‘She still remind you of Sandy?’

‘In some ways, yes,’ said McCabe. ‘Others, no.’

Maggie started to ask something about that but then, instead, just shook her head. ‘Never mind. It’s none of my business. Anyway, you said you found the place tossed?’

‘Yeah. My theory is that Ogden, assuming it was Ogden, was in the apartment when I arrived. He either heard me on the porch or saw me approaching through the living-room window. He knew he couldn’t go downstairs without bumping into me. So he went up instead and hid on the stairwell between the second and third floors. I get into the apartment and close the door. He takes off. I heard a sound while I was working the lock. I thought it came from inside. I was wrong. It came from the stairs. I should’ve had him. Basically I screwed up.’

‘Okay, so you’re not perfect. It happens. What was the damage?’

‘Drawers were searched and some of them dumped. Books were pulled out of the bookcase, which means he may have been looking for something that would fit between the pages of a book.’

‘Paper.’

‘Yeah. I doubt Hank’s the love letter type. More likely he was looking for photos or printouts of e-mails.’

‘You’re sure it wasn’t Barker? You said he came waltzing in later. It could have been his second trip.’

‘A bunch of things make me think not. First off, I came down on Barker pretty hard about whether he’d been there before to search the place. It just kind of confused him. He wouldn’t admit to a thing.’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s not him.’ Maggie was busy building little towers of sugar cubes on the table. ‘When you arrived, the door was locked. So were the windows. That means whoever was in there locked up the place. Barker has a key.’

‘If Ogden was her lover, he might have had one, too. And remember, there were no house or office keys attached to the key ring in the Beemer. If the killer took them, I assume it was for a reason.’

Maggie nodded. ‘Okay. You said there were a bunch of reasons you didn’t think Barker was the searcher. What’s the other?’

‘Lainie’s underwear.’

‘Lainie’s underwear?’ She stopped building sugar towers and frowned. ‘What about Lainie’s underwear?’

‘When Barker still thought he was alone, he spotted a pair of Goff’s panties, a black lace thong, lying on top in her open dresser drawer. He seemed surprised by it. Thrilled, in fact. Like a kid at Christmas with a brand-new toy. If he’d already searched the place he’d have seen the thong before, probably stuffed it in his pocket and taken it home.’

‘What’d he do with it?’

McCabe just shrugged.

Maggie made a face as if there were a bad smell in the room. ‘An underwear sniffer?’

McCabe shrugged again and nodded.

‘And you don’t think he’s our freak?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I don’t know, McCabe. Means, opportunity, motive. It all fits. Means? Barker has a key that gets him into her apartment anytime he wants. Opportunity? She’s going away on vacation. Won’t be missed for over two weeks. Motive? That’s easy. The guy’s a creep. A sexual deviant. An underwear sniffer. Yuck.’

Mandy arrived just in time to hear Maggie say ‘underwear sniffer.’ ‘Anybody want more coffee?’ She smiled uncertainly.

‘No thanks, Mandy, just the check,’ said McCabe.

When she was out of earshot, Maggie picked up where she’d left off. ‘Think about it, McCabe. Goff’s a gorgeous woman. Barker lusts after her. Dreams about her. You told me yourself you saw him staring at the pictures. He probably jerks off to visions of Goff leaping around naked in his dirty little brain every night. Of course, what this guy really wants, Lainie won’t give him, and he knows she never will. So he decides to get it and get her. The only way he can.’

Maggie was on a roll, and maybe she was right. Barker was a tempting suspect. Definitely a creep. Still, being a creep didn’t mean being a murderer. Or even being the guy who searched Lainie’s apartment.

‘Let’s say he sneaks into 2F on that Friday night,’ said Maggie. ‘Waits till she gets home from work, overpowers her –’

‘Overpowers her?’ McCabe laughed. ‘C’mon, Mag. Give me a break. The guy’s not just small, he’s the proverbial ninety-pound weakling. Goff could have kicked the shit out of him. Hell, my daughter could have kicked the shit out of him.’

That stopped her, but only for a second. ‘Yeah. Okay. Maybe. But what if he had a gun or a knife? The knife. Or if he slipped her a roofie?’

‘You mean when they were sitting down to share a cocktail?’

Maggie glared at him. ‘Don’t be a wiseass.’

‘Alright, sorry, but then what? After she’s unconscious he drags her out of the apartment, puts her in her own car, and takes the ferry to Harts Island? Why? So he can kill her where there’s a nice view of the ocean? Then, to top things off, he steals her apartment keys when he already has a set? Admit it, Detective Margaret. That dog don’t hunt.’

‘Alright, alright.’ She held up her hands reluctantly. ‘You’re right. I still think the guy’s a creep –’

‘He’s definitely a creep.’

‘A creep who knows something he’s not telling us. Like what he was doing sneaking into Goff’s apartment with a flashlight and a tool belt around his middle at four in the morning. I think we need answers.’

McCabe nodded. They did need to find out what Barker was doing in the apartment, and what it had to do with Goff’s murder. ‘Okay. Bring him in, but I’m not sure how much you’ll get from him. The minute I got too tough last night he started reciting me his own Miranda rights.’

‘C’mon, McCabe.’ She smiled. ‘You’re not Brian Cleary. You know tough’s not the answer to everything.’

‘Alright, Mag, work your wiles. Find out what he was doing there. But I still don’t see Barker as the searcher.’

‘Your money’s still on Ogden?’

‘As the searcher, yes. Like Burt said, Ogden has a lot to lose if the whole world finds out he was cheating.’

Maggie went back to building her sugar towers. ‘Okay, so we’re saying Ogden’s not the killer and Barker’s not the killer. Who’s left? Kelly?’

‘The evidence points that way. What we need to do is establish a motive.’

They split the bill fifty-fifty and headed back to 109.

Nineteen

Cleary was waiting on the other side of the elevator door when McCabe and Maggie stepped out onto the fourth floor at PPD headquarters. ‘You guys got a minute? Wanna bring you up to date, and there’s something you ought to see.’ He led the way into the small conference room and closed the door.

‘What did you find out?’

‘Bunch of stuff,’ said Cleary. ‘First off, Quinn doesn’t have a car and didn’t rent one. At least not from any of the agencies in Portland. Didn’t take a taxi anywhere either. Her mother’s car is a ’97 Subaru Outback, but Quinn didn’t use it. It’s still parked under a pile of snow at a lot off India Street. Possible friends’ cars we don’t know about.’

‘How about the terminals?’

‘Airport’s closed till later this morning. Quinn hasn’t been spotted there or at the train or bus stations.’

McCabe pursed his lips. ‘Anything from the ferry crews?’

‘That’s the good news. Nobody’s seen the BMW, but we do have a sighting on Quinn.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘According to one of the deckhands, she returned to the mainland on the last ferry last night.’ Cleary sat down next to the TV monitor and pulled chairs into position for the others. There was a freeze-frame image of a nervous-looking man in his twenties on the screen. ‘Left Harts Island at eleven fifty-five. Arrived in Portland twelve fifteen.’

Eleven fifty-five. The ferry McCabe watched from the galley of the Francis R. Mangini as the two boats passed midway across the bay.

‘I was going through the crew roster, interviewing the deckhands one by one.’ He tilted his head toward the monitor. ‘This one told me he saw Quinn.’