Where It Hurts (28 page)

(TUESDAY EVENING)

B
efore saying a word, I waited for Pete McCann to step fully into the motel room and shut the door behind him. I almost hated to ruin it. He had that smug look on his face, the one I remembered from the times we were out after work and he would target his prey. A really beautiful woman, expensively put together, who had come into the bar or restaurant on the arm of a bored-looking man or a man who looked overanxious. You see, for Pete it was as much about the man as the woman, maybe more so.

He’d give a slight nod, jut out his chin, and say, “Over your left shoulder. That guy’s in way over his head with a woman like that. He thinks she’s too hot-looking for him. And the fucker’s right because she’ll be going home with me tonight.”

Pete wasn’t always right about that. They didn’t always go home with him, but they often did. He hit it out of the park enough times to let himself live comfortably with his swings and misses. And that’s why I knew he’d show if Annie called. She was reluctant to play the part at first, but she relented. He had crushed her. People hurt each other all the time. That’s what we do. But there are times when there’s nothing left inside you. No cushion for the fall. Nothing to fight back with.
Sure, part of sleeping with him was about blowing our marriage up beyond repair. That might even have been most of it. I’m sure another part of it was curiosity and desire. Annie and I were married young and we were both pretty wild and not inexperienced. Let’s just say she must have been intrigued by the stories she had heard about Pete from other cops’ wives. That, and he was a good-looking son of a bitch. Did she harbor secret hopes that their affair in the wake of John’s death might turn into something else? I don’t know. But as angry as she was at me, it didn’t compare to the sting she felt for how Pete had tossed her away like an empty soda can to the side of the road.

I knew he’d show up because the other thing he got off on was the kicked dog coming back for more. Those were the stories he loved to tell most, the ones about the women he’d parted ways with who’d been so furious with him, but who couldn’t stay away. It always took a little time for them to get over the first wave of anger, to show him that he didn’t matter to them, he used to say.

“Some of them, they just can’t help themselves. They either like the sex or they like the abuse, but who cares why they come back as long as they come back?”

I knew he’d come because Annie had been such a big conquest to him and he’d dumped her so abruptly. I knew because I was back on his radar screen again.

“Hey, Annie, I’m here. I bet you’re already wet,” he said, coming through the door I’d left open for him. “You in the bathroom?”

I had seated myself in the darkest corner of the room and kept the lights off.

“Annie’s not coming, Pete,” I said. “Turn on the light. It’s on the wall right next to the door, but you’d know that. Annie told me you took her here a few times.”

When he turned the light on, he saw I was aiming my gun right at his belly. Only his eyes hinted at being scared. The rest of his face was pure cool.

“Have a seat on the bed, Pete, but take off your jacket and coat.
Throw them on the bed, slowly. Put your weapon on the floor and kick it over here.”

He did as he was told. I made him lift up his pants legs to show me he wasn’t wearing an ankle holster. When I was satisfied he was clean, I removed the clip from his Glock, popped the round out of the chamber, and tossed the gun back to him. He sat on the bed, facing me.

“What’s this about, Gus?”

“Took you a long time to ask me that question,” I said. “Too long. I think you know exactly what this is about.”

“I heard that somebody tried to kill you in your bed at that shitbox hotel of yours. Wasn’t me.”

“I didn’t think it was. Shotgun’s not your style. You know about that retired dentist on 454 yesterday?”

“The one that got his brains blown out?”

“That bullet was meant for me. I had lunch over at Mazatlan. Dropped my keys in the snow, knelt down to get them, and . . .
Bang!
Dead dentist. Somebody wants me dead pretty badly, Pete. And as I recall, the last time we spoke, you were pretty fucking threatening to me.”

He gave me that charming half-smile of his. “I don’t suppose saying I was only following orders will ease your mind.”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t think so, but it’s the truth.”

“Jimmy Regan’s orders?”

