Redemption (A Joe Burgess Mystery, Book 3) (17 page)

"Reggie drowned in a bathtub," Burgess said. "ME says fresh water with chlorine and soap scum."

"And when did we get this exciting information from the ME's office? I didn't think the state crime lab worked on Sundays."

"Lee called last night... or early this morning. Guess he was curious and they had someone free, so they ran some tests."

"Lot of MEs would have missed that. Or not bothered to look," Devlin said. "His attitude sometimes needs readjustment but Lee's good. You got somewhere you'd like me to start?"

Burgess considered. "Fingerprints?" he said. "I've got a bottle and some cups here I'm wondering about. Then I'd like to know if those fibers from his belt match the rope on that cinderblock." He stopped. "Where would you start?"

"Those places are as good as any," Devlin said, pulling on some gloves. "You go on upstairs and start detecting. I'll let you know when I have something."

Burgess trudged back to the bay and made copies of a photo he had of Reggie. He found Stan at his desk, going through the file, Stan's face looking like he'd had a close encounter with a two-by-four. "Not much here to go on, is there, Joe? You got a plan?"

"I do. You ready?"

Stan opened his notebook. "Ready."

"Okay. Right now, we don't even know when Reggie was last seen alive, and by whom. Jim Fletcher, who lives in the same place as Reggie, thinks it was Thursday, but it might have been Friday. Says his daughter Diane might have noticed Reggie on the Friday. So we need to talk to Diane and see what she knows. Another guy who lives there, Chub Wallis, saw Reggie get into a truck on Thursday—a truck that regularly picks him up for work. We need to know any details that Chub can give about Reggie's job or that truck. Someone needs to talk to the rest of the residents, see if anyone else knows anything." He gave Stan the address, the contact information for Jim's daughter.

"While we're trying to tie down the last time Reggie was seen, it would be a good idea to go to roll call this afternoon, bring them up on this, and see if anyone noticed anything on Friday night, early Saturday morning. A truck, van, or car parked on the waterfront, anything out of the ordinary." Burgess checked his notes. "Coast guard can help us figure out if the body traveled, but first I want to see what Wink learns about that rope and cinderblock. If Reggie was weighted, his body probably didn't travel. But why leave it in such a public place?"

"Not so public," Perry said, "to someone unfamiliar with the waterfront. In the middle of the night, the area around that wharf looks pretty deserted. Or he could have been dumped from a boat. Body was ten, eleven feet down, barely visible at low tide? High tide and the water murky, it might have seemed fine. I'll check NOAA and see what the weather and moonlight were on Friday night."

He ducked his head. "Afraid I wasn't paying much attention to the weather."

"Good thought. Get on to marine patrol, harbor master, the coast guard, see who might have been out Friday night or early Saturday and if they noticed anything."

Stan looked at his notes. "Lotta ground to cover and we've already lost two freakin' days. You calling Terry in?"

"Let's see what Vince says."

Studying Stan's battered face, he wondered if he should send him out, or keep him driving a desk a day or two. Stan was young and the young healed fast. But it didn't make the department look good, sending out a detective who looked like he'd been in a street brawl. He knew he was being influenced by the circumstances. They'd all gone out hurting, cut, stitched, bandaged and bruised, because they were determined not to let the bad guys win. But those wounds were righteous.

But hell, it wasn't like he had a closet full of spare detectives, and Stan was good on the street. He could go from tough to tender in a second, depending on what he needed and who he was dealing with. And he was still close to the street, good at finding people who might have seen something useful.

Even if he could use Stan, he needed Terry. Too much time lost, too many bases to cover. Ask any cop in the city if Sergeant Burgess gave a damn about anyone's personal life and you'd get a cynical laugh or an eye roll. Burgess's reputation as a hard-ass was well earned. At least Terry'd had most of the weekend. He picked up the phone and dialed, thumbing through his notebook as he waited for an answer.

"Kyle, Investigations," a voice said. But it wasn't on his phone. He looked up. Terry Kyle, whippet thin, cold-eyed, and faintly smiling, bent over his desk like a stork. "I thought you'd never call," Kyle said. "That you didn't love me anymore."

"Just trying not to spoil your weekend," Burgess said.

"Yeah, right," Kyle said. "You had a personality transplant while I was away?"

"Let's take this into the conference room."

"Old Burgess is going soft," Kyle told Perry as they followed. "You ever know him to think about someone else's personal life before?"

"He thinks way too much about mine."

"Someone's got to," Burgess said. "You get yourself killed, I've got to start training some bright youngster all over again. I've ordered you a chastity belt. We're giving the key to Vince."

"As long as it's not Cote," Perry said.

"Why? Because he'd have to check twice a day to be sure you were keeping things clean and neat?" Kyle asked. "Vince coming in?"

"On his way."

"This thing is weird," Perry said, as they spread out around the table. "Domestic violence we know. Drugs. Sex. Money. This one, it's all whys. Why would someone want to hurt Reggie? Why drown him? Why a bathtub? Like, what's up with the shoes? He's wearing all his clothes including his jacket but no shoes and socks? And why go to such elaborate lengths? Someone's taking a lot of chances, moving a body around like that."

"Strange cases. That's why they need us," Burgess said. "We don't even know where it happened. There are no bathtubs where Reggie lived."

Melia came in, impeccable as always—blue shirt, striped tie, jacket over his arm. There was a swelling bruise along his cheekbone. "Disputed call in a game of pickup soccer," he said.

He studied Stan's face, shook his head without comment, hung his jacket over the chair, and sat. "Where are we, Joe?"

