figured what the hell, if he stood up when Alana came into the room, at least it proved he was still alive. A polite cock, a bum knee, and a pounding in the back of his head. He had a hell of a physical repertoire. If he could fly, he'd be Superman.
"Notice anything else about Dr. Pleasant? Other than his fondness for girls?"
"He got a lot of phone calls."
" In medias res ? In the middle of things?" Aucoin nodded. "And he took them?"
"He was a doctor."
"Bummer, huh, having a radiological emergency in the middle of a blow job. Do yourself a favor, Aucoin?" The kid was holding his breath. "Next time, break the window. And watch where you're walking." Aucoin swallowed. Nodded.
"One more thing. You think someone's in a car getting a blow job? Turn on your lights and knock on the window. Not your job to make it easy for them. You can go. Thanks for the sub." He didn't offer to pay for it. He grabbed another bite, picked up the phone, and called Rita Callahan in the Attorney General's office.
"It's Joe Burgess, Portland PD, the Pleasant case. Can you get me a subpoena for Pleasant's cell phone records?"
"Sure. Anything else I can do for you, detective?" A voice like Brillo on a screen.
"I may need his office phones as well. Depending on their level of cooperation. I'm betting they scream patient confidentiality. Hell, I probably need his financial records, too. Bank, accountant, credit card. You name it. Guy had an expensive lifestyle and an ex-wife nagging him about support. I'd like to see the whole picture."
"Why don't I put them on the list, save us all some time."
"Sure. He had offices in Auburn, Damariscotta and Portland. Betty Ling was his appointments secretary. She can probably give you addresses. I've got his card here." He read her the info.
"I'm on it," she said, and disconnected. At least she wasn't big on small talk. Some AAGs, especially the new ones, were into trying to make connections. Fine in an ideal world, but this was the world of life gone wrong. He didn't have the time or the interest in making new connections. He liked the idea of disconnections. The night shift. Solitude.
He found the number and called Jen Kelly. A man's voice answered. Strong Maine accent. Easy, with a slight twang. In a longer sentence, the voice would have dropped to a mumble, the words being swallowed up. He asked for Jen.
"She's feedin' the baby right now. Can I take a message?"
"This is Detective Burgess, Portland Police. Jack Kelly?"
"Ayuh." Half-swallowed. He could see the man nodding. In Nam, as a tough 19-year-old, hearing Maine in another man's voice could bring tears to his eyes.
"Two things, Mr. Kelly. First, can you tell her that her husband's wallet is missing, probably stolen. She needs to notify his credit card companies and I need a list of the card numbers so I can see if anyone's using them. I know this is a difficult time for her, but the sooner we can get that, the better. If she calls when it's ready, I can have someone swing by and pick it up." He heard the scratch of pencil on paper. Waited to let Kelly get it down. He liked it that Jen Kelly's father was humble enough to need to write things down. Lots of people were too arrogant to bother and too scattered to remember later. "And the medical examiner's office will release the body this afternoon. She can arrange to have a funeral home collect him."
He gave his own number and the ME's number, and disconnected, a little disappointed at not having spoken to her. The memory of her face, the vulnerability of that twist-tie in her hair, the small bare breast, all lingered in his mind. Jen Kelly had a story and it looked to be a complicated one. He hoped it wouldn't lead where he thought it might. He took a few more bites of sandwich, but now that the edge was off his hunger, weariness and work had shoved it aside. Hercules might have cleaned the stable by diverting a river through it, but Burgess had found you missed a lot that way. Stand there and
"Notice anything else about Dr. Pleasant? Other than his fondness for girls?"
"He got a lot of phone calls."
" In medias res ? In the middle of things?" Aucoin nodded. "And he took them?"
"He was a doctor."
"Bummer, huh, having a radiological emergency in the middle of a blow job. Do yourself a favor, Aucoin?" The kid was holding his breath. "Next time, break the window. And watch where you're walking." Aucoin swallowed. Nodded.
"One more thing. You think someone's in a car getting a blow job? Turn on your lights and knock on the window. Not your job to make it easy for them. You can go. Thanks for the sub." He didn't offer to pay for it. He grabbed another bite, picked up the phone, and called Rita Callahan in the Attorney General's office.
"It's Joe Burgess, Portland PD, the Pleasant case. Can you get me a subpoena for Pleasant's cell phone records?"
"Sure. Anything else I can do for you, detective?" A voice like Brillo on a screen.
"I may need his office phones as well. Depending on their level of cooperation. I'm betting they scream patient confidentiality. Hell, I probably need his financial records, too. Bank, accountant, credit card. You name it. Guy had an expensive lifestyle and an ex-wife nagging him about support. I'd like to see the whole picture."
"Why don't I put them on the list, save us all some time."
"Sure. He had offices in Auburn, Damariscotta and Portland. Betty Ling was his appointments secretary. She can probably give you addresses. I've got his card here." He read her the info.
"I'm on it," she said, and disconnected. At least she wasn't big on small talk. Some AAGs, especially the new ones, were into trying to make connections. Fine in an ideal world, but this was the world of life gone wrong. He didn't have the time or the interest in making new connections. He liked the idea of disconnections. The night shift. Solitude.
He found the number and called Jen Kelly. A man's voice answered. Strong Maine accent. Easy, with a slight twang. In a longer sentence, the voice would have dropped to a mumble, the words being swallowed up. He asked for Jen.
"She's feedin' the baby right now. Can I take a message?"
"This is Detective Burgess, Portland Police. Jack Kelly?"
"Ayuh." Half-swallowed. He could see the man nodding. In Nam, as a tough 19-year-old, hearing Maine in another man's voice could bring tears to his eyes.
"Two things, Mr. Kelly. First, can you tell her that her husband's wallet is missing, probably stolen. She needs to notify his credit card companies and I need a list of the card numbers so I can see if anyone's using them. I know this is a difficult time for her, but the sooner we can get that, the better. If she calls when it's ready, I can have someone swing by and pick it up." He heard the scratch of pencil on paper. Waited to let Kelly get it down. He liked it that Jen Kelly's father was humble enough to need to write things down. Lots of people were too arrogant to bother and too scattered to remember later. "And the medical examiner's office will release the body this afternoon. She can arrange to have a funeral home collect him."
He gave his own number and the ME's number, and disconnected, a little disappointed at not having spoken to her. The memory of her face, the vulnerability of that twist-tie in her hair, the small bare breast, all lingered in his mind. Jen Kelly had a story and it looked to be a complicated one. He hoped it wouldn't lead where he thought it might. He took a few more bites of sandwich, but now that the edge was off his hunger, weariness and work had shoved it aside. Hercules might have cleaned the stable by diverting a river through it, but Burgess had found you missed a lot that way. Stand there and
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