Now it was his full-on smile, the one that dazzled women and men alike. “You should’ve made detective before me, Gus. You’re a smart bastard. Yeah, I was following Regan’s orders. He’s got a real hard-on for you.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me a question you already know the answer to.”

“He killed TJ Delcamino.”

The dazzling smile disappeared. “No, no, no. The chief didn’t kill the kid. You got that wrong. He smacked the kid around a little, sure, but he didn’t kill him.”

“C’mon, Pete. You got a pretty loose definition of smacking around. TJ Delcamino was tortured to death. His body had crushed bones, burn marks—”

“Stop! Stop! Regan smacked the kid around a few days before the kid turned up dead. As far as I know, one thing had nothing to do with the other.”

I said, “You expect me to take your word about this?”

“Suit yourself. It’s the truth. Whether you believe it or not is your headache. And put the fucking gun down unless you really are going to shoot me.”

I pointed the gun away from Pete, but didn’t put it away. I knew better than to completely lower my guard around him no matter what he said or did.
Fool
me
once . . .

“Explain it to me, Pete.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Last August, someone busted into the chief’s SUV and stole a duffel bag. He put out the word to us that when we caught the guy who did it, that we were not to touch the bag and that we were to call him to the scene before we did anything else. Soon enough we got a tip from a snitch that led us to the Delcamino kid. I arrested him. We got the kid, but—”

“But the duffel bag was gone.”

“Exactly,” Pete said. “That’s when shit got weird. Regan demanded to be part of the interview. I mean, that’s strange, right? The chief of the department demanding to do the preliminary interview on a kid that had broken into a car. So like ten minutes into the interview, Regan loses it and starts slapping Delcamino around. We had to pull him off before he did real damage to the kid.”

“Did you know what was in the duffel bag?”

“Nope. I didn’t wanna know. Still don’t. But whatever’s in it means a lot to Regan. When the kid wouldn’t spill, Regan told us to kick the kid loose and not to discuss any aspect of the incident with anyone ever. The chief tells you to do that and you do it. I think he hoped once the
kid was set loose that he would lead him back to that stupid duffel bag. I guess that didn’t work out so well, and when the kid turned up dead—”

“Regan couldn’t risk anyone putting two and two together because he would’ve been the prime suspect.”

“Bingo. He didn’t want anyone digging too deep because the whole thing with his SUV, the duffel bag, and his knocking the kid around would’ve come up. Even if he was cleared of the kid’s homicide, his career would have ended in disgrace. For a man like Jimmy Regan, that’s not an option.”

“That’s why Carey and Paxson didn’t work the case very hard and why Tommy D. came to me for help.”

Pete shrugged. “I guess so.”

“But you don’t think Regan killed the kid?”

“I know he didn’t. I was with him that night at dinner at a Turkish restaurant in Setauket. It was a way for him to thank me for keeping my mouth shut about what had happened the week before with the kid.”

What McCann was saying made sense up to a point, but an alibi from him wasn’t exactly like getting one from Abraham Lincoln.

“You come cheap these days, Pete. I thought you’d want more than some hummus and a falafel platter for your silence.”

He laughed. “You know me pretty well, Gus. No, the dinner was a negotiation for what me and my old partner would get. My partner was easy and the schmuck took the first thing Regan offered. Me, I was smarter than that. I left it open-ended. I didn’t figure this would go away and that he would need some more favors.”

“You should’ve taken what he offered you, Pete. Regan’s going down.”

And maybe for the first time in all the years I’d known him, he got a hangdog look on his face. He had cried at John’s funeral, but this was different.

“I know it. Regan’s getting stupid and sloppy and he’s drinking heavy these days. Something’s going on with him. I think it’s time to cut my losses.”

“I need something from you,” I said.

“What?”

“I want you to set up a meeting with Jimmy Regan and me.”

He laughed, not a happy laugh. “Why would he agree to that? He hates your guts and you’ve been nothing but a pain in his ass for the last two weeks.”

