‘Record gets a little sketchy.’ Tasco was reading from some computer printouts. ‘Worked as a bouncer in some gay clubs in New York. Couple of assault arrests for getting too rough with some drunks. No convictions. Turns up next in Florida. South Beach.’
Tasco sorted through his notes. ‘In Florida, Pollock does a little time for beating the shit out of a couple of college jocks in a bar fight. He got pissed at them for gay-bashing some aging queen Pollock didn’t even know. He told them to lay off. Instead they start in on him. Football players,’ Tasco said with a snort. ‘Guess they thought they were tough. Pollock almost killed one of them. That was in ’96. He gets out in ’98 and disappears. End of story.’
Darryl Pollock. Duane Pollard. Initials DP. South Beach. Lucas Kane’s lover? McCabe was willing to bet on it. In 1998 Pollock changes his name and hooks up with Kane. He wondered what, if anything, Detective Sessions would know about that. Or be willing to tell him.
‘Mike, are you with me?’ Tasco was looking at him. ‘Hello? Is there something I’m missing here?’
McCabe shook his head. ‘No. I’m sorry, Tom. Any record of Pollock ever using an alias? Either before he was sent up or maybe after he got out of prison?’
‘Not that we’re aware of.’
‘Do me a favor. Dig a little deeper. See if you can find out if Pollock ever used the alias Duane Pollard.’
‘So who’s Pollard?’
‘A local enforcer in Miami. My information places him in South Beach in March 2001. At the time, he was the live-in lover of a high-class pimp and pusher named Lucas Kane, who just happened to be an old dear friend of one Dr. Philip Spencer.’
‘Well, well, well. Didn’t know Spencer had such nice friends,’ said Fraser. ‘Where’s Kane now?’
‘Dead. He was murdered back in 2001.’
‘Really? Was Pollock/Pollard a suspect?’
‘No. According to Miami Beach PD he had an airtight alibi.’
‘Anything to show Spencer knew Pollard?’ asked Tasco.
‘They could have met at Kane’s funeral,’ said McCabe. Noticing a man nearby eyeing them, McCabe lowered his voice to just above a whisper and shifted his chair so the man couldn’t see his lips. Tasco and Fraser followed suit. The line between precaution and paranoia, as always, seemed thin.
‘Maybe at the funeral, Spencer asks Pollock to come to Maine to bash any necessary heads in his heart transplant scam,’ said Fraser. ‘After all, Kane doesn’t need him anymore, what with him being dead and all.’
‘Possible,’ said McCabe, considering it. ‘Pollock/Pollard loses his meal ticket in Florida about the same time Spencer’s hatching his transplant scheme in Maine. I mean, why else would a thug like that end up in Portland? Could you find anything about Spencer visiting France?’
‘Not much, even though the gendarmes were helpful,’ said Tasco. ‘There’s no record of anybody checking into the H?tel du Midi in Montpellier under the name Philip Spencer at any time during November of last year.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. I checked with the hospital. According to their records, Dr. Spencer performed three heart transplants here in Maine that month.’
‘So he couldn’t have been in France?’
‘Technically, he could have, but he would have to have been traveling within a hell of a tight time frame.’
‘Do me another favor, Tom. Ask your contact in France if anyone checked in using the name Harry Lime.’
‘Okay, and if he did?’
‘Get the passport number and find out where and when it was issued. If it was mailed, find out where it was sent.’
‘So the guy in France wasn’t Philip Spencer?’
‘At least not our Philip Spencer. Sophie Gauthier just looked at his photo. She’s certain Spencer’s not the guy who recruited her.’
‘Basically you’re telling me we have nothing?’ said Tasco.
‘That pretty much sums it up.’
‘I’ve got to tell you Mike, it’s getting pretty old running up and down these blind alleys.’
‘Just hang in, Tom. It’ll pay off,’ said McCabe.
‘I hope so. What’s next?’
‘Next? Next we take a look inside Mrs. Spencer’s pretty green Lexus.’
39
Wednesday. 4:00 P.M.