Public Secrets Part 55

"Lieutenant. It's Bester."

"What the f.u.c.k do you want?" He knew he was safe using what Marge called

the F word since his wife had her earplugs in.

"Sorry to wake you up, but we've got an incident. You know McAvoy,

Brian McAvoy, the singer?"

"McAvoy?" He scrubbed his hand over his face, fighting to wake up.

"Devastation. The rock group."

"Yeah, yeah. Right." He wasn't much on rock himself-unless it was

Preslay or the Everly Brothers. "What happened? Some kids turn up the

music too loud and cook their brains?"

"Somebody killed his little boy. Looks like it might have been a

bungled kidnapping."

"Ah, s.h.i.+t." Awake now, Lou switched on the light. "Give me the

address."

The light woke Marge. She glanced over, saw Lou sitting naked on the

side of the bed and scrawling on a pad. Without complaint, she got up,

tucked her arms into her cotton robe, and went down to make him coffee.

LOU FOUND BRAN at the hospital. He wasn't certain what he'd been

expecting. He'd seen Brian a few times, in newspapers, or television,

when the singer had spoken out against the war. A peacenik they called

him. Lou didn't think too much of the bunch that went around getting

stoned and growing their hair a.s.s-long and pa.s.sing out flowers on street

corners. But he wasn't sure he thought much of the war, either. He'd

lost a brother in Korea, and his sister's boy had left for Vietnam three

months before.

But it wasn't McAvoy's politics, or his hairstyle, that concerned Lou

now.

He paused, studying Brian, who was sprawled on a flower-patterned chair.

Looked younger in person, Lou decided. Young, a little too

thin, and oddly pretty for a man. Brian had that dazed, dream-struck

look that came with shock. There were others in the room, and smoke

billowed up from a number of ashtrays.

Mechanically Brian put a cigarette to his lips, drew in, set it down

again, blew out.

"Mr. McAvoy."

Repeating the routine with the cigarette, Brian glanced up. He saw a

tall, leanly built man with dark hair carefully combed back from a long,

sleepy face. He wore a suit, a gray one, and a conservative tie of

nearly the same shade against a crisp white s.h.i.+rt. His black shoes were

glossy, his nails neatly trimmed, and there was a slight nick on his

chin where he'd cut himself shaving.

Odd the things you notice, Brian thought as he pulled on the cigarette

again.

"Yes."

"I'm Lieutenant Kesselring." He took out his s.h.i.+eld, but Brian continued

to look at his face, not the ID. "I need to ask you some questions."

"Can't this wait, Lieutenant?" Pete Page took a long, hard look at the

identification. "Mr. McAvoy's not in any shape to deal with this now."

"It would help us all if we got the preliminaries over with." Lou sat.

After replacing his badge, he spread his hands on his knees. "I'm