‘So he has to have access to their medical records.’
‘Which probably means all four records can be found in one place.’
‘Cumberland?’
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
‘Someone hacked into the hospital’s computer system?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe someone already had access because someone just happened to be their number one superstar surgeon.’
‘Assuming all four victims were ever patients at Cumberland.’
‘Assuming that.’
‘There are other places that record blood type. Doctors’ offices. Testing labs. Maybe some others,’ said Maggie.
‘Can you check ’em out? Fast?’
‘Alright, I’m on it.’
‘Thanks.’
As soon as McCabe hung up, Bill Jacobi called from the garage. ‘You were right, Mike. We found blood – and something else that’ll interest you.’
McCabe checked his watch. It was now nearly 9:00 P.M. ‘I’ll be right down,’ he said.
McCabe locked the Henry and Branca files in his bottom drawer, shut down his computer, and headed for the garage. Jacobi directed him to the cargo area of the Lexus and turned out the lights. Blackness closed in. As McCabe’s eyes adjusted, he could see three small blotches of blue phosphorescence shining on the car’s carpet. Then Jacobi opened the spare tire well. The telltale blue glow of more blood. Quite a lot more.
‘Okay, you can turn the lights on,’ said McCabe. He was forced to squint from the sudden brightness. Once again, his eyes adjusted. ‘When will you know if it’s Katie’s?’
‘We already sent it in for DNA. We told the lab to make it a priority rush.’
‘Have them check for a couple of other matches as well. A woman named Wendy Branca and a guy named Brian Henry. I have the files upstairs.’
‘What about Cassidy?’ asked Jacobi.
‘Her, too.’
‘We’ll get it in the works.’
‘You said you had something else, Bill. What is it?’
‘This.’ Jacobi held out a small plastic bag. ‘We found it in the spare tire well. It must have slipped down there. Maybe it caught on something.’
Inside the bag McCabe saw a single small gold earring with a dangling heart-shaped charm. The charm was still shining brightly.
41
Thursday. 7:30 A.M.
McCabe fidgeted impatiently, eyes glued to a TV monitor, in a viewing room at 109 Middle Street. He watched a uniformed officer escort Philip Spencer into the interview room next door, where Tom Tasco sat waiting. McCabe was anxious to get as much out of Spencer as possible before a lawyer showed up and shut him down.
The first priority was getting a sample of Spencer’s DNA to match against the blood on Cassidy’s dog’s teeth. Tasco poured himself a glass of water, then offered one to Spencer. Spencer took it and placed it on the table next to him. They needed him to sip so they could check the saliva he might leave on the glass.
A video camera hidden in the emergency light recorded Spencer in medium close-up. McCabe could see Tasco’s back and hear his voice-over. ‘This is an interview at Portland Police Headquarters between Detective Thomas Tasco, Portland, Maine, Police Department, and Dr. Philip Spencer, currently residing at 24 Trinity Street, Portland, Maine. The time is 7:30 A.M., Thursday, September 22, 2005.’
Spencer sat back, tanned and confident. He wore a preppy-looking collared polo shirt and had a yellow cotton sweater tied loosely around his neck. Mr. Male Model. Right out of GQ. If the sonofabitch was guilty, thought McCabe, he sure as hell hid it well.
‘Betcha he talks to us,’ McCabe said to Bert Lund, who’d asked to sit in.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Lund. ‘He’s not gonna say a word.’
‘Ten bucks?’
‘C’mon, this guy knows enough to keep his mouth shut. Why wouldn’t he?’
‘Arrogance. Spencer’s got a congenital need to show off. He’s gotta prove he’s the smartest guy in the room. Almost can’t help himself.’
‘That’s pretty dumb.’
Spencer cocked his head one way, then the other, and pushed his dark hair to the side with one hand. McCabe could have sworn he was aware of the camera. Spencer asked the first question. ‘Would you mind telling me what this is all about? Am I under arrest?’
‘No. Nothing like that,’ Tom told him. ‘This is just an interview to help us obtain information regarding the murder of Katherine Dubois. Your presence here is entirely voluntary.’
Spencer looked around for the camera. ‘Hello, McCabe,’ he said. ‘You can see me, can’t you?’
Tasco ignored the comment except to say, ‘Please address yourself to me, Dr. Spencer.’
Spencer finally took a sip of the water. Score one for our side, thought McCabe.
‘You mean McCabe’s not going to ask me any questions?’ he asked. ‘I’m hurt.’ Tasco showed him the bag containing Katie Dubois’s earring. ‘Dr. Spencer, do you know what this is?’
‘It appears to be an earring.’
‘We found this earring in your wife’s car.’
‘Really?’ He didn’t seem fazed. Merely curious.