The Cutting mm-1

by James Hayman

  ‘Your ex-wife, if you prefer.’ She took the bag of groceries and went to the kitchen. ‘You know?’ she called out. ‘Cassandra? The drop-dead gorgeous one in the picture Casey showed me.’ Kyra stuck the food in the freezer, took out a cut crystal highball glass, and poured him three fingers of Scotch. She put the bottle back, then paused, took it out again, and poured herself a short one, diluting it with ice and a little water.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘that ex-wife. Did she say what she wanted?’

  ‘She’s flying up here. She wants to see Casey.’

  He stood quietly for a moment, absorbing the information. ‘When?’

  ‘The end of the week.’

  ‘Does Casey know?’

  ‘Yes. She took the call. They talked for a couple of minutes.’ Kyra handed him his drink, sat down on the couch, and sipped her own. He’d never seen her drink hard liquor before.

  ‘How did she react?’ he asked.

  ‘From what I could hear on this end, she pretty much blew Sandy off. Said she didn’t want to see her. Sounded cool. Hung up after a minute or two. I asked her who it was on the phone. She told me.’

  ‘She okay?’

  ‘I don’t know. Abandonment isn’t easy to come to terms with.’

  McCabe sat on the broad window seat and gazed down at a million lights shining across the bulk of an enormous white cruise ship as it pulled out of Portland harbor. The Princess something. Kyra flipped off her sandals and stretched her legs out on the couch. She looked very much at home.

  ‘Where’s Casey now?’ he asked.

  ‘I gave her some dinner and drove her to Sarah Palfrey’s house. Presumably to watch TV and do some homework. Aside from anything else, that gives you a chance to sort out how you feel before you discuss it with her.’

  McCabe was hit by a sudden surge of anger. ‘I know exactly how I feel,’ he said. ‘Sandy’s got no right to suddenly drop back into Casey’s life. Not after three years of silence.’

  ‘You’ve never told me much about your relationship with Sandy.’

  ‘You never asked.’

  ‘I’m asking now.’

  McCabe sighed. The anger ebbed. He didn’t like talking about his failed first marriage, but maybe it would help — and maybe Kyra did have a right to know. He sucked in a breath, held it for a minute, let it out slowly, and then began to talk.

  ‘My relationship with Sandy was different in just about every way from what we have between us. It was built on lust, not love. That was true at the beginning, even truer at the end. For the last few years there was nothing between Sandy and me but sex. That never stopped. She could always turn me on, and she loved proving it. My emotional life focused on Casey — and, I guess, on my job. You know how I am. When I get involved in a case I can’t just turn it on and off. It consumes me. Sandy couldn’t deal with that. She hated it.’

  McCabe swirled the Scotch in the Waterford glass. A wedding present from his sister Fran. One of a set of four. Sandy had taken two to her new life. He’d broken one in the move to Portland. This was the last.

  Kyra watched him as he finished the drink. ‘Didn’t you love her in the beginning?’

  ‘I thought I did. Unfortunately, Sandy didn’t have much use for my love. She loved herself more than enough for both of us. In the end, any feelings I might have had for her withered away.’

  ‘Why didn’t you split earlier? File for divorce?’

  ‘I thought about it.’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Fear of losing Casey. In most divorce proceedings the mother gets custody. The father gets to visit. I wasn’t about to let that happen. I was totally in love with my daughter from the instant she was born, and I wanted her with me.’ McCabe rose from the window seat and went to the kitchen to pour himself another Scotch. He held up the bottle. ‘You want another?’

  ‘Not for me. I’m not sure you should have one either.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said. He poured the Scotch and returned to the window. ‘In the end, Sandy solved the problem for me. She started screwing around with some rich banker. Not her first affair, by the way. Just the first who asked her to marry him. She walked out and never looked back.’

  ‘Then you got Casey. The perfect solution, right?’

  ‘Not quite perfect. I assumed at the time that Sandy would want to see her daughter occasionally. Y’know, one day a week, one weekend a month, alternate school vacations, whatever.’

  ‘She didn’t?’

