Darkness First

by James Hayman

‘I’d rather be alone if you don’t mind. But you can read them up on the porch.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Maggie took the envelope and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Goodbye, Sam. And good luck with everything. I’ll look for the book when it comes out.’

  ‘Don’t forget to tell Emily what I said about the house.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Maggie went outside and climbed the steps to the porch. She sat in a wooden Adirondack chair. There were about a dozen pages marked with Post-It notes. She flipped to the first one. Page twenty-six. The opening lines of chapter two. Conor Riordan was a handsome man. Far handsomer than anyone capable of such evil had any right to be. Tall. Chiseled features. Dark, curly hair. Shockingly bright blue eyes. They met by accident on that last warm day of October.

  Maggie stuffed the pages back into the yellow envelope and drove back to Machias to find McCabe.

  48

  Even at ten miles an hour above the speed limit, the drive from Machias to Augusta takes a good two and a half hours. Unless of course you run into traffic or construction holdups. Then it can stretch to three or more. Maggie and McCabe wanted to leave plenty of time, certain that Susan Marsh, if she showed at all, wouldn’t waste time hanging around if they arrived late.

  Before they left, Maggie handed him the manuscript of A Slender Thread. Told him to read the pages marked with Post-It notes. Then she pulled out. They were heading west on route nine by 1:30.

  When he’d finished reading he slipped the pages back into the envelope and tossed it on the back seat.

  ‘Is he really that good-looking?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘So you’re sure the bad guy’s Carroll?’

  ‘Not a hundred percent. But I’m getting there.’

  ‘I see only one problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Susan Marsh.’

  In Maine murders are prosecuted not by a DA but by the state Attorney General’s office. Though he’d been in court with Marsh only a couple of times, McCabe thought of her as one of the toughest, smartest, most determined assistant AGs he’d ever worked with, not excluding his good buddy Burt Lund. The simple fact that Susan had stepped forward, at considerable risk to her own career, and vouched for Sean Carroll’s whereabouts on the night of his wife’s murder made it tough to believe Carroll was guilty. He couldn’t have picked a better person to provide an alibi. Rock-solid, like Tracy Carlin had said.

  ‘When we get there,’ McCabe said, ‘you ought to take the lead in asking her about that night.’

  ‘I’m happy to, but why? You know her better than I do.’

  ‘You’re a woman. She’s a woman. She may be more willing to confide in you than me about a sexual indiscretion. I may even disappear while the two of you talk.’

  ‘She may not want to talk about it no matter who asks.’

  McCabe allowed as how that was possible.

  If Marsh had lied to protect her lover, Maggie asked herself, why on earth would she admit it now? To a cop she barely knew? If she had been lying, and the lies came to light, it would finish a promising career already damaged by her initial admission. Hell, if she lied knowing Carroll was a murderer it could even lead to a long prison sentence. No. For Susan Marsh, admitting she’d lied to protect a killer made absolutely no sense. But it didn’t mean she hadn’t lied. Maggie knew plenty of women who’d done stranger things in the name of love. Supposing, of course, love played any role in the affair.

  They drove in silence for another twenty minutes, both lost in their own thoughts.

  ‘What if she wasn’t lying?’ asked Maggie.

  ‘You mean, what if Carroll’s innocent?’

  ‘No. I mean what if Carroll paid someone else to do the dirty work. Meanwhile, knowing that, as the victim’s husband, he’d be a prime suspect, he went out and arranged the perfect alibi.’

  ‘One that casts him in the role of adulterer,’ said McCabe.

  ‘Better that than a murderer. And, like you said, the noble Sean told his bosses he was reluctant to reveal his paramour’s name to avoid besmirching her sterling reputation. Which in turn forced Marsh to step forward on her own to keep her secret lover from being unjustly accused.’

  ‘Okay. So who’d he hire?’

  Maggie shrugged. ‘Who knows? But if that’s the way it happened, I’ll bet you a bottle of your favorite whiskey whoever it was is dead.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I do think. So far at least, anyone who could possibly threaten Conor Riordan in any way has ended up dead. The males just dead. The females, at least Stoddard, sexually mutilated and then dead.’

