‘Just told them she’s missing and we’ve got to find her. They all know she’s got mental problems and tried suicide twice, so nobody’s asking too many questions.’
They saw headlights pulling up outside. Maggie and Daniels were back.
Twelve
It was a little after one thirty in the morning when Maggie pulled the Explorer up in front of an oversized gray house on Seal Point. McCabe studied the place from the passenger seat. There were just the two of them. Bowman and Daniels had been left behind, and Cates had rejoined his search teams. The fewer people who tramp around a crime scene the better, even one that might already be compromised. Forensics 101.
Different cops work in different ways, and McCabe liked to look at a crime scene with the eye of the filmmaker he once dreamed of becoming. He broke events down into discrete scenes, choreographed the movement of the principal players through each scene, considered the lighting, and shot the action with the camera in his mind from as many angles as he could. Later he’d edit the mental footage until it told a complete and, hopefully, coherent story. For McCabe it was the closest he could come to actually having been there.
He sat next to Maggie in the dark, not talking, just looking out the window and listening to the slap of the wipers. Heavy gray tarps, stretched end to end across the middle of the front yard, were already nearly invisible under new snow. Finally he asked, ‘Any useful prints under those things?’
Maggie nodded. ‘A few.’
‘Bowman’s?’
‘No. His are all clustered away from the others. Looks like he was being careful not to destroy evidence.’
Good. At least the asshole had done something right.
‘Someone, I think Abby, entered the property, wearing ice cleats. You can see some cleat prints on top of the ice. She broke through in a couple of places. She took a circuitous route, staying close to the shrubbery over there on the right. Then she stayed close against the house till she reached the porch steps.’
McCabe remembered the full moon Tuesday night. Assuming Abby got to the place around ten or eleven o’clock, it would have lit the front yard almost like daylight. She was trying to stay in the shadows. Not be seen by whoever was in the house. The layer of crusty snow extended up the steps and onto the porch. Blown in by the wind off the sea. ‘She go in the front door?’
‘No, but she must’ve thought about it. There’s a couple of her cleat prints right in front of the door. Everything’s kind of messed up in that area, ’cause that’s how they came out, but there is a nice clear trail of cleats going around the side of the porch to the back. Best I can tell, she checked out the garage, then went into the house through the back door.’
‘And came out the front?’
‘Yeah. With somebody chasing her. Coming out, she went straight down the middle, and the bad guy came after her.’
‘What do you have from him?’
‘Everything’s pretty messed up. Looks like somebody, the bad guy I think, slipped and took a fall. Still, we got a couple of decent imprints. Looks like he was barefoot.’
Must have been desperate. Running barefoot on snow and ice in ten-degree weather. McCabe wondered if he was totally naked. Might have been if he raped Goff just before killing her.
‘A couple of partials of his feet are pretty clear. One heel and two toes. Good indication of size. Should be able to make casts of them.’
‘See anything that looks like it might have been Goff’s?’
‘No. He might have carried her in. Remember, she didn’t come out again. Goff only had a one-way ticket.’
A one-way ticket to the Hotel California. The old Eagles song started up in McCabe’s head. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. Goff didn’t. Quinn barely did.
‘When’s Jacobi coming?’
‘Tonight. Weather report’s calling for a heavy snow drop, so he wants to get out here and get as much of the scene tied down as possible before the snow wipes out any more of it. They’re already finished at Goff’s. He’s arranging barge transport for the van.’
McCabe sighed. ‘Long night.’
‘Bill’s okay with that. Says Bernice will love spending the overtime.’ Maggie looked over and gave him one of those lopsided grins of hers, with one side of her mouth going up more than the other. A brunette version of Ellen Barkin. ‘So will I,’ she added. ‘If I ever get to go shopping.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. A couple of sets of tire tracks leading into and out of the garage. Looks like two different vehicles to me.’ Then, as if sensing his thoughts, she said, ‘Todd Markham told me he hasn’t been on the island in months. He wasn’t sure about Isabella. When he’s traveling on business, which apparently he does a lot, he says she likes coming up here instead of staying in Boston.’
‘A little lonely, I would’ve thought.’
Maggie just shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe she’s antisocial. Or maybe she’s got a friend.’
‘Has she been up here in the last month or so?’
‘We’ll have to ask.’
‘Did you ask him what kind of car she drives?’
‘Yup. A Caddy Escalade.’
McCabe nodded. ‘Any of the tracks readable?’
‘I think so. There’s a couple of nice fat frozen tire prints just inside the door. Different tread patterns. I figure one could be the Escalade, the other the Beemer.’
Would the freak have taken Goff’s car over on the ferry? With Goff inside? Or maybe tied up in the trunk? Then back again with her body? Pretty careless if he did. There were no surveillance cameras on board, but there were plenty of witnesses who might remember a new BMW convertible going across in January. Who might have noticed the driver. Who might be able to describe him. Or her. McCabe checked his phone. There was a signal, but it was weak. With the bulk of the island between Seal Point and the nearest cell tower, that was no surprise. He called Cleary again and managed to connect.
‘ATL in place?’
Cleary told him it was.
‘Okay. Next thing I need you to do is find the home number for the director of the Casco Bay Lines. Wake him up if you have to, but get the crew rosters for every ferry between Portland and Harts Island from the night of the twenty-third until the last boat tonight. Both coming and going. Get the crews’ home numbers, cell numbers, whatever. Just find them. We need to know ASAP if anyone remembers seeing the BMW and if they can remember the driver. Or if anyone actually remembers seeing Goff. Also see if anyone remembers a Caddy Escalade. Massachusetts plates.’
‘Got it.’
‘Also find out if anybody saw Abby on any boat leaving Harts between Wednesday morning and tonight. If you need help, call Fortier. He gives you any shit, tell him to call me.’
‘No problem.’
McCabe smiled. He knew why he loved Cleary.
They found flashlights, stuffed evidence gloves and paper booties in their pockets, and exited the Explorer. The two of them walked south along Seashore, to the bend in the road where the Markhams’ house disappeared from view. Then they turned and looked back. Abby had first seen the candlelight somewhere between here and the path leading up to the porch. They walked back, trying to see things the way Abby saw them as she jogged toward the house four nights ago. It had been an icy night, clear and bright with a full moon and no snow. Native Americans used to call the January full moon the wolf moon to honor the ravenous hunters who once roamed these regions in winter. Driven by cold and hunger and the absence of prey, lone wolves howled their discontent at the heavens. To survive, they needed something warm to kill.
McCabe tracked Quinn’s progress as she rounded the curve into a straight patch. The large wall of windows in the center of the second floor came into view. Had Abby seen candlelight right away? Jogging on an icy road, even with cleats, she might have been looking down, keeping an eye on the icy patches and only glancing up occasionally. McCabe walked gingerly himself; Maggie did the same. He imagined himself in a head-over-heels pratfall, a Keystone Kop slipping on a banana. He’d just as soon avoid a side trip to the hospital with a broken bone.