  ‘No. She didn’t. She hardly even bothered to call. She was always too busy shopping. Or getting a pedicure. Or whatever the hell else it is that Sandy does with her time. Casey was ten years old and in an emotionally fragile place, and here was her own mother telling her she didn’t care enough to take a cab across town or even pick up the phone to talk to her. I found that unforgivable at the time. I always will.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to Sandy about it?’

  ‘I tried. Maybe not hard enough, but I did try. Unfortunately, every conversation with Sandy ultimately ended up being about Sandy. How busy her new life was. How difficult it was adjusting to a new husband. Especially one who doesn’t want children. How she wasn’t sure she was ready emotionally to be a mother again. Sandy just went on and on. I can repeat each of those conversations verbatim. Each time it would get to a point where I couldn’t listen anymore and I’d slam down the phone in a rage. It would take me weeks to work up the energy to try again.’

  ‘There’s been no contact at all in three years?’

  ‘No. Just some expensive Christmas and birthday presents. The last one didn’t even come with a card. It just arrived. We figured it was from Sandy because we didn’t know anyone else who’d send her something from Tiffany’s.’ There was an edge in his voice again, the anger coming back like an old familiar friend.

  McCabe walked to the kitchen to pour himself another Scotch. Then he decided not to. The last thing Casey needed if she wanted to talk about any of this was for him to be incoherent. He rinsed out the Waterford glass and put it on a high shelf where it wouldn’t get accidentally bashed. Then he sat down again by the window.

  ‘You know, when the job came up in Portland, I told people — myself included — living in a smaller city would be healthier for Casey. The job would be less demanding. I could spend more time being a father. It was all true, but I was also using distance to help Casey rationalize Sandy’s neglect. I figured being three hundred and fifty miles away might soften the impact of having a mother who didn’t care enough to ever find out how she was doing.’

  ‘Do you think it worked?’

  ‘Not really. When Casey showed me Sandy’s picture this morning, it was obvious having a mother was something she’s been thinking about. I asked her if she wanted to see Sandy again. She said no. Then she asked me if we were getting married. You and me. She wanted to know if that would make you her mother.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘That we might be someday, but we weren’t there yet.’

  ‘That was the right answer.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. For now, anyway. Let me ask you something else. You might find this hurtful, and you can always tell me to shut up and mind my own business — but since you’re talking about us getting married, I guess it is my business. You just said moving away from Sandy, moving to Portland, was all for Casey’s benefit. Wasn’t it, at least a little, for yours as well?’

  He wasn’t sure where this was going. ‘How so?’

  ‘After the divorce, wasn’t there some small part of you that rejoiced? Some small part that shouted, “Whoopee! I get the prize. I get to keep this beautiful little girl and Sandy doesn’t. I get all of Casey’s love and Sandy doesn’t get any”? By packing up and moving six hours away, weren’t you trying to make sure it stayed that way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not.’ McCabe spoke quietly. ‘Am I glad Casey’s living with m
e and not with Sandy? Absolutely, but if you’re asking if I’m happy my thirteen-year-old daughter feels abandoned by her own mother and, as a result, more dependent on me, the answer is no. No way. Not then. Not now. Not ever.’

  ‘Okay, if that’s true and the answer really is no, shouldn’t you welcome Sandy’s efforts to reconnect? Seems to me Casey’s got a right to get to know her mother. You said yourself that might have been what she was asking to do when she showed you the picture. What an amazing coincidence it is that Sandy calls up the very same day. I realize, if they do see each other, it won’t make up for what’s already happened, but don’t you think it might be a start?’

  McCabe stared into Kyra’s eyes and said nothing. Maybe she was right. She probably was. Yet, for now, there was still too much anger, too much hurt for him to admit it.

  Finally Kyra stood up. ‘Okay. I’m going back to my own place now. Sarah’s mother said she’d bring Casey home. When she gets here, try not to react purely emotionally. Think hard about what you say about Sandy and how Casey should react to the idea of seeing her again. Think how it will affect your relationship with your daughter. Not just now but for a really long time.’ She leaned down and kissed McCabe on the lips. He barely noticed. Then she left.

