‘Thanks, no.’

‘Or some Irish? I’ve got a bottle of Black Bush around here somewhere. My brother sent it. Wanted to prove the Irish make whisky as good as the Scots any day.’

‘Some other time, maybe. Teddy’s waiting for me downstairs in the car. You go on back to your family.’ He held out his hand. McCabe shook it. Kelly left.

McCabe returned to the kitchen and climbed back up on the stool.

‘Who was that?’ asked Casey.

‘One of the suspects in my murder case.’

‘I assume it was one who didn’t do it,’ said Kyra.

‘Yes, it was. I was wondering,’ he said, ‘do you think, after dinner, you might be able to borrow the keys to the gallery?’

‘I don’t know. I can call Gloria and ask. Why? What do you have in mind?’

‘I thought maybe, after dinner, we all ought to stop by and take a look. I understand they’re showing some new work by a major Maine artist. I heard she was really good.’

Kyra smiled. ‘Yeah, I heard that, too. I’ll see what I can do.’

Keep reading for a sneak peek at

Darkness First,

the next installment

in the McCabe and Savage series

One

7:47 P.M., Friday, August 21, 2009

Machiasport, Maine

At 7:47 on a Friday evening in August, Dr Emily Kaplan’s office was still open, as it was every Friday night, for the convenience of those who found it difficult to come in at any other time.

She was finishing with her last patient of the day and, for that matter, of the week, a lobsterman named Daniel Cauley who was seated on the other side of the battered antique farm table that had served as Emily’s desk ever since she had opened her solo practice, Machiasport Family Medicine, four years earlier come September.

As she handed Cauley a prescription for the cholesterol-lowering drug she wanted him to take, she glanced out the window and caught sight of a young woman standing in the shadows at the end of the driveway staring at the house. Who, she wondered, could be standing and watching so intently at this hour? A late patient waiting for Em to finish with the one she was with now? Or perhaps someone waiting for Cauley. A daughter? Possibly a granddaughter?

‘Think these’ll help?’ Cauley’s question brought her back to the moment.

‘They will,’ she said. ‘Even more if you follow the diet I gave you last year. And maybe try getting a little more exercise.’

Cauley nodded. Said he’d try. She doubted he would.

It was five after eight and the office was technically closed by the time Cauley left. Emily walked out to the porch with him, curious to see if the woman was still there. Still watching the house. She was.

She made no move to join Dan when he climbed in his truck. As he put the vehicle in gear and executed a tight three-point turn, the beams of his headlights briefly illuminated her. She looked young with a slender figure and shoulder-length dark hair tied back in a ponytail. She also had what looked to Emily like a black eye and other bruises on her face. The truck pulled out. The headlights disappeared. The woman became, once again, more shadow than shape.

As the sound of the truck faded in the distance, she emerged from the edge of the woods, walked a dozen or so steps toward the office and then stopped as if she couldn’t make up her mind. Was she trying to summon up the courage to approach? Or had she seen the tall doctor peering at her from the porch and been put off ? She gave no sign of either. Just stood in the driveway studying the century-old two-story colonial with its peeling yellow paint and black shutters as if trying to memorize its form and structure.

The house Emily grew up in had served as her office ever since she’d come back to Washington County four years earlier with her husband Sam to set up her solo practice. A year later she and Sam divorced and the house once again became her home. A small but pretty colonial farmhouse set at the end of a country road on the outermost edges of the village of Machiasport. A good quarter mile from its nearest neighbor, the property was surrounded on one side by dense evergreen woods and on the other by a blueberry field. It was, she liked telling the few friends from med school who bothered to visit, the global headquarters of Machiasport Family Medicine. They would smile at her small joke and tell her how much they admired her decision to work here, among the people of the poorest and most underserved county in a poor and underserved state. A few told her they were sometimes tempted to do the same sort of thing. But, as far as she knew, none ever had. Her classmates had richer fields to till.

Deciding there was no point in waiting for the young woman to start moving, Emily descended the porch steps and approached her visitor to see how badly she was injured. As she drew closer, Emily guessed she was no more than twenty-one or twenty-two with what, under the bruises, seemed a strikingly pretty face. It might even have been called beautiful if it wasn’t so messed up. But, at the moment, her left eye was black and swollen shut. She had a bent and possibly broken nose. A scab had formed over a cut in her upper lip. Emily wondered what other damage she’d find in the examination room. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Doctor Kaplan. Who’re you?’

The girl didn’t respond. Just shook her head.

Emily needed to know who she was dealing with, but it seemed more important to check out her injuries first. She could always ask questions later. She put one hand on the woman’s shoulder and began steering her toward the office. ‘Okay, come in and let’s have a look at you. By the way, how’d you get here?’ she asked. ‘Somebody drop you off ?’

‘No. I drove.’

‘Really? Where’d you leave your car?’

‘Down by the state park. I walked back up.’

Emily wondered why she’d done that. The park was over a mile away. As the two women climbed the porch steps in the fading light of a late-summer evening, a pair of headlights lit them up. Both of them turned and looked. A car had pulled into the driveway but was now backing out again as if it had just been using the driveway as a convenient turn-around. Nothing unusual. Cars did that all the time once the drivers realized there was nothing down this road other than this small medical office.

Her new patient watched the car go, then stood staring into the darkness at the now empty space. Emily realized that, in spite of the warmth of the evening, the young woman was trembling. Either she was in shock or something was scaring the hell out of her.

‘Come on in,’ Emily urged. ‘Let’s have a look at your face.’

She held the door open. The woman went inside. Emily followed. The wooden screen door banged shut.

Em led her still nameless patient into the lone examination room and flicked on the fluorescents. Under the harsh lights her face looked even more battered than it had outside. Definitely in her early twenties, Emily decided. Around five-foot-four with a trim figure, and pale skin. She wore designer jeans, tapered at the ankle, and white sandals with silver studs adorning the cross-straps. Around her neck Em noticed a slender gold chain with a starfish pendant that had a diamond, or perhaps zirconium, stud in the center. A black t-shirt with the words The Killers emblazoned across the front completed her outfit. Below the words were red silhouetted images of four musicians holding instruments. Emily wasn’t sure who The Killers were. Some obscure rock band she supposed. Or maybe not so obscure. Em wouldn’t know one way or the other. She mostly listened to Mozart and Beethoven.

The girl carried a small green backpack. Emily told her to toss the pack on to a chair and hop up on the table.