The Cutting mm-1

by James Hayman

  ‘They’re supposed to let us know they’re there. Sometimes they don’t. Y’know, now that you mention it, one day after practice, the same week she disappeared, I saw Katie talking to some guy I didn’t recognize.’

  ‘What about him in particular?’

  ‘Just that she seemed real excited. Nodding and smiling a lot. After he left I asked her who he was. She said a scout from a school down south. That surprised me. Our players — even the good ones like Katie — don’t usually attract a lot of interest outside New England. She didn’t tell me his name.’

  ‘Remember which college?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Kenney said thoughtfully. ‘I’m trying to remember what she said. University of Southern Florida… Western Florida… something like that.’

  Florida again. McCabe asked, ‘Can you describe the guy?’

  ‘I didn’t get a good look at him. Mostly from the rear.’

  ‘How about his size?’

  ‘Big. I’d say around six foot two. Built like an athlete. Trim. Broad shoulders.’

  ‘Hair?’

  ‘Well, he had hair. Unlike yours truly.’ Kenney flashed a smile at them. ‘Dark, I think. He was wearing a cap, so it was hard to tell. Back of the hair was trimmed short and neat. Conservative. They talked for a while, then he got in his car and left.’

  ‘What kind of car?’

  ‘Oh, Christ.’ Kenney paused. It came to him. ‘An SUV. One of the expensive ones.’

  ‘Color?’

  ‘Dark. Green, I think.’

  ‘Did you notice the plates?’

  ‘Didn’t even glance at ’em.’

  ‘What was he wearing?’

  Kenney closed his eyes as if trying to relive the moment in his mind. McCabe found it frustrating other people couldn’t visualize scenes as easily as he could. ‘Cowboy boots,’ he said finally, ‘black cowboy boots. Not many people in Maine wear ’em. Jeans, I think. A long-sleeve black polo shirt. A baseball cap.’

  McCabe found it hard to imagine Spencer in cowboy boots, and he didn’t have broad shoulders. ‘Anything else you remember?’

  ‘Just that I told Katie not to talk to any more scouts, especially guys, without letting one of her coaches know. That it wasn’t smart.’

  ‘How’d she react to that?’

  ‘Practically rolled her eyes. Like any kid, she thought nothing bad could ever happen to her.’

  ‘Any word what the school’s doing as a result of her death?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Not yet. My guess is the principal will declare the day of the funeral an official day of mourning and let the kids take time off to attend whatever service the family’s planning. That’s what I’d do.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw Katie?’

  ‘At practice. The day she disappeared. Wednesday before last.’

  The answer seemed honest enough. Without Annie Rafferty as a witness, McCabe might have accepted it as the whole truth. Of course, McCabe knew, Rafferty might have made the whole thing up. A tired old woman, possibly dozing, in front of a bedroom window? Any defense lawyer worth his salt would jump on that and suggest that Rafferty was asleep and dreaming. Even if Rafferty was wide-awake and telling the truth, how were they going to prove the girl she saw on Kenney’s front porch was actually Katie? McCabe had to push harder. Get Kenney himself to provide the corroborating evidence. ‘You teach biology?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, sophomores and juniors. Never had Katie in class, though.’ He was on his way into the kitchen.

  When he returned with another beer, Maggie said, ‘I guess you’ve done a lot of dissecting, being a biology teacher and all?’

  Kenney looked at her strangely. ‘Dissecting? Sure. A zillion frogs. Sometimes fetal pigs. Sometimes things a little bigger. Why?’

  McCabe wanted to see what would happen if he put on a little pressure. ‘Pretty good with a scalpel, are you?’ he asked. If Kenney was the killer, the question might rattle him, maybe make him think they were onto him.

  ‘What the hell is this all about?’ asked Kenney.

  ‘Maybe you want to tell us, Tobin?’ asked McCabe.

  ‘Whoa. Wait a minute. Let’s just back up here. Are you telling me I’m a suspect in all this?’

  ‘Suspect? Nobody said anything about suspect,’ said Maggie. ‘We’re just having a little conversation. Checking on the whereabouts of the people who knew Katie. The people she trusted.’

  ‘Am I under arrest or something?’

  ‘Come on, Tobin. Relax,’ Maggie said softly. ‘Like I said, this is just an interview, a little chat. That’s all.’

