What the Fly Saw

by Frankie Y. Bailey

  “Sounds like you should have a chat with the psychiatrist about what he knew and when. And this time make it clear to him that what he knows about Kevin Novak’s involvement in this sex club is not a matter of patient confidentiality. It’s an important piece of your murder investigation.”

  37

  McCabe told Burdett that it was urgent they speak to him. He said, grudgingly, that he would fit them in between patients. They drove back to Willett Street, and this time caught someone pulling out of a parking space a few doors down from Burdett’s building.

  His receptionist asked them to go into the waiting room off the foyer.

  Baxter nodded toward the large aquarium fitted into a recess of one wall. “The doc seems to be into fish.”

  “They probably soothe his patients,” McCabe said. “I tried raising tropical fish when I was a kid. Keeping the aquarium clean was a pain.”

  “But you kept it sparkling clean anyway?”

  “No, I didn’t. My mother had a friend who kept fish. She got him to take them. And she reminded me and my dad that she had objected to getting me fish in the first place.”

  “Sounds like my mom about the guinea pig I bought with my birthday money,” Baxter said. “But my guinea pig solved the problem by dying. My dad said he must have been lonely not having a guinea pig pal.”

  “Yeah, I read somewhere they’re social and do better in pairs.”

  The small talk they were making was serving to smooth over the brief ripple of tension in the lou’s office and the relative silence of their ride over. McCabe still hadn’t figured out what that little moment had been about. Maybe Baxter was getting tired of being the junior partner and following her lead. Or, maybe something else was going on. For now, they were both pretending that moment hadn’t happened.

  About fifteen minutes later, they heard Burdett’s receptionist saying good-bye to a patient. She came to the door of the waiting room and said Dr. Burdett could see them now.

  Burdett rose as they entered his office and invited them to sit down, but he was not happy to see them. His courtesy verged on frostiness. He sat back down behind his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  McCabe said, “We need your help, Dr. Burdett. We’ve learned Kevin Novak was involved in investigating a matter related to his friend, Bob Reeves. We need to know what he told you about that.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring—to what you’re referring.”

  And the Ivy-educated among us reveal their stress by grammatical stutters, McCabe thought. “Dr. Burdett, we do respect your ethical duty to preserve patient confidentiality. But your patient is dead. He was murdered. And we now—finally—have a lead. Your obligation now is to tell us anything that can help us find a killer before anyone else is hurt or killed. You do know that Luanne Woodward is in the hospital. That someone tried to kill her.”

  “I spoke to Sarah after your attempt to speak to Scott.”

  “Did you?” Baxter asked.

  “But what happened to the Woodward woman can’t have anything to do with Kevin’s death.”

  “How do you know?” Baxter asked.

  “I—how could they be connected?”

  McCabe said, “We need to know what Kevin told you, Dr. Burdett. We know Bob Reeves belonged to a cyberspace sex club. We want to know what Kevin told you about that.”

  “I—” Burdett shook his head. “This is—”

  “It is possible Kevin’s family could be in danger, Dr. Burdett. If he had learned something he shouldn’t have about the club members—”

  “That wasn’t it.” Burdett frowned. He laced his fingers together on his desk. “I’m going to tell you this because I’m not sure what’s going on. And I am concerned this might not have ended with Kevin’s death.”

  “What are we talking about, Doc?” Baxter asked.

  “There was a woman. A woman Kevin met in this club.”

  “Did something happen between them?” McCabe asked.

  “It began with a conversation between their avatars—or, rather, Bob’s avatar and this woman’s. Kevin hoped the woman would be a source of information about the club and its members. But he found himself attracted to her.”

  “To an avatar?” Baxter said.

  “Have you ever tried interacting in virtual space through an avatar, Detective Baxter?”

  “Sure, I used to play lots of games—sports.”

