Tom Shockley stood, placed both hands on his desk, and leaned into McCabe, his pale face turning bright scarlet. ‘Number one, Phil Spencer is no suspect. I have total confidence that anything I say to Philip Spencer is and will remain confidential. Number two, I also have total confidence he has nothing to do with this murder. Number three, and I believe I’ve said this before, the public has a right to information about one of the most horrific murders this city has ever seen.’
‘As for Spencer, maybe he has nothing to do with the case. We don’t know. Either way, as lead investigator it’s my job to decide how to conduct this investigation. Not yours. As for the public’s right to know, all you’ve accomplished by releasing unknown details is to make it harder for our people to screen out the nut jobs. You know? The whackos who call us every day with bullshit information or confessions. By the same token, you made it harder for us to identify someone as the murderer because he knows stuff he shouldn’t. Chief, you may have just doubled our workload. On behalf of my detectives and myself, thanks a bunch.’
Shockley was trying to control his rage. ‘One more word, McCabe. Just one more and you are fucking toast. You got that?’
‘You want my shield, Tom? Here. Take it. Go solve the murder yourself.’ McCabe took out his badge wallet and tossed it on Shockley’s desk, wondering if Shockley would call him on it. Wondering if it even was a bluff. Then he jumped in with both feet. ‘Just remember, Chief, it will make for interesting reading when you try to explain to the press why your star detective suddenly got the ax. The same detective you just bragged about hiring. I’m sure the reporters will find it even more interesting how the chief of police fucked up the investigation.’
McCabe paused as if considering the merits of going public. The confrontation was something that had been bubbling beneath the surface for a while. It felt good letting it out. ‘Y’know, Tom, I’ve never held a press conference of my own, but I think the public has a right to know. Don’t you? I can see the headlines now. “Ex-New York Cop Quits Job in Maine. Accuses Boss of Shielding Suspect, Hampering Investigation.” Interesting headline, but probably no big deal unless you happen to be running for governor. Of course, you’re not thinking about running for governor, are you, Tom?’
‘Alright, McCabe, you made your point.’ He tossed McCabe’s badge back to him. ‘Now get out.’
McCabe turned toward the door. For the moment he had Shockley in a corner. Once the case was resolved, all bets were off.
‘Good-bye, Tom,’ he said softly as he left. ‘Have a nice day.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ said Shockley.
19
Monday. 8:30 A.M.
Maggie was waiting for him at his desk. ‘Let’s hit the road, partner.’ She took his arm and steered him toward the elevator. They took a PPD Crown Vic and pulled out into Portland’s excuse for rush hour traffic.
‘Where are we going?’ asked McCabe.
‘Well, last night I went to Katie Dubois’s wake, y’know, to pay my respects to Frank and Joanne. I figured one of us ought to be there. I also wanted to find out if Katie ever said anything to either of them about our friend in cowboy boots. There were about a million people there. Neighbors. Relatives. At least a hundred kids from the high school. A bunch of teachers.’
‘Open casket?’
‘No, thank God. Seeing her all decked out by some funeral director would have been more than I could bear. Anyway, I couldn’t really talk, what with everybody churning around, but I did manage to ask Joanne if Katie ever said anything about being scouted by a soccer coach from Florida.’
‘And?’
‘And she kind of looked at me funny and said yeah, Katie had said something about Florida. Joanne didn’t want to talk about it at the wake, what with all the people around. Said we should stop by the house this morning.’
‘Which is where we’re going now?’
‘Excellent deductive reasoning, McCabe. You’ll make a fine detective someday. By the way, the funeral’s this afternoon. Two o’clock. We should go.’
‘I plan to. Speaking of Mr. Cowboy Boots, any progress finding out if any of Katie’s teammates got a look at him?’
‘So far no one remembers seeing anyone like the guy Kenney described. I still have a couple of kids to check.’
‘Anything about the car?’
‘Just what Kenney told us. That it was probably dark green.’
McCabe nodded. Then he opened his cell and called the PPD Communications Center, which had almost instant access to all motor vehicle information. He asked the woman who answered to check what color Harriet Spencer’s SUV was. He hung on while she looked it up.
‘It’s listed as green.’
‘Dark or light?’
‘Just says green.’
McCabe thanked her.