Darkness First (24 page)

6:28
A.M.
, Monday, August 24, 2009

Machias, Maine

M
aggie took the key from under the geranium and let herself in. She double-locked the front door.

She checked to make sure the downstairs windows and the kitchen door were locked as well. She went upstairs. A note from her father was folded over and scotch-taped to her bedroom door. She pulled it off and read the message written in his familiar scrawl.

The note was unsigned. Maggie opened the door, hung her jacket and holster belt on the back of the chair, kicked off her shoes and lay down on her bed. A few seconds later she got up, pulled out her Glock and put it by her side on the bed.

She closed her eyes. Things were coming to a head and she figured she ought to at least try to get a few hours' sleep before Detective Emmett J. Ganzer showed up to confront her about her accusations. But sleep wouldn't come. She couldn't erase the image of the plump little girl peeking out at her from the staircase. She couldn't stop thinking about the phrase
like a hog in a slaughterhouse
and how it must have affected Tabitha. She pulled the drawing from her pocket, unfolded it and studied it. And noticed something she'd totally missed before. Too busy feeling guilty about hogs and slaughterhouses to notice what should have been right in front of her eyes. Could it have been an accident? Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. She didn't know. It was just a kid's drawing after all. She refolded the sheet of paper and put it back in her pocket and felt a sadness well up inside of her. As she drifted off to sleep, she found herself wondering when, if ever, things would get better.

A
t 8:30 she was awakened by a call from the State Crime Lab in Augusta.

‘Hey, Maggie, Joe Pines.'

‘What do you have for me, Joe?'

‘The preliminary reads on those saliva samples you sent me. Terri said put 'em on the fast track, so I did.'

‘What's the verdict?'

‘Neither one's a match for fetal.'

‘You're sure.'

‘Positive. Whoever spit in those cups wasn't the father of the kid.'

The results wouldn't necessarily clear Harlan of the charges against him. Or, for that matter, Sam. All they proved was someone else, as yet unknown, had sex with Tiff Stoddard. What Maggie had to do was figure out how to get a sample of Ganzer's DNA. If Riordan really was Ganzer, a DNA match would go a long way toward proving it.

‘Joe, do me a favor and keep those results to yourself for a couple of days. Don't even tell Terri.'

‘Gee, Maggie, I don't know …'

‘Joe, trust me on this. It could make a difference whether we get this guy or not.'

‘Okay,' he said reluctantly, ‘I guess I can stall. But only for a day or so.'

‘Thanks, Joe. Meantime, I've got another question for you.'

‘Shoot.'

‘How long would a tranquilizer drug remain detectable in the blood of a large dog after it's been injected?'

‘You sure know how to come up with them, Savage.'

‘How long, Joe? This is for real. And it's important.'

‘It'd depend on what drug was used. How big a dose the animal took. But, for most drugs, we should be able to find some sign if the blood was pulled in the first twelve hours after injection. Tox report could take some time, though. They always do.'

Maggie thanked Pines. Told him Frank Boucher, the Eastport police chief, would get the blood sample down to him ASAP.

She lay back down on the bed, wondering if she should try to get any more sleep. The decision was made for her. Through the open bedroom window she heard a car pull up in front of the house. An engine turn off. She went to the window, lifted a slat in the blind and saw Emmett Ganzer parked directly across the street. He was looking up at the house.

She'd meant to provoke a reaction with her accusations but hadn't thought it would come this fast. Or here in this house. In broad daylight. She let the slat drop. Ganzer glanced up, perhaps catching the movement in the window. She speed-dialed McCabe, hoping he hadn't checked out of the B&B yet. Hoping he hadn't left for Portland. His phone rang once. Then twice. Then four times.

Ganzer emerged from the car, looked both ways before crossing the street.

McCabe's message kicked in.

Ganzer walked towards the house.

‘McCabe,' she said into the phone, ‘if you get this message and you're still in Machias, please get your tail over to the house. I may need some backup.'

She clicked off. The doorbell rang. She strapped her gunbelt around her waist. Picked up the Glock from where she'd left it on the bed, chambered a round and slid it back into the holster. Put on her jacket. Took a small digital recording device from her drawer, put it in record mode and slipped it into her breast pocket.

