“He said he’d rather not have any visitors.”
Kylie flashed her shield. “I’m a cop. He’s a junkie. Take me to his room.”
Chapter 52
Spence was in bed, staring at the ceiling, when Kylie and I entered. “Congratulations. You found me,” he said, not turning his head to look at us. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” Kylie said, almost playfully. “For starters, I thought I’d save your life.”
“Who asked you? I left New York to get away from you trying to save my life. Leave me alone, Kylie.”
“Honey,” she said, doing her best to stay composed, “I’m just trying to help you get through this.”
He twisted his body so he could look at her. “Help? Is that what you call it when you kick my friend in the balls? Get it through your stubborn I’m-a-rock-star-detective brain, Kylie. You can’t help me. I’m an addict. I tried rehab, and it didn’t take.”
“Bullshit!” she yelled, giving up the tolerant, empathetic wife charade that has never been her style. “You were clean and sober for eleven years. You can do it again.”
“Don’t you get it?” he yelled back, thumping his fist on the mattress. “I don’t want to do it again. I’m a junkie, and I’m back in full-blown junkie mode. I need the high. I want the high. I don’t want to do anything except get high, and all you want to do is preach the same program bullshit. It doesn’t help, so unless you’re here to arrest me, get out and stop trying to save me. If I want to kill myself, that’s my business.”
“You want to kill yourself, asshole?” Kylie said, spitting out the words in a low growl. She reached into her holster, pulled out her gun, and shoved it at him, butt first. “Go ahead. Blow your brains out right here and spare me the agony of another long ride in the back of a police van to identify your body.”
Spence turned his head and looked away.
“Not ready yet?” Kylie said. “Call me when you are. I’ll keep it loaded.” She holstered her gun and stormed out the door.
“Don’t go,” Spence said.
“Too late,” I said.
“I mean you, Zach,” he said, rolling over and sitting up. “What the hell did she mean about identifying my body?”
“Your buddy Marco went up to the Bronx last night with a wallet full of money,” I said. “Your wallet.”
“So I lent a friend some money. Since when is that a crime?”
“You didn’t lend him anything, Spence. You sent him on a drug run to a war zone and gave him enough cash to make him a target. It worked. Somebody put a bullet through his head. And since he had your ID in his pocket, your wife spent a couple of hours thinking it was you. She doesn’t want to go through it again. And neither do I.”
Spence didn’t say a word.
“You’re right about one thing,” I said. “Kylie can’t help you. I don’t think you even want help. But just in case you ever feel like you do, hang on to this number.”
I took a piece of paper out of my pocket.
He looked at me in disgust. “I already have your number, Zach. Don’t hold your breath waiting for the phone to ring.”
Kylie opened the door. “Cates called. We have to roll. Now!”
I handed him the number. “Good luck,” I said, and left the room wondering if I’d ever see him alive again.
“I didn’t tell Cates where we were,” Kylie said as we double-timed our way down the hallway. “I just told her we’re on our way to the scene.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Another hospital robbery.”
“If only,” she said. “It’s a double homicide, and it’s got Cates climbing the walls.”
“And she called us in on it?” I said. “She knows we’re already stretched six ways to Sunday. Why would she dump two more bodies on us?”
“Probably because these two have our names written all over them.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“No positive ID, but they’re lying on the kitchen floor of the Bassett brothers’ loft building.”
Chapter 53
“If it makes you feel any better,” I said to Kylie once we were in the car on the way back to the chopper, “you saved his life.”
“That’s what cops do,” she said. “But this is the first time I ever felt like I owed an apology to the guy whose life I saved.”
“You don’t owe Spence anything,” I said. “There’s nothing you can do that you haven’t already done.”
“How about you? I saw you give him your phone number.”
“It wasn’t my number. It was the twenty-four-hour hotline to NA right here in Atlantic City. There was a tear-off sheet on the bulletin board in the waiting room. I figured he’s never going to call his counselor in New York, but on the outside chance that Marco’s death is a wake-up call for him, maybe he’ll reach out to a total stranger.”
“Thanks.” She turned and stared out the window to let me know the conversation was over.
We were almost at the helipad when my phone rang. “Oh crap,” I said as soon as I checked caller ID.
“Sounds to me like it’s either the boss or your girlfriend,” Kylie said, “and since Cates just called, I’m guessing it’s Cheryl.”
It was. I had hoped to be back in New York before she knew I was gone, but like a lot of people in Atlantic City, I had gambled and lost.
“Hey,” I said, answering the phone. “It’s not even nine thirty. I thought you and your mother were at the theater.”
“It was abysmal,” she said. “We left at intermission. I thought you’d be home by now. Where are you?”
“Atlantic City.”
“Atlantic — what’s Red doing down there?”
“It’s not police business. Kylie tracked down Spence, and she needed some help, so—”
“So you drove down there with her?”
“Actually, we took a chopper.”
“Are you kidding me? The department paid for a helicopter just so Kylie could pick up her husband?”
“It’s a private charter. A guy we know was trying to help Kylie out, and — look, it’s a long story.”
“And when, if ever, were you going to tell me about it?”
“Cheryl, I really can’t get into this now.”
“I’m sure you can’t,” she said. “Maybe you can find some time to get into it when you get home. When will that be?”
“I don’t know. The Elena Travers case just heated up. We’re on our way to the crime scene now.”
“By helicopter,” she said.
“Yes.”
“So now you’re on police business, but you’re still using Kylie’s private helicopter.”
“We’ll talk when I get home,” I said.
“I can’t wait,” she said. “Have a nice flight.” She hung up.
I smiled and kept talking. “Yeah, it looks like Spence is going to spend a few more nights in the hospital,” I said into the dead air. “Okay, I’ll tell her you send your best. Love you too.”
The car came to a stop, and I put the phone in my pocket. “Cheryl sends her regards,” I said.
I had no idea if Kylie bought my act, but she nodded a thank-you.
Chapter 54
It was almost ten thirty by the time Kylie and I got to West 21st Street, and once again the Bassett brothers’ urban palace was awash in flashing police lights. A perimeter had been set up, and the usual contingent of uniforms had been posted to keep out the curious.
“That’s weird,” Kylie said, pointing at the lone figure standing outside the front door.
It was Chuck Dryden. It has long been a given that Chuck is a weird guy, but this was particularly out of character. Instead of being in the house, fussing over a body or ruminating over a piece of evidence, he was standing outside, vaping an e-cig. Even more unusual was his reaction when he saw us.