Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (41 page)

With the hat and dark, sodden clothes, he couldn't tell if this was Clay. Burgess grabbed one shoulder and eased the man onto his back. The body was warm. The man was breathing. His face was battered, bloody, almost unrecognizable. There was a shock of dark hair showing under the hat. And beneath the blood and the swelling, one distinct Libby eye. But this was not Clay.

As he stared down at Joey Libby's damaged face, Burgess felt like he'd just driven off the map into utterly uncharted territory.

Chapter 33

Burgess was wet, muddy, and in a thoroughly vile mood by the time they got Joey out from under the tree. First, they had to wait until Lovering had taken his pictures. In Burgess's book, you took the time to take pictures when the victim was dead. Otherwise, preservation of life, even the preservation of a piece of crap like Joey, took precedence. And none of them had the background—or the X-ray vision—to determine whether Joey's stab wound was life-threatening. Getting stabbed in the gut was never nice.

Then Lovering, having found a victim who was clearly on his own patch, suddenly had to be in charge. Cooperation was one thing. They'd been doing that all along. Taking orders from a still-wet-behind-the-ears, puffed up tight-ass another. Lovering seemed to have forgotten that he was a trooper and Burgess was a sergeant. He'd also forgotten that the other two guys he was ordering around didn't work for him. That happened with the staties. Some of 'em had a bad case of "when we come in, we take over."

No doubt once they got someplace where there was phone reception, Lovering
would
bring in his own people to take over. Which was pretty much fine with Burgess, since he had places to go and people to see, but he'd promised to find Clay, so he tried to let it slide. Middle of the night in the pouring rain wasn't a good time for a pissing contest. Or was it?

The thought made him smile, and Kyle, catching it, grinned back like he'd been reading Burgess's mind. Probably had.

Even with three of them carrying him, getting Joey out of the woods was a bitch. He was an easy 220 and limp as a noodle, and the footing and visibility were poor. They sent Stan Perry back down the track for Burgess's truck, where he would call an ambulance, while the rest of them carried the injured man out of the woods. It would have been nice to have Perry's youth and strength to help carry and take the pressure off the bad knee, but Perry was fast on his feet and Burgess wanted Kyle here with him.

As they struggled to get him out to the track, Joey moaned and cursed and muttered incoherently about "how he was going to kill that fucking Kevin if he ever got the chance."

Hopefully, Joey would never get that chance. He and Kevin Dugan would be locked up in separate facilities, with plenty of quiet years to calm down and reflect. His own knee was hurting so much he wanted to groan himself, but he wasn't wimping out in front of the pathetic excuse for a human being known as his godson, or the prissy, frowning Lovering. He wished he could have sent Lovering for the car, giving the three of them a little time alone with Joey, but he didn't have any authority over Lovering, and since they'd found Joey curled up around that tree trunk, the state cop had been acting like it was his find, his crime scene, and his victim.

In Burgess's eyes, Joey was no victim, except of the old adage, "Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas." Big surprise. You recruit some scum to help with your dirty work, then find that scum won't treat you any better than he's treated anyone else. He just wanted to extract anything that might help them find Clay, then read Joey his rights, and arrest the little prick for what he'd done to Amanda Mercer. Whatever grand plans he'd had to question Joey about his visits to his father, or whether Reggie had worked at Mercer Metals and if Joey had recruited him for that job, would have to wait. Possibly forever. Once Joey lawyered up, something Claire would see to as soon as she knew Joey was in custody, he wouldn't get another damned word.

As they waited by the track for Perry and the Explorer, Joey's eyes rested on him and recognition bloomed, followed by an awed, "Uncle Joe?" that brought a sharp stare from Lovering as Joey reached for his godfather's hand.

Burgess took it. "Help's on the way, Joey. You're going to be okay. We're going to get you to a hospital," he said. "We've called for an ambulance to meet us at the farm. Where's your uncle?"

"With Kevin, I guess." Joey grimaced and closed his eyes, keeping his scared little boy grip on Burgess's hand.

"What do you mean, you guess?" Burgess wasn't treating Joey like a victim, no matter how hurt he was. They'd come out here to find Clay, and finding Joey didn't end that.

"Uncle Clay's not stupid. Kevin had the knife, didn't he? And Clay's gun." Joey's shrug ended with a grimace and a groan.

"We need to find him, Joey."

Lovering was staring at him. Any second, he was going to interrupt and Burgess's chance to get information would be over. "You two come up here together in your car? He didn't bring a truck?"

"Yeah. Together," Joey said, squeezing Burgess's hand. "Oh, Jesus, Uncle Joe. It hurts!"

What really hurt was that this useless bastard had come out here with a bigger piece of crap than himself, planning to go after his uncle. It hurt that he had any relationship to this kid. That he and Reggie had tried, really tried so hard. It had worked when Joey was little, but since he hit puberty, they hadn't been able to make any headway against the tide of Claire's vengeance and venom.

"What the hell is this about, Burgess?" Lovering demanded.

Burgess ignored him. "If you two were working together, why'd Kevin stab you?"

"Because I..." Joey's attempt at a smile was horrible. "Had an attack of conscience. About Uncle Clay. About the dog." He closed his eye. The other one was swollen shut.

