The Cutting (31 page)

‘When will you come again?’ she wondered, longing for sensation. ‘Perhaps if I do the sex well enough, perhaps if I please you well enough, perhaps you won’t, so quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly …’ She repeated the single word over and over again – but couldn’t give voice to the word that followed.

36

Wednesday. 11:00
A.M.

‘They’re restricting me to desk duty pending the investigation.’ Maggie emerged from Al Blanchard’s office, closing the door behind her. Blanchard was the PPD’s only full-time Internal Affairs officer. He was assisted by a sergeant McCabe didn’t know, someone rotated on a temp basis out of Community Affairs. ‘I’m not supposed to work on the case.’

‘Shit,’ McCabe said, more to himself than to Maggie. He was seated outside, waiting his turn with Internal Affairs.

Maggie sat down next to him. ‘That’s the regs,’ she said. ‘I fired my weapon. IA gets to say if the use of force was appropriate, if I really needed to kill him.’

‘You did.’

‘I didn’t announce myself. I didn’t yell freeze. I just saw him swinging that knife toward your neck and I pulled the trigger.’

‘If you hadn’t killed him, he would’ve killed me,’ said McCabe. ‘He already killed Comisky.’

‘I could have wounded him.’

‘You had to go for a head shot. Any lower and you would have hit me. You did the right thing. The guy was pure fucking evil.’

She considered this. ‘You’re right.’ She nodded uncertainly. ‘Blanchard said it wouldn’t take long. The investigation, I mean.’

He supposed she was looking for absolution. A remission of sins. He couldn’t offer it. Neither could IA. If she felt any guilt, she’d just have to live with it. He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘You saved my life,’ he said. ‘In Chinese philosophy, that means you’re responsible for it.’

She turned and looked directly into his eyes, forcing a smile. ‘I guess I should have let him kill you.’

A uniformed sergeant named Toomey appeared. ‘Okay, McCabe, it’s your turn.’

Al Blanchard was seated behind his desk. Toomey took a seat to Blanchard’s right. Bill Fortier stood leaning against the wall behind Blanchard. McCabe hadn’t expected him to be there.

Fortier made the introductions. ‘Mike McCabe. Sergeant Pat Toomey.’ Each of the men nodded; neither extended a hand. ‘Pat’s been assigned to IA for this inquiry.’

McCabe had heard Toomey’s name before. He had a reputation for being Tom Shockley’s eyes and ears in the department. Most cops watched what they said in his presence, knowing it would eventually get back to the chief. McCabe ignored Toomey and addressed Fortier. ‘Maggie said you’re pulling her out of the investigation, Bill. With one killer still on the loose and Lucinda Cassidy still missing, I think that’s crazy. It’s obvious she shot him to save me.’

Blanchard spoke first. ‘Sergeant, regulations say we restrict an officer any time a firearm is discharged in the line of duty. Anyway, it shouldn’t be for long. The facts seem clear that Detective Savage was justified in using deadly force. We’ve just got to be sure.’

‘Alright, Mike,’ said Fortier. ‘I want you to tell us everything that happened from the moment you first saw that woman, Sophie Gauthier, right up until Maggie killed that guy in the hospital.’

McCabe told it all. They asked questions. He answered them. It took close to an hour. In the end he said, ‘That’s where we are. You want me on desk duty, too?’

‘No,’ said Blanchard.

‘Really? Why’s that? Hell, I discharged two firearms. Both in the same night. Maggie only fired one.’

Blanchard was silent.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ McCabe was feeling tired, angry. ‘We’ll just put the case on hold for a couple of days. Hell, I can use the rest. I’ve got issues at home. Maybe,’ he said bitterly, ‘maybe we can get the bad guys to postpone killing Cassidy until the good guys get their ducks in a row. On the other hand’ – he shrugged – ‘maybe we can’t.’

‘You know, McCabe, you’re pretty damned arrogant.’ It was Toomey who spoke. ‘I heard that about you, strutting around like a New York big shot. Now I see it’s true.’

McCabe looked at him. ‘Fuck you, Toomey.’ The man stiffened.

‘Alright, just hold it right there.’ Blanchard, conciliatory, held up both his hands, the good cop to Toomey’s bad cop. ‘Relax, Pat – and keep personal remarks to yourself. McCabe, you go back to work. You’re not being sidelined.’

‘Really? I thought the regs say we do desk duty any time a firearm is discharged.’

‘Let’s say you’ve been investigated,’ said Blanchard, ‘and cleared. You just didn’t notice it ’cause it happened so fast.’

