by James Hayman
‘I’m cool,’ she said, not feeling cool at all. ‘You said Trevor knows. What about Harlan?’
‘I haven’t said anything to Harlan yet. In fact, I haven’t seen or heard from him in months. Never even stops by to say hello.’
Maggie’s fears for her father morphed into a need to defend her younger brother. ‘You don’t see much of me either.’
‘Yeah, but you live 200 miles away and we talk pretty regular. Harlan lives around the corner and never even bothers returning my calls. If he ever does decide to call, I may or may not tell him about the cancer. Haven’t decided yet. He’d probably just react like he did when your mother was dying. I still haven’t forgiven him for that.’
Maggie hadn’t either. Harlan Savage missed most of the last stages of his mother’s illness. Hadn’t bothered coming to see Joanne more than a couple of times in spite of his father’s entreaties. Once told Maggie he didn’t visit because he couldn’t bear to see his mother looking so sick. That may or may not have been the truth. Maggie wanted to think it was. But she was pretty sure it wasn’t.
After Joanne died, John, not being one to mince words, let Harlan know exactly what he thought about that behavior. Gave it to him straight between the eyes the day of the funeral. Harlan gave it right back. Maggie would never forget the sight of the two big men, both of whom she loved, confronting each other face to face yards away from the freshly dug grave of her mother. John and Harlan had barely spoken since. Maggie knew it hurt her father to practically disown his second son and youngest child. She also knew he was too stubborn to be the first to reach out. She’d have to find Harlan herself and tell him about his father’s illness. She hoped he’d care.
‘Emily know?’ Maggie asked.
‘No. Em’s not my doctor. Bill Brill is. I’ll tell her in good time. When she’s out of the hospital and the guy who tried to kill her is locked up or dead and buried.’
‘You mind if I tell her? She’ll want to know.’
‘I guess not. Not as long as she doesn’t go blabbing it to all and sundry.’
‘Em’s not a blab.’
Maggie and Savage spent the next twenty minutes talking about white cell counts and blood platelets and treatment protocols and whether the Cancer Center at Eastern Maine in Bangor was the right place or whether John should go down to Portland or even Boston for treatment. He told her Bangor was as far as he was willing to take it and he was happy with his docs there. ‘What we hope for is that the chemo works and this thing goes into remission until I drop dead from something else. Brill says the amount of smoking I do there’s a decent chance of that. So does the oncologist. In the meantime, I’m gonna try real hard to keep doing my job.’
‘If the chemo doesn’t work?’
‘The next step is more chemo. Maybe radiation. After that it’ll be time for me to be calling on either you or Trev and asking if I can borrow some stem cells from your bone marrow, whichever one of you turns out to be a better match for a transplant. At that point that’s the best shot for a cure.’
‘What if Harlan’s the best match?’
John Savage didn’t answer. Just lit up another Camel, took a long drag and again stared out into the street. A few cars went by. A dog walker Maggie didn’t recognize waved at the two of them from the sidewalk. ‘Beautiful day,’ the woman called up. ‘That your daughter?’
‘Sure is,’ Savage called back. ‘Maggie, meet Alice Flannery. Alice bought the Carter house after Jake died last year.’
The Carter house was across the street and four doors down.
‘Nice to meet you, Maggie,’ Alice Flannery said. ‘I’d come up and say hello,’ the woman said. ‘But Rufus needs to finish his business.’ As if to emphasize the point the dog, a mix of German Shepherd and something else not clearly discernible, lifted his leg against the white picket fence that surrounded the Savage yard.
Maggie smiled and called out, ‘Nice to meet you too, Ms Flannery.’
Maggie watched Alice Flannery and Rufus reenter what she’d always think of as the Carter house. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said.
‘Which question?’
‘What if Harlan’s the best match?’
