The Chill of Night
Page 34
‘I heard.’
‘Saturday and today were both gorgeous. You and Kyra should have come. You would have loved it.’
‘I’m sure. How was your report card?’
‘Good.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Sure.’ She went back to her room and returned with the card. Four As and one B. He wanted to ask her about going away to school without biasing her by telling her it was Sandy’s idea. He didn’t think it would be anything she’d want to do. Still, he needed to be sure.
‘Have you thought any more about where you want to go to college?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Orono, I guess. Or maybe USM. Then I could live at home.’
‘How about Harvard? Or Yale?’
‘Yeah, right,’ she snorted. ‘Nobody gets in there.’
‘Somebody must. They have a whole bunch of students at both places. Grades like these, you could be one of them.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘You could if you went to a good boarding school first.’
‘Boarding school?’ She looked at him as if he’d suggested taking classes on Mars. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Just a thought.’
‘Not a very good one. I don’t want to go to boarding school. We can’t afford it, anyway. You’re always saying you can’t even pay the bills we already have.’
‘They have scholarships,’ he said. ‘You might get one.’ If she decided she did want to go away to school, there was no way he’d let Peter Ingram pay for it. She was his daughter. Not Ingram’s.
Her eyes narrowed. Her version of his Clint Eastwood squint. ‘I don’t want to go to boarding school, and I don’t know why you’re even bringing it up. You sound like you want to get rid of me or something. Like Mom did.’
He went over and sat near her on the edge of the couch. ‘No, I don’t want to get rid of you, and no, I don’t want you to go to boarding school. In fact, I’d hate it if you weren’t here.’
‘Then what’d you bring it up for?’
‘It’s something your mother suggested, and I just needed to be sure it wasn’t something you wanted to do before I told her no way.’
‘No way.’
‘Okay. Good. No way it is, then.’
‘Besides, like I told you before, I want to be a cop. Like you.’
The family business. He smiled to himself. Would it suck in yet another generation of McCabes? It hadn’t missed a single one since his great-grandfather joined the force in New York back in the 1890s. How long could they keep the string going? How long did they want to?
‘I don’t think I need to go to Harvard to do that.’
‘No, but you do need to go to college before you decide.’
‘Orono’s fine.’
‘It’s better than fine. It’s a good school.’
He hugged her again. They heard the front door open and close. Kyra appeared carrying a bag of groceries. ‘Hello. Could I have one, too? A hug, I mean?’
He took the shopping bag and put it on the floor and wrapped his arms around both his women. ‘Welcome home,’ he said.
‘It’s good to be home,’ said Kyra. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ll be leaving again.’
‘Not even if I have another murder?’
‘Not even.’
He looked in the bags. ‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked.
‘Chicken Saltimbocca,’ she said. ‘Sautéed chicken breasts topped with prosciutto and melted mozzarella cheese in a butter and wine sauce.’ Kyra was at least as good a cook as she was an artist. Whatever she made would be delicious. ‘I’ll start it now.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Casey. ‘Okay?’
Kyra looked surprised. ‘Okay.’ She’d never asked before. ‘Of course.’
McCabe poured Kyra a glass of Sancerre, then hauled himself up on the kitchen stool, sipped his Scotch, and watched them work.
A couple of minutes later, the doorbell rang. He debated whether or not to answer it, but then it rang again, and so he did. John Kelly was on the other side.
‘Hello, John.’
‘I stopped by police headquarters. Detective Savage told me I’d find you here.’
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I saw the pictures.’
‘I’m sorry we had to put you through that.’
‘Yes. Me, too. Her name was Kimberly Watkins. She was one of Lainie’s girls. She disappeared from Sanctuary House just before Christmas.’
‘You didn’t report it?’
‘No. I didn’t think much of it. Kids take off all the time. She’s from a town called Mapleton up near Presque Isle. I thought maybe she went back for the holidays. Even the runaways get sentimental sometimes.’
‘Well, maybe she did.’
‘Yeah, maybe. But I doubt it. So do you.’
McCabe nodded. ‘Yes, I do. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
‘Nothing really. I just wanted to thank you.’
Thank him? McCabe had spent over an hour verbally beating this guy over the head and he wanted to thank him. ‘Thank me? For what exactly?’
‘For digging deeper. For not accepting the easy answers. From me or anyone else. For stopping that bastard.’
McCabe shrugged. ‘It’s my job. I do it the best I can.’
‘A lot of cops wouldn’t have bothered. You did. I wanted to thank you for that.’
‘You’re welcome. Would you like to come in? Join me for a Scotch?’
‘Thanks, no.’
‘Or some Irish? I’ve got a bottle of Black Bush around here somewhere. My brother sent it. Wanted to prove the Irish make whisky as good as the Scots any day.’
‘Some other time, maybe. Teddy’s waiting for me downstairs in the car. You go on back to your family.’ He held out his hand. McCabe shook it. Kelly left.
McCabe returned to the kitchen and climbed back up on the stool.
‘Who was that?’ asked Casey.
‘One of the suspects in my murder case.’
‘I assume it was one who didn’t do it,’ said Kyra.
‘Yes, it was. I was wondering,’ he said, ‘do you think, after dinner, you might be able to borrow the keys to the gallery?’
‘I don’t know. I can call Gloria and ask. Why? What do you have in mind?’
‘I thought maybe, after dinner, we all ought to stop by and take a look. I understand they’re showing some new work by a major Maine artist. I heard she was really good.’
Kyra smiled. ‘Yeah, I heard that, too. I’ll see what I can do.’
Acknowledgments
Once again there are many people I want to thank for their help and insights in writing this book. They include:
Detective Sergeant Tom Joyce, who once held McCabe’s job as head of the Crimes Against People unit of the Portland Police Department and who now teaches Criminal Justice at Southern Maine Community College. Tom was always ready, willing, and able to answer my many questions, both big and small, about the Portland PD in particular and police procedure in general.
Lieutenant Tony Ward and Officer Cindy Taylor, also of the Portland Police Department.
Dr Ted McCarthy, head of the Department of Psychiatry at Mercy Hospital in Portland, for offering his insights into schizophrenia, and to emergency physician Dr George ‘Bud’ Higgins of Maine Medical Center for his help with ER procedures. Dr S. Erin Presnell, Associate Professor of Pathology and Director of Medical and Forensic Autopsy at the Medical University of South Carolina for her generosity in helping me in these areas.
Cynthia Thayer, Kate Sullivan, Brenda Buchanan, Jane Sloven, and Richard Bilodeau, who were all kind enough to read and reread the manuscript and offer suggestions that improved it enormously.
Charlie Spicer, Yaniv Soha, and Andy Martin of Minotaur Books and my agent, Meg Ruley.
I’d also like to thank the authors of two remarkable memoirs that were invaluable in helping me understand, in a very personal way, the experience of schizophrenia. Both books
should be required reading for anyone interested in learning about this terrible disease: The Quiet Room: A Journey Out of the Torment of Madness by Lori Schiller and Amanda Bennett and The Center Cannot Hold: My Journey Through Madness by Elyn R. Saks.
Finally, thanks to my wife, Jeanne, and to our children, Ben and Kate, for their love and unstinting support from the very beginning.
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First published in the United States of America by St Martin’s Press 2010
First published in Great Britain by Penguin Books 2012
Copyright © James Hayman 2010
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