The Chill of Night

by James Hayman

  ‘Or Ogden could have found it and tossed it into Casco Bay. Anything else?’

  ‘Yeah. I checked with my pal at Vessel Services.’ Maggie opened her notebook and leafed through the pages till she found the right one. ‘Only one boat came in for service Wednesday night. The Good and Plenty. It stayed overnight and pulled out at four on Thursday morning. I was able to chat with the captain by satphone. He said he noticed the car sitting there but didn’t see it come in or who was driving it. Nobody on the crew saw anything either.’

  McCabe put the celery stick he’d been gnawing on back in his drink. ‘Cleary still working on the ferry crew rosters?’

  ‘He’s down at the terminal talking to deckhands now. Said he’d have everyone covered by –’ She looked at her watch. ‘Pretty soon now. Also I stopped by at Winter Haven Hospital this morning, and, after forty-five minutes of bullshit over privacy issues, I finally got them to give me the name and contact number for Abby Quinn’s shrink.’

  ‘Dr Richard Wolfe?’

  ‘Yeah, how’d you know?’

  ‘Kelly told me.’

  In spite of his deadpan, McCabe’s expression must have given something away. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Do you know him or something?’

  ‘Yes. I know him,’ said McCabe. ‘Wolfe’s a good guy.’

  Maggie eyed him suspiciously. Her radar was just too good. ‘Okay, he’s a good guy. Is there something else you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Like what?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe like are you seeing a shrink or something? Maybe like Dr Richard Wolfe, for example?’

  Mandy arrived with their burgers. McCabe handed her his empty Virgin Mary glass. Asked for a cold Shipyard Export.

  ‘No. I’m not seeing a shrink,’ he said after the waitress was gone. He picked up his burger and took a bite.

  ‘Were you seeing a psychiatrist?’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Please don’t give me that Clint Eastwood squint, McCabe. I’m your friend. Remember?’

  He still didn’t answer.

  ‘Oh, never mind.’ She sighed. ‘The only other thing going on is Scott Ginsberg at METCO sent over the surveillance videos from Ten Monument Square for both the twenty-second and twenty-third. Also sent his regards. Eddie spent a chunk of this morning going over the videos with Starbucks.

  ‘They’re still looking, but so far they haven’t seen anything suspicious,’ she said. ‘Videos are from two cameras. One covers the security desk and elevators. The other’s focused on the main entrance. Nobody came into the building after 6:00 P.M. either day except for the cleaning crew, who arrived all together in a crowd at 6:05 on Thursday and again at 6:08 on Friday. On Friday, Goff left, wearing no coat, at 8:04 and comes back five minutes later holding something in her right hand. Goff leaves again at 9:03, again doesn’t sign out, walks right past the security guard – and he’s right, she did look pissed. She gives him the finger and exits frame. A gray-haired male leaves at 9:12 –’

  ‘Henry Ogden.’

  ‘He doesn’t look so happy either, but he shakes the security guard’s hand and hands him a white envelope.’

  ‘A hundred bucks. It was his Christmas present.’

  ‘He also doesn’t bother signing out. That’s it for both nights except for the cleaning crew, which left, again together’ – Maggie looked down at her notes – ‘Thursday, or more accurately Friday morning, at exactly 1:00 A.M. and Saturday morning at 1:04.’ She looked up. ‘They’re going over the videos one more time.’

  McCabe had finished what he wanted of both his burger and salad, which was about half of each. He sipped at his Shipyard. ‘How about the GO?’ The GO was the unit’s nickname for Chief Shockley, a.k.a. the Great One.

  ‘Quiet as a mouse. I haven’t heard boo from him.’

  McCabe looked doubtful. ‘That’s out of character.’

  ‘Yeah. It won’t last. Aside from anything else, his bimbo will need something new for her viewers. That pretty much covers it except for our eight-hundred-pound schizophrenic.’

  ‘What did you tell the boys about her?’

  ‘Pretty much everything.’

  ‘You gave them Quinn’s name?’

  ‘Yeah. I told them not to give it out unless they had to, and not to tell anyone why we’re looking for her.’

  ‘Okay,’ said McCabe. ‘My turn, I guess.’ He signaled Mandy and ordered coffee for both of them. He spent the next twenty minutes filling Maggie in on his conversations with Janie Archer last night and Henry Ogden and John Kelly this morning.

