‘You think I should come in? Get everybody together tonight?’
‘I’d rather have our people on the street tonight than sitting in a conference room. They know what they’re doing, and I can coordinate by cell. If the same guy’s responsible, we ought to get a jump on it. Besides, there’s not much to report yet, and, like I said, Cassidy may still be alive.’
‘Alright — but we better make quick progress, or the wrath of Shockley will come down on all our heads.’
As he hung up the phone, McCabe looked up to see Maggie leaning against his desk. Nearly six feet tall, she was a lean, slightly gawky-looking woman with bright, searching eyes. McCabe always thought she looked more like a college professor than a cop. ‘So?’ he asked.
‘Parents think the boyfriend’s to blame,’ she said. ‘According to Tasco’s report, he and Katie were seen arguing just before she walked off and disappeared.’
‘He’s got a solid alibi. Isn’t that right?’
‘True. There were five other kids in the group. They all say he stayed with them for at least two hours after Katie left, which would have made it about midnight. After that, he says he went home to bed. His mother says he got home around twelve thirty. She was still up.’
‘What did her parents say about him?’
‘They don’t much like him. They see him as being pretty much an operator. Stepfather says Katie came in drunk a couple of times after dates with Sobel, and she was out all night more than once.’
‘Having sex?’
‘The mother thinks so. Says Katie had a prescription for birth control pills, and she told her always to carry condoms. “Don’t depend on the guy to carry condoms.” That seems to have been the sum total of her motherly advice.’
‘It’s pretty good advice.’
‘Yeah, but it shouldn’t end there,’ said Maggie. ‘Not for a sixteen-year-old.’
‘C’mon, Mag, you know as well as I do Sobel as the murderer just doesn’t figure. You don’t acquire the skills to neatly remove a human heart cutting up frogs in biology class. Plus, if he did kidnap her, where does he keep her for a week before he kills her? Under his bed at home?’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘Where are the parents now?’
‘On their way home. I paid for a cab.’ Maggie paused, waiting for McCabe to react. He didn’t.
‘I’m putting in for it,’ she said. ‘I expect to be reimbursed.’
‘Did I say anything? Fortier’s the Scrooge around here. Not me.’
‘Don’t pull that Mr. Innocence stuff with me, McCabe. Fortier’s afraid of you. He’ll do whatever you tell him to do.’
‘What makes you think he’s afraid of me?’
‘You’re smarter than he is and he knows it. Plus that memory thing of yours. Always calling up little-known facts out of thin air. That really makes him nervous. He always thinks you’re going to show him up in public. Or, even worse, around Shockley.’
‘How much was the cab?’ asked McCabe.
‘I gave them ten bucks. I don’t expect the Ceglias will send back any change.’
‘Ten bucks!’ McCabe exclaimed in mock alarm, but before Maggie could react he added, ‘Sure, put in for it. By the way, another shoe just dropped.’
‘What sort of shoe?’
‘We’ve got a brand-new missing person.’
‘Oh, Jesus. Already?’
McCabe filled Maggie in on Lucinda Cassidy’s disappearance.
‘Are we assuming it’s the same guy?’ Maggie pulled her own desk chair across to McCabe’s desk and sat down. She produced a big bag of Rold Gold pretzels, poured a mound of them on the desk, put her feet up, and started munching.
‘Definite possibility. Whoever arranged Katie’s body so artfully out there in the scrap yard was showing off. He’s preening. Wants us to notice him. I’d love to minimize the media feeding frenzy and deny him that pleasure.’
‘I don’t think that’ll be possible. We’ve got the gruesome murder of a teenage girl. Add in Cassidy’s disappearance and they’ll be all over it.’
‘Shockley will be thrilled.’ McCabe’s phone rang. He checked his watch. It was after midnight. Bill Bacon was on the other end. ‘What did you find?’ He silently signaled Maggie to pick up on the other line.
‘Not much. It’s a four-unit house on Pine Street. Cassidy’s got a one-bedroom on the top floor. Place is a mess. Bed’s unmade. Lipstick and mascara and other girl stuff scattered around the bathroom. Panty hose over the shower rail, that sort of thing. There’s one dirty dinner dish in the sink and the remains of a frozen pizza in the trash. Her briefcase is on the couch in the living room with papers from her office scattered around. Her laptop’s there, too. She was probably working at home last night.’
‘Getting ready for the big meeting Beckman was talking about?’
‘Kind of looks that way.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. Farrington said she had a dog. Small mongrel named Fritz. There’s dog stuff around the apartment — dog bed in her bedroom, food bowl in the kitchen — but there’s no leash and no dog. He also said she was a runner, but I don’t see any running shoes. My guess is she took the dog for a run this morning and never made it home. She was supposed to be at work at eight thirty, so it had to be early.’
‘What time did the neighbor spot the car?’
‘She said first thing, around seven.’
‘Okay. Let’s get as many people as we can scouring areas where people jog, starting on the West End where we found her car.’ Without being asked, Maggie left to begin making the necessary calls. ‘Any photos of her in the apartment?’
‘Yeah, plenty, and Farrington gave me one. He was still carrying it in his wallet.’
McCabe told Bacon to meet them on the Western Prom and hung up.
Maggie was back in less than five minutes. ‘I’ve managed to round up half a dozen uniforms plus a couple of detectives from across the hall. Bill and Will make ten. You and me make an even dozen. I think that’s about it. At least until morning. What about Tasco and Fraser?’
‘They’re working the neighborhood around the scrap yard. Let’s take Batchelder. If nothing else, the walk will do Jack good. We’ll leave Carl here. Somebody should be manning the phones, and I don’t think I can bear spending the night listening to Carl whining about how wet he’s getting.’
Ten minutes later McCabe and Maggie joined a dozen wet cops combing Portland’s Western Promenade and adjacent neighborhoods for any trace of Lucinda Cassidy. They’d broken up into teams. McCabe and Maggie along with Jack Batchelder and Officer Connie Davenport were moving along the western edge of the Prom itself. The rain was heavier now, and McCabe knew it might be washing away evidence.
About fifteen minutes after they’d started, Officer Davenport called out, ‘Hey! I think I’ve found something! Look at this.’
She was shining her flashlight on a wet Sea Dogs baseball cap. It had been partially hidden by weeds protruding from the edge of the steep drop-off that bordered the far side of the Prom. ‘Could be hers,’ said Connie. She knelt above the cap and poked a ballpoint pen under the little Velcro strap in the back. She slid the cap into an evidence bag. If the cap was Cassidy’s, there might be more evidence nearby. McCabe peered over the drop-off. ‘I’m going down to have a look.’
He handed Maggie his gun and holster. He figured that was a sensible precaution against accidentally shooting himself, should he slip and fall on the way down. ‘I’m supposed to be management, you know,’ McCabe wisecracked to the others. ‘I’m not supposed to be doing this shit.’ Nobody laughed.
The only response came from Jack Batchelder. ‘Don’t break your leg,’ he said. ‘It’s dark, and the rain’s made that sucker slippery.’
‘Thanks, Jack. I’ll do my best.’ McCabe stepped backward over the edge and began working his way down the wet, weedy embankment. Rivulets of water trickled past him, cutting small indentations in the soil. He had no rain
