The Angel of Knowlton Park Read Free Page A

and made the promise he'd made to so many victims over the years. I will find the one who did this to you, Timmy Watts, and I will get you justice.

 
     
     
    Chapter 2

     
    Perry would have seen his share of ugliness as a street cop, but since coming to CID he'd only handled one child, a crib death. Now, seeing Perry's stark white face, the younger cop's throat working as he fought nausea, Burgess remembered his own first time with a murdered child. Perry needed to get away for a minute, get his balance back, and remember why he was here.
    He dropped a hand on Perry's shoulder. "Let's walk back down and get Vince," he said. "He's gonna run this thing, he needs to see this. And let's see if we can get some screens up. I don't want those cameras getting a piece of this. This is not some goddamned entertainment..."
    Perry tapped his radio. Sweat gleamed on his shaved head, on his drawn face. "I can call..." His voice choked. "Jesus, Joe. He's so small..."
    "Walk with me. Wink and Rudy gotta shoot this thing, anyway, before we can do anything more."
    "Don't be long, gentlemen," Lee told their departing backs.
    Perry tried for a grin but his heart wasn't in it. "Thought you'd be running this, Joe."
    "Vince'll run it because it's a kid and that'll have the whole city boiling over, which, in this heat, it's primed to do anyway. What you wanna hope is this doesn't bring Captain Cote back." He felt like he was babbling but wanted to keep talking until he got Perry well away and some of that wide-eyed horror faded. Burgess knew his own reputation for meanness, for being impatient with cops who wimped out. He also knew the damage the ugly stuff they saw could do. Knew you had to look after your guys or you'd lose 'em to burnout. Last thing he wanted was for Stan to decide he'd be happier in another unit.
    "Jeez, Joe. Cote wouldn't... would he?"
    Burgess shrugged. Cote, next up the food chain from Melia, was an asshole. A captain who'd forgotten he'd ever been a cop. When Cote was away, it was like a weight was lifted off the building. Night the guy'd left for vacation, they'd circled up at their favorite bar and gotten seriously drunk to celebrate. "Better light some candles, Stan. Media's gonna be all over this, and that starfucking prick loves the media."
    He hobbled down the hill, feeling every year and excess pound, the dry grass under his feet crackling like corn flakes. The city was waking up, news vans circling the park like sharks, distant traffic noises clamorous in the heavy air. Burgess liked night, the peace and quiet and emptiness of it. Not a steamy morning like this, already crowded with goddamned rubbernecked gawkers, gathering like a flock of vultures to gnaw on Timmy Watts.
    He stepped down hard on his anger. He could be angry later. Right now, he needed to be cool-headed and clear-eyed. Not miss a goddamned thing. Timmy deserved no less.
    Vince Melia was standing in the shade about ten feet inside the yellow line, talking on the phone. He finished with some abrupt words Burgess couldn't make out and snapped the phone shut. Melia wore an unrumpled summer-weight suit in a subtle blue plaid. Sweat had darkened saddles under his arms and curled his short hair tightly against his skull. His glasses were slipping down his nose. He nodded when he saw them coming, then reached in his pocket and held out an ace bandage.
    "We got the kid unwrapped," Burgess said. "You better come look. And get some screens up. It's pretty damned ugly." He opened the cooler and got out a bottle of water. "I'm going to wrap up this knee. Then let's finish this thing."
    He swallowed. "Lying up there with those white sheets, Vince, the kid looks like an angel. You tell me. Who would practically gut an angel?"
    He swallowed half the water and poured the rest over his head. To hell with glamour. At the best of times, he wasn't much to write home about. Then he climbed in the van, undid his pants, and sat down to wrap his knee. It was like peeing