  McCabe dialed Sandy’s number in New York. She picked up on the second ring. He was a little surprised she was home on a Saturday night. ‘Hello, McCabe,’ she said. ‘I thought I might be hearing from you.’ She spoke in that smooth, throaty growl he knew so well and once found irresistible. Like a young Lauren Bacall leaning against the door in To Have and Have Not. ‘You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips together and blow.’

  ‘How are you, Sandy?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you, and yourself?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better. Thank you for asking.’

  ‘What can I do for you, McCabe? I mean, now that we’ve established that we’re both feeling fine. We are feeling fine, aren’t we?’

  ‘Not entirely. I don’t think you should come up to Portland. At least not now. Casey doesn’t want to see you, and neither do I. Aside from anything else, I’m in the middle of a major murder case.’

  ‘I know. It even made the New York papers. Banner headlines in the News and Post. MURDER IN MAINE. TEENAGED GIRL RAPED AND MUTILATED. Quite Gothic. Your boss certainly has a way with words. I’m not sure Casey wouldn’t be safer here in Manhattan. All we have is your common garden-variety crazies.’

  ‘As I said, Casey doesn’t want to see you.’

  ‘Did she tell you that?’

  ‘She did, in fact. Even before you called.’

  ‘Well, we may have a problem with that, McCabe. In case you’ve forgotten, I am Casey’s mother, and I intend spending some time with my daughter before any more time passes.’

  ‘Your daughter? You have the brass to actually call her that after walking out because Daddy Big-Bucks didn’t want to “raise other people’s children.” That was the phrase, wasn’t it, Sandy? “Raise other people’s children.” You know me. I never forget a phrase — or anything else, for that matter.’

  ‘Let’s not let this get nasty, McCabe. As Casey’s mother I have a perfect right to see her and spend time with her. I don’t want to have to go to court to protect that right, but I will, and thanks to Peter — or Daddy Big-Bucks, as you so charmingly call him — I can afford the best lawyers in the business. So please let Casey know, if you don’t mind terribly, that I’ll be coming up Friday and taking her down to Boston for the weekend. She and I have a lot of catching up to do.’

  McCabe hung up the phone, poured himself another Scotch, then poured it down the sink. He reached for the phone again and called Bobby.

  Estelle answered. ‘McCabe residence.’ He should have been prepared for Estelle’s shrill greeting. She’d worked for McCabe’s brother for ten years. Somehow he never was.

  ‘Hi, Estelle.’

  ‘Michael, darling, how are you?’ Her piercing tones assaulted his eardrums.

  ‘I’m doing okay. How are you?’

  ‘Aside from my gallbladder, not bad.’

  McCabe decided not to ask about her gallbladder. ‘Is Bobby there?’

  ‘I’ll see if he can talk.’ Bobby was a hotshot personal injury lawyer and McCabe’s older brother. His only brother since Tommy had been killed.

  ‘What’s up, Mike?’ Bobby always got right to the point. There was a moment of silence.

  ‘Sandy called.’

  ‘Okay, so Sandy called.’

  ‘She wants to come up to Portland and see Casey.’

  ‘A fairly normal desire for a child’s mother. I’m surprised she hasn’t called earlier.’

  ‘I just want to know if there’s any way I can stop her.’ Bobby didn’t do divorce work, but he was tough and smart and usually knew the right answers.

  ‘Stop her? I don’t think so. At least not legally. We’re talking visitation here. Not custody. Am I right?’

  Jesus. Custody. McCabe hadn’t even considered that possibility. ‘Custody hasn’t come up,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it seems to me no judge in his right mind would try to keep a mother from seeing her child. What did the divorce decree say about Sandy’s rights to see Casey?’

  ‘Not a lot. The phrase was “reasonable contact on reasonable notice.” But you’ve got to remember Sandy never contested the divorce. It was just something the judge felt ought to be in there.’

  ‘Okay, so now, after three years, your ex-wife wants to reconnect with your daughter. I don’t necessarily see that as bad for Casey. Neither will any family court judge. It might be different if she posed some kind of physical threat to Casey.’

