Playing God (11 page)

What'd the guy think, that Burgess was a raging bull who was going to sweat her under the lights? But that was exhaustion talking. Peel it aside and he was pleased she had someone with her who was protective.

"Yeah. Okay." A man of few words.

Burgess flipped open his notebook and found Janet Pleasant's number. Once he was down there, he might as well make it a two-fer. Three-fer, counting Shaw. His fingers stabbed bluntly at the buttons. While he waited for an answer, he closed his eyes, hoping they'd open again. It wouldn't be good if she answered and got a snore on his end. A woman's voice said, "Hello?"

"Janet Pleasant?"

"Yes?"

"Detective Burgess, Portland police. I need to ask you some questions." Silence, except for an indrawn breath. "I'd like to come by your house, please. This evening."

"Oh. No... I don't think so... Mackenzie's already upset. I'm upset. I don't think we're in any shape to... to... well, to be interrogated right now. We don't want to talk about it. Maybe another time. In a few days...."

He felt her retreat. In a second, she'd hang up and if he called back, she wouldn't answer. "Mrs. Pleasant, in an investigation like this, time is critical. I know this is difficult for you. I wouldn't ask if it weren't important." Tighten the screws, quickly. "If you'd prefer, I could have someone pick you up and bring you here."

"Pick me up! Bring me to a police station? Surely that's not necessary. I couldn't find a sitter on such short notice. Can't leave Mackenzie at a time like this..." He heard the sharp intake of breath, felt her weighing her words. "You have no idea how hard this is for us."

"Actually, Mrs. Pleasant, I do. I can send an officer—"

"Didn't you say you could come here?"

"I could be there around nine."

She sighed. Exasperated. She'd wanted a negotiation and she'd wanted to win, but he hadn't given her a chance. It mean she'd be mad at him from the get go. No big deal. In this business, you couldn't please all of the people all of the time. Often couldn't please anyone any of the time. He'd pretty much gotten over his need to be loved. "If you could give me directions?" She spat them out in an angry voice. In the background, a child cried.

"I appreciate the cooperation," he said.

"This really isn't necessary." She put down the phone.

What was necessary? Why bother solving crimes at all? Real crime was intrusive. Nasty. No one cared except the victims, and there were so few of them. Surely other people shouldn't have to be burdened with this crap. Wouldn't it be better to sweep it under the rug, a nice, tidy unsolved crime so no one would have to talk about unsavory things like sex and hookers and drugs and undigested pizza? Whole goddamned society wanted violence for entertainment and didn't want to be bothered when it spilled over into real life.

He shoved back his chair, grabbed Kyle, and went to see Alana. She was making productive use of the delay. She'd shed the ridiculous coat and her boots, and had her foot up on the table, painting her toenails. She didn't bother pulling down her skirt. She just grinned at Kyle and waved the little brush with its blob of shiny red goo. "He's mad at me, isn't he?"

"He's not big on liars," Kyle said, settling into a chair and switching on the tape.

"I never lied," she said.

Burgess identified them all for the tape and said, "Tell us about last night."

"That asswipe O'Leary ," she began.

"Hold on. Who's O'Leary?"

"You're a cop and you don't know?"

"I'm asking you, Alana."

"He's a fuckin' pimp."

"Your pimp?"

"I don't use a pimp, Joe. You know that." He waited. "Well, you know. Business has been slow. He called with an offer I couldn't refuse. Said Pleasant wanted to party and had asked for me. As O'Leary put it, the black girl with the big tits." She leaned back and stuck out her chest. "Me, right?"

"Last night the first time at O'Leary's?" She shook her head. "Tell me about it."

She gave a little bare shouldered shrug. "What's to tell? It was a cold night for sitting in a car. O'Leary suggested a special party and Pleasant went for it. O'Leary picked me and this other girl up at Dunkin' Donuts and we met Pleasant at O'Leary's. I've never seen this girl before, but man, she was nice. Don't mind if I never see her again. Hardly enough business for us girls as it is."

"You didn't know her?" Kyle asked.

Alana gave him the slant-eyed look, showed him the pink tip of her tongue. "Didn't I just say that?"

"How did O'Leary find her?"

She switched feet and started on new toes, caught Kyle's stare and flicked her tongue at him again. "Anytime you want, Terry. You just call me."

Kyle shrugged. "I'm broke, Alana."

She spread her knees. "I'll give you the special police rate."

Kyle looked away.

"How did O'Leary find her," Burgess repeated.

"Shit, Joe, I don't know. O'Leary doesn't confide in me. It's business. I start asking why he's doin' somethin', he's gonna hurt me."

"So you're scared of him?"

Her head came up, defiant, then she seemed to fold in on herself a little. "Yeah."

"Tell me more about this party. What time did it start?"

"Pleasant showed up about eight, eight-thirty. We fooled around. Drank some wine. They did some dope. Usually he was a cold fish. Last night he was really into partying. He wanted to be all over us, wanted us all over him. He wanted to watch O'Leary do her while he did me. O'Leary musta got some great video!"

She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, shit! He's gonna kill me!"

"O'Leary taped it?" No answer. He wanted to know more about the tape. Made a note to come back to it. "Who suggested tying him up?"

"He did. He was very particular, though. He said nothing that would leave any marks, so his wife wouldn't find out. He always wore a ring."

"He said that, about his wife?" She nodded. "What did you tie him with?"

"These fancy gold curtain ties O'Leary had."

"This other girl. What was her name?"

She shook the polish, the little metal bead clinking. "I don't know."

"Come on, Alana. You know."

"You got anything to eat? I'm starved."

"Yeah, you look real malnourished. Sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you can go get something."

