Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (42 page)

Mary Libby stood in the center of her kitchen, a wild look in her eyes and a firm grip on her shotgun. "I'm going to kill him," she said. "Lord forgive me, Joe, but either he tells me where my husband is and what this mess is all about or I'll blow his smug little head right off."

"We can't let you do that, Mary," Burgess said, holding out his hand. "Please. Give me the gun."

"I'm not giving it to you, Joe. Not with Clay out there in who knows what state."

"You take justice into your own hands, Mary... you do something to hurt that boy... you become just as bad as they are."

Her eyes roved the kitchen. Four men between her and the door, all with their eyes on the gun. Three hands hovering near three guns. Only Burgess's did not. He stood quietly, his hand out. "Don't let them bring you down to this level. You're better than that, Mary. As soon as the ambulance takes Joey, we're right back out there. We're going to find him."

He extended his hand. "Please, Mary. Give me the gun."

He could tell she was wavering. "Stan," he said, "what's the ETA on that ambo?"

Perry consulted his watch, then went to the window. "Should be any time now. And Joey's car's still there. We've got sheriff's patrol sitting on it. Nobody going anywhere with that, so unless Libby was lying about Kevin Dugan coming with him—"

"My nephew doesn't know how to do anything
but
lie," Mary said. She turned her gaze back to Burgess, then bowed her head a moment, as though praying. No one moved and no one spoke. Without raising her eyes, she held out the gun. "Here. Take it."

Burgess took the gun, broke it, unloaded it. He put the shells in his pocket and set the gun on the table. Kyle and Perry lowered their hands, their faces and shoulders softening. Still watchful but not on high alert. Suddenly, it seemed like there was more oxygen in the room. Gun party over, Lovering stepped into a corner to use his phone.

"Claire's behind this, isn't she?" Mary said. Her normally serene and pleasant face looked aged and devastated. "Behind all of it, I mean. I don't know why I didn't realize that before. I've always known how she is. Who she is. The only part of Joey that thinks independently is his..." She didn't finish. There was no proper word for what she was thinking and even under awful stress, Mary Libby was proper.

"Two birds with one stone. Get rid of Reggie and get her hands on that land." She swept her straggling hair back behind her ears and looked at Burgess. "She never could leave poor Reggie alone. Throwing him out was never enough. She had to destroy him. I'm right, you know. I'm right. I wish I weren't."

She held up her hands protectively, as though she needed to hold them all at bay. "Excuse me. I can't stand this. I can't bear thinking about someone that evil. I'm going upstairs. Joe, promise me..." A shudder shook her small body. "Promise you'll find him." She waited for Burgess's nod. Then, shoulders squared and chin high, she walked out.

Out there in the woods, with the night, the storm, dealing with Joey's injuries and Lovering's arrogant interference, and the fact that Clay was still missing, Joey's words hadn't gone home. Now he saw with blinding clarity how simple all this was. The deadly combination of Claire's bedrock greed and vitriol toward Reggie and her willingness to do everything possible for her beloved son had brought them to this moment.

But what did "all this" encompass? And what had Joey meant by "they?" Was this just one long domino chain of violence or two separate crimes? The involvement of the man who called himself Kevin Dugan in both Reggie's abduction and tonight's events suggested it was all one, as did Mary's suspicions. The open question was how Reggie's employment at Mercer Metals and what Burgess suspected was a lethal exposure to a toxic chemical tied into all this? Was there something deliberate in that?

He needed to talk to Amanda Mercer's father. He needed to question Claire. And right here, right now, he needed to find Clay. He felt the explosive frustration of being unable to be in three places at once. Not that anyone at Mercer Metals would be available at this time of night to answer questions, and Claire refused to answer her door even at civilized hours, but the angry bull part of him would have sent Burgess pounding on the Mercers's door to get some answers, and jamming his unrelenting thumb on Claire's doorbell, despite the hour or Captain Cote's strictures about civility.

The possibility that Claire would have set Reggie up with a job that would destroy his liver and cause him horrible suffering and a horrific death gave the knife lodged in his gut a sharp twist. It must have showed on his face, because Kyle leaned forward. "Joe? You okay?"

"Going to be sick," he said. "Excuse me." As he left the room, he saw a look of derision on Lovering's face, like the little puppy thought he was the tough guy and Burgess had grown old and soft, easily upset by a little blood and violence.

He rinsed his mouth and splashed cold water on his face. The mirror gave him back a greenish, scarred face with dark, furious eyes. He came back into the kitchen just as the ambulance pulled in, and followed the others outside.

Two more state police cars had followed the ambulance up the drive, the whole yard alive with the psychedelic effect of red and blue strobes illuminating sprays of colored rain and bouncing off puddles. Two more troopers had joined Lovering, more assholes and attitude than Burgess could handle right now. Not that he had any choice.

Lovering introduced them. "Thomas will follow the ambulance and get a statement from Mr. Libby when he's able."

"Just so you all remember he's under arrest."

As they watched the EMTs loading Joey, Burgess scanned the crowded yard. His truck, Lovering's car, the ambo, two more police cars. And an empty space over by the barn. Clay Libby's truck was gone. It had been there when they came back with Joey. Masked by the noise of the wind and rain, no one had heard it leave.

How long had they been inside? Five minutes? Ten? Was it possible Kevin Dugan had come back with Clay's keys, so bold that he had taken the truck even with four cops nearby? Then another thought struck. One that seemed far more probable.