  ‘So maybe you can tell us what happened that night,’ McCabe said. It was his turn now.

  ‘What night?’ Kenney sounded worried. Defensive.

  ‘Well, the night Katie disappeared, of course.’

  Kenney’s eyes darted back and forth between them. He didn’t say anything. McCabe figured he was thinking about lawyering up, and that’d be the end of the interview. If he was really innocent, though, he might keep talking just to prove it. ‘You got a girlfriend, Tobin?’

  ‘No… yeah. Well, not really. There’s this woman I see from time to time,’ said Tobin. ‘I don’t know what that has to do with any of this.’

  ‘Were you seeing her that night?’

  ‘The night Katie was killed?’

  ‘No. Not the night she was killed.’ McCabe leaned in toward Kenney, forcing the younger man to look up at him. ‘We can talk about that night later.’ He was speaking quietly. Calmly. One friend to another. Aware of the recorder and its little green light, there was no threat in his voice. All the threat was in his eyes, which bore in on Kenney. ‘Why don’t you just tell us about the night she disappeared? Where you were. What you were doing.’

  Kenney slid his chair back an inch or two away, avoiding McCabe’s gaze, looking out toward the boat in the yard. ‘Jesus, I don’t know.’ Pause. ‘Let me think. No. Wait.’ Pause. ‘I do remember what I was doing. Yes, I do. I remember the teachers talking about Katie’s disappearance the next day at school when she didn’t show up. When she didn’t show up for practice, that’s when I got really worried. I knew she might cut her classes, but Katie would never miss practice. Never. Not unless something was really wrong. The night before,’ Kenney said, ‘I went to the movies.’

  ‘The movies?’ asked Maggie, with just the slightest touch of well-practiced disbelief in her voice.

  ‘Yes. The movies.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes. Alone — but I can prove I was there. I ran into some people I know. Another teacher at the high school, Ellen Bodine, and her husband. I’ve probably still got the ticket stub.’ Kenney seemed relieved by his response. It was as though he’d solved a difficult problem and now things were going to be alright.

  ‘What did you see?’ asked McCabe.

  ‘You mean the movie? Cinderella Man.’ There was no hesitation.

  ‘How’d you like it?’ asked Maggie. ‘Is it as good as they say?’ The irrelevance of her question confused Kenney, which, McCabe knew, was Maggie’s intention. ‘Is Russell Crowe as good as they say?’ she continued. ‘And Renee Zellweger?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s good,’ said Kenney. ‘They’re good.’ His eyes were darting between them.

  ‘What time was the show? What time did it let out?’ McCabe asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It probably started at seven or seven fifteen.’

  ‘So it let out around nine?’

  ‘Yeah. Around then.’ A drop of sweat rolled down one of the lenses on Kenney’s glasses. He took them off, pulled up a dry bit of T-shirt, and wiped off the moisture.

  ‘So what did you do then?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I came home. Had something to eat. I picked up a pizza at Torrelli’s on India Street. I graded papers for a while.’

  ‘All by yourself?’

  ‘Yes, of course, all by myself.’

  ‘Then what?’ asked McCabe.

  ‘Then I went to bed.’


  ‘Alone?’

  Kenney looked at McCabe and didn’t say anything.

  ‘You went to bed alone?’ McCabe asked again.

  ‘Yes, alone.’

  McCabe decided to take a chance. If Kenney lawyered up, then fuck it. ‘Y’know, Tobin, I really don’t like it when people bullshit me. I… really… really… don’t like it.’

  Kenney looked up. ‘I’m not bullshitting anyone.’

  ‘Y’know what, Tobin? I think you are. Y’know what else? I think I can prove it.’

  There was fear in Kenney’s eyes. ‘Prove what? You can’t prove anything.’

  ‘You weren’t alone that evening, were you, Tobin? In fact, I’ve got a witness who says as much. In fact, my witness will swear to it. Maybe you started out grading papers all by yourself, but then somebody stopped by a little later. Didn’t she, Tobin? Somebody named Katie Dubois? Isn’t that right, Tobin?’ McCabe was using Kenney’s first name over and over, hitting him with it, like a boxer jabbing lightly to the face. It was a technique he’d learned a long time ago. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. ‘Tobin? Are you listening to me, Tobin?’