"You mad at me, Joe?" She looked at Kyle. "You got a little something a poor hungry girl could eat?" Flicked her tongue again. Kyle colored. "Fuckin' O'Leary didn't pay me yet. I don't get out there and peddle my ass, I don't eat."

"Thought you'd gone upscale, had a beeper service now," Burgess said, grabbing her purse and turning it upside down. Make-up. Comb and brush. Condoms. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Breath spray. A half-pint of Southern Comfort. A tube of KY-jelly. Chewing gum. A granola bar. A package of lifesavers. Keys. Business cards. A wallet. He opened the wallet and counted the money. She had more than $600.00. "You've got more money when you're broke than I do when I'm rich," he said.

"You got no right." She set down the polish and started putting her stuff away.

"So tell me about this party. What time did it break up?"

"Eleven, maybe. Then he left with that bitch—"

"Remembered her name yet?"

"Karen." She spat out the word. "Her name was Karen."

"You ever see Karen before?" She shook her head. "What did she look like?"

"Her hair was this crazy blonde color, all these streaks of light and dark, like a bad foil job done on purpose, and she had cheekbones and huge blue eyes and real nice tits and long legs. Like something from Hollywood. After we've done all this stuff, after
I've
done all this stuff, he asks if she'll come with him for a pizza. Like we hadn't just had a three-way and I wasn't the one who'd made it all happen 'cuz she didn't know shit. Like he'd just met her around the fuckin' campus and was askin' for a date!"

"Then what happened?"

"They left. O'Leary followed them out and got the money, then took me home. End of story." She shook the polish again.

"Was O'Leary in the habit of photographing you at work?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes."

"What'd he do with the pictures?"

She narrowed her eyes and tossed her hair, looking like a sullen brat. He was getting real tired of her attitude. "Like I said, O'Leary didn't tell me."

"You never discussed it?" She ignored the question. He'd have to ask O'Leary. "Where'd they go for pizza?"

"Salernos. If I hadn't heard he was stabbed, I'd of thought he died from food poisoning. She suggested it, he said sure. By that time, they're looking into each other's eyes like fuckin' Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan."

"In what movie, 'You've Got Tail?' Tell me more about your party."

"What's to tell? There was a lot of fucking and sucking and then he left."

"For starters, tell me more about the girl. Height, weight, age. Why you disliked her so much."

She looked cold, sitting there with her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around herself. It was February in Maine and she was mostly naked. "I don't know what you want, Joe. Maybe you could ask me questions."

"Are you cold?" She didn't answer. "Questions, huh? Okay, Alana." He pushed back his chair, a sudden, noisy action designed to scare her. "I'll be right back."

He got the Goodwill sweater from his bottom drawer—Alana wasn't the first underdressed young woman he'd interviewed—and stopped by the coffee room for a cup of cocoa. He set the cup and sweater in front of her. "Brought you some cocoa."

She looked warily at his face. "This mean you're not mad anymore?"

"I'm still mad. Tell me about the girl. Was she tall or short?"

"Tall. Well, taller than I am. Maybe five-seven?"

"How old?"

"My age, maybe? I'm not much good at age." She grabbed the sweater and put it on. The pale pink mohair made her look lovely and sweet. Neither lovely nor sweet did anything for him right now.

"Build?"

She considered. "Regular. Her hands and feet weren't small. I remember thinking 'strong' when I looked at her. She had a great body, but it wasn't soft. You could see muscles in her arms." She plucked at the mohair. "Like she wasn't the kind of person who'd wear this. Sexy but not girly."

"You've never seen her before?"

She shook her head. "A girl like that, you'd notice."

"Where'd O'Leary find her?" She huddled in the sweater, visibly considering possible answers. Simply telling the truth was too easy. Alana was a game player and her game was working all the angles. Getting along with the cops, the other girls, the pimps, the dangers of life on the street. He'd been fighting his urge to rescue girls like this almost as long as he'd been a cop. It was like trying to herd squirrels. Lot of young cops tried it until they got their hearts broken, developed calluses, learned to conserve compassion. Otherwise the job was an emotional hemorrhage. "Where did—"

"Mr. Persistence," she said. "He found girls lots of places. Bus station. Donut place. On the streets."

"That where he found Karen?"

"If that's her name."

"You said—"

"Who the hell do you think you are? I'm tired. I don't want to do this right now."

"Roto-Rooter man," he said. "Trying to work my way through the shit, get the truth flowing. Why do you think that's not her name?"

Alana's shoulder shift was the physical equivalent of
duh!
"Because when I called her that, she looked blank, like she didn't know who I was talking to." She grabbed the mug of cocoa, watching him cautiously. Afraid he was going to take it back? She knew how he was when he was pissed.

"You have no idea how O'Leary found this girl?"

"I think she found him." He raised his eyebrows. "He said," Alana mumbled defensively, "that she left a message on his machine. Said he wished it was always this easy."

"Last night, she seem to know what she was doing?"

The cocoa stopped in mid-air. "No. She didn't. I mean, she dressed like she meant business. She had the push-up bra and the low-cut dress, but she was wearing panty hose. I mean, please, you wanna wear stockings, wear thigh-highs or a garter belt. But I just thought she was a dumbass newcomer. And she was a snob. Like we're both fucking these guys but I'm just a black whore and she's something special?"

She leaned forward confidentially. "When we were doing each other, I had to tell her what to do. But there's some girls who haven't done that, so I didn't think much of it. I also had to tell that asshole O'Leary to use a rubber. She wasn't going to make him. Screw her, she can take all the risks she wants. But he'll stick it in anything and I didn't want to get some disease."

"Who is this Kevin O'Leary?" No answer. He raised his voice. "Who is Kevin O'Leary?"

She shrugged, as if he were asking about a stranger. "Bad news," she said. She got that nervous look again.

"About O'Leary... Does he often make videos of girls with customers?"