Twenty-Three

‘It’s Andy, right? Do you mind if I call you Andy?’ Maggie leaned into the open back window of the black-and-white patrol car, looking down at the small figure hunched on the backseat. He glanced up at the question but didn’t answer. Maggie smiled. Andy Barker blinked back. ‘You don’t mind if I call you Andy, do you?’ She repeated the question. ‘I’ve got a younger brother named Andy. He’s my favorite brother, actually.’ Her brothers’ names were really Trevor and Harlan. ‘Andy’s always been one of my favorite names.’

Her eyes registered the green and black plaid wool pants the guy was wearing, the green suede ankle boots, the fake snakeskin jacket. Little perv even dresses creepy, she thought.

‘Yeah. That’s fine,’ he said, still blinking. ‘I guess that’s fine. Can I call you Margaret?’

Could he call her Margaret? The name printed on the card she’d given him last night. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘You call me Margaret.’

She extended her hand. He looked at it but made no effort to shake it. ‘Nice to meet you, Andy,’ she said. ‘And thanks for agreeing to come in and talk to us.’ She pushed the hand toward him just a bit more.

Finally he took off a glove and shook. His hand felt cold and dry. Like a dead man’s, she thought, letting go. She could see he was shivering. ‘Hey, Castleman,’ she called to the uniform behind the wheel, ‘pump up that heat a little, would you? Man’s cold back here.’

Castleman didn’t do anything right away. Maggie knew the last thing he wanted was to make the guy in the backseat more comfortable. Tough shit. ‘Hey, Castleman, you hear what I said?’ Castleman’s right hand poked at the temp gauge and flipped the fan on to high.

‘Thanks, Castleman,’ Barker said, a little gloat in his voice. Then he looked up. ‘Why do I have to go with him anyway?’ he asked. ‘I’d rather drive with you. In your car.’

‘Yeah. I know, I’d prefer that, too, Andy. Then we could talk privately on the way in. But we’ve gotta follow department protocol. You know what I mean?’ She stood and tapped her left hand twice on the unit’s front door, letting Castleman know it was time to leave. The rear window rolled up. The car pulled out onto Brackett. Maggie could see Barker turn and look back, watching her through the misted glass. She smiled, raised a hand, and gave a small wave. Like a mother sending her kid off to school.

She waited until the unit turned left on Pine Street and disappeared, then stepped over a pile of dirty snow that was starting to melt in the warmer air. She opened the door of her unmarked Crown Vic, pulled off her coat, tossed it on the passenger seat, and headed for 109.

Barker knew something he wasn’t telling them. Maggie was as sure of that as she was of anything. Something that explained why he snuck into Goff’s apartment at four in the morning wearing a tool belt. The trick would be getting it out of him. In spite of what she’d told McCabe, she had to play this one carefully. It wouldn’t be all that easy.

Maggie parked herself in Fortier’s office and watched Barker fidget on the TV set in the corner. He was nervous, looking this way and that. He’d been there ten minutes and was starting to get antsy. Time to get the show on the road. She nodded to Brian Cleary, who was standing next to her. Ten seconds later she watched the door to the interview room open. Cleary walked in.

‘Hey, Mr Barker, how are you? Detective Cleary here.’ Cleary disappeared from view as he sat down in the interviewer’s chair. The camera stayed focused on Barker’s face.

‘Where’s Margaret?’

‘Who?’

‘Margaret.’

‘Oh. Detective Savage, you mean.’

‘She asked me to call her Margaret.’

‘Yeah. Well. She’s my boss, so I gotta call her Detective Savage. Anyway, she’s stuck in a meeting for a few minutes. Said to tell you she’ll be with you as soon as she can. Shouldn’t be very long. Asked me to cover a few of the preliminaries so we don’t take any more of your time than we have to. Hey. Would you like me to get you a cup of coffee? Or water or anything?’

‘I’ll have a glass of water.’