  “And did you feel any emotions when you were playing? Perhaps you felt a surge of energy or elation when you scored. Or anger at another player who fouled you.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Then think of the people interacting in a sex club also feeling emotions through their avatars. But the emotions are related to flirtation and seduction, to acting out their fantasies in an environment where such fantasies are acceptable.”

  “And that’s what happened with Kevin?” McCabe asked. “He got caught up in a fantasy involving this woman?”

  “Yes. Their avatars had a virtual encounter and Kevin wondered whether he had been unfaithful to his wife. He wondered if he had used his investigation as an excuse to engage in behavior he found repugnant.”

  “So he felt guilty about what had happened?”

  “Extremely,” Burdett responded.

  “Does that mean he had only one encounter with this female avatar?”

  “That was the only encounter he told me about between their avatars.”

  McCabe said, “From the way you phrased that, Dr. Burdett, I think my next question should be whether he met the woman behind the avatar.”

  Burdett cleared his throat.

  McCabe said, “We understand your scruples about this, Doctor.”

  “He … In our last session, a few days before he was killed, Kevin told me he needed to see this woman in the flesh so that he could break the hold of the fantasy he had about her.”

  “So it’s possible they did meet in the real world?”

  “Yes, it is possible. And I am concerned that somehow that might have led to Kevin’s death. Perhaps she tried to blackmail him, and he threatened to contact the police.”

  McCabe said, “We need to find this woman. Did Kevin tell you anything about her?”

  “About her avatar? Yes, he said her avatar was what he called a ‘biker girl’ in black leather. Her avatar name was Dakota.”

  “A biker girl,” Baxter said. “That’s some match for an upstanding family man.”

  “But one of the attractions of a virtual world, Detective Baxter, is that the participants can transcend the restrictions of their real-world identities. And, of course, in this case, Kevin had assumed the persona of Bob’s avatar.”

  “Was Bob’s avatar a biker boy?” Baxter asked.

  “According to Kevin, Bob’s avatar was a wealthy playboy.”

  McCabe said, “About Dakota—did Kevin tell you about their conversations? Since his goal initially was to learn about the club, did he manage to get any information from her? Anything that might help us find her?”

  “What would help you find her would be to gain entry to the club,” Burdett said. “Unfortunately, Kevin never told me the name of the club. I’m sure he didn’t tell Daniel, either. Daniel preferred not to know.”

  “Reverend Wyatt was sure Kevin hadn’t told you anything about Bob and the club,” McCabe said.

  Burdett smiled slightly. “But you doubted that.”

  “We thought a man in Kevin’s position would want someone to confide in. Someone he could trust to keep his secrets.”

  “Until the person he confided in revealed his secrets,” Burdett said.

  “In a good cause, Doc,” Baxter said. “This woman Kevin was playing games with could be a psycho.”

  “Yes, and the most important thing is to make sure Sarah and the children are safe. Kevin would want me to do whatever was needed to ensure that.”

  * * *

  “So we don’t know the name of this club. And we can’t get to it or get in
without the key code,” McCabe said.

  They were sitting in their vehicle, down the street from Burdett’s house and office.

  “Kev had the key, but it’s a good bet he didn’t leave it around the house where his wife could find it.”

  “It was probably on his ORB,” McCabe said. “But since it’s unlikely we’re going to find his ORB, that isn’t much help.”

  “We could try it from another direction,” Baxter said.

  “What?”

  “Our victim’s car, partner. If we can reconstruct his movements for the week before he was murdered, we might stumble over the identity of Dakota, the biker girl.”

  “Mike, that’s brilliant.”

  “You would have thought of it eventually.” Baxter grinned. “In another couple of weeks.”

  “Luckily, one of us is obsessed with cars.”

  “I still want to know about all those creepy photos of dead people with their cars in Luanne’s photo album.”

  “We have to remember to ask her about that. Let’s get back to the Comm Center and see if we can get Pete Sullivan to start a cam search before his shift ends.”

