McCabe moved into the living room. The old man still slept, his breathing ragged. A droplet of spittle hung at the corner of his mouth. McCabe stood in the shadows, close enough to Kane’s chair to be seen and heard but partially hidden from the entrance to the room.
Maurice Kane swatted at something in his sleep, then said something McCabe couldn’t understand.
‘Mr. Kane? Mr. Kane, wake up. I need to talk to you.’
The old man squinted into the shadows, trying to locate the voice. ‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’ His voice the rasping whisper of a dying man, the accent more British than American.
‘Where is Lucas?’
‘Lucas? Lucas is dead. Who are you?’
‘No, Lucas is alive, Mr. Kane. I’m a policeman. Detective Michael McCabe. Portland police. I need to know where Lucas is.’
‘A policeman,’ Kane repeated. ‘How did you get in my house?’
‘Please, Mr. Kane. Lucas. Where is he?’
The old man looked at him blankly. This was taking too long, McCabe thought. Lucinda’s chances of survival were draining away with each passing moment. The hell with it. He’d search the house first. Find out what he could from the old man later.
Lights from a car swept through the windows, its beams crossed the far wall, finally lighting the dark corner where McCabe stood. He went to the window, peered through. He couldn’t see anything.
‘McCabe?’ Maggie’s voice whispered in his ear.
‘What?’
‘An ambulance just pulled up behind the guest cottage. I’m watching it through the binocs. I’m gonna move closer.’
McCabe could hear some rustling sounds and Maggie’s breathing. He waited.
‘Okay, I can see better now. Guess what? Dr. Wilcox is jumping out the back. Now a woman. Now the driver’s getting out. He’s unlocking a back door to the cottage.’
‘Is Kane there?’
‘No. Just the three of them. They’re pulling a stretcher out of the back.’ There was silence on the line for a moment. ‘There’s an old man on the stretcher. They’re heading into the cottage.’
McCabe figured it had to be transplant time. Lucinda’s heart was nearby, but where? In the cottage? Maybe here in the house? Was it still beating, still in her body? He didn’t know.
‘I’m calling Ellsworth for backup.’ Maggie’s voice again. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘What?’
‘Another light just went on. Directly above you in the main house. Third-floor window.’
Squinting into the sudden brightness, Lucy saw the man standing by the door, dressed in blue-green surgical scrubs. He locked the dead bolt and walked toward her. In his right hand, he carried a small red-and-white picnic cooler.
Lucinda’s eyes darted around. Yes. This was a different room. It looked like a child’s attic playroom with a single high dormer window. Toys and games lay stacked in the corner. Three low painted bookcases against the wall were filled with children’s books. Beside the window, a large stuffed bear sat upright inside an open cardboard box, its black button eyes peering directly at her. Reflected in the light, she saw a perfect spider’s web connecting the bear’s arm with the wall. On the other side of the web, a Pinocchio marionette hung, an idiot’s smile plastered on its pink painted face.
Closer to the steel platform on which she lay, Lucy could see a large electrical saw, its articulated arm hanging at a strange angle. Even closer, a tray of gleaming stainless steel instruments. The platform itself rose at a slight angle so that her head was higher than her feet. Near the bottom, between her ankles, she could see a round drain. For what? Water? Blood? The terror rose within her. Suddenly the bear and the marionette burst into hysterical laughter, pointing their arms directly at her, laughing at her because she was going to die. The laughter went on and on. She had to stop it. She had to shut it out. She tried to cover her ears, but her hands wouldn’t move. She closed her eyes and screamed.
McCabe ran into the open central hall, where the stairs rose up in a broad spiral toward the third-floor landing. He looked up and saw a heavy oak door blocking the entrance to the room where Maggie must have seen the light. His mind was racing. He could rush up the stairs, but the door would be locked. If he tried to break it down or shoot his way in, Kane, armed with a scalpel, if not a gun or a knife, would use Lucinda as a shield or, worse, simply cut her throat. He thought he heard a scream. Sharp. Short. Quickly cut off.