“Because I know what was in the duffel bag and I think I knew where his car was when it got broken into.”

Pete’s mouth hung open. Then he caught himself. “Yeah, but still, if you’re gonna fuck him anyway, why would he bother? And why would you risk it?”

“I have some questions only he can answer and I need them answered. Besides, there’s something I know about him that doesn’t need to come out in the midst of all this other shit. Believe me, he’ll do almost anything not to have it come out.”

“You gotta do better than that, Gus. You gotta give me something to work with instead of vague promises. He’ll want to know what you know and that you’re not just blowing smoke up his ass. I need to be able to convince him.”

“Katy.”

“Katy?” he repeated.

“Katy.”

“Katy what? Katy who?”

“Just Katy. He’ll understand.”

“If you say so. Listen, Gus, before I go, I need you to tell me something.”

“What?”

“Annie set me up to come here. Why’d she do it?”

“Because you hurt her and because I asked her to.”

“But she can’t stand you most of the time. I mean, Christ, she fucked me to ruin you. Why would she help you?”

“Because of things you’ll never understand.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I’ll call you.”

“Don’t call me,” I said.

“Then who?”

I gave him Bill Kilkenny’s number. “You can call that number. Now get the fuck outta here, Pete. Don’t worry, I’ll try and keep your name out of it as best I can.”

I didn’t expect him to thank me and he didn’t. I watched out the window of the motel room to make sure he didn’t hang around. And when I was certain he was far enough away, I shut out the lights and left. Now I needed only to wait.

(TUESDAY, LATE NIGHT)

I
’d checked in with Bill from pay phones every few hours until the meeting was set. Finding pay phones on the island to check from was a pain in the ass, but a necessary one. I couldn’t risk anyone finding me beforehand. There was another problem. Bill wouldn’t tell me where the meeting was to take place unless I promised to bring him with me.

“I’m your insurance, Gus. Jimmy Regan would want me there and he won’t raise a hand to you in my presence. And the thing is, I’m coming one way or the other, boyo.”

He was probably right about Regan, so that was that.

It was pretty obvious that Pete McCann had worked his magic with Regan, not only because the meeting was going to happen, but because of where it was to happen. Only this time when I walked through the unmarked steel door into Malo, there was no big Polynesian guy waiting on the other side. No rollaway bar. No temporary stage. No Magdalena. No nude black chick bathed in sweat, glitter, and boredom. No tables. No dance floor. No carpeting. Nothing. This was Malo as it was during the week: spare warehouse space for a packaging company in the middle of a huge executive park in Hauppauge. The
walls and floors were unadorned concrete, the ceiling corrugated steel, and the lighting reminiscent of a high school gym.

The scrape of our footfalls against the rough floor echoed as we entered the building. I knew things were going sideways the second we stepped into the heart of the warehouse and saw a bloodied and semiconscious Kareem Shivers lying at Jimmy Regan’s feet. There was that and the old-style nightstick Regan held in his right hand. There was something else, too. Regan was in his full dress blues, white ceremonial gloves and all. His white gloves were flecked with wet blood. K-Shivs’ blood. On the floor to the other side of Regan was a thick brown shipping envelope.

He frowned at the sight of Bill Kilkenny. “For fuck’s sake, Murphy, what did you bring him for?”

Bill answered for himself. “I wanted to be here for you, James.”

Regan laughed a jangly, almost manic laugh. “James is it? I know it’s a serious matter when you call me that.”

Shivers moaned. And without a second’s hesitation, Regan slammed the nightstick into his ribs.

“Shut the fuck up! I told you to mind that mouth of yours.”

I didn’t pull my weapon for fear of starting a chain reaction, one that might escalate and get Bill caught in the cross fire. And truth be told, I had no love for men like Kareem Shivers.

“Jimmy,” Bill said, “what do you hope to gain by beating the man this way?”