  “Surveillance cameras all over the city. Unless Kev was driving someone else’s car or walking, we should be able to figure out how he spent his week.”

  * * *

  Pete Sullivan, the day shift supervisor of the Communications Center, glanced up from his console. “All right, we’ve got Novak’s car with starting location at his home, one week before his death. We should have the readout for you first thing tomorrow morning.”

  McCabe said, “If his car was at a motel or someplace else where he might have been meeting someone, could you also give us the IDs on the cars parked nearby?”

  “Got it,” Pete said.

  “Thanks, Pete.”

  When McCabe got back to the bull pen, Yin and Pettigrew were at their desks adjacent to hers, but Baxter was nowhere in sight. He’d left her in the Comm Center finishing up with Pete. “Have you guys seen Baxter?”

  “He said to tell you he wasn’t feeling well,” Yin said. “Upset stomach. He was heading home.”

  “Probably the lingering effects of having the flu,” McCabe said. “We’re done for the day anyway. No reason for him to hang around.”

  She glanced over at the crime-scene photos Pettigrew and Yin were displaying on the wall. “The two of you putting in overtime?” she asked.

  Yin said, “We’re just wrapping up.”

  Pettigrew said, “So what’s this Baxter was telling us about an avatar?”

  “I don’t know,” McCabe replied. “What did he tell you?”

  And if he was sick, why did Baxter stop to tell them anything?

  “I asked how the funeral director case was going,” Yin said, “and Baxter said you were looking for a biker girl avatar named Dakota.” He started to tidy his desk, his daily ritual before leaving. “What does a biker girl avatar have to do with a murdered funeral director?”

  So much for discretion, Mike, McCabe thought. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” she said.

  “Good luck,” Yin said. “And see you tomorrow. I get brownie points if I make it home in time for a family dinner again tonight.”

  Pettigrew lingered, fiddling around at his desk, after Yin had gone. McCabe glanced over at him. “I thought you weren’t pulling overtime.”

  “Just hanging out,” Pettigrew said. “How about getting a decent cup of coffee?”

  McCabe smiled. “A decent cup of coffee costs more than hardworking cops should spend. Alcohol is cheaper.”

  “And I could use a drink. Want to go upscale and hit this wine bar I know?”

  “Sure. Let’s go.”

  The wine bar was out on Wolf Road. They took separate cars and parked near each other. Something that would be noted, McCabe thought, if they were suspects being followed on Pete Sullivan’s surveillance cameras. Lucky they were cops, not suspects.

  Pettigrew looked at the wine list and recommended a sauvignon blanc he thought McCabe would like. When she took her first sip, McCabe nodded. “This is really good.”

  The goat cheese he had ordered to accompany it was good, too. Pettigrew fascinated her. She never knew what he might know about.

  “So, Sean,” McCabe said, “what is the subject of our conversation?”

  He didn’t bother to deny that was the reason they were sitting in a wine bar instead of a bar full of cops. He had something he wanted to talk about. “This avatar thing? You ever had one?”

  “Back when I was in college. I liked to play Web games.”

  “Still playing those games?”

  “No, I guess I outgrew them. Or got too busy with real life.”

  Pettigrew took a long sip of his wine. “I have this avatar named Parker. After Charlie Parker, the jazz saxophonist.”

  “Wasn’t Parker black?”

  “Yeah. But my avatar’s white. And he doesn’t look much like either of us.”

  “Okay. So where do you and Parker, your avatar, hang out?”

  “A club. A private club for time travelers.”

  “Time travelers? Like on those old sci-fi movies where people used to step into portals and be transported?”

  “In the club, a hostess greets us and tells us about the available travel locales.”

  “Actually, it sounds like fun.” McCabe leaned forward. “So why are we talking about this?”

  “Last time I was Mr. Parker, I spent the evening in a speakeasy in Harlem in the 1920s. I ended the evening by taking a ride with some gangsters who were moving a shipment of bootleg gin.”