‘Okay. Sure thing.’ Cleary’s shoulder came into frame as he got up. A minute later Maggie could see his hand place a full glass of water in front of Barker. If he drank any he’d leave a DNA sample on the rim.

She could see Cleary’s hands on the table opening a manila file folder. ‘Okay,’ he asked. ‘Now, your full name is what?’

‘Andrew Barker.’

‘Any middle name or anything?’

‘John.’

‘Good. And you live in Apartment 1F at 342 Brackett Street here in Portland, right?’

‘I own the building.’

‘Oh yeah? Good for you. How long have you lived there?’

‘All my life. I was born there.’

‘Really? Right there in the apartment?’

‘No,’ Barker said, irritation beginning to creep into his voice. ‘I was born at Cumberland Medical Center. My parents lived in the apartment at the time.’

‘Your folks still live there?’

‘Is Margaret coming soon?’

‘Yeah. Just a few minutes. She said she’s anxious to talk to you, so I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as she can. Your folks still live there? In the apartment, I mean?’

‘No. My parents divorced when I was little. Mimsy died about five years ago.’

‘Mimsy?’

‘My mother.’

‘Mimsy was her name?’

‘No. Her name was Gloria. Mimsy’s what I called her.’

‘Oh yeah? Sort of like Mom or Mommy or something like that?’

Barker squinted at Cleary. ‘It wasn’t like that. Mimsy’s what everybody called her.’ He started looking around the room. Everywhere but at Cleary. ‘Where’s Margaret? I thought she wanted to talk to me. I can’t wait here all night, y’know.’ The tone was petulant. Maggie figured it was time to make an entrance. Wait any longer and Barker’s irritation would turn into anger and they’d probably lose him altogether.

‘Mr Barker,’ she said, walking into the interview room, ‘I’m sorry we had to keep you waiting.’ Then, to Cleary, ‘Brian, I can take over from here.’ When Cleary didn’t move she added, ‘Would you mind?’

‘Hey, I’ll be happy to stay, Marg . . . uh, Detective Savage,’ said Cleary.

‘Not necessary,’ Maggie said. Walking behind Barker’s chair, she stood behind him, facing Cleary. ‘I’d rather speak to Mr Barker privately.’

Cleary held up his two hands, palms out, a signal of surrender. ‘Okay, you’re the boss,’ he said. ‘Call me if you need me.’

Maggie continued around the table in time to see a nearly imperceptible smile flicker across Barker’s face as he watched Cleary collect his notes and walk out of the room. The carefully orchestrated dance was over.

‘Asshole,’ Barker muttered.

‘Oh, don’t mind him,’ said Maggie. ‘He’s just trying to do his job. We all are.’

‘You’re different.’

‘Thank you, Andy. I appreciate that.’ She sat in the chair Cleary had just vacated.

He looked at her.

‘I’d like to start by asking you some questions about your building and about Elaine Goff. And also about your other tenants. Would that be alright?’

‘Okay. Yes. Sure. That would be fine.’

Maggie opened a small notebook and for about ten minutes took him through a series of general questions about the building, about his job as landlord. After that they went back and forth for a few more minutes about the other tenants in the building. Who they were. Where they worked. How long they’d lived at 342.

As they spoke Maggie could see Barker’s eyes darting back and forth, going from her face when she was looking at him to her breasts when he thought she wasn’t. Every time she looked down to write something in her notebook, boom, down they’d go. It was almost funny. The little creep would probably start salivating in a minute. Or jerking off. She considered buttoning her jacket and cutting off his view. Then she changed her mind and, instead, hoisted her long legs up on the table and leaned back in the chair and let the jacket fall open. Barker’s lascivious looks weren’t anything she couldn’t handle, and the longer he thought he could sneak a peek, the longer he’d want to stay and answer questions. Maybe more important, the more excited he got, the more likely it was that he’d slip up and tell her something he didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to confess to the crime, Your Honor. I was distracted by the detective’s boobs.