by James Hayman
‘She’s not here, is she?’
Kelly squinted at him, then shook his head. ‘No. What would she be doing here?’
‘Just wondering. Did Abby make any particular friends while she was here? Kids she might still be in contact with?’
‘None that I can think of. Why?’
‘We need to talk to her.’
‘In connection with the murder?’
‘Yes. Can you think of anyone here she palled around with?’
‘Check with Wolfe. He’d be the first one I’d ask. Or go out to Harts Island and ask her. Is this going to take much longer?’
McCabe ignored the question. ‘How’s Sanctuary House doing for money?’
‘Finances are not so great. They never are for organizations like ours. We depend mostly on small foundation grants and donations from well-meaning citizens. We don’t accept any state or city money. That gives us more freedom to operate.’
‘You said Lainie was a good fund-raiser.’
‘Yes. She was. In fact, she helped bring in a gift of ten thousand bucks just a month ago.’
‘You get a lot of gifts that size?’
‘A few, but it’s never enough. Just look around you. Do we look rich? We’ve got building violations coming out of our ears, which the city, thank God, has so far ignored. They don’t want my kids back on the street any more than I do. Or your department does, for that matter. Without Lainie running interference, it’ll be tough.’
‘Any danger you’ll have to close your doors?’
Kelly shrugged. ‘It’s always a danger. Always a struggle. Maybe you’d like to make a contribution?’
McCabe smiled. ‘Maybe I would. How does one hundred and eighty thousand dollars sound to you?’
Kelly looked at McCabe curiously. ‘You’re kidding, of course – but that kind of money would be a game changer for this place.’
‘No, I’m not kidding. Lainie had life insurance. Sanctuary House is the beneficiary.’
‘You’re serious?’ Kelly looked stunned. ‘One hundred and eighty thousand dollars?’
‘You didn’t know about it?’
‘No. She never said a word.’
‘I guess she didn’t plan on dying,’ said McCabe. ‘Where exactly were you last Tuesday between eleven at night and three in the morning?’
‘I already told you.’
‘Tell me again.’
‘Right here.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Are you suggesting that I may have killed Lainie for the money?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. Now that you bring it up, did you?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘So I guess that means you wouldn’t mind coming down to police headquarters this afternoon so we can get a set of your prints and a DNA sample.’
‘Because everyone’s a suspect?’
‘Yes. Everyone.’
Kelly agreed to go to Middle Street, and McCabe left.
Eighteen
It was nearly one thirty before McCabe got back to 109. He slipped the shards of Henry Ogden’s china cup into an evidence bag and locked it in the bottom drawer of his desk. Then he called Joe Pines, the DNA guru at the state crime lab in Augusta. Saturday or not, McCabe was pretty sure Pines would be in his lab. He’d never known Joe to be anywhere else.
‘Hey, Joe, I’ve got a question.’
‘Relevant to a case or just a question?’
‘Just a question. Let’s say someone drinks from a coffee cup and the cup is allowed to dry out for, I don’t know, days or maybe even weeks. Will you still be able to pick up DNA from the guy’s saliva?’
‘Might not be as intact as we ideally like – so there could be some issues with long sequencing reads, but yes, we should be able to get you something. Who’s the guy?’
‘Like I said, just a question.’
‘Okay. Let me know when you’re going to send me the cup.’
He’d have to check what day trash got picked up on Ledge Road in Cape Elizabeth so he’d know what day it was he found the bits of china in the bin by the side of the road.
Next call was to Tony Krawchek, head of the PPD’s three-man Narcotics unit.
‘Hiya, Mike. That frozen stiff you guys found last night still frozen stiff?’ Krawchek guffawed. Another comedian.
‘Yeah, still frozen. That’s what I’m calling you about. You ever hear of a small-time dealer who calls himself the hot-dog man?’
‘Probably a guy named Kyle Lanahan. Runs a sausage stand in Monument Square. Basically an amateur, but he peddles a little blow from time to time. We just haven’t been able to catch him at it yet.’
‘You have any problem if we bring him in?’
‘What’s your interest?’
‘Goff had a bag in her car. I’m pretty sure it came from him.’