‘We’re stretching the rules in your case, Mike, not breaking them,’ said Fortier. ‘For one thing, you didn’t kill anyone. Maggie did. For another, we need you right now. When you say we can’t count on the bad guys waiting, you’re right.’

‘Are you looking for a thank-you for that, Bill?’

‘Stretching the regs wasn’t Bill’s decision,’ said Toomey. ‘If you want to thank anyone, thank Shockley. It was his call. He’s the one who’ll have to take the heat. “For the good of the community,” he said.’

Blanchard added, ‘I just hope the department doesn’t end up paying for this down the road.’

‘Does Maggie know about any of this?’

‘No.’

‘When do I get her back?’

‘Shouldn’t be more than a day or so, maybe less,’ said Blanchard.

‘Personally,’ said Toomey, ‘in your case, McCabe, I would’ve gone by the book. I believe by your actions last night, going to meet that woman alone, without backup, you not only willfully ignored the rules of this department, you also set this whole clusterfuck in motion. It ended in the death of a fellow officer, the killing of one civilian, the wounding of another, and, last but not least, it looks like the guy in the elevator may be permanently paralyzed. But hey, I guess that’s how they do things in New York. Bill Bacon could have taken over this case from the beginning and, in my view, should have. Oh, by the way, in case you didn’t know it, Kevin Comisky left a wife and three children. The youngest’s only two years old.’

If Toomey’s intention was to induce guilt, he succeeded. ‘What’s the wife’s name?’

‘Carol.’

Carol. McCabe nodded. He’d have to call on Carol Comisky as soon as he could. Beyond that, he knew Toomey might be right about his decision to meet Sophie alone. That would haunt him. He was also surprised Shockley had gone out on a limb for him. Still, he said nothing about it.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ said Fortier. ‘You can go, Mike.’

‘Try real hard not to shoot anyone else,’ added Toomey. McCabe let the gibe pass.

37

Wednesday. 12:30
P.M.

Maggie dropped McCabe at his condo before heading home herself to shower and change. Jane Devaney met him at the door, index finger pressed against her lips in a shushing gesture.

‘What’s the matter?’ he whispered. She pushed him out onto the landing and quietly closed the door.

‘Casey’s here. I kept her home from school.’

‘Why? Is she sick?’

‘Not exactly, but she was awake pretty much all night. Crying a little. Worrying a lot. She crawled into my bed around two, but it was after seven before she finally dropped off. I let her sleep in.’

‘Was it about Sandy’s visit?’ He started for the door.

Jane put out a hand to block his way. ‘That’s in the mix somewhere, I suppose, but last night it was mostly about you.’

‘About me?’

‘Yeah. You. Last night she sees you leave here carrying a shotgun. Doesn’t know where you’re going or what you’re doing.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ McCabe sighed, another kernel of guilt starting to form.

‘A little later you call and scare her half to death. You tell her Maggie’s coming over. Later Maggie leaves and I turn up. You don’t. She asks where you are. I tell her I’m sure you’re all right. Then she tells me how her uncle was killed in a shootout when she was ten …’

‘Tommy.’

‘That’s right. Tommy. Obviously she’s worried sick about you getting killed, but she tries not to show it. Wants to be the good girl, the good cop’s daughter.’

‘I suppose me getting killed would mean I was abandoning her in a way, too. Just like her mother did. Was that part of it?’

‘Maybe, but I’m not sure it got that far.’

‘I’d better talk to her –’

‘Yes. You’d better. Right now may not be the best time. She’s got it under control for now.’

‘So what do I say?’

‘Just be sensitive to how she feels. Make sure she knows you’re okay and that you care. You can talk to her a little more deeply when things calm down. Anyway, I’ll take her to school in a little while. Let me just grab a shower. I’ve been up all night, too.’

He found Casey in the kitchen eating a bowl of Cheerios. He slipped into the chair opposite her.

‘New scrunchie?’ McCabe asked, noticing the band of orange fabric holding her hair back.

‘Yeah, Sarah and I made them. Her mom showed us how. I’ve got two more.’

‘Good job.’

‘It’s easy. You just sew the cloth into a tube and push the stretchy stuff through with a safety pin. Then you sew the ends.’ She took it off and showed him.

‘Cool.’ He slipped the band around his head. ‘How do I look?’

‘Don’t. You’ll stretch it.’ She reached over and took the scrunchie off his head. ‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘I’m okay. Did you get any sleep?’

‘Not much. Maggie left in the middle of the night. Said she had to go meet you. Jane came over.’

‘Was that okay?’

‘I kind of wanted company. I slept with Jane. Where were you?’

‘Up in Gray interviewing a witness. Then over at Cumberland Med.’