He rushed inside, pounded up the stairs, calling "Mary? Mary?" The upstairs hall was a row of closed white doors. He started with the nearest. It opened on a dark, empty bedroom. Same with the next. The third door was a bathroom. The fourth opened into the master bedroom. Two small lights burned on either side of a neatly made queen-sized bed. The room was empty, but a hastily discarded skirt and blouse lay on a chest at the foot of the bed, and in the wind from an open window, white curtains danced like ghosts.

He crossed to the window and stuck his head out. Below, a back porch roof, and a lattice for roses provided an easy ladder to the ground. Then he examined the room. A closet door was open, the light still on. On a shelf, an open box of .22 shells. Not long ago, there had also been a rifle in the closet. A dent in the carpet still marked where the butt had rested.

Mary had taken the truck and he was pretty sure where she was going. He pulled the phone off his belt, called dispatch, and told them to send some people over to watch Claire Libby's house. He hated to do it. Mary was bound to get herself arrested. But he didn't want any more deaths in this case or on Mary's conscience.

Kyle and Perry came up the stairs. "Lovering sent us back inside. Didn't want us interfering with his investigation," Kyle said. His eyes were gleaming, like they did when someone roused his sense of irony. His eyes circled the room, noting the clothes, the window, and Burgess's face. "You think Lovering's noticed the truck is gone?"

"Notice? That arrogant bucket of snot," Perry said. "He'd be lucky to find his own ass. Never would have found Joey. Or the car. Or any other damned thing. Probably still won't, unless he calls in the wardens and the dogs."

"Bucket of snot." Kyle nodded approvingly. "Evocative. How long it'll be, you think, before our friend Bucket starts wondering what we're up to?"

"I'd say now," Perry said, as steps thundered on the stairs, Lovering and his colleague entering in a burst of rain and a rustle of coats.

"The truck's missing," Lovering said, glaring at them suspiciously.

"We didn't take it," Kyle said, folding his arms and glaring back.

Lovering's gaze shifted to Burgess. "The fuck's going on, Burgess?"

"
Sergeant
Burgess. Looks like Mrs. Libby's gone for a ride."

"Mrs. Libby?" Sawyer, the other trooper, said, stepping forward. "That the missing man's wife or the wounded man's mother? Or are they one and the same?"

"Clayton Libby is the man whose disappearance triggered the call," Burgess said. "Mary is his wife. This is their house. The injured man—the one we were on our way to arrest when we received Mary Libby's call—is their nephew, Joseph. Joey. Joey's mother is Claire. His father, Reggie is—"

He stopped. This was crazy. He didn't mind taking the time to fill these guys in, but Lovering was barely listening, and the other guy, Sawyer, already had his phone out. To heck with it. Lovering knew the story. He could share it with his colleague.

Then he remembered something his training sergeant had said to him, years ago. Burgess had asked the question that had been nagging at him—how do you deal with lowlifes and human degradation and all the ugliness and not be brought down to their level? Sarge had looked to see if he was serious, then said, "I try to act from who I am, not from who they are." It had stuck with him always.

They were all impatient. They all wanted to be in charge. What mattered here was a good result. For Clay and Mary. For Reggie. For justice.

"Reginald Libby is a homicide victim. We're investigating his death. We've been looking for Joey Libby and for Kevin Dugan, the guy who allegedly stabbed him tonight, in connection with that investigation."

Sawyer put this phone away, asked a few clarifying questions, and nodded. "So where do you think this guy Dugan is? Still out in the woods?"

"I have no idea. Joey said they came together. Dugan doesn't have a car. But Joey is a liar. So we don't know."

"You know where Joey's car is?"

"Quarter of a mile down the road. We've got sheriff's patrol sitting on it."

Sawyer nodded. "What does he want from Clay Libby?"

"Something about a piece of land that's in trust. Clay's the trustee," Burgess said.

He felt as impatient as Lovering looked. He wanted to get back to Portland and head Mary off before she got herself in serious trouble. He wanted to use the warrant they held to search Claire's cottage. He wanted to get back out there in the woods and find Clay before he had two dead Libby brothers on his hands. On his conscience. He knew Clay was only of value to Claire if he was alive and could transfer the land. But Dugan was a violent man with a short fuse. And Clay dead meant Claire could play some legal angles. He wondered who Clay had named as successor trustee?

A small, mean part of him wanted to be a fly on the wall watching Mary Libby and her gun confront Claire in her elegant living room. Until he remembered. Claire also had a gun.

Chapter 35

"I'm for walking that woods road," Burgess said. "Joey and Dugan knew about it. They parked the car there. And Mary said Clay thought there had been people around the place before. That's why he put up those lights. Maybe they'd parked there so they could scope things out."

He opened the cellar door and pointed to the topo map. "And there's this camp."

They were too tired for this. It had been a long, hard day. Though they were entitled to be there searching for their witnesses, this was state police territory, well beyond their jurisdiction. Sawyer and Lovering could call in the warden service and conduct a much more efficient search than the five of them ever could. He knew searching the woods in the dark for a missing man was like looking for a needle in a haystack, but he needed to give it one more shot before giving up. Perry had promised Mary they'd find Clay. It was Burgess she'd called for help. And they'd already found one needle tonight.

If he left, Clay's fate rested in the hands of two guys who had no idea what this was about and didn't share his sense of urgency. Clay wasn't just some lost guy, either. He was Reggie's brother and Burgess's partner in a decades-long effort to keep Reggie alive. He could almost hear Reggie's voice in the wind, feel his presence in the night. Goodness knew they'd spent plenty of wild, dark, dangerous nights together when they had no idea what was coming at them out of the darkness or what lurking dangers it held. He owed it to Reggie to try and see this through.