  ‘You think Kelly’s the guy?’

  ‘I don’t know. Possibly. There are a lot of reasons to think so. His familiarity with Old Testament prophets. His house on Harts. A volatile personality. Plus, he’s got weak alibis for both key nights. One from a pair of unreliable and possibly unfindable street punks. The other from a committed longtime partner. Motive is what bothers me. Tough to see why Kelly would want to kill her.’

  ‘Sex?’

  ‘Kelly told me he was gay. In a committed relationship.’

  ‘He could swing both ways,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘There’s money. A hundred and eighty K isn’t exactly chicken feed.’

  ‘I’m not sure he knew about that. Plus, I think he really cared for Lainie, and he couldn’t have cared less about us searching his house on Harts.’

  ‘Sure. Because he killed her at Markham’s house. Which means we won’t find a thing at his. Anyway, I’ll call Jacobi and get it organized.’

  ‘Ask Tommy to cover it with him. Tell them to look carefully. If there is something out there, let’s find it.’

  Maggie shrugged, nodded, and made the calls. ‘Okay, all set. So you went to Goff’s apartment last night?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How’d you like the pictures?’

  McCabe smiled. ‘What can I say? Such a sweet young thing, modest to a fault.’

  ‘She still remind you of Sandy?’

  ‘In some ways, yes,’ said McCabe. ‘Others, no.’

  Maggie started to ask something about that but then, instead, just shook her head. ‘Never mind. It’s none of my business. Anyway, you said you found the place tossed?’

  ‘Yeah. My theory is that Ogden, assuming it was Ogden, was in the apartment when I arrived. He either heard me on the porch or saw me approaching through the living-room window. He knew he couldn’t go downstairs without bumping into me. So he went up instead and hid on the stairwell between the second and third floors. I get into the apartment and close the door. He takes off. I heard a sound while I was working the lock. I thought it came from inside. I was wrong. It came from the stairs. I should’ve had him. Basically I screwed up.’

  ‘Okay, so you’re not perfect. It happens. What was the damage?’

  ‘Drawers were searched and some of them dumped. Books were pulled out of the bookcase, which means he may have been looking for something that would fit between the pages of a book.’

  ‘Paper.’

  ‘Yeah. I doubt Hank’s the love letter type. More likely he was looking for photos or printouts of e-mails.’

  ‘You’re sure it wasn’t Barker? You said he came waltzing in later. It could have been his second trip.’

  ‘A bunch of things make me think not. First off, I came down on Barker pretty hard about whether he’d been there before to search the place. It just kind of confused him. He wouldn’t admit to a thing.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean it’s not him.’ Maggie was busy building little towers of sugar cubes on the table. ‘When you arrived, the door was locked. So were the windows. That means whoever was in there locked up the place. Barker has a key.’

  ‘If Ogden was her lover, he might have had one, too. And remember, there were no house or office keys attached to the key ring in the Beemer. If the killer took them, I assume it was for a reason.’

  Maggie nodded. ‘Okay. You said there were
a bunch of reasons you didn’t think Barker was the searcher. What’s the other?’

  ‘Lainie’s underwear.’

  ‘Lainie’s underwear?’ She stopped building sugar towers and frowned. ‘What about Lainie’s underwear?’

  ‘When Barker still thought he was alone, he spotted a pair of Goff’s panties, a black lace thong, lying on top in her open dresser drawer. He seemed surprised by it. Thrilled, in fact. Like a kid at Christmas with a brand-new toy. If he’d already searched the place he’d have seen the thong before, probably stuffed it in his pocket and taken it home.’

  ‘What’d he do with it?’

  McCabe just shrugged.

  Maggie made a face as if there were a bad smell in the room. ‘An underwear sniffer?’

  McCabe shrugged again and nodded.

  ‘And you don’t think he’s our freak?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I don’t know, McCabe. Means, opportunity, motive. It all fits. Means? Barker has a key that gets him into her apartment anytime he wants. Opportunity? She’s going away on vacation. Won’t be missed for over two weeks. Motive? That’s easy. The guy’s a creep. A sexual deviant. An underwear sniffer. Yuck.’

  Mandy arrived just in time to hear Maggie say ‘underwear sniffer.’ ‘Anybody want more coffee?’ She smiled uncertainly.

