got me most wasn't the Ghosts of Christmas, but the picture I'd get in my head of Jacob Mar ley, this faded old guy bound up in all the chains and money boxes of his past.
I swear I could hear the clanging and banging as he dragged his shit across eternity.'
Harry looked around and I saw his nostrils flare as he breathed in the subtle perfume of the blossoms tinting Burlew's hidden life, his real life. My previous concept of Burlew forbade him a capacity for devotion, but as I studied the books, the misters, scissors, the bags of plant food and moss, my surprise at Burlew's ability to nurture gave way to mourning for the missed and misplaced, and for pasts that, allowed to dry and set, formed the path of our futures.
I said, 'He thought you'd told me about that night. It's why he always went out of his way to jump on my feet.'
Harry shrugged. He looked through the door at Burlew's body, then turned back to me.
'Think people ever shake off those chains to their pasts, Cars?'
'Never happens, Harry. The trick is to keep adding links so you don't pull it forward with you.'
'I'm coming with you tomorrow. You know that.'
I put my hand on his shoulder. 'Thanks, amigo, but Ava volunteered.
She wants to be my zuithre.'
'What the hell's that?'
'Power over ambush, Harry,' I said. 'If you hold it just right.'
'Come on, Carson,' Hembree pleaded. 'Check this out so we can get rolling.'
I dodged tables and plant stands on my walk to the kitchen, each crowded with blooms and petals and thickets of green. Hembree and his assistant had the body on its side, Hembree pointing at Burlew's back.
I knelt and saw a broad expanse of flesh turned crimson and purple by the settling of blood. All across Burlew's back were words. Not the tiny writing, but maybe half- to three-quarter-inch letters, running from the back of his truncated neck to his buttocks, a nonstop scrawl of black ink.
'Looks like our boy's graduated to epistles,' Hembree said. 'Happy reading.'
CHAPTER 28
Like so often happens, the moment that Ava had been dreading her return to work, seeing Clair passed by almost without touching. Clair sat behind her desk peering at correspondence over half-glasses. She seemed to barely notice as as Ava and I walked by.
'Good morning, Dr. Davanelle,' Clair said. 'Good to have you back.'
'It's wonderful to be here.'
Clair tucked back into her paperwork and that was that. Ava checked her in-basket and correspondence, set a few pieces aside, then dressed for Burlew's postmortem. Ava had been scheduled to handle today's first procedure before I told Clair about the drinking; Clair hadn't changed the roster, even after knowing it would be Ava's first day back.
It was faith rewarded when Ava stepped into her role with the quiet command I'd seen before, the powerful yet economical motions, the sense of respect for the deceased. I studied the photos of Burlew's back as Ava recited them for transcription.
You were with, weren't you doesn't she girl bad things inside of you Mama We have to make sure She makes how Time to get the bad things Mama that girl again out you He you She's to get her out deep I'm scared makes us pure What do you know What did you say Don't me in you I have pain No Don't Don't me there Hurdy-gurdy Namby-pamby Willy-Nilly You're scaring Roly-poly Very scary Don't scare At the bottom, across Burlew's coccyx, was written:
Boston and Indianapolis please touching Will it be Big Boston or Little Indy? Kokomo Booooo Peeeeee Mama Squill arrived after schmoozing the media outside, this case now pulling heavy news glare Harry and I had laid the tattered history of events before Hyrum, Squill, and the three deputy chiefs. They'd winced and grimaced through the entire presentation. Consensus was reached: Displaying Burlew's untidy closet would only embarrass the department and the Peltiers. Clair was an innocent caught in the taint and Zane was too monied to cross, especially since he'd been guilty of nothing beyond carnality and general stupidity. That left only Terri Losidor, and her indictment would lift the lid from the garbage can.
I suggested Zane demonstrate his kinship with the Fourth Estate by sponsoring the resurrection of an alternative newspaper. He seemed amenable, especially since I was the last person seen with the photographs.
Ava finished the post and went to wash up, leaving just Squill and me in the suite. During the procedure he'd stayed in the farthest corner, studying anything but the autopsy.
'You checked on Peltier?' Squill said, walking up from behind me.
'He's clear?'
'Zane couldn't slice bologna without instructions. Besides, he's alibied.' At the time of Burlew's death Zane Peltier was with his personal attorney, discussing details of an impending separation.
Squill said, 'We're shit-canning Piss-it, Ryder. The task force'll take this over. Burlew fucked up, but that's life.'
I expected this. Squill'd gotten smudged by his adjutant's actions and the only way to get clean was putting his task-force types into full-court press. That meant locking PSIT out. But with the threads of Burlew and Losidor and Zane pulled from the box, Harry and I had a clearer picture of what was left.
Plus tonight I was discussing the case with a pro.
I said, 'It isn't going to fall that direction, Captain. Harry and I are in till the end.'
'Guess what, junior? It just ended.'
I stared into Squill's liquid eyes. 'Why were you trying to keep us away from Burlew, Captain?'
'Who's saying that?'
I pulled a folded sheet of paper from my pocket and handed it to him, pertinent sections highlighted in yellow. 'Notes from our meeting where Harry and I told you about the missing papers. Anyone reading those notes might be inclined to think you were leery of us coming up with the papers. Especially since we did. Remember, the ones leading to Zane?'
Squill studied me like I was dog leavings on his shoe. 'How could I possibly know Peltier was a fag?'
'You didn't. But I think Burlew insinuated he had some kind of chain around Zane's neck. He'd maybe give it a few tugs for you before he left the department. Burlew owed you; guy didn't have to do cop work for years just ran your rinky-dink errands.'
I expected anger, got smug instead. 'You're saying I put the brakes on the investigation, Ryder? That what I'm hearing?'
'What's a few more days of maybe keeping a head-chopper on the loose if it ups your chances of becoming a DC?'
He shook his head, a ghost of smile haunting his thin lips. 'You think you're something, don't you? I'm going upstairs, Ryder. Better put a bucket on your head when I get there.'
'I know you got juice, Cap. Somebody told me Plackett owes you. Seems like you're the one turned him into a media dandy, a first-rate sound-bite slinger. And probably the next chief.'
Squill made sure no one had slipped into the room. 'Just between you and me, Ryder,' he gloated, 'I made Plackett. I took a piece of shit-clay and sculpted the new Chief of Police.'
'Meanwhile, you kept tossing nails in our road.'
He smiled and winked. 'It only looks that way to a paranoid like you, Ryder. Go back to your unit and solve some nigger shootings.'
'You're a hell of a cop, you know that, Squill? If we'd been able to see things without Burlew's little games, he might not be laying there.'
'The breaks. Like in breaking my heart. You're off the case.'
'You know Zane Peltier has an in with the Police Commission, don't you?'
He tapped a hand over his heart and feigned surprise. 'No way.'
