Читать книгу When One Man Dies - Dave White - Страница 21

Chapter 13

Bill Martin sat in his office, tie loosened at the neck, jacket off, not sure what the fuck to do. Five years ago he would have gone back to the corner on Easton Ave. and beaten the shit out of Jesus Sanchez. Pounded him into a pulp until Jesus broke and told him who Michael Burgess was, how to get in touch with him.

Now, with Leo Carver rotting in Rahway penitentiary and the new blood upstairs watching his every move, Martin had nothing. Pounding the pavement, making phone calls to old contacts only went so far when you hadn’t talked to them in years.

He rubbed his eyes and coughed. They didn’t even let you smoke in here anymore.

Bill Martin grabbed his jacket and went down to the street. Lighting a cigarette, he noticed two other detectives—Bob Richardson and Paul Cramden—smoking as well. All good cops look the same when they’re busy: wrinkled jackets, loosened ties. It was the ones that were too clean-cut you had to watch out for. They’d stab you in the back to look good in front of the bosses.

Just like these two.

“How’s it going, Bill?” Richardson asked. “Heard you got the hit-and-run over on Easton.”

“About time I got something interesting.” Cramden sauntered over. “Any leads yet?”

Time to be careful. Martin could say too much and then be paranoid he’d lose the case. But, fuck it, these guys may know people.

“The name Michael Burgess keeps coming up.” Richardson squinted. “You into drugs with this one, Bill?”

“I don’t know what I’m into,” he answered. “It’s just a name that popped up.”

He was damn well involved in drugs with this one, with all that shit he found in Figuroa’s house. Absently, he wondered if Donne knew about that. Damn, it would be fun to tell him.

But, no, he had other plans. Other secrets.

“Yeah, Bill,” Cramden said, “Burgess is a big drug name. In fact, if he was around and you were a narc, that would be the guy to take down.”

“He’s big, huh?”

“Where the hell you been, Bill? You’ve never heard of Burgess?”

“Don’t hear about much working frat robberies.”

“Guess not.” Richardson put his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Listen, if Burgess is involved, you’ve hit on something.”

Martin tensed just a bit and Richardson probably felt it. The hand jerked away. If these two detectives knew Martin was starting to scratch at something big, they might stab him in the back, too.

He’d let that happen to him once. Not again.

“You know how to get in touch with this guy?” Martin asked. “Nah,” Cramden said. “But you’re smart, I’m sure you’ll find him.”

Martin dropped his cigarette butt into the trash. “Thanks, Paul.

You’re a big help.”

Richardson shot Cramden a look. Then turned back to Martin. “Bill, there are a few guys who messed with Burgess a couple of months ago. Had to talk to him about something. Harry Lance and Mike Johnson. Ask them.”

Martin thanked them.

“No problem, Bill. You deserve to get back on the horse.” Martin nodded and turned his back to go up again.

“Oh, shit. Bill, wait. Did you hear?”

Martin looked at the two detectives. “Hear what?”

“That asshole, what’s his name . . . Jackson Donne, he got taken in by a few cops in Madison last night. Got caught up with a dead body by Drew University.”