  “Not something a cop should do in real life. But during Prohibition, quite a few of them did, so I don’t suppose—”

  “Remember that day when we were talking about the frat boys who stopped traffic on Central Avenue? The ones who dressed up like space zombies and danced to Michael Jackson’s video?”

  “The ‘Thriller on Central Avenue’ incident. Sure, I remember. You were caught in the traffic jam.”

  “And close enough to see it all. I wanted to get out of my car and join in.”

  “Well, we both know you’re a music nut.”

  “I didn’t get out of my car because the uniforms showed up and broke the whole thing up. If they hadn’t come when they did … See, that’s the thing, Hannah. Being able to break the rules and get away with it when I’m Parker in cyberspace…” Pettigrew’s gaze held hers. “I think it might be fooling with my head in real life.”

  “Then,” McCabe said, “why not just stop?”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Pettigrew said.

  “You mean you’re addicted?”

  “I don’t know. I just keep getting drawn back to it.”

  “Maybe you need to find something else to do. Take up a hobby.”

  “Or take out a hit on my ex-wife?”

  “I didn’t realize you and Elaine … You hadn’t mentioned her lately.”

  “I’m trying not to think about her. But she keeps sending me tags and not showing up when I agree to meet her. She says she wants me back, but she’s playing head games.”

  “You look tired, Sean. Maybe you ought to see if you can get the lou to let you use a few days’ sick leave and get away. Up to the Adirondacks or down to the City. Leave your ORB and your goggles at home and get some R and R.”

  “Get away from both Elaine and my latent criminal tendencies, huh?”

  McCabe reached across the table and touched his hand. “You’ve got me a little worried about you now. I thought you were almost over Elaine.”

  “Knowing you ought to be over someone and being over them—”

  “True,” McCabe said. She reached for another cracker.

  Pettigrew leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “That sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

  McCabe shrugged and spread goat cheese on her cracker. “There was this guy.”

  “Tell all to Pettigrew, your father confessor.”
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  McCabe laughed. “I thought you were just my friend.”

  “That, too.” He smiled. “The good part is that we keep each other’s secrets.”

  “This really was a secret. And that, my friend, turned out to be my undoing.”

  “How and why?”

  “This guy, who shall remain nameless, grew up in the area. He went off to college, played football in the NFL until he was injured. And then he came home and started a program for kids—”

  “If we’re thinking of the same nameless guy,” Pettigrew said, “his gang intervention program has been controversial.”

  “That would be the guy.”

  Pettigrew nodded. “So this nameless guy and you—”

  “Met and liked each other. But I wanted to keep a low profile until we were sure that it was more than a fling. So I persuaded him it would be better to wait until we were sure we really were a couple.” McCabe took a sip of her wine. “Turns out that suited him just fine. As long as our relationship was a secret, there was nothing at all to keep him from pursuing other women on the side.”

  “And you found out.”

  “I happened to drop by his place one evening intending to surprise him. I was the one who got the surprise. She was blond and about twenty-two and her response to being caught with him in a bathtub full of bubbles was to giggle.”

  “Ouch.”

  “He pointed out we had never agreed that we were exclusive. When I told him to go to hell, he told me that his interest in me had been in part that he was hoping I would be a source of information about what was going on in the department. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been as talkative as he would have liked.”

  “Ouch, again.”

  McCabe raised her glass. “Double ouch. But it happened before I was in so deep that it would have really hurt.”

  “But it did hurt.”

  “Yes, it hurt, and I’m still bruised. But I’m not going to let him do that to my head.” McCabe held Pettigrew’s gaze. “And you need to get over this Elaine thing, Sean. Frankly, and pardon my bluntness, the woman’s—”

  Pettigrew held up his hands. “I know what she is.”

  “Then tell her to go away and stay away. And if you think you’re getting addicted to breaking the law in cyberspace, then throw away your goggles and go talk to someone. I know a psychiatrist who’s had recent experience with—”