The Angel of Knowlton Park (4 page)

Reluctantly, he went back into the sauna of the day, the water dripping off his hair warm before he was halfway up the hill. Ahead of him, patrol officers were setting up screens. Melia and Perry were standing by the boy's feet, Perry talking and Melia nodding. Lee was listening, then nodded. "Looks like he was lying down when he was stabbed. We'll know tomorrow."

Devlin lowered his camera, signaling that he was through. "Two minutes," Carr said.

Two minutes felt like dozens with the sun scorching their heads. Finally, Carr stepped back and Lee moved in. "Let's roll him toward the left," he said.

Burgess stepped around to the head and knelt down. Perry stood by the boy's feet. Together, they rolled the body so the boy lay on his stomach. Burgess stared at the vulnerable, naked, blood-splotched back, the skinny little spine and shoulder blades, at the blanket, spotted dark where it had touched the wounds. He realized he didn't know how old the boy was, just that he was small, painfully thin, and bruised. Old bruises and new.

He looked at Lee. "He wasn't killed here."

"No," Lee agreed. "And he wasn't lying on that blanket when he was killed. He was wrapped up afterward and brought here. And someone cleaned him up."

"Short knife?"

"We'll know better when we open him up, but it looks like a short knife. None of the thrusts went through."

Burgess squeezed the back of the boy's thigh between a thumb and forefinger. There was no change in color. "How long you think he's been dead?"

Lee grunted, studying the spot where the fingers had squeezed. "More than eight? Not so much to go on, kid bled so much. This heat affects things. See what his family's got to say about when he was last seen, what he last ate." He pushed back on his heels and stood, shutting off his recorder. "See you tomorrow morning, Joe. Seven?"

Burgess looked at his lieutenant. Melia's face was a dull brick red. "You want me at the autopsy?"

Melia nodded. "Sorry, Joe." He didn't need to explain. It only made sense that the detective who worked the scene would attend the autopsy. After that, it only made sense to stay on the case. Burgess shrugged. He didn't know how he'd break this to Chris. Their relationship was so new they were still finding their way. Nor did he know where he'd find the stamina. But he'd made a promise and Mrs. Burgess's boy kept his promises.

Dr. Lee pocketed the recorder and stripped off his gloves. "So I'll see you in the morning," he said. "Gotta run. I'm late for golf. You can send the body along whenever you're ready."

"Golf?" Stan whistled. "God, the people who love it, they sure love it, don't they? Can you imagine golfing in this weather?"

"I can't imagine golfing in any weather," Burgess said. "I'm too young. 'Round seventy or so, maybe I'll take it up. When I'm ready to slow down."

Melia took an unsteady step, then shook his head as though trying to clear it. "Vince, you don't take that jacket off, I'm going to haul it off you in front of God, the media, and everybody," Burgess said. "You're not a lot of good up here passed out on the ground and we don't need the distraction." Melia removed his jacket, folded it lining side out, and set it on the ground. The light gray lining was black with sweat. Carefully, they turned the body onto its back again. Burgess checked the boy's hair for anything else, saw nothing. Then he went around and stood at the feet again, bending to stare at the stab marks across the boy's stomach and abdomen. "We'll see what the esteemed Dr. Lee says after autopsy, but this humble cop thinks we're looking at a wide, double-edged blade, three to four inches long."

He passed a finger through the air above the marks left by the knife handle. "T-handled knife, maybe? Scumbag's weapon of choice? Available in any pawn shop."

He picked up the hands and gently examined the fingers. "All that violence and almost no defense wounds." He looked again at the gaping, raw-steak-colored slashes on the torso, like eleven extra mouths clustered with buzzing flies.

"Stan, you don't want to watch this."

He carefully folded in the white sheet so he wouldn't disturb anything, then knelt down on the grass on left side of the body. He closed his eyes, raised his hand over the boy as if he were holding a knife, took a slow, deep breath. Then he opened his eyes and stabbed up and down eleven times as fast as he could, imitating the pattern on the body, imagining the child writhing and twisting, the killer's unstoppable rage.

Dropping his hand to his side, he heaved himself to his feet, and stepped back, stomach lurching at the ugliness of what he'd done, the greater ugliness of what it confirmed about the crime.

"Overkill." He choked the word out over the sickness closing his throat. "The poor little guy."

Perry and Melia turned away as Burgess and Wink Devlin began carefully folding the blanket and sheets back in around the body, getting Timmy Watts ready to leave his neighborhood for good. Ready for the body bag.

Chapter 3

"Sergeant," Delinsky said, "this is a terrible thing."

Patrol officer Gabriel Delinsky's rich black skin was gray with fatigue, his face pinched with responsibility. "I'm sorry about the family, sir," he said. "I tried to stop them." Delinsky's pants were torn, his face bruised, and his lip swollen.

"You're lucky to be standing," Burgess said. "The Watts family's not known for gentleness."

"I should have anticipated..." Delinsky shifted his feet uncomfortably, staring at the ground. "I... uh... didn't think it would be quite the thing to shoot them, sir. Under these circumstances, I mean."

"You made the right call."

Burgess studied the crowd behind the barriers, curious and excited, like this was a street fair. There was even an ice cream truck. "I ought. I should. Don't beat yourself up, Gabe. You've done a good job." He took out his notebook. "You were the first one here? First officer?"

"Yes, sir." Delinsky pulled out his own notebook.