Burgess didn't know if he was conscious or unconscious, and Lovering was giving him a fierce stare that meant he was supposed to back off, but whether or not it was ultimately admissible, Burgess had one more question and he wasn't wasting these last moments on the Miranda. "I don't understand. If you're out of it, what does Kevin want from Clay, Joey?"

The eye that wasn't swollen shut flickered open. "The land. Claire wants that land and Clay won't play ball. He's working for them, not me. Kevin is. You know... nobody messes... with Claire."

Claire. Not Mom or my mother, but Claire. The monster in a girl suit. Lovering tried to elbow him out of the way, but Burgess stood his ground.

"This is all her idea?"

Another ghoulish smile on the battered face. "Every freaking bit of it."

"Why?"

"Financial independence for her little boy... she says..." Joey trailed off, grabbed a breath. "But really she couldn't stand it... that Reggie still had... anything. She... felt..." Burgess had to lean forward to catch the last word. "...owed."

God. Burgess could picture her saying it. Rage spread through him like poisoned blood. Kyle's hand dropped on his shoulder as he withdrew his hand from Joey's and took a step back. "Thanks, Terry," he said. "It's okay."

Then the words hit him. "Joey. You said 'them.' Who else is Kevin working for?"

"Claire... and—"

Before Joey could finish, Lovering shouldered Burgess aside. "Okay, that's enough, Burgess." And to Joey, "That's enough, son. You just rest easy now."

Fuck! He'd been so close to getting the story.

"Joey Libby," Burgess said, stepping up so he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Lovering and raising his voice, "you are under arrest for the assault and attempted rape of Amanda Mercer. You have the right..."

Lovering kept breathing down his neck, but at least he didn't interfere with this. When Burgess was done reading Joey his rights, he finished with the traditional question: "Do you understand?"

"Oh, fuck you, old man," his godson said. "You've... been chasing me... for that?" His twisted smile wasn't ugly just because his face was battered. It was ugly because his soul was twisted, too. Twisted enough so Burgess didn't put much faith in the attack-of-conscience story. "I didn't do a damned thing to that cock-teasing little bitch that she didn't want."

Burgess wanted to hit him so badly. Hit Joey, then pound the self-important crap out of Lovering, who had just fucked up a critical moment. He had no respect for cops who put power struggles ahead of doing the job. Solving crimes. He felt Kyle poised to intervene. He didn't even have to look. He and Kyle played cops the way Larry Bird–era Celtics played basketball.

He turned and walked away.

Lovering followed. "What's all that about? I thought you said you were investigating a murder?"

"Am. That piece of crap is the victim's son. He's got information we need and he's been avoiding us, aided by his doting mother, Claire." He watched Lovering process the name and nod. "And I was about to get a critical piece of information when you stuck your fucking nose in."

Lovering ignored that. "The arrest? What's that about?"

"While we were looking for him, we found a sixteen-year-old girl Libby had invited down to his boat. Joey's twenty-eight. Told her he was twenty. Once he got her there, he tried to drug her and rape her. When she resisted, he tore off her clothes and beat her up. Watchman down at the marina heard the commotion and pulled him off in time. And she's not the first. He's done time for assaulting his girlfriends before."

"He's your nephew?" Lovering persisted.

"Godson. Looks like I didn't do a very good job, did I?"

Lovering wasn't a total idiot. He backed off.

The truck came rocking down the track, headlights bouncing, and pulled to a stop. They loaded Joey into the back seat and tucked a blanket around him. Burgess and Lovering got the front, and Kyle folded himself into the back with Joey.

"Just like being in the Boy Scouts," Kyle said as they headed back to the farmhouse. "Maybe we should sing camp songs. You all know the words to 'Kumbaya'?"

"How about 'Down in the Valley'?" Burgess said.

"Oh, you old farts," Perry said. "Snoop Dog. 'Murder Was the Case.' That's the song."

Lovering offered no suggestions. Not even "I Shot the Sheriff." Burgess was trying to think of a suitable song to reflect the young cop's stupidity—something with moron or numbskull or blind asshole in the lyrics, when Lovering said, "You guys always like this?"

"Usually we're worse. We're on our best behavior, just for you," Kyle said. "Hope you appreciate it."

When they pulled up beside the house, Mary came running out. She flew right past Burgess, who'd gotten out to meet her, and jerked the back door open. Her frantic eyes scanned the figure on the seat, her face registering hope, then disappointment, then fury. She threw herself on her nephew, pounding at him with both fists, as she screamed, "Where is he, Joey? Where is Clay? What have you done to him?"

Burgess was tempted to let it go, but part of serve and protect was serving and protecting the rights of the scum as well as upright citizens. And there was always the law looking over his shoulder in the form of the defense attorney. It would look just grand in court if the scumbag's scumbag attorney said, "And isn't it true that you stood back and let Mrs. Libby attack my client while he was in an injured state? That you didn't intervene?"

Burgess leaned through the door and tried to pry her off her nephew, but though Mary was small, anger and desperation had given her terrible strength. It took all four them to get her out of the car. While three of them half-led, half-carried her back inside, Burgess leaned into the car. "You'd better start praying that your uncle is all right," he said.

"I am," Joey whispered. "Really. I tried. Listen..."

Burgess had to lean in to hear, a bunch of disjointed mumbling he'd need time to make sense of. Then Joey closed his eyes and drifted off. "That ambulance will be here soon. You'll be okay." Burgess tucked the blanket back around him and followed the others inside.

Chapter 34