‘Do me a favor. Dig a little deeper. See if you can find out if Pollock ever used the alias Duane Pollard.’
‘So who’s Pollard?’
‘A local enforcer in Miami. My information places him in South Beach in March 2001. At the time, he was the live-in lover of a high-class pimp and pusher named Lucas Kane, who just happened to be an old dear friend of one Dr. Philip Spencer.’
‘Well, well, well. Didn’t know Spencer had such nice friends,’ said Fraser. ‘Where’s Kane now?’
‘Dead. He was murdered back in 2001.’
‘Really? Was Pollock/Pollard a suspect?’
‘No. According to Miami Beach PD he had an airtight alibi.’
‘Anything to show Spencer knew Pollard?’ asked Tasco.
‘They could have met at Kane’s funeral,’ said McCabe. Noticing a man nearby eyeing them, McCabe lowered his voice to just above a whisper and shifted his chair so the man couldn’t see his lips. Tasco and Fraser followed suit. The line between precaution and paranoia, as always, seemed thin.
‘Maybe at the funeral, Spencer asks Pollock to come to Maine to bash any necessary heads in his heart transplant scam,’ said Fraser. ‘After all, Kane doesn’t need him anymore, what with him being dead and all.’
‘Possible,’ said McCabe, considering it. ‘Pollock/Pollard loses his meal ticket in Florida about the same time Spencer’s hatching his transplant scheme in Maine. I mean, why else would a thug like that end up in Portland? Could you find anything about Spencer visiting France?’
‘Not much, even though the gendarmes were helpful,’ said Tasco. ‘There’s no record of anybody checking into the Hotel du Midi in Montpellier under the name Philip Spencer at any time during November of last year.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. I checked with the hospital. According to their records, Dr. Spencer performed three heart transplants here in Maine that month.’
‘So he couldn’t have been in France?’
‘Technically, he could have, but he would have to have been traveling within a hell of a tight time frame.’
‘Do me another favor, Tom. Ask your contact in France if anyone checked in using the name Harry Lime.’
‘Okay, and if he did?’
‘Get the passport number and find out where and when it was issued. If it was mailed, find out where it was sent.’
‘So the guy in France wasn’t Philip Spencer?’
‘At least not our Philip Spencer. Sophie Gauthier just looked at his photo. She’s certain Spencer’s not the guy who recruited her.’
‘Basically you’re telling me we have nothing?’ said Tasco.
‘That pretty much sums it up.’
‘I’ve got to tell you Mike, it’s getting pretty old running up and down these blind alleys.’
‘Just hang in, Tom. It’ll pay off,’ said McCabe.
‘I hope so. What’s next?’
‘Next? Next we take a look inside Mrs. Spencer’s pretty green Lexus.’
39
Wednesday. 4:00 P.M.
McCabe hated surveillance, especially from the front seat of a rental car. This one was a Dodge Stratus. About as devoid of personality and creature comforts as a vehicle could get. It wasn’t even inconspicuous. In this neighborhood nobody but cops or Jehovah’s Witnesses would drive anything so dull — but it was all Fortier would pay for. He didn’t know how long the Bird was going to be impounded, but it could be a while. Even afterward, getting the windshield fixed, and maybe some other stuff, too, would take additional time. At least the Stratus had a CD player and a passable, though not great, sound system.
McCabe was parked in front of 24 Trinity Street. He’d already been there two hours waiting for the green Lexus to return. He’d invited Burt Lund to sit with him, and Lund was getting antsy. Tasco and Fraser waited across the street in a PPD Crown Vic. Mostly McCabe passed the time leaning back listening to Marcus Roberts play some very familiar Gershwin on the piano. He alternated the Roberts CD with one by Oscar Peterson, who created similar magic with Cole Porter.
‘Any word on what’s planned for Kevin Comisky’s funeral?’ asked Lund.
‘Yeah. Memo came down from Shockley’s office this afternoon. Service is scheduled for Monday at the cathedral. Color guard. Bagpipes. Twenty-one-gun salute at the gravesite. The whole nine yards. Cops will be coming in from all over New England to attend. Shockley plans to deliver a eulogy.’
‘That’ll be nice for the widow.’
McCabe glanced over at Lund. ‘Nice doesn’t bring her husband back.’
‘No.’
They lapsed into silence. The warrant to search the Lexus waited in McCabe’s pocket. Both McCabe and Lund agreed they wouldn’t serve it unless and until the Lexus was right there in front of them. Go banging on the Spencers’ front door while Phil Spencer was driving around loose and you’d invite some asshole lawyer to hold them up for days while he challenged probable cause.
An ATL for the Lexus had been issued to all patrol units. If the SUV was spotted, officers were to report the sighting and follow the vehicle but not intercept it. McCabe’s phone rang. It was Jacobi. ‘How you doing, Bill?’
‘I’m good. What fun and games do you have planned for us today?’
‘We’re over on Trinity Street waiting on a Lexus SUV. It’s the one I think was used to haul Katie Dubois’s body over to the scrap yard. I want you to go over it and find what we need to put this asshole away.’
‘The asshole being Dr. Spencer?’
‘You got it.’
‘Being an asshole is not necessarily a punishable offense.’
‘Don’t start, Bill. I’ve got good reason to think this guy might have been involved in the murder.’
Jacobi sighed. ‘So you’re looking for what? Prints, hair, fibers?’
‘Yeah, all that, but mostly blood. I don’t see how he could have hauled Katie’s body around cut up the way it was without getting some blood on the vehicle. Most likely on the cargo space in back. I don’t care how hard he scrubbed it — ’
Jacobi finished the sentence. ‘Luminol will show it.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay, call me when your pigeon arrives and we’ll send over a flatbed. We’ll have to bring the Lexus down here to the garage to really go over it. I’ll also want to remove the seats and open up the spare tire well.’
‘That’s fine.’
Another hour passed before Harriet Spencer drove the green SUV through the gates of the Spencers’ inner sanctum. McCabe pulled the Stratus into the driveway behind her, effectively blocking retreat. He called Jacobi to send over the flatbed and then walked up to the Lexus’s driver’s side window. ‘Please exit the vehicle, Mrs. Spencer.’
‘What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave my property and not come back.’
‘I’m serving you with a warrant, Mrs. Spencer, signed by District Court Judge Paula Washburn, authorizing us to conduct a thorough search of this vehicle in the police garage. A tow truck’s on its way now. We have reason to believe your car may have been used in the murder of Katie Dubois.’
‘You’re out of your mind. How dare you accuse us like this?’
‘We’re not making any accusations, Mrs. Spencer. We’re simply searching the car for evidence. If we don’t find anything, it will be returned to you with our apologies. This is Assistant Attorney General Bert Lund.’
Lund smiled. ‘How do you do, Mrs. Spencer?’
‘Mr. Lund will verify the validity of this warrant. You may also show it to your own attorney. Now please exit