‘Guess I’d just have to go for second best.’ Savage blew a long stream of smoke into the air. ‘It’s hard for a man to reject his own son,’ he finally said. ‘But I don’t think I’d want to ask Harlan for much of anything these days and, if I did, I seriously doubt he’d be willing to give it to me.’
‘Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Maggie looked at her father’s long, furrowed face, set hard as stone, staring out into the afternoon. ‘You can’t imagine how sad it makes me to hear you say that.’
Her father got up and went into the house.
Maggie watched him go, then picked up the files Carroll had sent over and followed him in. She climbed up to her old bedroom, lay down on the familiar down comforter and fell, more or less instantly, into a deep sleep. She was awakened three hours later by the sound of her cell phone.
Carroll calling from the road. He was on his way back from briefing his boss, Tom Mayhew, and the head of the Maine State Police, Ed Matthews, in Augusta and wanted an update on what she’d learned in Eastport. Instead of discussing it over the phone he suggested drinks and dinner. ‘You know a place called 44° North in Milbridge?’
‘I know it.’
‘Good. Can you meet there at, say, 7:30?’
19
7:36 P.M., Saturday, August 22, 2009
Milbridge, Maine
Maggie spotted Carroll in an end booth when she walked through the doors of 44° North a few minutes late. No question about it, he was a good-looking guy. Dark, curly hair. Chiseled features. Except for the light blue of his eyes, he looked a lot like Dominic West, the actor who played Jimmy McNulty on The Wire, which, until it went off the air last year, was about the only cop show Maggie ever watched and that was mostly because she liked watching McNulty.
She headed back to the booth and Carroll rose to greet her. He was neatly dressed in a black cotton pullover and jeans. No jacket. If he was carrying a weapon it was out of sight. Most likely an ankle holster.
A college-age waiter told her his name was Damian and asked if she wanted anything to drink.
‘What are you having?’ she asked Carroll.
‘Scotch.’
She wrinkled her nose. She checked the list of draft beers. ‘I’ll have a Drop Dead Red.’
‘Twelve, sixteen or twenty-two ounces?’
‘Well, let’s start at twelve and we’ll take it from there.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Ma’am? Jesus, first the trooper and now this guy. When had twenty-somethings started calling her ma’am? She sure as hell didn’t feel like a ma’am.
The beer came and she took a long pull of the rich amber brew, licked the foam off her lip. Then leaned back and exhaled.
Carroll watched. And smiled.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an attractive woman look happier chugging a large glass of beer.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Definitely a compliment.’
‘Okay, then. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. You’ve eaten here before?’
‘A few times. Usually on my way up or back to visit my parents. Little out of the way otherwise.’
‘Food’s basic but pretty good. Plus I like it ’cause it’s not a cop bar. Hate running into people who work for me when I’m having dinner.’
‘Would it matter if you did?’ Maggie asked. She wondered if Carroll might be thinking of this dinner more as a first date than as a business meeting. Studying his face, she found herself kind of hoping he did.
Carroll shook his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t matter. Not really. But if someone like Ganzer saw us eating together, he’d do whatever he could to start the rumor mill
going.’
Maggie shrugged and changed the subject. She didn’t want to talk about Ganzer. ‘How was your meeting with the brass?’
‘Filled them in on what we know so far. Which, unfortunately, isn’t all that much.’
‘You tell them about me working on the case?’
‘Yes. I said I was using you as a special investigator because of your local expertise.’
‘And?’
‘They nodded and said fine. They tend to give me a long leash.’ Carroll changed the subject. ‘How long since you lived in Machias?’
‘Full time? Not since I went away to college. Nineteen ninety-one.’
‘College college or the Criminal Justice Academy?’
‘College college. I spent four years at Orono getting a BA before going to the Academy. But I always knew I wanted law enforcement. It’s kind of the family business.’
‘Certainly is. Your father’s an institution around here.’
‘Yeah, I know. World’s longest-serving sheriff.’
‘One of the best as well.’
