‘You must be McCabe,’ Thomas said.
‘How can we help you, counselor?’ McCabe asked. Keeping rich guys out of the slammer looked like it paid well, he thought as he shook the proffered hand. The lawyer’s hand-tailored pin-striped suit must’ve cost five thousand dollars, maybe more. Add in the two-thousand-dollar Burberry trench coat slung over one shoulder and the three-thousand-dollar Hermès briefcase hanging from the other and the guy was wearing about ten grand worth of stuff, not counting his shoes and the probable Rolex. Sandy would have loved him.
‘I believe you’re conducting a noncustodial interview with my client, Dr. Philip Spencer?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘A, I’d like to speak with my client, and B, he has nothing more to say.’ Thomas spoke in a soft, confident voice. ‘Unless you have reason to detain him, he’s leaving now.’
‘We could place Dr. Spencer under arrest,’ said Tasco.
Thomas responded, ‘That’s your option, but you’d better have good cause. Also, even if you do arrest him, he’s not saying anything more.’
‘Let him go,’ said McCabe. He showed the lawyer to the interview room, where Thomas spoke briefly with Spencer. Then the two of them left.
Once they were gone, McCabe rejoined Lund and an agitated Tasco. ‘Mike, what the hell was that all about? We shoulda charged that sonofabitch and stuck his well-bred ass in a cell. Shit, we’ve got the car, the earring, the blood, the video. What the hell more do we want?’
‘Tom, if Spencer’s the guy – and we won’t know that for sure until the DNA results come in – sticking him in a cell isn’t going to help.’
‘It’ll help keep him from killing Cassidy.’
‘Only one problem with your logic.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘If Spencer is the guy, he’s the only one who knows where Cassidy is. Hell, he could’ve stuck her in a cave somewhere for all we know. We lock him in a cell, do you think he’s gonna tell us where she is? No way. It’d just prove he’s guilty. He’ll just sit there quiet as a mouse. Meanwhile, Cassidy doesn’t have her heart cut out. She just dies of thirst. Or starvation. Or God knows what.’
‘We could try a plea bargain,’ said Tasco, uncertainty creeping into his voice. ‘Offer him a lesser sentence for letting us know where she is.’
McCabe turned to Lund. ‘Talk to the man, Burt. You’re the prosecutor. You seriously think the AG’s office would go for a plea bargain that lets a serial killer off the hook, a serial killer who’s mutilated and maimed at least five innocent people and, God knows, maybe a whole bunch more?’
Lund shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Frankly, I don’t think Spencer would go for it either.’
Tasco turned back to McCabe. ‘Okay, McCabe, you’re the boy genius. What do you suggest we do now?’
‘Keep looking. At the same time, keep a loose rein on Spencer. If we don’t let him know we’re watching, maybe he’ll lead us to her.’
‘Or maybe not.’ Tasco sounded glum.
‘Okay, or maybe not, but right now he’s the only connection we’ve got.’
Tasco left. McCabe and Lund followed, just in time to watch Spencer in his preppy sweater and Sheldon Thomas in his pin-striped suit disappear behind a pair of closing elevator doors. ‘Well, one thing we know for sure,’ McCabe said, his eyes moving from Thomas to the rumpled Burt Lund, walking by his side, busily munching on a handful of M&M’s.
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘Their side dresses better than ours.’
42
Thursday. 4:30 P.M.
McCabe asked Maggie to meet him for a drink at Tallulah’s. Despite the high-toned name, Tallulah’s was a neighborhood hangout for the singles crowd on Munjoy Hill. As usual, the place was noisy and crowded. A couple of off-duty cops were hanging at the bar, ones McCabe didn’t know very well. They found an empty table in the corner, far enough away from the cops not to be overheard. An artist friend of Kyra’s, Mandy something or other, took their order. Like most artists, she couldn’t support herself selling her work, and, unlike Kyra, she had no trust fund to take up the slack. Everyone should have a trust fund, McCabe thought. Of course, then there’d be no waitresses or dishwashers or plumbers or cops. Just artists and drinkers. McCabe ordered a Glenfiddich with a Shipyard chaser. Maggie just ordered the Shipyard. Then, after a brief, losing struggle with her inner demons, she also ordered a plate of nachos. McCabe could never figure out how she stayed so slim.
Kyra’s friend left to get the drinks and food.
‘Okay, I found out some interesting stuff.’ Maggie went first. ‘Number one, Cumberland Medical Center’s not the blood-type connection. Only one of our four victims was ever a patient there. Number two, they all used different doctors.’
Before Maggie could tell him number three, Mandy came back with their drinks. ‘Your nachos’ll be here in a sec.’