The doorbell rang again. Maggie started down the stairs. The front door came into view. An antique lace curtain covered the door's beveled glass oval. Through the lace she could see Ganzer's face leaning in, hands on either side of his eyes to block out the light. She knew from a lifetime's experience he'd be able to detect motion through the curtain but not be able to tell who was moving.

The bell rang again. And then again. The knob turned. Ganzer testing the lock. Maggie's right hand pushed the flap of her jacket back and rested on the grip of her weapon. If McCabe came, he came. Otherwise she'd handle this herself. She crossed to the side of the door, ready to take care of business.

8:30
A.M.
, Monday, August 24, 2009

Moose Island, Maine

‘Y
ou gonna sleep all day?'

Harlan figured the question, spoken by what sounded like a young female voice, was directed at him. He opened one eye, then the other, and saw Tabitha Stoddard kneeling over him, peering down from only inches away, examining his face as closely as if he were a strange genus of insect she'd never seen before. Magnified by the thick lenses of her glasses, her brown eyes seemed enormous.

It took a couple of seconds for Harlan to remember where he was and why. They were hiding out in Toby Mahler's grandfather's house. Which was, as Tabitha said, pretty much a dump. A four-room cottage not much bigger than his single-wide in Whiting. Both Harlan and Tabitha had slept on the floor, since neither was willing to lie down on the single thin mattress they found rolled up on the iron cot. The mattress was dotted with urine and blood stains and, here and there, a burn hole or two where Toby Mahler's grandfather's cigarette ash must have fallen when he was smoking in bed. The floor where they'd slept wasn't clean but at least it didn't seem like anybody had peed or bled or died on it. Tabitha slept in the sleeping bag. Harlan on his ground cloth using his pack for a pillow.

‘What time is it?' Harlan asked.

Tabitha looked down at the phone in her hand. ‘According to my iPhone,' she announced in an official voice, ‘it's exactly eight-thirty-seven.'

‘In the morning?' he asked sleepily.

‘Of course in the morning.'

Suddenly Harlan sat bolt upright, awake and alert. He looked at the phone in her hand. ‘How long have you had that thing turned on?'

‘Just a minute or two.'

‘Turn it off.'

‘Soon as I check my emails.'

‘No. Turn it off now.' He reached up and pulled the phone from her hand. Found the on-off button and pushed it in. Slid the ‘Power-Off' bar on the screen.

‘Why did you do that?'

‘Because people can track you through your cell phone. Home in on your signal and find out where you are.'

‘What people?'

‘The police.'

‘Don't we want the police to know where we are? Then they can help us.'

‘No. There's a very important reason we don't want the police to know where we are.'

Tabitha frowned. She didn't approve of what he was saying. ‘What is it?'

Harlan decided he'd better let her know what was going on. She was smart enough not to be fooled by a pile of comforting bullshit and he'd get more cooperation if she felt she was part of the decision-making process. A democracy. Well, sort of a democracy. He got two votes. She only got one. He was the squad leader. She was the troop.

He needed a minute to sort out the best way to explain things to her. He also needed to pee. ‘Okay,' he said. ‘I'll tell you. Soon as I get back from the bathroom. Do we know if the toilet's working?'

‘You've got to pour a bucket of water in it to make it flush. There's a bucket right next to it. No toilet paper, though.'

He went to the small bathroom and stood for a long minute, urinating into the rust-stained bowl, planning how he was going to frame the discussion. He zipped up. Figured he'd wait before fetching a bucket of water from the stream out back.

He came back and eased down next to Tabbie, who was sitting cross-legged on the sleeping bag. He leaned against the frame of a sofa. The cushions were almost, but not quite, as dirty as the mattress. At least there didn't seem to be any blood or piss on them.

‘Are you hungry?' he asked, playing for time.

‘Kinda.'

‘Do you know if there's any food in the house?'

‘There's some cans of stuff in the pantry but it's got mouse turds all over it.'

‘We could wash 'em off.'

‘I'm not eating anything with mouse turds on it even if you do wash 'em off. Why don't you just quit stalling and tell me why we don't want the police to know where we are.'