‘I agree but then I’m prejudiced. Anyway, my plan was to get my BA first and then maybe join up with the Fibbies.’
‘FBI huh? What happened to the plan?’
‘I decided I’d rather stay in Maine instead of going off to DC or Quantico or to whatever field office they might decide to send me to. So I applied for a job with the Portland PD.’
‘Why Portland? Why not us?’
‘Well, for one thing I like Portland. I wanted to live there. For another I wanted to work for the best law enforcement agency in the state.’
Sean cocked his head questioningly and raised one eyebrow. Maggie smiled at the reaction. ‘No offense intended, sergeant, but I think we’re way better than you guys.’
Carroll smiled back. ‘An arguable point but let’s not go there.’
He tapped the third finger of her left hand. ‘No ring. Never married?’
Okay, she thought, first physical contact. First genuinely personal question. She decided to let it pass. ‘Not yet.’
‘That’s by choice I assume. You’re an attractive woman. Must’ve had lots of guys lining up.’
This guy’s good, Maggie thought. ‘Guess I just haven’t found the right one yet. I assume you’re not married either.’
‘Not any more.’
‘Divorced?’
‘No. Widowed. My wife passed away.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. Some kind of illness?’
‘Liz died in a fire. Our house burned to the ground in the middle of the night. I was out working a stakeout and she was home alone. Asleep. I like to think she died of smoke inhalation before the flames got to her, but maybe that’s too much to hope for.’
This time it was Maggie who did the touching. She reached across the table and put her hand on his. ‘Sean, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. That’s a terrible story,’ she said before withdrawing it.
‘Worst part,’ Carroll said softly, ‘it wasn’t an accident. Forensic guys found signs an accelerant had been used.’
‘She was murdered?’
‘Yes. It’s not something I like talking about.’
‘Then don’t. It’s okay.’
‘No. I really have to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Liz’s death may be related to this investigation. If you’re going to be working on it there are some things you ought to know. I take it you haven’t read the case files yet.’
‘No. Not yet.’
He paused a minute. Maggie waited.
‘The theory is the fire was started by someone out to get one or maybe both of us. But there was never much question the primary target was Liz. She was a cop as well. State police. That’s where we met. Last couple of years she worked as liaison with Maine DEA. At the time of her murder she was working undercover on the Canadian Oxycontin theft.’
‘Are you saying whoever killed Stoddard is the same person who killed your wife?’
‘I can’t prove it yet, but yes, I’m pretty sure of it. Blakemore as well. Same day as the fire, Liz told me she thought she was closing in on someone involved in the Saint John theft. But she wouldn’t tell me who. Or anything else about it. Said the information was too preliminary. There was nothing she could prove. Anyway, I think the bad guy must have known Liz was getting close and decided to take her out before she could screw up his operation.’
‘But you never found out who she was targeting?’
‘Unfortunately not. The old need to know principle. She didn’t even tell Mayhew or the people she was directly working with. One of whom was Emmett Ganzer.’
‘That’s odd. Why not?’
‘I don’t know. I can only guess she was trying to tie up some loose ends before going public but …’ Carroll shrugged and shook his head. ‘I suppose if I’d pressed the point that morning, she might have told me and then maybe we could have gotten the guy. And maybe Liz would be alive today. Blakemore and Tiff Stoddard too.
‘Anyway, when Liz was killed I lobbied Mayhew to put me in charge of the case. It was the only time he’s ever said no to me. I asked why. “Conflict of interest,” he said. “You’re too close to the victim to keep your objectivity. Our work has to be about justice. Not vengeance.” ’
‘Pretty much what you said to me this morning.’
‘It’s the party line. But I thought it was bullshit at the time and I still do. In the interest of full disclosure, I ought to tell you that my marriage wasn’t in great shape at the time Liz was killed. We’d discussed divorce and had she lived we probably would have separated. Still, she’d been my wife for five years and it angered me that my boss wouldn’t even let me go after the scumbag who burned her alive.’