  ‘Except, for Susan Marsh.’

  ‘Yeah. Except for her.’

  49

  5:03 P.M., Monday, August 24, 2009

  Augusta, Maine

  Augusta’s Capitol Park is a formal greensward running from the Maine State House, with its elegant green cupola topped by a gold figure of Minerva, the Greek goddess of wisdom, down to the banks of the Kennebec river. The capitol was designed in 1827 by one of the renowned architects of the day, Charles Bulfinch of Boston, who also designed the US capitol building in Washington, DC. Construction was completed in 1832. Nearly a century later the park was laid out by Frederick Law Olmstead’s firm. Despite the separation of time, the two elements complemented each other well.

  Susan Marsh was waiting for them, behind the wheel of a shiny black Mercedes E550 sedan. The car was parked at the corner of Union and State Streets when Maggie and McCabe pulled in behind her five minutes early.

  McCabe got out first and walked up to greet Marsh. She lowered the driver’s-side window.

  She was a slender woman in her mid-thirties with a trim, athletic frame. Her long, angular features were not unattractive, but McCabe would never have called Susan pretty. Plain, perhaps even severe, was a more apt description. Even dressed expensively, as she almost always was, Susan Marsh managed to look a little dowdy. McCabe sometimes wondered if the dowdiness was a conscious pose, one that worked for her as a prosecutor or if, as the last in a long line of stern New England aristocrats, dowdy was what Susan Marsh truly was. He suspected the latter but either way he could think of only two things likely to have drawn a Hollywood-handsome type like Sean Carroll into an adulterous affair with someone like Marsh. One was that she was rich. The second was that she made a nearly perfect choice to provide an alibi for murder.

  Susan glanced in her rearview mirror. ‘Is that Maggie Savage back there?’

  ‘It is. This is really her meeting rather than mine.’

  ‘I see. Well, why don’t you ask Maggie to join us and get in? We’ll drive while we talk. I don’t think walking around the park offers any more privacy than sitting in my office.’

  McCabe signaled Maggie. Pointed her to the front passenger seat while he slid in back. Susan Marsh pulled out into traffic. McCabe brushed his hand across the butter-soft leather seats. ‘Nice car,’ he said.

  ‘I like it,’ was all she said.

  McCabe knew Susan could easily afford the sixty grand plus the Mercedes must have set her back. Assistant AGs in Maine don’t make all that much but Susan had been born into money, married more money, and came away with an additional tidy sum when her divorce settlement was finalized three short years later.

  Aside from hitting a minor speed bump by providing an obvious suspect with his alibi in the Liz Carroll murder case, Susan Marsh’s career trajectory had been otherwise spectacular. A confirmed workaholic, she graduated Law Review from Harvard, clerked for one of the more influential justices on the Maine Supreme Court and then turned down associate positions with all three of the top corporate firms in Portland as well as a couple in Boston. Instead, she surprised everyone by applying for, and accepting, a job as an assistant AG in the state Attorney General’s office. She was generally considered, along with McCabe’s close friend Burt Lund, as one of the two top prosecutors in the state.

  Augusta is a small town, and it wasn’t long bef
ore they were turning from one narrow country road on to another. ‘I’m guessing you want to talk about the murder in Washington County,’ she said to Maggie. ‘I heard you were getting yourself involved in that.’

  Maggie wondered if she’d heard it from Carroll. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Is it because of your brother? Because he’s wanted for the murder?’

  ‘Partly. I’m convinced Harlan’s innocent. By the way, it’s murders plural,’ said Maggie. ‘There were two more deaths last night. And two more people are missing. They could also be dead.’

  Susan gave her a sharp look. Maine wasn’t Detroit and body counts usually didn’t pile up so quickly.

  ‘Tiff Stoddard’s parents were shot to death.’

  ‘I’ve been holed up in court all day. I hadn’t heard. Who’s missing?’