"Let's sit in the van. It's cooler." Burgess summoned the nearest officer and left him in charge, stopping at the cooler for another Coke. The real thing this time. He needed the sugar. He'd come straight here without breakfast and that had been hours ago. There was one soda left and Delinsky hesitated. "Goddammit, take it," Burgess said. "You've worked as hard as anyone." He figured Delinsky, catching this as he was about to go off shift, had missed a meal, too.

He walked back to the officer he'd just put in charge and told him the cooler needed to be refilled. "And get some chips, too, or pretzels. Something salty. Everyone's sweating like crazy out here." Pizza would have been better, never mind that it was only 9:30 and hot as hell. Pizza was plenty salty, but having it delivered to a crime scene? Media wouldn't miss that. The GP could have ice cream trucks and act like they were at a carnival. Cops walked a finer line.

In the van, they opened their sodas and savored the cool. "Summer like this," Delinsky said, "I might as well have stayed in the south."

"You don't sound like south. You sound like Boston."

Delinsky smiled. A perfect smile, warm and comforting. Burgess had seen him use it to good effect on a frightened crime victim. Too bad a smile couldn't do anything for Timmy Watts. "Boston's south of here," he said.

"Who called it in?" Burgess asked.

"Woman out walking her dog." Delinsky carefully read off the woman's name, Grace Johnston, and her address. "Nice lady. Real shaken up. She knew the boy pretty well, said she's had him at her house. She said she wasn't really first. There was this guy in the park before her, but he refused to call it in. Said he didn't want to get involved."

What was the big deal? A phone call and a few minutes of the guy's time? "She know the guy?"

"Not by name. She referred to him as 'that jerk with the big dog.' But she knew his house. We go outside, I'll show you."

Burgess made a note. "Now, this woman—"

"There's more," Delinsky interrupted, "about the guy with the dog. The woman, Mrs. Johnston, says the dog went up to the body, sniffed around, then snatched something and ran away with it."

"She see what it was? What happened to it?"

"Too far away. Something blue, she said. Dog went down by the pond and when it came out, the blue thing was gone. She was across the park. It was only when she'd gotten around the end of the pond that she saw the blanket... went up and looked and realized what she was seeing. She told him he had to call it in. He told her to go fuck herself, he wasn't getting involved. Excuse me, sir, those are his words. She was uncomfortable saying them."

"That's why you set such a big perimeter, to include the pond?"

"Yes, sir. She said the man's dog is always out of control. That he won't keep it on a leash. Sounded like they'd had words before."

Burgess got on the radio to Melia, told him about the dog, and that they'd better get some people searching the area around the pond, looking for something blue. That the pond was a good place for someone to have tossed a knife.

"I was hoping to get out of here sometime before dark," Melia said.

"Oh, poor you," Burgess said. "I was on vacation."

"Nothing like that first day, huh?" Melia shot back. "Putting work out of your mind. Getting into that restful groove."

"Fuck you, Vince."

"I don't think so."

"Any sign of Terry yet?"

"I sent someone by his house again. Car was there but no one answered the door."

When he was finished here, he'd go find Kyle. "Look, it's a hundred and ten out there. The four of you better come cool off before your brains boil. The media'd love a nice front page photo of one of Portland's finest knocked on his ass. Probably print you in color."

Melia didn't respond. Burgess gave up trying to look after a pack of snarling alpha dogs and returned to Delinsky. "The family. Before you got overrun, you get their names? Relationships?"

"Names, yes. Relationships? I'm not sure they know. You met Mother Watts."

"Not so much an acquaintance as a mugging, as you know."

"That's how most people meet her. Family lives a couple blocks over, on Turley. Moved in about a year ago, when her mother died and left the place to her and her brother. She just moved in and fuck... uh... to heck with the brother."

"You know this neighborhood pretty well."

"I live around here. My wife grew up here."

It was good for this part of town to have cops living in it. Portland's downtown was located on a high spine of land in the center of a boot-shaped peninsula. At both ends of the boot, high promontories looked out to sea. The East End, with its parks facing out toward islands in the bay, had some of the city's prettiest views and greatest possibilities but had retained its reputation as tough and gritty long after other parts of the city had gone upscale. Ten, fifteen years ago, they'd be up here three or four times a night, for fights, people setting fires in the middle of the road. Driving down the streets, patrol cops could recite the histories of half the people they passed. Recently, that had been turning around.

"About the house, the inheritance..." Delinsky said. "I guess she and her brother were supposed to split the estate, such as it was. He wanted to sell the house. But Mother Watts... actually, her name is Dawn..."

"Red at morning, sailors take warning," Burgess murmured.

"With that woman, it's not just mornin'. She's a danger 24/7. Anyway, she moved in her extended family, lock, stock and barrel. From what I hear, there's plenty of stocks and barrels lying around, and the brother can't get his money, and he's some pissed..."

"Mad enough to do this?"

Delinsky shifted his broad shoulders wearily. "I can't imagine anyone mad enough to kill Timmy, and I'm a cop. Brother's named Hank. Henry Devereau. Lives out in Raymond, I think. Raymond cops'll know. Compared to his sister, he's a saint. Compared to the rest of us...?" Burgess made a note. They'd have to talk with Henry Devereau.

Delinsky waited until Burgess nodded. "Okay, so there's Mother Watts, and she's got about six kids from various marriages, or relationships, or whatever. There's her husband, wizened up old twist called Pap, only she calls him 'Stinky.' He's got a couple kids, his or his grandkids, I don't know, and there's various boyfriends and girlfriends of their kids in and out of there. Pap and Mother Watts, they had just the one child between them. Timmy."