“Oh, we’re back to Jimmy now, are we? This is no man, Bill.” He reared his leg back and kicked Shivers in the back. “This blackmailing piece of shit helped send me to a place from which I will never return. He made me betray the badge and the people I’ve fought so hard to serve and do right by.”

Bill was confused. “What are you talking about?”

I asked, “Should I tell him, Chief, or should you?”

“You do it, Murphy,” he said. “Let’s see if I should’ve forced a detective’s shield into your palm at some point along the way.”

“Bill, your friend Jimmy Regan, the chief of the department, the cop’s cop, has been a drug mule for that man there.” I pointed at Shivers. “His name’s Kareem Shivers, a boxer and gangsta who moved up the ladder to major drug dealer.” I turned to Bill. “Remember when you and Regan came to see me the other night and the chief denied knowing Shivers? Well, I think it’s safe to say he was lying about that. How’m I doing so far, Chief?”

“Batting a thousand, Murphy. But we’re only in the early innings. There’s a lot of game yet to be played. Carry on.”

“Last August, Chief Regan was carrying a duffel bag in his SUV, and in that duffel bag was a large amount of heroin in tiny packets. How many packets and how much they were worth, I can’t say, but it must’ve been considerable.”

Regan laughed that manic laugh. “Quite considerable.”

“Problem is, the chief parked his SUV out in front of a house in Wyandanch. Foolishly, carelessly, he left the bag in the SUV while he went to check that Lamar English, aka Lazy Eye, the guy who sold the drugs, was home. See, what the chief didn’t know was that good old Lazy Eye and Mr. Shivers there had screwed two stupid white boys out of about twenty grand in a drug deal. One of those two stupid white kids was named Ralph O’Connell and the other one was—”

Regan interrupted. “Did you say Ralph O’Connell?”

“I did. Why?”

“Dead,” Regan said. “Found him in a Plymouth Neon on Daly Road early this morning. Shotgun blast to the head.”

“Fuck!” I felt sick and angry and a fool, but I couldn’t lose my focus, not now. I took a deep breath and continued. “The other kid’s name was TJ Delcamino,” I said, my voice a little unsteady. “And what no one realized was that Delcamino’s only skill in life besides getting high and fucking up was that he was great at boosting cars. I have that on no less an authority than Frankie Tacaspina Jr. I’m guessing about this part, but I think that what the kid wanted more than anything was revenge for the bad drug deal and to repay his buddy the money they’d lost.
He’d probably been staking out Lazy Eye’s house for days, maybe weeks. And when the chief showed up and TJ made off with the duffel, he must’ve thought God was smiling down on him. Too bad the dumb schmuck didn’t realize whose SUV he’d broken into. Am I still batting a thousand, Chief?”

“You’re putting up Hall of Fame numbers, Murphy. Hall of Fame.”

K-Shivs got to his hands and knees, but stumbled forward as he tried to get up and get away, landing face first on the concrete. It ripped his cheek open and blood poured out of him so that a red puddle formed around his face. Regan whacked him across the back of his head with the baton. The hollow sound the wood made against Shivers’ skull bounced off the walls and echoed. It got to Bill and his knees buckled. I clutched his thin arm and steadied him. Regan raised the stick again.

“For the love of God, James, leave the man be,” Bill screamed at Regan.

But Regan was already beyond reason or guilt, though he did lower the nightstick back down by his side. That was my cue. As long as I could keep Regan engaged, I didn’t think he would do anything too crazy.

“So TJ got high, sold some of the product, and ditched the drugs somewhere. That’s when your snitch told you it was the kid who’d busted into your car. You picked him up and knocked him around, but he wouldn’t talk. So you let him go in the hope that he’d lead you to the stash, but he didn’t. Pete McCann swears to me you didn’t kill the kid, but I’m not buying it, Chief. You’ve got quite a temper there and with your drinking . . . I think you tried torturing it out of the kid and he died before he could tell you where the drugs were. You showed up on the scene so quickly because you knew where he was. You put him there.”

