‘Could be a copycat.’
‘I don’t think so. The Orlando cops never released the alias.’
‘Okay.’
‘In both cases the killer kept the victim alive for roughly one week before taking out his scalpel and saw. Lucinda Cassidy disappeared early Friday morning. If it is the same guy and if he follows the same pattern — ’
‘She’s scheduled for surgery in four days.’
‘Give or take.’
Lund looked thoughtful. ‘Unfortunately, not a whole lot of what you’ve got connects to Spencer.’
‘At the moment he’s all I’ve got.’
‘Okay. Write it up. We’ll take it to Judge Washburn. Paula doesn’t hang out at the Pemaquid Club, and she’s not one to be impressed by Spencer’s social standing. I think she’ll sign it.’
Washburn was an older district court judge, nearing retirement. McCabe had never met her, but her reputation was ‘tough but fair’ and ‘doesn’t suffer fools lightly.’ He hoped she was the right choice.
Back at Middle Street, Starbucks already had Katie’s hard drive wired into his computer. ‘I’m making some progress,’ he announced. Maggie and McCabe peered over his shoulder at the screen. ‘No problem getting in. She always used the same password, SOCCERGIRL07. I checked all her e-mails. Received, sent, and saved at Gmail and RoadRunner. Nothing stood out, but you may want to review them.’ He handed McCabe a CD.
‘In her address books,’ asked Maggie, ‘did you find the name Harry Lime?’
‘Lime? L–I-M-E?’ He reviewed the list. ‘No. Nothing like that. However, there were a couple of bookmarked Web sites you may want to know about.’
‘Like what?’
‘First, she had a personal profile page on a social networking site called OurPlace. She used it to communicate with her electronic network of friends. A lot of the kids do.’
McCabe was vaguely familiar with the site. He wondered if Casey was signed up. Accessing Katie’s contacts on the site could widen the circle of possible suspects. Or maybe narrow it.
‘Is the site open to predators?’ he asked.
‘I think so,’ said Starbucks. ‘They claim that they offer a lot of privacy protection, but it’s not all that tight. We’re getting the list of her contacts from the company. She was also registered with a dating service called Heartthrob. com. Do you know it? Anybody looking for pretty young girls could find pictures, a profile, and easy ways to make contact. I know many people who’ve used it. Including myself. I’ve met several very nice young ladies.’
McCabe imagined the young Somali trolling for dates on the Internet. Odd. He’d never thought of Starbucks as having any social life at all. ‘How would the wrong person gain access?’
‘Easy,’ said Maggie. ‘Just register using a phony name and e-mail address and you can contact any target who looks appealing. Exchange e-mails and photos, make dates. Whatever.’
‘Does anyone keep a record of contacts made?’
‘The site is supposed to,’ said Starbucks. ‘Again we’re trying to get a list, but they, too, have privacy issues, so we’ll probably have to wait until that’s sorted out.’
McCabe went back to his desk hoping to come up with enough probable cause to justify a warrant to search Harriet Spencer’s Lexus and the house at 24 Trinity Street. Lund called just as he was finishing up. ‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘Judge Washburn’s out of town until late tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Shit. That shoots twenty-four hours. How about trying somebody else?’
‘I thought about that, but I think Washburn gives us the best shot of actually getting the warrant. I say we wait.’
McCabe wasn’t happy with the idea of waiting, but he reluctantly agreed.
‘In the meantime, do you have an affidavit you’re prepared to swear to?’ asked Lund.
‘Ready to go.’
‘Stop by my office and let me eyeball it, see if it needs any changes.’
Before going to Lund’s, McCabe called Aaron Cahill.
‘How you doin’, McCabe?’ The deep voice of the Orlando cop boomed out of the phone. It was almost comforting. ‘Solved your heart case yet?’
‘Looks like we’re chasing the same whacko, Aaron. Harry Lime’s business card turned up in our victim’s dresser drawer.’
‘Well, do tell. Does the card say what Harry does for a living? Aside from cutting up pretty girls, I mean?’
‘Assistant athletic director, University of West Florida.’
‘I assume the card’s a phony?’
‘Yeah. Nobody named Lime works at the university. The number printed on the card is an unassigned extension at Florida Power and Light.’
‘Hmm. School’s up in Pensacola. Not far from where my mama lives. Fax me a copy of the card. I’ll nose around. See what I can find out. Anything else to report?’
McCabe filled Cahill in on the conversations with Tobin Kenney and Joanne Ceglia. ‘Not much to go on,’ he added.
‘At least you’ve got a partial ID.’
‘From the rear.’
‘More’n we ever got. Anything else?’
‘Yeah. Lime was driving an SUV, probably dark green. Same kind of vehicle we caught on video near where the body was dumped. We’ve got a doctor in the area, a heart surgeon, who owns a similar vehicle. I’m trying to get a warrant to search it. That’s it so far.’
‘Sounds like you’re making progress.’
‘Let’s hope so. You busy otherwise?’
‘Who me? Hell no.’ Cahill’s voice slipped into sarcasm. ‘We’ve just been whiling away the days waiting for the next hurricane to come knock us into next week. McCabe, I’ll tell you, it’s been a hell of a summer down here, and they’re telling us there’s more to come.’
‘Yeah, I’ve been reading about it.’
‘You get those case files I sent your way?’
‘They’re right here on my desk. Haven’t had a chance to go through them yet. I’ll do that at home tonight. Let’s talk in a couple of days.’
‘Okay, I’ve gotta run. Keep me posted.’ Cahill hung up.
21
Monday. 1:30 P.M.
Had Katie Dubois died in any of the ordinary ways teenagers die, from illness or an accident, from an overdose of alcohol or drugs, her funeral would have passed largely unnoticed. As it was, it ranked as one of the major media events of the year in Maine, and the city’s press corps and public personages turned out en masse.
Detectives Margaret Savage and Michael McCabe arrived early at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, home of the Diocese of Portland, a massive Gothic Revival redbrick church with a soaring two-hundred- foot spire that was crowned with a golden cross.
As agreed, Maggie positioned herself outside the main door, trying to camouflage herself behind the cluster of reporters and news photographers. She carried an SLR digital camera Starbucks had given her that was fancy enough to look professional. Her job was to shoot head shots of everyone entering or leaving the church. The camera’s endless buttons, dials, and levers baffled her when Starbucks first handed it over. He set it on full automatic and told her just to point and click. So far she was doing okay.
McCabe went inside. He’d been in the cathedral a couple of times before, for Christmas concerts with Casey and last year with Kyra as well. Each time the church’s soaring, luminous white-and-gold interior briefly seduced
