The Chill of Night

by James Hayman

‘Undo the tool belt and let it drop to the floor.’

  The guy did.

  ‘Very good. Now, my first question is, who are you?’

  ‘Me?’ the guy squeaked.

  ‘I don’t see anyone else in the room. Do you?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t. Name’s Andy Barker,’ the guy said. ‘I own this building.’ Then, as if it just occurred to him, ‘Actually, you’re trespassing on my property.’

  McCabe ignored the last remark. ‘Got any ID, Mr Barker? Don’t reach for it. Just tell me where it is.’

  ‘In my wallet. Back pocket. Left.’

  McCabe walked over and kicked the tool belt out of reach. He patted the guy down, then fished out the wallet. He found a Maine driver’s license. Andrew Barker. Age forty-two. Address 342 Brackett Street. He shoved the wallet back in Barker’s pocket. ‘Thank you, Mr Barker. For the record, I’m Detective Sergeant Michael McCabe, Portland police.’

  Barker let out a long breath he’d been holding in for a while. Probably thought a cop was less likely to shoot him than some random guy with a gun. ‘Police, huh. Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s what I figured.’

  ‘I have another question.’ McCabe holstered the .45. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Barker shrugged. ‘Like I told you, I own this building. I’m Lainie Goff’s landlord.’

  ‘Do you normally visit your tenants’ apartments unannounced –’

  ‘Unannounced? Who am I supposed to announce it to? Goff’s dead.’

  ‘Unannounced at four fifteen in the morning?’

  ‘I’m an early riser.’ Now he was playing the wiseguy.

  ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘Well, I figured I was gonna have to find a new tenant. I wanted to see what kind of shape the place was in. How much stuff’d have to be moved out.’ They both knew that was bullshit. Barker was just trying it on for size.

  ‘You were carrying the tools for what reason exactly?’

  Barker shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. I usually wear a tool belt. In case anything needed fixing?’ His voice rose at the end of the last sentence, making it more question than assertion.

  McCabe decided it was time to cut the crap. ‘I think you can do better than that, Mr Barker. Now, what were you doing entering a murdered woman’s apartment carrying a flashlight and a set of tools in the middle of the night? And what exactly are you doing with her underwear?’

  Barker started looking around like he wanted to be anywhere but leaning against a wall in front of McCabe. ‘Mind if I sit down?’ he asked.

  ‘Over there,’ said McCabe, pointing to the tub chair. Barker lowered his hands and sat.

  ‘Now answer the question, Mr Barker. Why are you here?’

  ‘I was curious. Like I told the other detective, the woman, Ms Savage, I’m kind of a fan of police stuff. Wanted to have a look around. Scene of the crime and all that.’

  More bullshit. ‘You were up here before, weren’t you, Mr Barker?’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. I’ve been up here a couple of times. When Ms Goff needed something fixed or had a problem with something.’

  McCabe went to where Barker was sitting, put his hands on the chair’s two arms, and leaned in close. ‘I want some straight answers, Andy,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Andy, do you?’

  Barker looked up and shook his head no.

  ‘That’s good, Andy. Now no more bullshit. You came up here earlier tonight, didn’t you?’

  Barker shook his head again. ‘No. Well, yes, but only to let the other detectives in.’

  ‘Then you came back. After they left. And you started going through Lainie Goff’s belongings like you were looking for something, didn’t you, Andy? And it wasn’t just underwear, was it?’

  Barker shook his head, confused.

  ‘What were you looking for?’

  ‘I wasn’t looking for anything. I wasn’t even up here.’

  ‘Was it something incriminating? Something that might tie you to the murder? Is that what you were looking for?’

  ‘I told you, I wasn’t here. I wasn’t looking for anything.’ Barker tried to get up out of the chair, but McCabe was blocking the way. He sat back down. ‘I want to go home now.’ He sounded like a child who wasn’t having fun with his playmates anymore.

  ‘I’d rather you stayed where you are, Andy. I’d rather you told me what you were looking for when you came up and ransacked Lainie Goff’s personal things earlier tonight.’

  ‘You’re trying to make like I had something to do with her murder, aren’t you? ’Cause if that’s what you’re trying to do, that’s just total bullshit.’