‘Sure. Why not? While you’re at it, see if you can get him to tell you who his distributor is. That’s what we really want to know.’
McCabe agreed, called Tom Tasco, and asked him to invite Mr Lanahan in for an interview.
After he hung up, he googled the name Wallace Albright. He got more than four hundred hits. It only took a couple of minutes to narrow them down to the right one, Wallace Stevens Albright, a prominent attorney practicing in Camden. Albright had been married three times. His second wife was named Martha Tynes Goff. McCabe googled that name and found a number of articles mostly concerning the fact that Martha Tynes Goff, Lainie’s mother, had committed suicide in May 1995. The end of Lainie’s sophomore year at Colby. Finally he went to Google Images and found and printed a couple of images of Mr Albright. Good-looking guy. Thin face. Angular features. Gray hair.
I don’t think she’d want him notified of anything, Archer had said.
But he’s alive?
Not as far as Lainie was concerned.
Later he’d asked Kelly, Do you suppose Lainie went through an abusive childhood herself?
I don’t know, but that’s what I’ve always thought.
As soon as he could, he’d head up to Camden and have a little chat with Mr Albright. But there were a few other things he had to do first.
Maggie wandered over.
‘Pick up the other line,’ he said. ‘I’m calling Burt Lund.’
She pulled over a chair while McCabe made the call. In Maine all homicides are handled out of the attorney general’s office, and Assistant AG Burt Lund was McCabe’s favorite prosecutor. He just hoped the prosecutor wouldn’t be halfway down a slope at Sunday River and unable to talk. He wasn’t.
‘You know, McCabe, I didn’t give you my cell number so you could pester me at home on weekends.’
‘C’mon, Burt, you know how hurt you’d be if I didn’t slip you the skinny first on murder cases.’
‘Are we talking Goff?’
‘Who else? By the way, Maggie’s on the other line.’
‘Hiya, Mag.’
‘Hi, Burt.’
‘What do you need?’ asked Lund.
‘A warrant to search Elaine Goff’s office at Palmer Milliken. Henry Ogden won’t let us in. Claims it’ll compromise client confidentiality.’
‘It probably would.’
‘Says he might try to quash.’
‘Hmmm. That seems excessive. There are ways Palmer Milliken could segregate sensitive client material. Ogden ought to know that.’
‘I think he’s hiding something.’
‘Do you think he’s the killer?’
‘I think it’s possible. I’m pretty sure he and Goff were sleeping together, and yes, Burt, I do know screwing around at the office doesn’t necessarily translate to killing.’
‘No, it doesn’t. Rumor is Hank’s been dipping his highly privileged wick into one good-looking associate or another for years. As far as I know, most of them are still alive. A few have even become partners.’
‘There may be a difference here,’ McCabe told Lund.
/> ‘Really? Keep going.’
‘The night Goff disappeared, Lainie and Ogden had a late meeting in his office. I think Henry promised her an early partnership. That night he told her she wasn’t getting it. According to the building’s security guard, Lainie left looking majorly pissed. I’m wondering if she threw a hissy fit when Ogden turned her down. Maybe threatened to tell the wife about the affair. Or the other partners. Or maybe really go public and accuse the firm of sexual harassment. What do you think?’
‘Would he kill her over that?’ asked Maggie. She sounded doubtful.
‘Given Ogden’s domestic situation, it’s possible,’ said Lund. ‘How much do you two know about the lovely and talented Mrs Ogden?’
‘Nothing,’ said McCabe.
‘Among her friends, Barbara Milliken Ogden is known as Attila the Hen.’
‘Cute,’ said Maggie. ‘What do her enemies call her?’
‘Beats me, but nothing good. She’s not only unattractive, she’s nasty and vindictive. Handsome Henry married her for her money.’
‘Her maiden name is Milliken?’
‘Yes. My guess is Barbara tolerates Henry’s little sexcapades as long as they remain discreet, but if any of Henry’s playmates ever humiliated her in public, she’d cut his preppy little balls off.’
‘What are we talking about here?’ asked Maggie. ‘An expensive divorce? Big alimony payments?’
