afterthought, ‘Oh, it’s not about Casey. She’s fine.’ He clicked off and tried the house in East Hampton and then her cell. Same result both times. He left messages.
No, he told himself again, this wasn’t Sandy. She was in New York, safe and sound. On a Friday night she and her rich-as-Croesus husband were probably at the theater. We request that everyone in the audience please turn off all cell phones for the duration of the performance. Thank you very much. Or maybe they were home lying in front of the fire in their West End Avenue co-op, not answering the phone because they were otherwise engaged. He pictured Sandy having sex with Ingram. Without warning, the image changed and it wasn’t Ingram on the floor by the fire, wrapped in the familiar scent and feel of Sandy’s naked body. It was McCabe himself, thrusting into her over and over in a ferocious surge of desire. He was shocked by how much he still wanted her. Equally shocked by how much he hated her. It struck him that the need to exorcise the ghost of Sandy once and for all might be the real reason he kept pushing Kyra toward a marriage she wasn’t ready for. That was something he’d have to deal with. Something he’d have to resolve. He loved Kyra too much to use her that way. Perhaps he should stop seeing her. At least until the exorcism was complete. He wondered what a therapist like Wolfe would say about all this. He wondered if he could even tell Wolfe. But maybe he would. He sure as hell couldn’t tell anyone else.
As suddenly as it began it was over. Even the little voice in his brain accepted the fact that the woman in the trunk wasn’t Sandy. She was a look-alike, most likely one named Elaine Elizabeth Goff. Yes, the resemblance was strong, but that’s all it was, a resemblance. Maggie was still behind him, her hand still on his shoulder. ‘I’m okay,’ he said.
‘I’m not even going to ask.’
McCabe focused the light once more on the body in the trunk, looking this time not for moles but for evidence. For something that might tell him who had killed this woman and how. He noticed reddish marks on the one wrist and one ankle he could see, suggesting she’d been physically restrained prior to death. He saw the bruising Maggie mentioned on the visible portions of her legs, buttocks, and arms. Maybe she’d been beaten as well. Or maybe the marks were nothing more than freezer burn. He hadn’t seen any bruising around her face, and there was no sign of blood, either on her body or in the trunk.
Four
‘Why is it you two always find your bodies on Friday nights? Haven’t you ever heard of Tuesday?’ Maggie and McCabe looked up at the sound of Terri Mirabito’s voice. The deputy state medical examiner was standing at the front of the car holding a small black bag, like a Norman Rockwell doctor making a house call. Even bundled in a heavy sheepskin coat with a matching hat pulled down over her dark, curly hair, McCabe could tell Terri was dressed for a night on the town. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear lipstick or mascara or even high heels before. She looked good. The two cops moved out of the way to give her room to look in the trunk.
‘Hmmm. Frozen like a rock,’ she said. ‘That’s what I heard. That’ll make things interesting.’
‘Any sneaky way to estimate time of death?’
‘No. Freezing right after death keeps a body fresh. Like she died five minutes ago. Think Butterball turkey.’
‘What if decomposition already started?’
‘Freezing would have stopped it. We might be able to estimate the elapsed time between when she died and when she was frozen, but pinpointing actual time of death? No way.’
‘So we could be talking weeks?’
‘Sure. Assuming the body froze in position inside the trunk, which I think is the case.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Terri, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. ‘Freezing also keeps any evidence we find on the body fresh. Poison,
No, he told himself again, this wasn’t Sandy. She was in New York, safe and sound. On a Friday night she and her rich-as-Croesus husband were probably at the theater. We request that everyone in the audience please turn off all cell phones for the duration of the performance. Thank you very much. Or maybe they were home lying in front of the fire in their West End Avenue co-op, not answering the phone because they were otherwise engaged. He pictured Sandy having sex with Ingram. Without warning, the image changed and it wasn’t Ingram on the floor by the fire, wrapped in the familiar scent and feel of Sandy’s naked body. It was McCabe himself, thrusting into her over and over in a ferocious surge of desire. He was shocked by how much he still wanted her. Equally shocked by how much he hated her. It struck him that the need to exorcise the ghost of Sandy once and for all might be the real reason he kept pushing Kyra toward a marriage she wasn’t ready for. That was something he’d have to deal with. Something he’d have to resolve. He loved Kyra too much to use her that way. Perhaps he should stop seeing her. At least until the exorcism was complete. He wondered what a therapist like Wolfe would say about all this. He wondered if he could even tell Wolfe. But maybe he would. He sure as hell couldn’t tell anyone else.
As suddenly as it began it was over. Even the little voice in his brain accepted the fact that the woman in the trunk wasn’t Sandy. She was a look-alike, most likely one named Elaine Elizabeth Goff. Yes, the resemblance was strong, but that’s all it was, a resemblance. Maggie was still behind him, her hand still on his shoulder. ‘I’m okay,’ he said.
‘I’m not even going to ask.’
McCabe focused the light once more on the body in the trunk, looking this time not for moles but for evidence. For something that might tell him who had killed this woman and how. He noticed reddish marks on the one wrist and one ankle he could see, suggesting she’d been physically restrained prior to death. He saw the bruising Maggie mentioned on the visible portions of her legs, buttocks, and arms. Maybe she’d been beaten as well. Or maybe the marks were nothing more than freezer burn. He hadn’t seen any bruising around her face, and there was no sign of blood, either on her body or in the trunk.
Four
‘Why is it you two always find your bodies on Friday nights? Haven’t you ever heard of Tuesday?’ Maggie and McCabe looked up at the sound of Terri Mirabito’s voice. The deputy state medical examiner was standing at the front of the car holding a small black bag, like a Norman Rockwell doctor making a house call. Even bundled in a heavy sheepskin coat with a matching hat pulled down over her dark, curly hair, McCabe could tell Terri was dressed for a night on the town. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear lipstick or mascara or even high heels before. She looked good. The two cops moved out of the way to give her room to look in the trunk.
‘Hmmm. Frozen like a rock,’ she said. ‘That’s what I heard. That’ll make things interesting.’
‘Any sneaky way to estimate time of death?’
‘No. Freezing right after death keeps a body fresh. Like she died five minutes ago. Think Butterball turkey.’
‘What if decomposition already started?’
‘Freezing would have stopped it. We might be able to estimate the elapsed time between when she died and when she was frozen, but pinpointing actual time of death? No way.’
‘So we could be talking weeks?’
‘Sure. Assuming the body froze in position inside the trunk, which I think is the case.’
‘That’s too bad.’
‘Well, yes and no,’ said Terri, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. ‘Freezing also keeps any evidence we find on the body fresh. Poison,
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