  Barker seemed near tears. He was looking everywhere except at McCabe. Mostly he was glancing over at the wall of pictures above the bureau. The nudes of Lainie Goff.

  ‘She was a good-looking woman, wasn’t she, Andy?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your tenant. Ms Goff.’

  ‘Yes. She’s beautiful. She was beautiful.’

  ‘Woman like that could make a man do all kinds of things he might not do otherwise, don’t you think, Andy?’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Are you a married man, Andy? Is there a nice little Mrs Andy downstairs in 1F waiting for you? One who’ll vouch for where you were Tuesday night around, oh, I don’t know, eleven o’clock or so?’

  ‘No. I’m not married. Besides, I don’t see what business it is of yours where I was Tuesday or any other night.’ Barker’s voice was swinging wildly between panicked and petulant.

  ‘You’ve got a key to this apartment, isn’t that right, Andy?’ asked McCabe.

  ‘Of course. I’ve got keys to all the tenants’ apartments.’

  ‘And you just used that key to gain access to this apartment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

  ‘I told you I wasn’t looking for anything.’

  ‘Not even a pair of Lainie Goff’s black lace thong panties?’

  Barker looked down and realized he was still clutching the panties in his left hand. He dropped them like they were on fire.

  ‘Maybe you also used your key to gain access to this apartment earlier tonight? After the crime scene people left and before I showed up.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you came in and went through Lainie Goff’s drawers and personal effects?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What were you looking for, Mr Barker?’

  ‘I’m not talking to you anymore.’

  ‘Something personal? Maybe something even sexier than those panties? Something that might turn you on?’

  ‘I know my rights, and I don’t have to talk to you. I have the right to remain silent.’

  ‘I know. I’ll bet you were looking for more pictures of Goff naked. I mean, if she’s got those over there right out in the open, she’s probably got even better ones in her drawer, don’t you think? Is that what you were looking for?’ McCabe pointed over to the open drawers in the bureau. ‘Or maybe you’re just into underwear? Frilly, lacy black underwear? She probably has lots more of it in there. You the kind of guy that gets turned on by a good-looking woman’s underwear? Is that what you were looking for?’

  ‘I have the right to remain silent,’ Barker said again. ‘Anything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law. I have the right to have an attorney present during questioning –’

  ‘Yes you do, Mr Barker, but you’re not under arrest or anything like that. We’re just having a friendly little chat. Guy talk, that’s all.’

  ‘I have the right to remain silent,’ Barker repeated.

  ‘I’m just trying to figure out what you were doing wandering around up here with a flashlight and a bunch of tools at four o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘I’d like you to leave my house now,’ Barker said.

  ‘What were you looking for, Barker?’

  ‘I want you to leav
e my house. Or get yourself a warrant and come back later.’

  This was a murder victim’s apartment, and McCabe didn’t need a warrant to be here. On the other hand, it was pretty clear he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Andy Barker. He needed to find out what, if anything, the evidence techs had found here and what they’d found in the house on the island. More than either of those things, he needed some sleep.

  In the end McCabe told Barker to go back down to his apartment but not to leave town and to make himself available if he was needed for further questioning. Then he called 109 and told Dispatch to send over an evidence tech to see if the searcher had left behind any fingerprints or other evidence and then padlock the place and make sure nobody else snuck in. When the tech got there, McCabe left.

  The snow was still coming down at 5:00 A.M. when McCabe got back to his own place on the Eastern Prom. The light in the living room was still on; Kyra was in the bedroom still asleep. He stripped down and slid into bed next to her. He had that ten o’clock meeting but still had time for a few hours’ sleep. With Casey at Sunday River, he wouldn’t have to wake up until about nine thirty to make it downtown by ten. Trying not to disturb Kyra, but feeling a need for her warmth, he pressed his body, spoon fashion, against the bend of her back. He rested one arm along the curve of her hip.

  ‘I’m glad you’re back,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to worry.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘You didn’t. I’ve been awake pretty much all night. Anyway, welcome home.’

  He pushed himself even more tightly against her. ‘It’s good to be home,’ he said. He meant it. He was glad he did.

  Fifteen

  Portland, Maine

  Saturday, January 7

  4:00 A.M.

