‘What’s his name?’ asked Maggie.

‘Bobby Howser,’ said Cleary. ‘Howser and Quinn know each other. They were classmates at Portland High. At first Howser denied seeing her, but something in the way he said it, well, it was pretty easy to tell he was lying. So I bring him in, stick him in an interview room, and go at him for a while.’ Cleary smiled. ‘Y’know? Good cop. Bad cop.’

Maggie smiled. ‘Oh yeah? Which one were you?’

‘Both.’ Cleary smiled back. He was rhythmically banging his right fist into his left palm.

‘You didn’t rough him up, did you, Brian?’ McCabe asked. His tone was teasing, but the question was serious. Cleary had potential, but he was a born brawler. McCabe knew he might have to keep a tight rein on him.

‘Nah. I wouldn’t do anything like that.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want to have to cut short a promising career. What did Howser tell you?’

‘Kid was pretty scared once he realized this wasn’t a game. He hung tough for about five minutes and then blurted out the whole story.’ Cleary hit PLAY, and the frozen image came to life. Howser was sitting at the table in the small interview room at the end of the hall, eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at where Cleary would have been. A hand entered the frame and slid a photograph across the table. Cleary’s voice came out of the speaker. ‘Alright, Bobby, I’m going to ask you again like I did down at the Bay Lines. Have you ever seen this woman on the boat?’

Howser glanced at the image, then looked away again. ‘No. Well, yes, but not recently.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

Howser looked around nervously. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Do you know her?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s her name?’

Howser didn’t answer right away. Suddenly Cleary’s hand came down hard on the table. Howser flinched, the sound of the slap reverberating like a rifle shot. ‘Bobby. I asked you a question,’ Cleary said, his tone measured yet, for all its softness, full of menace, ‘and I expect an answer.’

‘Quinn. Her name’s Abby Quinn.’

‘Abby Quinn. Good. That’s better. When was the last time you saw Abby Quinn?’

Howser closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He opened them again. For the first time he looked at Cleary. ‘Last night,’ he said. ‘She jumped on the eleven fifty-five about thirty seconds before we pulled out. There were only a couple of other passengers. Hardly anyone takes that boat this time of year.’

‘How long have you known Quinn?’

‘All my life. We’re both from the island. Grew up there. She’s still living there. I’ve got my own place in town now.’

‘Did you talk to her last night?’

‘Like I said, she jumps on at the last minute and comes running up to me.’ Howser paused. ‘You know Abby’s crazy, don’t you?’

‘No,’ said Cleary. ‘I didn’t know. What do you mean by crazy?’

Howser shrugged. ‘She gets weird sometimes. Does weird stuff. Says weird stuff. She’s been in and out of that mental hospital in Gorham a couple of times.’

‘Winter Haven?’

‘Yeah. Winter Haven.’

‘Was she doing weird stuff Friday?’

Howser nodded. ‘Kind of. She came running on wearing this stupid ski mask. I could tell it was Abby, though.’

‘How? You said she was wearing a mask.’

‘I dunno. Her shape. Her voice. The way she was moving and talking. Like I said, I’ve known her all my life.’

No surprise there. It’s not that hard to recognize someone under a mask. Not if you know them well enough. Which left the obvious question hanging. Did the killer know Abby? And if so, how well? McCabe didn’t give voice to the thought. He didn’t have to. He knew Maggie was thinking the same thing. On the screen Howser was still talking.

‘Anyway, she pulls the mask off and tells me somebody’s chasing her. She looks upset, so I ask her who’s chasing her. She says Death. That’s what she said. Death. I mean, that’s weird right there, isn’t it? Then she puts her face about an inch away from mine and makes me promise not to tell anybody that I’d seen her. Says I have to swear I won’t tell. On a stack of Bibles. Cross my heart and hope to die. Like we were still in third grade or something. “Swear you won’t tell,” she said. “C’mon, swear it.” She wouldn’t stop till I actually used the words, “I swear I won’t tell.”’

‘Did you? Use the words?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What, exactly, did she make you swear?’

‘I just told you.’ ‘Tell me again.’

‘That I wouldn’t tell anyone that I’d seen her. Not even the cops, she said. Not even you guys. Death would get her if I did. Like Death was some dude she knew.’

McCabe wondered, was he some dude she knew? Cleary didn’t ask the question. Instead he asked, ‘How’d you feel about that?’

Bobby Howser looked down. Spoke in a low voice. ‘I gotta tell you. When Abby gets crazy like that she scares the hell out of me. She’s tried to kill herself a couple of times, y’know. She wasn’t like that as a kid. We were pretty good friends back in middle school. Right through high school. She was normal. Like everyone else.’

‘How is she now?’

Howser gave Cleary a frustrated look, as if he were tired of repeating himself. ‘I already told you. Crazy. You never know where the stuff that comes out of her mouth comes from.’

‘Okay, so you swore to her you wouldn’t tell. Is that why you lied to me about seeing her?’

Bobby looked down, embarrassed. ‘Yes.’

Cleary’s voice softened. ‘It’s alright. You did the right thing. She needs help, and we’re trying to help her.’

Bobby looked up, a flicker of hope on his face.

‘Then what happened?’ asked Cleary.

Howser shrugged. ‘She locks herself in the head. Stays in there the whole way across. When we got to Portland, I had to knock on the door to let her know we arrived. She comes out, puts that stupid mask back on, and runs off into the night.’

‘What else was she wearing?’

‘Running clothes. A black Nike jacket. Nike shoes. Air Pegasus. I noticed ’cause I have the same kind. She was carrying a small backpack. And a fanny pack.’

Cleary hit stop. Howser’s image froze again. ‘That’s pretty much it,’ he said. ‘I told the kid that what he told me was confidential. If he told anybody anything he’d be in deep shit. He said he wouldn’t. I made him swear.’

‘Cross his heart and hope to die?’ asked McCabe. Cleary grinned.

‘And he didn’t know where she went?’ asked Maggie.

‘Nope. Like he said, she just ran off into the night. Gone. Poof. Just like that.’

McCabe supposed it was progress of a kind. Knowing for sure Abby was on the mainland. Knowing she was still alive, at least as of midnight last night. Knowing what she was wearing. Of course, the downside was it gave her a whole lot more geography to get lost in. Or get killed in. Or freeze to death in. Finding Abby had to be job one. For the cops and the killer. McCabe had the advantage of greater resources. An advantage that would be neutralized if the killer knew her well. Knew who her friends were. Knew where she was likely to go. It was going to be a delicate balancing act. Eddie Fraser leaned into the room. ‘There’s something on the Monument Square videos you guys ought to see.’

Cleary switched off the monitor and said he’d get the information on what Abby was wearing out to all units. They followed Eddie over to Starbucks’s cube. The area wasn’t much bigger than a walk-in closet, but they all managed to squeeze in. It was lined with an array of the latest electronics. The young Somali’s face broke into a huge grin as they entered. ‘Sergeant McCabe,’ he called out. ‘We’ve found something good here, I think.’ After only seven years in America, Starbucks spoke English almost without an accent. Only the occasional odd construction and a formality gave him away. ‘I’ve been helping Detective Fraser review the surveillance videos from the lobby of Ten Monument Square. Both Thursday the twenty-second and Friday the twenty-third.’