Burgess summarized the ME's findings and what they knew. "We're still waiting on more tests, but Lee says assume homicide. We don't know what day he was last seen. Lee says he wasn't in the water long, so the body was likely dumped late Friday night or very early Saturday. Beyond that, we've got a string of question marks. Reggie had a job, but no one knows where he worked or who he worked for. His brother, Clay, says Reggie was getting paid cash and probably had over a thousand dollars saved, but we didn't find much cash in his room. He'd been to the hospital and gotten pain pills, but those weren't there either."

"What about a bank?" Kyle interrupted.

"It's something to check, but Clay said Reggie would likely have kept it in his room. There was guy across the hall Reggie was friendly with. He had a key to Reggie's room." Burgess checked his notes. "Name of Kevin Dugan. Seems Dugan moved out right after the cop who was sitting on Reggie's room left. Someone's got to get on to the landlord and see if there's any information on him. References, forwarding address, anything we can use to find him."

"I'll take that," Kyle said. "Maybe me and Stan can go over there together, do the house. Then do Preble and the street."

It sounded like a plan. "Wink's working on some things might have Dugan's prints on them, in case that's not his real name, so ask the landlord did he see any ID." Burgess gave him the landlord's information.

"Reggie's got a son, Joey, who lives here in town with his mother, Claire, Reggie's ex. Got a prior for DV, bunch of ROs. I want to know everything we can learn about Joey. Is he working, his schedule, who he hangs out with. Is he really living at home. His PO might know."

Stan raised his hand. "I'll take him."

"There's more. Guys in Reggie's building say Joey was there visiting a few times and he and Reggie were arguing about some land Reggie owned. Reggie's brother, Clay, says Joey was out at the land recently with a surveyor, talking about development. Land's in trust, leased for farming for several years. Clay gave me a copy of the trust, so I'll take a look at that. And I'll call Clay and see when it was that Joey was out there and if Clay knows who the surveyor was. I'm curious what the surveyor was told, since Joey doesn't own the land."

Burgess looked at his notes. "I'm having a hard time getting information about Reggie's job. So, when you go by the Preble Center, see if anyone there knows where he was working. Ask when he was last seen. Same with the folks at the redemption center. Reggie was in there all the time, and Reggie liked to talk. He might have told someone something."

"We've got it, Joe," Kyle said. "Do the house. Do the street and Preble. The redemption center. Kevin Dugan. And Joey."

"About Joey," Burgess said. "You guys do the background, but if you find him or hear where he is, call me." They knew the relationship. "Couple more things. Reggie was getting letters from a cousin of his, woman who claimed Reggie had abused her when she was young. Clay says it's all bullshit, but the letters were threatening, and she was looking for something from Reggie. Sounds like circling sharks." He rolled his eyes. "So I've got to check her out." He gave them copies of Reggie's picture.

He looked at his watch. Almost half the day gone. "What do you say we meet at the end of the day for an update, unless something breaks sooner? Six? Seven?"

"Eight," Kyle said. "I promised I'd have dinner with the girls. It won't take long, but thanks to freakin' Wanda, I've still got the damned court looking over my shoulder. Gotta prove I can be a dad to my own kids." His clenched lips cut off the rest. They were cops on a case, not dads complaining.

There was a group murmur of agreement. Perry was halfway to the door when Melia stopped him with a peremptory, "Perry."

When he'd stopped, Melia said, "You sure you're feeling up to this?"

Perry flushed red. "I'm good to go, sir."

Melia sighed and pushed back his chair. "Watch out for two-by-fours, okay?" He gave it a beat, then added, "And things that seem too good to be true." He slung his jacket over his shoulder and headed for the elevator. Limping a little from the onslaught of nine-year-olds and finally beginning to show his age. Younger than Burgess. Still a few years shy of the big five O, but the buck stopped at his desk. Like Indiana Jones says, it's not the years, it's the mileage.

Things were in motion. However great his sense of urgency, micromanaging was stupid and inefficient. He couldn't do it all himself; had to trust that his guys were good. They'd bring him stuff, make progress. Burgess grabbed his keys and went to see a lady about a letter.

Chapter 12

Star Goodall's house was set back from the road in a grove of trees so dense she might have lived in the middle of a forest. The dark brown house was small, a modern one-story prefab with lots of large windows. A deck along the front wrapped around to the side. Beyond the house, the driveway led to a substantial brown barn. A large sculpture beside the stone path to the door looked like a wrecked car tipped on its rear bumper crossed with dinosaur bones. An older model black minivan was parked in the yard. The license plate read WIKA.

He hadn't called ahead. Hadn't even done his usual "is she home?" phone call. He wanted a purely spontaneous interview, and since Reggie's name hadn't been in the paper yet, her reactions to the news of Reggie's death would be illuminating.

When he rang the bell, a dog started barking. Surprising, since there were no signs of digging or tracks to suggest a dog, until he recognized it as one of those artificial recordings people got to deter strangers. When no one came to the door, he rang again and the invisible dog barked in response. From the tone of her notes to Reggie and what Clay had said, she sounded like the type who would feel no obligation to answer the door if she didn't want to. Not a problem for him. Burgess was the type who would persist until someone either felt like it or ran out of patience and opened the door to order him away.

After the third press of the button and the third flurry of mechanical barking, a woman opened the door. She had Libby eyes, but that was the only resemblance. Unlike Reggie and Clay, who were tall and big-boned, their cousin Cindy was small-boned and petite. Her dark waist-length hair, caught back with sparkly black barrettes, was streaked with gray. She wore a loose black tunic over baggy black pants. A heavily embroidered purple scarf reminiscent of priest's vestments hung around her neck.