  ‘Stoddard’s younger sister. Tabitha Stoddard. Just eleven years old. And the guy who captained Pike Stoddard’s boat. Name’s Luke Haskell.’

  ‘And you want to talk to me because you think your brother didn’t do it?’

  ‘I know he didn’t do it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, detective. Regardless of whether he did it or not, I can’t help you. I won’t be prosecuting your brother’s case. And even if I was, I wouldn’t talk to you about it anyway.’

  ‘We didn’t drive down here to talk about my brother.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Are you still romantically involved with Sean Carroll?’

  ‘I don’t know where you’re getting your information but I’m afraid the answer is: it’s none of your business.’

  Maggie figured the only way to make any progress from here was to plow straight ahead. If Marsh told Carroll about it that’s just the way it was. ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Maggie said, ‘because I think Sean Carroll may have been responsible for Tiff Stoddard’s death. And by extension the others.’

  ‘One of the others being Liz Carroll?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does that mean you came down here to ask me if I was telling the truth when I corroborated Sean’s story that he was with me the night his wife died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s your involvement, McCabe?’

  ‘Me? It’s nothing personal. I just think we may have a cop investigating a murder he committed himself. If that’s the case, I sincerely doubt he intends to arrest the right guy.’

  ‘Do you have any evidence that Sean’s the killer? Or is this all based on conjecture and a desire to get your brother off the hook?’

  ‘So far, circumstantial evidence only,’ said Maggie. She told Marsh about Harlan’s run-in with Ganzer. About the too-perfect evidence planted at Harlan’s house. About her growing suspicion that Liz Carroll hadn’t shared the details of her investigations with any other cops including her own husband, possibly because she thought the bad guy was a cop.

  ‘So far you seem to be implicating Emmett Ganzer and not Sean Carroll.’

  ‘I initially thought it was Ganzer but then I found two descriptions of Stoddard’s killer. Conor Riordan he calls himself. One from Stoddard herself. Another from a witness I believe saw him with Tiff.’

  Maggie read Marsh the relevant description of Conor Riordan from A Slender Thread and told her about Tiff Stoddard’s input on the project. Then she took out Tabitha’s drawing and showed that to her.

  ‘That’s it? An author’s description in something clearly labeled a work of fiction and a child’s drawing of a figure with blue eyes and curly hair? You’ve got a good reputation as an investigator, Maggie, but I’m afraid you’d be laughed out of court. If it ever got to court. Which it wouldn’t.’ Susan paused and softened the harsh tone of her voice. ‘But you do believe the child … what’s her name?’

  ‘Tabitha.’

  ‘You believe that Tabitha saw whoever killed her sister?’

  ‘And her parents.’

  ‘But you can’t ask her because you don’t know where she is or if she’s even still alive?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘I take it Sean doesn’t know you’ve contacted me. Doesn’t know we’re talking.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you don’t plan on informing him?’

  ‘No. We don’t. And we’d rather you didn’t either.’

  ‘You’re taking kind of a risk there aren’t you? For all you know Sean and I might still be lovers. You obviously think I lied to cover for him once. If that were true, what would stop me from doing so again?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said McCabe. ‘But if we’re going to prove Carroll’s guilty or, for that matter, not guilty, you happen to be a necessary piece of the puzzle. No way to figure it out without talking to you.’

  ‘Well, I may or may not choose to answer your questions. What did you want to know?’

  ‘The alibi you provided for Sean Carroll for the night his wife was murdered?’

  ‘What about it?’

  There wasn’t any clever way to ease into the question so Maggie decided to just ask it. Marsh would either answer truthfully or she wouldn’t. ‘Were you telling the truth?’

  Marsh pulled to the side of an empty stretch of road, parked and turned to face Maggie. ‘Let me ask you a question before I answer yours,’ she said. ‘Are you serious when you say you believe Sean was responsible for his wife’s death as well as Tiff Stoddard’s? And the others? Or are you just trying this on for size?’

  ‘Deadly serious.’

  ‘So you expect me to tell you if I was lying.’

  ‘If you were, yes.’

