The officer had covered him with a blanket. The running engine kept him warm. It looked bad, but head wounds did. Bad color, tight face and the sound of his breathing spoke pain. Burgess pulled out a handkerchief, gently wiped the blood off Kyle's face, then folded it, and pressed it against the wound. "Terry?" he said. "It's Joe. How you doin'?"

"I'm pretty fucked up." Kyle groaned. "Leg hurts like hell. I should have seen it coming."

"No way you could have," Burgess said, wishing he could take the pain on himself and spare Kyle. "Ambulance should be here any minute. You remember what happened?"

"Asshole drove straight at me, backed up, and took off. It was no accident."

"See who was driving?"

"Bailey. Shaw was in the passenger seat."

"We'll get him, Terry."

"I know..." Kyle's voice was fading. "Just wish I could be there." The ambulance arrived in a blaze of light and sound. Burgess started backing out to make way for the EMTs. "Wait, Joe," Kyle whispered. "Don't tell Wanda. It'll scare the girls."

Sam came toward him. Not a happy camper. "Just looked through the garage window. I don't see Stan's tarp-covered body anywhere."

Burgess nodded, unsurprised. "There'll be something in there. They didn't have time to clean up."

He stood shoulder to shoulder with Stan, watching them load Kyle on a stretcher and put him in the ambulance. "I'll ride with Terry, give Vince the word. Stan'll stay here with you. Terry's going to need some TLC, Stan. You might want to call Michelle."

Stan made that call while Burgess got on his phone to Melia. "Vince, it's hit the fan." He explained what had happened, that Kyle was on the way to the hospital. "Cape Elizabeth cops are about to execute the warrant. Stan's gonna stay here with them. Body's probably gone. Tell hospital security to let us know if Bailey shows up." He snapped the words out, impelled by the anger he felt. "He shows up and I want two of the biggest, meanest cops we got taking him out of there in handcuffs. Kyle said Bailey rammed right into him, then drove away."

The whole rocky ride to Portland, he beat himself up for letting this happen. For leaving Kyle alone while he took a nap like some weary goddamned toddler. He should have been more careful. They might be prominent doctors and even more prominent rich guys, but Bailey was also a video porn star and associate of Kevin O'Leary. Known to be both arrogant and hot tempered. Shaw's eagerness to rush them out the door hadn't been the product of a desire to bond with his grandson. Bailey'd been doing his dirty work at Shaw's house. Had Jen Kelly known what was going on?

In a kindly, if misplaced gesture, the EMT put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, detective. He's going to be okay."

He paced the waiting room, waiting for Kyle to come back from X-ray. Waiting for someone to let him know they'd found something. Surely a big black Suburban couldn't vanish? Sam and Stan Perry must have found something? Wondering what the hell was going on, when Vince came on the radio. "Call me back, Joe."

He carried his phone out to the parking lot. "What?"

"South Portland police stopped Bailey coming over the bridge. He claims Shaw's having a heart attack and he's bringing him to the hospital. We're following them in."

Something in Melia's voice made him ask, "And?"

"Captain Cote's on his way over."

Given the chance, Cote would ensure that Bailey and Shaw weren't arrested, or even questioned, by intrusive cops before they'd had an opportunity to lawyer up. Burgess saw a week of brutal, soul-sucking work slipping away. More victims sacrificed on the altar of power and expedience. Collateral victims like MacKenzie and Stevie Pleasant and Mai Phung.

"No way. No fucking way," he said. "It doesn't take over an hour from there to here. He was driving a car that left the scene of a personal injury accident. Except it was no accident. Bailey was standing next to a body in that garage and now that body's disappeared. I want him in an interview room. Voluntarily or involuntarily. I want his answers to what he was doing at the video store with O'Leary, and in Shaw's garage with the storage container and the cement, and where the hell that container is now. I want to know what O'Leary's car is doing in that garage. I want his version of where O'Leary is."

"Look, Joe—"

Burgess cut him off. "You're the boss. You can call it any way you want, but I've got a man down and that asshole is not walking away from this. Get him now while he's pissed off and agitated and you might get some answers. Wait 'til he lawyers up and you'll get fuck all."

"Sorry, Joe. The command structure is what it is."

Not sorry enough. He'd been here. Done this. Wasn't doing it again. "Fuck the food chain, Vince," he said, "I swear on my mother's grave that that starfucker's not going to help another killer walk just because he's well connected. Not gonna kiss ass while my guys work themselves to death trying to solve crimes. If Bailey isn't brought in for questioning, with all we know about him, after running down one of our own officers, then I'll shoot Cote myself, so no other cop will ever have to go through this, and consider it a bullet well spent."

"I didn't hear that," Melia barked back, "and you didn't say it. Now get your ass back to my office. Pronto. Or you'll be out of a job so fast it'll make your head spin."

"I don't have a ride," Burgess said. "Bailey smashed it."

Sorry, Vince. Burgess hit end. Put the phone away, watching the big black car with its police escort roll up to the door, looking like the FBI.

Bailey came in with an arm solicitously around Ted Shaw, medical personnel surging to meet them. "Dr. Bailey," Burgess called in a loud voice, waving his badge. "I have some questions."

Talking meant breathing. Meant control. He had, at best, minutes to make this happen before Cote arrived and screwed things up.

"Not now, detective," Bailey snapped. "This is a medical emergency."

"So was the cop you ran into and left broken and bleeding on the roadside, doctor. Did he not count?" Making no move to get closer or lower his voice. "And it looks like Mr. Shaw's in good hands." Still keeping his distance. Drawing a crowd. "I was wondering what you did with O'Leary's body? Kevin O'Leary, the blackmailer? Pimp? Rapist? The body that was in Mr. Shaw's garage. You dump it somewhere on your way?"

Understanding what was happening, the officers who'd followed Bailey had placed themselves between him and any exit doors. Bailey marched up to the nearest one, barked a loud, "Excuse me," hesitating when the officer didn't jump out of his way. Perhaps remembering Burgess and Kyle with their hands on their guns?