‘Alimony’s not an issue. Henry makes a good living, huge compared to the likes of us, but the really serious money in the family is all Barbara’s. Some comes from the Milliken side, but a lot more comes from her mother’s family. Ever hear of the Dexters?’
‘As in Dexter Oil?’ asked McCabe. Dexter’s red diamond-shaped logo stared McCabe in the face practically every morning, painted, as it was, on the sides of all those big storage tanks on the South Portland side of the harbor.
‘Yeah, as in. We’re talking big bucks here. Probably hundreds of millions. If Babs ever kicks Henry out of the honeymoon cottage, he won’t see another dime of it. Ever. He might even lose his job. Dexter Oil was Palmer Milliken’s first big corporate client. Established the firm as a major player back in the fifties. And it’s still number one by a wide margin.’
‘You think Barbara could get him dumped?’ asked McCabe.
‘I know she could. Dexter’s still privately held, and Barbara’s the majority shareholder. If she told Henry’s partners they’d lose Dexter as a client if they didn’t make Henry walk the plank, he’s done. Finished. Toast. He’d be lucky to get a job as dog catcher in this town, let alone as an attorney.’
‘Pretty dumb to put all that at risk just to get into Lainie’s pants,’ said Maggie.
‘Also pretty common. If you recall, we had a president not so long ago who couldn’t keep his fly zipped either. Not to mention a gaggle of governors and senators. I’m just wondering what’s in Lainie’s office that’s making Henry so determined to keep you out.’
‘Who knows?’ said Maggie. ‘Phone records. Pictures. E-mails. If proof of the affair exists, Ogden’ll want to find it before we do.’
‘That would suggest Henry’s not the killer,’ said McCabe. ‘If he was, he would have started looking two weeks ago. Right after he nabbed her.’
‘On the other hand, if he only heard about the murder last night,’ said Maggie, ‘he’d want to keep us out until he had a chance to look.’
Maggie was right. Which meant it was probably Ogden who tossed Goff’s apartment last night. Right after he found out she was dead. Maybe he checked out the office, too. Or maybe he didn’t have a master key and couldn’t get in until Monday morning. There are ways Palmer Milliken could segregate sensitive client material. All kinds of sensitive material, McCabe decided.
‘Okay,’ Lund said, ‘let’s see if we can discover what it is Henry might be looking for. Write up the affidavit, and we’ll find a judge to issue the order. Of course, if Ogden tries to quash, we could be wrangling about it for a few days anyway.’
They hung up.
‘Get your coat and let’s get some lunch,’ McCabe said to Maggie. ‘We’ll talk while we eat.’
Tallulah’s, halfway up Munjoy Hill, was jammed with the late weekend brunch crowd. As usual Tallulah was guarding the door. She greeted McCabe with her customary hug, squeezing her ample bosom into his chest. ‘How you doing, Mike? Heard there was a murder in town last night. Some lawyer lady.’
‘I’m good, Lou – and yeah, you heard right. In fact, we need a quiet table in the corner where we can talk business.’ He looked around the crowded room. ‘That is, if you can find one.’
She scanned her clipboard and made a few notations. ‘No problem, Sergeant. I’ve got your reservation right here.’ She looked up with a smile. ‘You’re right on time.’
Tallulah led them past a noisy gaggle of thirty-somethings, hanging at the bar, drinking beer and Bloody Marys and waiting for tables. Like they say in the American Express ads, membership has its privileges. She seated them in back, about as far from the action as possible. ‘Can I start you two off with a couple of Bloodys?’
McCabe pondered the question and was about to nod yes, but Maggie beat him to the punch. ‘Not today, Lou. We’re working.’
‘Yeah.’ McCabe sighed. ‘Mag’s right. Just make it a Virgin. And a burger and a chopped salad for me.’
Maggie handed back her menu. ‘Make it two. Medium rare. And an order of onion rings.’
‘I’ll go tell Mandy.’ Tallulah passed on their order to the pretty blonde who was serving drinks two tables away. Mandy was a part-time waitress and a full-time artist and friend of Kyra’s. Like most artists, she couldn’t make a living selling her work, so she waited tables.