She stared at him through those big glasses of hers. She looked determined. In her own peculiar way, he decided, this kid was tough.

‘Okay. I told you last night I was a friend of Tiff's.'

‘You didn't say you were a friend. You said you loved her.'

‘Yes. I did love her. I do love her. But what's going on is that Tiff was doing some stuff she shouldn't have been doing.'

‘Stuff like what?'

‘Selling illegal drugs. Your sister got involved in a business deal with a guy named Conor Riordan.'

‘The December Man.'

‘Yes. The December Man. Tiff arranged for Conor Riordan to use your father's boat. He took it up to Canada and stole a huge pile of a drug called Oxycontin. You ever hear of that?'

Tabitha told him of course she'd heard of Oxycontin. Everybody had heard of it. There were kids at school, especially some of the older kids, who talked about it all the time. She didn't think any of them took it, though she wasn't real sure, because a lot of them didn't talk to her except to tease her about being semi-fat and funny-looking and not having any boobs yet.

‘Anyway,' Harlan said, ‘Conor Riordan brought the drugs back here to Eastport and he and Tiff and some other people started selling them. But Tiff didn't think Riordan was giving her her fair share of the money they were making. They argued about that a lot. Sometimes when they argued he would hit her. Hurt her.'

Tabitha didn't say anything. Just thought back to the bruises on Tiff's face in the schoolyard when she gave her the package.

‘Naturally getting hit as well as cheated made Tiff even angrier. Conor Riordan used to go away on business sometimes so Tiff got this idea that the next time he left town for a few days she would take what she thought was her fair share of the drugs and leave.'

‘Get the hell out of Dodge,' said Tabitha.

‘That's right. Get the hell out of Dodge. She wanted me to go with her and I would have too, except I didn't want to get involved in selling illegal drugs. Told her to leave the drugs. Forget about them. But she wouldn't listen. Next time Riordan went away, Tiff took some of the drugs. But Riordan came back sooner than he was supposed to. Maybe he was suspicious. I don't know. Anyway, Tiff had to get rid of the drugs fast. She asked me if I would hide them for her. I told her no. Told her just to throw the damn things away. Dump 'em in the ocean, where they couldn't hurt anyone. But she wouldn't listen. Instead she got this nutty idea to drive up here and give them to you to hide. I told her it was nutty but she thought it was brilliant. Thought Riordan would never dream an eleven-year-old kid would have his drugs. But you do, don't you?'

‘I guess so.'

‘You guess so?'

‘Tiff asked me to hide a package for her the same day she was killed.'

The two of them, man and child, sat side by side for more than a few minutes thinking about what they ought to do next. It was Tabitha who broke the silence. ‘Anyway, what's all that got to do with not letting the police know where we are?'

‘Conor Riordan is the man who killed Tiff. He also killed your parents, though I haven't figured out exactly why he wanted to do that. I also think he may be a policeman. A state cop. One who tried to kill me before I came up here.'

‘A
cop
tried to kill you?'

‘Yeah. I beat him up before he had a chance to finish the job. But he's looking for me. And, I think, he's looking for you. That's why you can't use your phone. If we let the police know where we are, we'll be letting Riordan know.'

Tabitha remembered the voice calling to her in the woods last night.
Tabitha, leave me Tiff's package and I'll leave you alone. I promise I won't hurt you. I want Tiff's package. Not you.
The December Man was a cop. Jesus Christ.

‘So why did
you
come to our house last night?' asked Tabitha.

‘To tell your parents you had the drugs. Convince you and them to give them to me. Then somehow let Riordan know I had them. Get him to come after me to get the drugs back.'

‘He'd come alone?'

‘Yes. He wouldn't bring other cops because then he couldn't keep the drugs for himself.'

‘My whole family's dead over a bunch of stupid pills.' Tabitha was crying again.

‘Yes. They're worth a lot of money.'

‘And then what?' she asked. ‘What were you going to do after Conor Riordan found you?'

‘I was going to kill him.'

Tabitha stared at Harlan for a minute and seemed to be thinking about what he said. The morning sun pouring in through the window lit her tear-stained face.

‘Good,' she said. ‘Let's kill him.'