It occurred to Maggie that one reason Mayhew might not have wanted Carroll on the case was that, as the victim’s husband, he had to be considered a suspect. Husbands always are. Unless, of course, he had a solid alibi. Unlikely he’d have been on a stakeout alone, so he probably did.
‘My feelings about that,’ he continued, ‘are the main reason I decided to let you work on this one. You wanted to go after the guy who tried to kill your friend. I understood that.’
‘I also told you I’d work the case even if you told me not to.’
‘Yes, you did. It shames me I didn’t say the same thing to Mayhew. I left the investigation to other people and they never got the guy. Never even got close.’
‘Maybe you wouldn’t have either.’
‘Maybe not. Whoever killed Liz and the others is clever. He covers his tracks well. But I’m a better cop than the guys who investigated it and would have felt a whole lot better if I’d at least tried. Anyway, just a couple of days after Liz’s death, Blakemore was killed. Canadian Oxycontin again. And once again, no arrests. Six months go by. Then last night, I heard about Stoddard’s murder and the Canadian drugs turning up in Kaplan’s pocket. I was convinced it was the same guy. So I called Mayhew in the middle of the night and told him this time, no bullshit. I was assigning myself to run things and that if he didn’t like it he could take my badge and, if you’ll pardon my French, stick it where the sun don’t shine. So, anyway, here I am.’
‘Yes. And here I am,’ said Maggie.
‘Between you and me, I’m glad you are.’
Maggie smiled. ‘So am I.’
Damian brought the Scotch and asked if they were ready to order.
Maggie hadn’t even glanced at the menu. ‘You go first if you know what you want. I haven’t decided.’
‘I’ll just have the house salad. Balsamic vinaigrette. And the grilled salmon. No butter.’
‘Watching your figure?’ Maggie teased.
‘Something like that.’
‘Well, good for you. As for myself, I’ll have half a rack of the barbequed pork ribs. Extra sauce, sweet potato fries and a side of coleslaw.’
She noticed the amused expression on Carroll’s face.
‘I’m the original junk food junkie
,’ she explained, handing the menu back to Damian. ‘I’ll switch to the salmon regime if I ever start putting on weight. So far …’ She held up both hands, palms out in a go figure kind of gesture ‘… not a problem.’
‘I’m jealous. Tell you what. Why don’t we cancel the salmon, get a whole rack of ribs instead of half and I’ll split them with you. That is, if you don’t mind.’
‘No, that’s fine,’ she said.
‘You got it,’ said Damian.
‘Okay, now, since this is supposed to be a business meal, let’s talk business. Fill me in on your day.’
‘Well, for starters, Emily Kaplan’s awake and talking.’
‘Really?’ said Carroll. ‘That’s good news.’
‘Yes, I went down there after leaving Eastport and it looks like she’s going to make a full and fast recovery.’
‘Trooper watching her room?’
‘Yes. Thanks for making that happen.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Anyway, Em has no memory at all of the car hitting her. Or of the driver. What they call retrograde amnesia. Her memory may come back. It may not. It probably doesn’t matter. Car was coming straight at her in the dark. Traveling fast. Lights shining in her eyes. Maybe she could ID the guy or possibly the car but I doubt it. And even if she could I doubt a prosecutor would be able to sell it in court. I’m afraid the bad guy’s got nothing to worry about from Emily.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. Tiff Stoddard may have been pregnant.’
‘Really?’ Carroll’s face registered surprise.
‘Terri will know as soon as she does the autopsy. She’s giving it top priority so if there is a baby in there we ought to have preliminary fetal DNA in a few days.’
Carroll sat pensive for a minute or two. Maggie supposed he was thinking about the implications of a pregnancy on their handling of the case. Finally, he looked back. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll check the reads with CODIS. See if we can find a match. Now tell me about your trip to Eastport.’