  Abby moved, mask on, head down, Spider-Man trudging through a fog of silence. The snow, whipped by gusting winds, was blinding. Forced by drifts to walk on the road, she could barely see the houses behind the mounds of snow, let alone make out their shapes or colors. Not even the ones on the near side of the street. The ones on the far side were totally invisible. She’d been walking for hours, or was it days? She was sure she was going around in circles. She couldn’t concentrate on where she was or where she was headed. She was just too tired. All she knew was that there were no people and there were no cars. There was only the snow and the wind and the endless empty streets. She’d never felt so alone in her life.

  At least the Voices were quiet. The meds were doing what they were supposed to do, keeping the crazies locked in their box where they couldn’t jump out and torment her. Even so, all it would take was a little bit of bad shit and, boom, there they’d be, popping up like jack-in-the-box clowns, loud and vindictive. On top of that, the extra pills were making her dopey. Forcing her to fight for every clear thought through a fuzziness that seeped in and around and through her brain. Screw it. She didn’t have to think right now. She just had to keep walking. Street to street. Block to block. Don’t think. Just walk.

  As she walked she repeated a low rhythmic chant. Gotta find Leanna’s house. Gotta find Leanna’s house. Gotta find Leanna’s house. Leanna Barnes, her friend from Winter Haven. Leanna would take her in. Abby knew she would. Bury her in the big extravagant folds of her flesh. Keep her safe. Leanna wouldn’t tell anyone she was there, either. Except Abby couldn’t find the right house or even the right street. She’d only been to the house a couple of times before, and then always in the summer when everything was green and gold and you could see where you were going. Not this blinding white, this emptiness where even the street signs were impossible to read. She was too tired and too cold to walk much farther. She was starting to go numb.

  All she really wanted to do was lie down on top of the snowbank at the side of the road and drift off to sleep. She’d be covered up in no time. The plows’d dump more snow on top of her and that’d be that. The trash collectors wouldn’t find her body till spring. Trash. That’s all she’d be in the end. Frozen trash. She remembered seeing on the Discovery Channel how people who freeze to death feel warm before they die. They just slowly go to sleep and never wake up. It seemed a pleasant idea. Burning to death would be a lot more painful. One time, when she was off her meds, the Voices tried to get her to pour gasoline over her head and set herself on fire. Gonna turn you into a crispy critter, they told her. She went and found the gas can in the shed next to the house and a box of matches and almost did what they said. She remembered their mocking voices. Crispy critter. Fried golden brown. Crispy critter. She thought the fire would purify her, exorcise the evil, rid her of the Voices. At least she hoped it would. She unscrewed the top of the gas can and held it over her head. In the end, though, she chickened out. The idea of burning up scared her too much, and she put the can away. She wasn’t that crazy. But the Voices kept spewing their filth and ugliness. How they hated her. She must deserve it.

  Abby looked up and saw a low dark thing moving toward her. A black form, now visible through the whipping snow, now obliterated by it. With each step it grew clearer and bigger. At twenty feet it began to take shape. Animal. Not human. A large dog, gray fur glistening under crystals of snow, cruel icy eyes shining through the night, more wolf than dog. She stopped, but the animal kept coming. She could hear its rumbling growl. Low. Menacing. Commanding. Her heart beat against the walls of her chest so hard she was certain it would break through. She knew what the creature wanted. She knelt on her hands and knees. It bared a fang long enough and sharp enough to penetrate the soft flesh at the back of her neck. She lowered her head and waited for release … but release didn’t come. Finally, after a minute or two, she looked up, and it was gone. She could see nothing in front of her but the snow-covered street and the windswept flakes still hurtling down through the night sky. She stayed where she was, kneeling in the snow. She could hear a child crying. She listened. After a bit she realized the sound was coming from her. She got up and started walking again.

  She wrapped her arms around her body and rubbed to warm herself. She was still wearing the running clothes from four nights ago. After the cop dropped her off, she hadn’t taken the time to change or brush her teeth or even to wash. She didn’t know when Death was going to come walking in through the door. So she just stuffed the seventeen dollars and sixty-three cents she had in the desk drawer into one pocket, her wallet with her license and nearly maxed-out Visa card into the other, and took off. She had her cell in her fanny pack, along with the bottle of Zyprexa, but the phone was dead and the charger was in her bedroom back on the island. Dumb. She couldn’t worry about that now. All she knew was that she had to get to Leanna’s house. If only she could find it. She thought about a hot shower. God, that would be heaven. She’d take a hot shower at Leanna’s.