  Kenney sat still. He was clearly frightened. He didn’t say anything for a minute. Finally he asked in a small voice, ‘What sort of witness?’

  ‘A witness who saw and heard Katie Dubois leaving this house the night she disappeared. Now why don’t you just come clean and tell us about it, Tobin.’

  Kenney sat stone still except for a little nervous fluttering of his eyelashes.

  ‘Maybe Katie was a little upset when she arrived?’ McCabe started in again. ‘Maybe she told you her boyfriend was cheating on her? Maybe you figured she needed a little comforting? Is that what happened, Tobin? Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re a nice guy, isn’t that right, Tobin? Comforting pretty little sixteen-year-old girls is right up your alley, isn’t it? A little comforting? Then maybe a little hugging?’ Then McCabe’s voice dropped the teasing tone and became hard. Cold. ‘Who knows? A little hugging might just lead to a little fucking, too. Isn’t that right, Tobin? Isn’t that what happened? You fucked her and then you killed her?’

  In his mind’s eye McCabe saw Kenney with his arms around Katie Dubois. Kissing her, his hand running down her back, slipping under her skirt, pulling her pants down — but it wasn’t Katie he saw Kenney kissing and fondling. It was Casey, and he had to close his eyes and force the image from his mind.

  ‘That’s not true!’ Kenney’s voice was nearly hysterical. ‘I didn’t fuck her! I didn’t kill her! That’s not how it happened!’

  Maggie asked, softly, ‘That’s not how what happened, Tobin?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll bet you’re just one hell of a horny dude, aren’t you, Tobin?’ said McCabe, his voice quiet, his eyes full of threat. ‘The kind of guy who maybe thinks with his dick instead of his brain? Now why don’t you stop the bullshit and tell us what really happened that night.’

  ‘Yes. No.’ Kenney’s voice came out a hollow whisper.

  ‘Look at me, Tobin,’ Maggie said, as gentle as a mother, her face near his. ‘If you tell us what happened, we can help you. If you don’t, then we can’t.’

  ‘Yes, she came over,’ Kenney said, ‘but, no, no, no, I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘You didn’t kill her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill her.’

  ‘You didn’t kill her?’ McCabe was in his face now. ‘You just fucked her, is that it? Fucked her to comfort her? Fucked her to make her feel better about her boyfriend screwing her over? Is that what happened, Tobin? Hey, Tobin, you know as well as I do, fucking a sixteen-year-old student can land a teacher in a whole pile of shit. Did you panic? Is that what happened, Tobin? You fucked her and then you killed her because you panicked?’

  ‘I didn’t fuck her,’ said Kenney, his voice a soft wail, ‘and I didn’t kill her.’ He was rocking back and forth, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

  ‘Well, why don’t you tell us exactly what you did do, Tobin? Because I can promise you, one way or the other, we’re gonna find out, and when we do, we’re gonna fry your ass.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never killed anyone. She came over and she gave me a blow job and then she left and that’s all there was to it! That’s all! She gave me a blow job!’

  McCabe was about to speak again, but Maggie caught his eye. She gave him a look that said, ‘Back off.’ McCabe nodded and moved to the end of the deck. He leaned back against the wooden railing and waited. Kenney was still rocking forward and back in his chair, still holding himself.

  Maggie spoke softly. ‘Tobin? Why don’t you just tell us straight out what did happen that night.’

  Kenney glanced over at McCabe. ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Maggie said. ‘Just look at me. Look at my eyes. He won’t ask you any more questions. Just tell me what happened between you and Katie so we can finish this up and we can leave you alone and you can get some rest.’

  The assistant girls’ soccer coach sat there for what seemed like a long time, saying nothing. Then he began to speak. His voice was flat. Toneless. Without affect.

  ‘After the movies, I picked up a pizza from Torrelli’s, like I said. I got home about ten. I got a beer from the fridge and ate a couple of slices. I had a bunch of papers to grade. I usually grade papers on the sofa. I put the graded ones on the coffee table, the ungraded ones next to me on the couch. That’s how I organize them.