‘How come you never get fat?’ asked McCabe. ‘You eat like a twelve-year-old. You don’t exercise. And you still look great.’
Maggie smiled brightly. ‘Just a metabolic powerhouse, I guess.’ She waited till Tallulah was out of earshot before continuing. ‘You know, I didn’t say anything to Burt, but I have some other problems with Ogden as the freak.’
‘Other than his not checking out her office in the two weeks since she was nabbed?’
She nodded. ‘Yeah, other than that. Ogden just doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who’d leave obscure quotes from the Bible in his victim’s mouth. The Book of Amos? I mean, they don’t teach that kind of stuff at Harvard Law, do they? Plus hauling her body back and forth to Harts Island? Why would he do that? If Ogden was going to kill someone, he’d keep it simple. You know the headline by heart. “Woman assaulted and slain in deserted garage. Assailant flees.” Or maybe assailant doesn’t flee. Maybe he dumps her body in Casco Bay or maybe in the middle of nowhere. Maine’s a big state. Over thirty-five thousand square miles, most of it wilderness. Could’ve been months, years, maybe never before anyone found her.’
McCabe nodded. ‘I agree. I don’t think Ogden’s our guy either. I didn’t tell you, but I paid a visit to Goff’s apartment after we got back from Harts last night.’
Maggie looked at him quizzically. ‘Really? Why? I appreciate your devotion to duty, but couldn’t your visit have waited till morning?’
‘I wanted to see how Goff lived. Anyway, somebody tossed the place between the time you and Jacobi left, which was what?’
‘A little before eleven.’
‘Okay. I got there at roughly 3:30 A.M. In other words, after Goff’s murder was announced. I’m willing to bet the searcher was Ogden.’
Mandy brought their drinks. ‘Burgers’ll be here in a sec,’ she said. When she was gone, McCabe asked Maggie for a rundown of what transpired at the 10:00 A.M. detectives’ meeting. ‘Anybody make any progress?’
‘Not much. The canvass went oh-for-four. Nobody saw anything. Nobody heard anything. Nobody knew anything. The only person who showed any interest was Goff’s landlord.’
‘Andrew Barker?’
‘Yeah, and he showed too much. Kept asking questions about the murder like he
was getting off on it. Creepy little guy. Wondered if he might not be our pither.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘He snuck into the apartment while I was there, and we had a little chat. Why don’t you tell me the rest of what you have first.’
‘Just a bunch of odds and ends. First thing this morning I ran a ViCAP check to see if I could find any other cases where a female victim had been raped and pithed. Found a couple.’
‘Possible connection?’
‘Only as a copycat. One of the bad guys is dead. The other, who killed at least six women that way, is currently doing life without parole at a supermax in Youngstown, Ohio. I also e-mailed other departments in Maine and New Hampshire plus the RCMP. So far nobody’s reporting anything similar.’
‘Cleary hear back from Verizon?’
‘Yeah. They sent him a rundown on calls to and from Goff’s mobile for the past three months. He’s going over the list now, culling out people we might want to talk to.’
‘Any calls on the twenty-third?’
‘Nothing. If she called anybody that day, she must have used her office phone. Last outgoing was to the Chinese restaurant Brian mentioned on St John Street. That was at 8:37 P.M., Thursday the twenty-second.’
‘Let me guess. She ordered chicken with pea pods.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Three incoming messages after that. Two from the Bacuba Resort wanting to know what the story was on her not showing up. And one from a friend named Janie in New York, who said, quote, “What we talked about is cool. If you get this message on Aruba, give me a call. If not, no big deal. I’ll see you when you get home.” That was it.’
‘What we talked about is cool?’
‘Yes.’
McCabe tried Archer’s cell. There was no answer. Just her voice asking him to leave a message. ‘Ms. Archer. This is Detective McCabe again. Would you please give me a call as soon as possible? Thank you.’ He clicked his phone off. ‘Goff have a landline?’
‘Didn’t see one in her apartment.’
He hadn’t either. ‘E-mails?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘There was no computer in the apartment, but someone like Lainie must have had a laptop. Could have been with her when she got nabbed. Or it could be sitting in her office downtown.’