  ‘No thanks, Mandy, just the check,’ said McCabe.

  When she was out of earshot, Maggie picked up where she’d left off. ‘Think about it, McCabe. Goff’s a gorgeous woman. Barker lusts after her. Dreams about her. You told me yourself you saw him staring at the pictures. He probably jerks off to visions of Goff leaping around naked in his dirty little brain every night. Of course, what this guy really wants, Lainie won’t give him, and he knows she never will. So he decides to get it and get her. The only way he can.’

  Maggie was on a roll, and maybe she was right. Barker was a tempting suspect. Definitely a creep. Still, being a creep didn’t mean being a murderer. Or even being the guy who searched Lainie’s apartment.

  ‘Let’s say he sneaks into 2F on that Friday night,’ said Maggie. ‘Waits till she gets home from work, overpowers her –’

  ‘Overpowers her?’ McCabe laughed. ‘C’mon, Mag. Give me a break. The guy’s not just small, he’s the proverbial ninety-pound weakling. Goff could have kicked the shit out of him. Hell, my daughter could have kicked the shit out of him.’

  That stopped her, but only for a second. ‘Yeah. Okay. Maybe. But what if he had a gun or a knife? The knife. Or if he slipped her a roofie?’

  ‘You mean when they were sitting down to share a cocktail?’

  Maggie glared at him. ‘Don’t be a wiseass.’

  ‘Alright, sorry, but then what? After she’s unconscious he drags her out of the apartment, puts her in her own car, and takes the ferry to Harts Island? Why? So he can kill her where there’s a nice view of the ocean? Then, to top things off, he steals her apartment keys when he already has a set? Admit it, Detective Margaret. That dog don’t hunt.’

  ‘Alright, alright.’ She held up her hands reluctantly. ‘You’re right. I still think the guy’s a creep –’

  ‘He’s definitely a creep.’

  ‘A creep who knows something he’s not telling us. Like what he was doing sneaking into Goff’s apartment with a flashlight and a tool belt around his middle at four in the morning. I think we need answers.’

  McCabe nodded. They did need to find out what Barker was doing in the apartment, and what it had to do with Goff’s murder. ‘Okay. Bring him in, but I’m not sure how much you’ll get from him. The minute I got too tough last night he started reciting me his own Miranda rights.’

  ‘C’mon, McCabe.’ She smiled. ‘You’re not Brian Cleary. You know tough’s not the answer to everything.’

  ‘Alright, Mag, work your wiles. Find out what he was doing there. But I still don’t see Barker as the searcher.’

  ‘Your money’s still on Ogden?’

  ‘As the searcher, yes. Like Burt said, Ogden has a lot to lose if the whole world finds out he was cheating.’

  Maggie went back to building her sugar towers. ‘Okay, so we’re saying Ogden’s not the killer and Barker’s not the killer. Who’s left? Kelly?’

  ‘The evidence points that way. What we need to do is establish a motive.’

  They split the bill fifty-fifty and headed back to 109.

  Nineteen

  Cleary was waiting on the other side of the elevator door when McCabe and Maggie stepped out onto the fourth floor at PPD headquarters. ‘You guys got a minute? Wanna bring you up to date, and there’s something you ought to see.’ He led the way into the small conference room and closed the door.

  ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘Bunch of stuff,’ said Cleary. ‘First off, Quinn doesn’t have a car and didn’t rent one. At least not from any of the agencies in Portland. Didn’t take a taxi anywhere either. Her mother’s car is a ’97 Subaru Outback, but Quinn didn’t use it. It’s still parked under a pile of snow at a lot off India Street. Possible friends’ cars we don’t know about.’

  ‘How about the terminals?’

  ‘Airport’s closed till later this morning. Quinn hasn’t been spotted there or at the train or bus stations.’

  McCabe pursed his lips. ‘Anything from the ferry crews?’

  ‘That’s the good news. Nobody’s seen the BMW, but we do have a sighting on Quinn.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘According to one of the deckhands, she returned to the mainland on the last ferry last night.’ Cleary sat down next to the TV monitor and pulled chairs into position for the others. There was a freeze-frame image of a nervous-looking man in his twenties on the screen. ‘Left Harts Island at eleven fifty-five. Arrived in Portland twelve fifteen.’