  ‘A few minutes after I started grading, the doorbell rang, and it was Katie. She was all sweetness and “Gee, can I come in and talk for a while?” But she looked a little weird, like she’d been crying. Like she was stressed out. So I let her in. I asked her what the matter was. She sees I’m drinking a beer and says, “Can I have a beer, too?” I tell her she’s too young, that we could both get in trouble. Then she takes my hand and starts stroking it and says, “Oh, come on, Mr. Kenney.” She actually called me Mr. Kenney. “Please. I’m not going to tell anybody.”

  ‘Right there, I should have put her in the car and driven her straight home, but I didn’t. I was feeling lonely, and one part of me wanted her to stick around. So, like a jerk, I got her a beer. She takes a swig, and we sit down on the couch where I was grading the papers. She’s wearing this tiny little miniskirt and it’s riding up over her crotch. She asks me if I think she’s attractive. I say yeah, she’s very attractive. Then she asks me if I think she’s sexy. I don’t answer — but I don’t get up, either. Then she says, “If I were your girlfriend, would you go screwing around with other girls?” I say, “No, I wouldn’t.” Then I say, “Get up, I’ve got to take you home.”

  ‘But she doesn’t get up. She lies down and puts her head in my lap. She takes my hand and she puts it on her breast, and I’m thinking to myself, “Holy shit, what’s this all about?”

  ‘She asks me again if I think she’s sexy. By this time, I’ve got an incredible hard-on, and I know she can feel it ’cause she’s got her head in my lap. God help me, I really do want to fuck her, but I know I can’t. So I ask her what happened with Ronnie Sobel. He’s her boyfriend. She says Ronnie’s an asshole and she doesn’t give a shit about Ronnie and don’t I think she’s sexy? I say sure she’s sexy, but I’m a teacher and she’s a student and we shouldn’t be even thinking stuff like this, but then she rolls onto her front and I’m looking down and she’s unzipping my fly.

  ‘Look, Margaret, or whatever your name is, I know I sound like a jerk. Your buddy over there thinks I’m worse than a jerk. Maybe he’s right. I’m twenty-six years old and she’s sixteen. Even worse, I’m her coach — her teacher — and there she is, opening my zipper. I’ve got this fucking hard-on that’s ready to explode. Then she’s got her mouth on it and boom, like in ten seconds flat, it’s all over. I’m coming all over her face and all over my pants and the couch and whether you believe it or not, Margaret, I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. You know something else? I still do. But I did not fuck her
and I did not kill her.’ Kenney just sat there for a while, looking nowhere, saying nothing.

  ‘What happened next?’ asked Maggie.

  Kenney looked at her. ‘She left.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘No. After I came, I’m thinking to myself, holy shit, what have I done? I got up and got her a towel to wipe her face. Then I told her to get in the car. I’m going to drive her home. She says she wants to spend the night. I tell her she can’t. She gets angry, and we argue about it for a while. Then she slams out the door and she just stands there on the front steps, screaming at me through the screen that I’m an asshole. She just gave me a great fucking blow job, she says, and I won’t even let her spend the fucking night. She calls me a bunch of names. Tells me to go fuck myself.

  ‘Then she was gone.’ Kenney looked up. ‘Just like that she was gone. Ran off into the night, and that’s the truth of the matter. I didn’t kill her and I didn’t fuck her. Maybe that sounds like Bill Clinton. “I didn’t have sex with that woman” — but it’s the truth.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come in and tell us this when she was reported missing?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘I picked up the phone about a hundred times, but I couldn’t do it. I knew it would cost me my job, and I guess I convinced myself that she’d just run off and would come home after a while. Pretty stupid, but who knew she was going to go out and get herself killed? If I’d just pushed her in the car and driven her home, none of this would ever have happened.’

  Maggie believed him. In spite of his anger, so did McCabe.

  ‘Is this going to get me arrested? Statutory rape?’

  ‘You screwed up, big-time, Tobin,’ said McCabe. ‘In Maine, any sexual act between a teacher and a student under eighteen is a crime. Doesn’t matter who started it. Maybe, if you’re real cooperative, real contrite, they’ll let you off with a suspended sentence. Maybe not. Either way, you better go find yourself another career. Another life. There’s no way you’re working with kids anymore. Not now. Not ever.’

  Later, in the car, before driving away, McCabe sat there thinking about what Kenney’d told them. ‘Why do you think he talked?’ he asked Maggie. ‘It would have been so easy for him just to stonewall the whole thing.’