  Marsh smiled. An odd smile. Maggie might have described it as ironic. Or perhaps rueful.

  ‘The fact is, I didn’t lie. Sean was at my apartment that night. And not for the first time. Our affair had been going on for several months. For obvious reasons we didn’t like going out together in public. That night, he came over and I made us dinner. Sweetbreads. I’ve always adored them and Sean’s the only man I’ve ever known who doesn’t cringe at the thought. After dinner we sat in front of the fire and had a couple of brandies. We made love and then we fell asleep. He was still in my bed six hours later when the call came from Emmett Ganzer informing Sean of the fire. Of Liz Carroll’s death.’

  ‘How long does it take to get from your house to where Sean lived? The house that burned down.’

  ‘Maybe twenty minutes. Less if you’re driving fast.’

  ‘Did you wake up at all during the night? To go to the bathroom or anything?’

  ‘No. I assume you’re asking because you want to know if Sean might have gotten up during the night, gone home, killed his wife, then come back, undressed and climbed into bed again.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I think it’s a stretch. I don’t think he would have risked me waking up and seeing that he was gone. But I suppose it’s possible. I slept right through. Like a log.’ Susan smiled again. ‘On the other hand, I usually do after good sex and a couple of brandies.’

  Maggie studied her. ‘Who poured the brandies? The ones you had after dinner.’

  ‘Sean did.’

  ‘How did they taste?’

  Marsh didn’t answer for a second. Just looked at Maggie thoughtfully. ‘Fine,’ she said after a pause. ‘Courvoisier always tastes fine.’

  ‘Not a little more bitter than usual?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Were you in love with Sean?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose so. Silly in retrospect.’

  ‘Did he love you back?’

  ‘He said he did.’ Marsh paused and studied Maggie the way McCabe had often seen her study a witness before deciding on a line of questioning.

  ‘Our relationship was more than sexual, though I must say Sean’s very good at sex. He has a beautiful body.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Any chance you’ve seen it yourself?’

  ‘No. No chance at all,’ said Maggie, wondering if Marsh had intuited something in the way Maggie had asked her questions. ‘Nor will there be,’ she ad
ded for emphasis. ‘Did you and Sean ever think about marriage?’

  ‘We discussed it. Liz wouldn’t agree to a divorce.’

  ‘Not even if he confessed to adultery?’

  ‘No. He said his punishment for wanting to be with me was having to stay with her.’

  ‘Did you ever sleep with him again? After the fire?’

  ‘No. Not since that night.’

  ‘His choice or yours?’

  ‘Mutual. That wouldn’t have been a good idea.’

  ‘Any chance he hired someone to set the fire for him?’

  ‘I don’t know. Again, I suppose it’s possible. You’d be better off talking to Tom Mayhew about that. He’s running the investigation, which is still ongoing. I do believe they’ve explored that possibility but if they’ve uncovered any evidence, I’m not aware of it. I can tell you Sean seemed genuinely shocked and upset when he got the call that morning. It wasn’t like he was expecting it.’

  ‘What time did the call come in?’

  ‘About five A.M.’

  ‘What did he do then?’

  ‘He got dressed and left. Went to the scene.’

  ‘Did you go with him?’

  ‘No. That wouldn’t have been a good idea, either.’

  Maggie turned away and stared into the woods along the side of the road. There were still a lot of unanswered questions but she was sure they were questions Susan Marsh would never agree to answer.

  50

  8:19 P.M., Monday, August 24, 2009

  Moose Island, Maine

  Darkness was coming earlier as August faded into September. You could really notice it now. Summer was nearly over.

  Tabitha was growing more restless and cranky by the hour. She was lying on Harlan’s sleeping bag, wanting to talk. Harlan lay next to her on his ground cloth, wanting to sleep. He had always subscribed to the military theory that in a combat zone, and he considered this to be one, it was always a good idea to sleep whenever possible, for as long as possible. After all, you never knew when the shit was going to hit the fan and you were going to have to stay awake for a whole hell of a long time.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Tabitha announced.