The guy turned toward McCabe, his expression more puzzled than surprised. He looked down at his own right hand, the one holding the light, but made no move to do as he was told.

‘Be a good boy.’ McCabe wiggled the barrel of his gun. ‘No discussion. No arguments. Just put it down.’

The guy did. ‘Are you the one who killed her?’ he asked. His voice was quavery, as if he thought he might be next on the hit parade.

Maybe it was an honest question. Or maybe just a way to divert suspicion. McCabe moved to the bureau, picked up the flashlight, and pointed the beam against the opposite wall. ‘Please step over there, lean against the wall with both hands, and spread your legs.’

‘You mean assume the position?’

‘Very good. Assume the position.’

‘Who are you?’ the guy asked in a high-pitched voice.

‘I’m the man with the gun. That means I get to ask the questions and you get to do as you’re told.’

The guy went to the wall and leaned against it. His left hand was still clutching Lainie’s panties.

McCabe switched on a standing lamp next to the bureau. The sudden brightness revealed that the intruder was a soft, nerdy-looking man in his early forties, more milquetoast than murderer. He was wearing a brown leather tool belt around his waist. Pliers, screwdrivers, a hammer, some other stuff.

‘Undo the tool belt and let it drop to the floor.’

The guy did.

‘Very good. Now, my first question is, who are you?’ ‘Me?’ the guy squeaked.

‘I don’t see anyone else in the room. Do you?’

‘No. No, I don’t. Name’s Andy Barker,’ the guy said. ‘I own this building.’ Then, as if it just occurred to him, ‘Actually, you’re trespassing on my property.’

McCabe ignored the last remark. ‘Got any ID, Mr Barker? Don’t reach for it. Just tell me where it is.’

‘In my wallet. Back pocket. Left.’

McCabe walked over and kicked the tool belt out of reach. He patted the guy down, then fished out the wallet. He found a Maine driver’s license. Andrew Barker. Age forty-two. Address 342 Brackett Street. He shoved the wallet back in Barker’s pocket. ‘Thank you, Mr Barker. For the record, I’m Detective Sergeant Michael McCabe, Portland police.’

Barker let out a long breath he’d been holding in for a while. Probably thought a cop was less likely to shoot him than some random guy with a gun. ‘Police, huh. Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘Yeah. That’s what I figured.’

‘I have another question.’ McCabe holstered the .45. ‘What are you doing here?’

Barker shrugged. ‘Like I told you, I own this building. I’m Lainie Goff’s landlord.’

‘Do you normally visit your tenants’ apartments unannounced –’

‘Unannounced? Who am I supposed to announce it to? Goff’s dead.’

‘Unannounced at four fifteen in the morning?’

‘I’m an early riser.’ Now he was playing the wiseguy.

‘Keep talking.’

‘Well, I figured I was gonna have to find a new tenant. I wanted to see what kind of shape the place was in. How much stuff’d have to be moved out.’ They both knew that was bullshit. Barker was just trying it on for size.

‘You were carrying the tools for what reason exactly?’

Barker shrugged again. ‘I don’t know. I usually wear a tool belt. In case anything needed fixing?’ His voice rose at the end of the last sentence, making it more question than assertion.

McCabe decided it was time to cut the crap. ‘I think you can do better than that, Mr Barker. Now, what were you doing entering a murdered woman’s apartment carrying a flashlight and a set of tools in the middle of the night? And what exactly are you doing with her underwear?’

Barker started looking around like he wanted to be anywhere but leaning against a wall in front of McCabe. ‘Mind if I sit down?’ he asked.

‘Over there,’ said McCabe, pointing to the tub chair. Barker lowered his hands and sat.

‘Now answer the question, Mr Barker. Why are you here?’

‘I was curious. Like I told the other detective, the woman, Ms Savage, I’m kind of a fan of police stuff. Wanted to have a look around. Scene of the crime and all that.’

More bullshit. ‘You were up here before, weren’t you, Mr Barker?’

‘Yeah. Sure. I’ve been up here a couple of times. When Ms Goff needed something fixed or had a problem with something.’

McCabe went to where Barker was sitting, put his hands on the chair’s two arms, and leaned in close. ‘I want some straight answers, Andy,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Andy, do you?’

Barker looked up and shook his head no.

‘That’s good, Andy. Now no more bullshit. You came up here earlier tonight, didn’t you?’

Barker shook his head again. ‘No. Well, yes, but only to let the other detectives in.’

‘Then you came back. After they left. And you started going through Lainie Goff’s belongings like you were looking for something, didn’t you, Andy? And it wasn’t just underwear, was it?’

Barker shook his head, confused.

‘What were you looking for?’

‘I wasn’t looking for anything. I wasn’t even up here.’

‘Was it something incriminating? Something that might tie you to the murder? Is that what you were looking for?’

‘I told you, I wasn’t here. I wasn’t looking for anything.’ Barker tried to get up out of the chair, but McCabe was blocking the way. He sat back down. ‘I want to go home now.’ He sounded like a child who wasn’t having fun with his playmates anymore.

‘I’d rather you stayed where you are, Andy. I’d rather you told me what you were looking for when you came up and ransacked Lainie Goff’s personal things earlier tonight.’

‘You’re trying to make like I had something to do with her murder, aren’t you? ’Cause if that’s what you’re trying to do, that’s just total bullshit.’

Barker seemed near tears. He was looking everywhere except at McCabe. Mostly he was glancing over at the wall of pictures above the bureau. The nudes of Lainie Goff.

‘She was a good-looking woman, wasn’t she, Andy?’

‘Who?’

‘Your tenant. Ms Goff.’

‘Yes. She’s beautiful. She was beautiful.’

‘Woman like that could make a man do all kinds of things he might not do otherwise, don’t you think, Andy?’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Are you a married man, Andy? Is there a nice little Mrs Andy downstairs in 1F waiting for you? One who’ll vouch for where you were Tuesday night around, oh, I don’t know, eleven o’clock or so?’

‘No. I’m not married. Besides, I don’t see what business it is of yours where I was Tuesday or any other night.’ Barker’s voice was swinging wildly between panicked and petulant.

‘You’ve got a key to this apartment, isn’t that right, Andy?’ asked McCabe.

‘Of course. I’ve got keys to all the tenants’ apartments.’

‘And you just used that key to gain access to this apartment?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘I told you I wasn’t looking for anything.’

‘Not even a pair of Lainie Goff’s black lace thong panties?’

Barker looked down and realized he was still clutching the panties in his left hand. He dropped them like they were on fire.

‘Maybe you also used your key to gain access to this apartment earlier tonight? After the crime scene people left and before I showed up.’

‘No.’

‘Maybe you came in and went through Lainie Goff’s drawers and personal effects?’

‘No.’

‘What were you looking for, Mr Barker?’

‘I’m not talking to you anymore.’

‘Something personal? Maybe something even sexier than those panties? Something that might turn you on?’

‘I know my rights, and I don’t have to talk to you. I have the right to remain silent.’

‘I know. I’ll bet you were looking for more pictures of Goff naked. I mean, if she’s got those over there right out in the open, she’s probably got even better ones in her drawer, don’t you think? Is that what you were looking for?’ McCabe pointed over to the open drawers in the bureau. ‘Or maybe you’re just into underwear? Frilly, lacy black underwear? She probably has lots more of it in there. You the kind of guy that gets turned on by a good-looking woman’s underwear? Is that what you were looking for?’