  Eleven fifty-five. The ferry McCabe watched from the galley of the Francis R. Mangini as the two boats passed midway across the bay.

  ‘I was going through the crew roster, interviewing the deckhands one by one.’ He tilted his head toward the monitor. ‘This one told me he saw Quinn.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘Bobby Howser,’ said Cleary. ‘Howser and Quinn know each other. They were classmates at Portland High. At first Howser denied seeing her, but something in the way he said it, well, it was pretty easy to tell he was lying. So I bring him in, stick him in an interview room, and go at him for a while.’ Cleary smiled. ‘Y’know? Good cop. Bad cop.’

  Maggie smiled. ‘Oh yeah? Which one were you?’

  ‘Both.’ Cleary smiled back. He was rhythmically banging his right fist into his left palm.

  ‘You didn’t rough him up, did you, Brian?’ McCabe asked. His tone was teasing, but the question was serious. Cleary had potential, but he was a born brawler. McCabe knew he might have to keep a tight rein on him.

  ‘Nah. I wouldn’t do anything like that.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to have to cut short a promising career. What did Howser tell you?’

  ‘Kid was pretty scared once he realized this wasn’t a game. He hung tough for about five minutes and then blurted out the whole story.’ Cleary hit PLAY, and the frozen image came to life. Howser was sitting at the table in the small interview room at the end of the hall, eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at where Cleary would have been. A hand entered the frame and slid a photograph across the table. Cleary’s voice came out of the speaker. ‘Alright, Bobby, I’m going to ask you again like I did down at the Bay Lines. Have you ever seen this woman on the boat?’

  Howser glanced at the image, then looked away again. ‘No. Well, yes, but not recently.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  Howser looked around nervously. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  Howser didn’t answer right away. Suddenly Cleary’s hand came down hard on the table. Howser f
linched, the sound of the slap reverberating like a rifle shot. ‘Bobby. I asked you a question,’ Cleary said, his tone measured yet, for all its softness, full of menace, ‘and I expect an answer.’

  ‘Quinn. Her name’s Abby Quinn.’

  ‘Abby Quinn. Good. That’s better. When was the last time you saw Abby Quinn?’

  Howser closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He opened them again. For the first time he looked at Cleary. ‘Last night,’ he said. ‘She jumped on the eleven fifty-five about thirty seconds before we pulled out. There were only a couple of other passengers. Hardly anyone takes that boat this time of year.’

  ‘How long have you known Quinn?’

  ‘All my life. We’re both from the island. Grew up there. She’s still living there. I’ve got my own place in town now.’

  ‘Did you talk to her last night?’

  ‘Like I said, she jumps on at the last minute and comes running up to me.’ Howser paused. ‘You know Abby’s crazy, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ said Cleary. ‘I didn’t know. What do you mean by crazy?’

  Howser shrugged. ‘She gets weird sometimes. Does weird stuff. Says weird stuff. She’s been in and out of that mental hospital in Gorham a couple of times.’

  ‘Winter Haven?’

  ‘Yeah. Winter Haven.’

  ‘Was she doing weird stuff Friday?’

  Howser nodded. ‘Kind of. She came running on wearing this stupid ski mask. I could tell it was Abby, though.’

  ‘How? You said she was wearing a mask.’

  ‘I dunno. Her shape. Her voice. The way she was moving and talking. Like I said, I’ve known her all my life.’

  No surprise there. It’s not that hard to recognize someone under a mask. Not if you know them well enough. Which left the obvious question hanging. Did the killer know Abby? And if so, how well? McCabe didn’t give voice to the thought. He didn’t have to. He knew Maggie was thinking the same thing. On the screen Howser was still talking.

  ‘Anyway, she pulls the mask off and tells me somebody’s chasing her. She looks upset, so I ask her who’s chasing her. She says Death. That’s what she said. Death. I mean, that’s weird right there, isn’t it? Then she puts her face about an inch away from mine and makes me promise not to tell anybody that I’d seen her. Says I have to swear I won’t tell. On a stack of Bibles. Cross my heart and hope to die. Like we were still in third grade or something. “Swear you won’t tell,” she said. “C’mon, swear it.” She wouldn’t stop till I actually used the words, “I swear I won’t tell.” ’