  ‘Emotional threats don’t count?’

  ‘Maybe if the mother was provably psychotic, but even there you probably have to establish a reasonable likelihood of physical harm.’

  ‘Provably self-centered, uncaring, and narcissistic just doesn’t cut it, huh?’

  ‘’Fraid not. A weekend visit is “reasonable contact,” and she’s giving you “reasonable notice.” If I were you, I’d just take it as a positive sign that Sandy wants to see Casey and leave it at that. I think it’ll be good for Casey to get to know her mother, warts and all.’

  ‘What if she does decide to seek custody?’

  ‘Cross that bridge when you get to it.’

  ‘Maybe I should just kneecap the bitch.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, asshole. Anybody hears a gunslinger like you even whisper threats like that and you not only lose Casey, you could also lose your job. By the way, speaking of mothers, Thanksgiving’s at my house this year. Mom’s getting too old to do all that work. I’m assuming you and Casey will be there. You can bring your girlfriend if you want. What’s her name again?’

  ‘Kyra. Her name is Kyra. Try to remember it. Anyway, we’ll try to get there. How’s Mom?’

  ‘Fragile. Getting a little forgetful. I keep thinking about Aunt Joy’s Alzheimer’s and wonder if it’s in our genes. Weird in your case. Like, what do you get when you cross a photographic memory with an Alzheimer’s victim?’

  ‘Beats me.’

  ‘I don’t know. How about somebody who never forgets all the things they can’t remember? Forget it. Not funny. Anyway, you’re coming?’

  ‘Assuming I’m not up to my ass in dead teenagers.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that. Scumbag actually cut her heart out?’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ. You heard that on the news?’

  ‘Yep. Your boss is giving interviews. “We will leave no stone unturned to find the killer or killers.”’ Bobby was doing a passable job of mimicking Shockley’s public persona. ‘Sonofabitch ought to be on Mount Rushmore. I take it you were trying to keep the heart thing quiet.’

  ‘Trying to. Though I don’t know if it really matters.’

  ‘Anyway, we have people for dinner. Give my love to Casey and to, uh… and to, uh… what did you say your girlfriend’s name was?’

&
nbsp; ‘Good-bye, you asshole.’

  11

  Sunday. 7:30 A.M.

  Maggie stopped by McCabe’s desk. She was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and black high-top Keds, accessorized with a black holster and sidearm. There were circles under her eyes.

  ‘You alright?’ asked McCabe.

  ‘I was out late last night. Didn’t get much sleep.’

  ‘New boyfriend?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She paused. ‘Maybe.’ Another pause. ‘Could be.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s a nice guy — but it was only our second date.’

  ‘How’s he feel about dating a woman who wears a gun?’

  ‘Apparently fine,’ she said. ‘Unlike Ryan, I think he’s secure enough to handle it. Anyway, I got a call from Terri Mirabito.’

  McCabe waited.

  ‘She won’t have the final tox report for a while yet, but the initial screening indicates no trace of any anesthetic drugs in Katie’s body. Or any other drugs, for that matter. Just a little alcohol. If that holds up, and Terri thinks it will, Katie was fully conscious and her heart was beating when our freaky friend started cutting her up.’

  McCabe winced. ‘Shit,’ he said.

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’

  ‘How much alcohol?’

  ‘Not much. Apparently it was part of her last supper. He treated her to beluga caviar and champagne just before killing her. They found traces of both in her stomach.’

  ‘A little farewell party?’

  ‘I guess. Also, they’re pretty sure he had sex with her multiple times both front and rear.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing critical. We’ll have to ask Terri when she’s less pissed off. Right now she’s very pissed off.’

  He imagined Katie, battered and sexually abused, being forced to eat caviar and champagne as a prelude to her own death. It was hard not to share Terri’s anger. ‘I want to call a cop in Orlando,’ he told Maggie. ‘It’s that thing I mentioned in the car. I’ll see you in the conference room in about fifteen minutes.’ McCabe had scheduled a meeting of the detectives involved in the two cases.

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  He called the Orlando, Florida, police department as soon as Maggie left.