  Ahead of her, up the hill, she saw the lights of a twenty-four-hour Mini Mart on Congress. She was sure she’d passed the place twice before. This time she’d go in, warm up, try to figure out where it was Leanna lived and how to get there. A comforting wave of heated air hit her as she opened the door. The woman behind the counter was munching peanut M&M’s out of one of those big yellow family-sized bags and watching a small black-and-white TV. She stiffened as Abby approached. Didn’t move. Just sat there staring, eyes widening in fear. Abby whipped around, expecting Death to be right behind her, but he wasn’t. Nothing was there.

  ‘What do you want?’ the woman asked in a quavery voice. ‘We ain’t got much cash here.’

  Abby puzzled over that until she finally figured it out. She was still wearing the Spider-Man mask. She pulled it off along with her ski hat and stuffed both into her pocket. She ran a hand through her matted hair and forced herself to smile. ‘Sure is cold out there.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, girl. You scared me half to death. What the hell you doin’ walkin’ around with that thing on?’ The woman seemed to relax a little. ‘I almost hit the damned alarm.’ She took a deep breath, relaxed some more. ‘It’s cold, alright,’ she said. ‘
Down near zero.’ Then, after a few more seconds, she added, ‘They say we’re gonna get more’n a foot.’

  Act normal, Abby reminded herself. No crazy stuff. Not here. She nodded to the woman’s comment, as if considering its wisdom and, upon due consideration, concurring. ‘Probably got pretty near that much already.’ Abby smiled again, figuring you couldn’t smile too much. Then she walked over to the coffee station, took off her gloves, clipped them to the bottom of her jacket, and pulled out the smallest of the three sizes of cardboard cups. She pushed down the spigot on the hot chocolate machine and watched steamy brown liquid trickle into her cup.

  ‘Pretty near that much,’ the woman agreed, peering out the window. ‘It don’t look like it’s stopping anytime soon, either.’

  Abby pushed one of the plastic lids onto her cup until it clicked into place. She walked back toward the counter. The cup felt hot under her hands. She shifted it from one hand to the other, thawing her fingers, enjoying the warmth.

  The woman swept her arm toward a car shape outside the window, completely covered with snow. ‘That there’s mine. Hope I don’t have any trouble getting home.’

  ‘Hope not,’ Abby said, putting the cup on the counter.

  ‘That do it for you?’

  Abby nodded.

  ‘Be a dollar fifty-eight.’

  Abby counted out exact change from the seventeen dollars and sixty-three cents she had in her pocket, smiled again, and headed back toward the bathroom. She set the hot chocolate on the edge of the sink, locked the door, peed, and washed her hands, surprised how much the warm water stung her frozen skin. She stared for a minute at her face in the mirror. The last four days had taken their toll. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her hair looked dirty. She was surprised the woman wasn’t more scared of her with the mask off than with it on.

  She only half noticed the big blond guy when she exited the restroom, and then only because all her systems were on high alert. He was standing in the grocery aisle pretending to study the plastic microwave cups of beef stew and Chef Boyardee pasta. His eyes followed her when she walked past him to the newspaper and magazine rack. She picked up one of the freebie newspapers, the West End News, and pretended to read. The guy was still looking at her. He wasn’t big. He was huge, six foot five, maybe more. Big neck and shoulders. He was wearing jeans and a lumber jacket. She turned back to the paper and sipped her hot chocolate slowly, trying to figure out what to do next. She couldn’t go back out in the cold. Not yet. She needed to stretch her drink out for as long as it took her to really get warm again. But he was making her nervous. She glanced over again. He smiled. At least it was a friendly smile. Not a leer. She quickly looked away. Shit, he was coming toward her. Act normal, she thought. Tough it out. Her heart was pounding. She could hear the Voices starting to rouse themselves from their slumber. Here comes Death, one of them said. Even though he didn’t look like Death. At least not like Death had looked in the bedroom at the Markhams’ place.