‘Somebody get hurt?’

‘Yes.’ He didn’t go into detail.

‘Where’s your shotgun?’

‘I left it down at headquarters.’

‘Okay.’

‘It was important for me to be there.’

Casey studied him for a minute. ‘Okay,’ she said.

He took her hand, the one not holding the spoon.

‘Don’t,’ she said and pulled it away.

He realized he was famished. Maggie’s doughnuts and a spoonful of lasagna were all he’d eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. He got himself a bowl and spoon and poured out some Cheerios. He added milk and started munching. ‘Have you thought any more about seeing your mother?’

‘Yeah. A lot.’

‘So what do you think?’

‘You said I had to see her.’

‘I think you do. The judge gave her that right. How do you feel about that?’

‘I don’t know. She’s coming Friday?’

‘Yes. She’ll meet you here after school. She wants to take you to Boston for the weekend. Probably stay at some fancy hotel. Maybe go see a show.’

‘Big deal.’ Silence. ‘She’s really rich?’

‘Her husband is.’

Casey finished her cereal and took the bowl to the sink and rinsed it out. ‘His name’s Peter?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Peter what?’

‘Ingram.’

‘Is he my stepfather?’

‘Only if you want to think about him that way.’

‘I don’t think about him any way. I never even met him. He’s not coming, is he?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s just Sandy.’

‘How come you gave me the same name as her?’

‘It’s what she wanted when you were born.’ A little extension of herself, McCabe thought. ‘Anyway, it’s not really the same. You’re Casey. She’s Sandy.’

‘Ready to go?’ Jane appeared.

‘We’re both Cassandras,’ Casey said. ‘You guys aren’t gonna fight about me, are you? You and Mom?’

‘I hope not. I’ll try not to. I can’t speak for her.’

‘You’re supposed to be the grown-ups, you know.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I heard.’ He hugged her hard. ‘I love you.’ He didn’t want to let her go. Not to Boston. Not, at the moment, even to school.

‘Dad, I gotta go.’

‘I know. Go break a leg.’

‘I love you, too,’ she said and turned and ran down the stairs.

He called Sandy’s number in New York.

‘Hello, McCabe. Casey ready for my visit?’

He wasn’t sure ready was the operative word. Still, he said, ‘You can pick her up Friday after school.’

‘I’ll be there at four o’clock. I’ve reserved a suite at the Four Seasons. She should bring a nice outfit she can wear to some good restaurants and maybe the theater. She does have something decent to put on, doesn’t she?’

He let the sarcasm pass. ‘She’ll pack something nice.’

‘Anything in particular she’d like to see?’

‘She’ll like anything you choose. Or better yet, give her the choice. She doesn’t get to go much. You know where we live?’

‘I do indeed.’

‘She’ll need to be back early enough Sunday to do her homework. No later than four or five o’clock.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Sandy?’

‘What?’

‘Take good care of her.’

McCabe kicked off his shoes and lay on the unmade bed, thinking about Casey and what he might have said to her. Kyra’s scent lingered on the sheets. He was exhausted but knew he didn’t have time for sleep. He had to go back to the hospital, talk to Sophie as soon as she was compos mentis, but first he needed to sort things out. The list of loose ends was long and getting longer, a Pandora’s box of probablys, might bes and what ifs.

He stripped down, got in the shower, and thought about things as the hot water coursed over him. Sophie said they were doing illegal transplants. Most likely somewhere inside a fifty-mile band north or east of Augusta. Unless, of course, they cut south again. He thought about that and rejected it. It’d waste too much time doubling back and forth.

Okay. There were five or six people involved besides Sophie. A transplant surgeon and a second surgeon. One of them Spencer? Probably. Anybody else? Maybe one of Spencer’s buddies from the Denali picture. Wilcox or Holland. Who else? A nurse-anesthetist. Identity unknown. Two or three OR nurses. Also unknown. A perfusionist. Sophie.

Sophie said she hadn’t known they were killing people to obtain the hearts. Did the others? For sure, at least one of them did. What about the goon Maggie killed last night? Was he part of the surgical team? Unlikely. Finally, there was the fact that Sophie said there’d been at least two other transplants. Jack Batchelder was supposed to be tracking down possible victims. He’d have to find out how much progress Jack had made. Yes, a lot of loose ends. Even so, he felt he was getting closer. What he needed to tie the loose ends around Spencer’s neck in a neat little bow might be waiting in the Lexus. They should have searched it already. Unfortunately, events kind of got out of hand. They’d search it today. They’d also bring Philip Spencer down to 109 for a chat.