“Ah, Murphy,” Regan said, shaking his head in disappointment, “you were doing so well, but now your batting average has gone to shit. As Christ is my witness, I didn’t kill the kid.”

“Every perp I every arrested said the same thing to me, Chief.”

Regan turned to Bill Kilkenny. “Bill, you look me in the eye and tell me I’m lying. I’ve told you things that would have ruined me long ago. There’s nothing for me to gain by lying about this. I didn’t kill the kid. And as little regard as I have for this scum here”—he pointed the nightstick at Shivers—“I don’t think it was him that did it, either. We both had everything to lose and nothing to gain by killing the kid. If he was dead, we’d never find the drugs. He was a fucking junkie. We knew he’d lead us to the stash eventually.”

Bill didn’t address Regan’s story, but asked the big question instead. “Why, James? Why all of this?”

“His daughter,” I said.

Regan smiled with approval. “You
are
good, Murphy. You’re back on a Hall of Fame pace.”

Bill was confused all over again. “Wait a second. I know Jimmy’s girls and—”

“Not all of them,” I said. “Not Katy. Not the girl he had with Ilana Smalls.”

I could see in Bill’s expression that he knew who Ilana Smalls was. He knew all about what had gone on with Regan and Neil Furlong back in Wyandanch in the ’90s. These were the things that Bill wouldn’t share with me, the things that could have ruined Regan’s career and reputation. Then I saw something in Bill’s face I’d rarely seen—anger.

“Why did you not tell me about this, James? I’d borne all your other sins. We could have gotten through it together.”

I answered for him. “Because until about eighteen months ago, he didn’t know about her. Right, Chief? That’s when he bashed Ilana Smalls’ head in and had her body dumped on the grounds of the old Kings Park Psychiatric Hospital.”

Regan exploded. “That lying bitch. I loved her. Christ forgive me, but I loved that woman more than anyone I’d ever loved. More than my own wife and girls. I was crazy with love for her. Stupid with it. For years I ate my heart out over losing her. I rolled over on my partner to protect her and she repaid me by hiding my own flesh and blood from me.”

“Then why not just acknowledge her?” Bill wanted to know.

“He couldn’t,” I said. “It would have blown up his career because everyone would have connected the dots back to Wyandanch in the ’90s. He would have been known as a rat, a guy who had an affair with a whore, a whore he had given up his partner to protect. But even if he’d been willing to endure that, it would have ruined his marriage and risked his relationship with his other daughters. When Shivers hooked up with his girl by Ilana Smalls, Regan was in an impossible position. And they used that to turn him into the perfect drug mule. What cop was gonna search the chief’s car?”

Jimmy Regan was crying now, his chest heaving so that he might shake himself apart. He dropped the nightstick, but any sense of relief I might’ve felt at that was short-lived. For Regan replaced the baton with his sidearm.

“It’s all in there, Bill.” He pointed at the envelope with the muzzle of his gun. “Everything. I confess to all my sins, though I am well beyond redemption.”

I reached for my weapon, but Regan anticipated the move. His tears came to an abrupt stop and his eyes turned suddenly cold.

“Put it down and kick it away,” he said, aiming his gun at me. “I won’t miss from here and I’ve nothing to lose. Do it now!”

I did as I was told. When he was satisfied I was no threat, he half turned to Shivers and shot him three times, the third round into his head. Then he swiftly put the still-smoking muzzle under his chin.

“See ya in hell, Murphy,” he said and squeezed the trigger a fourth time.

Regan’s crisply uniformed body flopped down on top of the body of the man he had just murdered in cold blood.

A woman shrieked. Bill and I looked up from the bodies to see Pete McCann, a 9mm in his hand, shoving Katy Smalls to the ground so that she landed in a puddle of blood that had leaked out of her dead father and her murdered boyfriend.