start?’
‘Eleven. Outside City Hall.’
‘Alright. Just do me one favor, Chief. A case like this is going to bring the nutcases out of the woodwork. So let’s not give out too many details.’ Knowledge of the details was exactly what they could use to separate genuine informants from the fakers.
‘Fair enough,’ said Shockley. ‘How about we don’t mention the earring or how the body was arranged?’
‘How about we don’t say anything about her heart being cut out either. That’s the big one.’
Shockley didn’t respond. He knew the details about Katie’s heart would really turn the media on. McCabe figured he was reluctant to give that up.
‘Alright,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll keep the heart to ourselves.’
‘That’s the right decision,’ said McCabe. ‘I’ll be there. So will Maggie.’
‘Good,’ said Shockley. He hung up.
McCabe stared angrily at the dead phone in his hand. He knew it wasn’t the need for a press briefing that was bugging him. That was a given. Part of the game. What was really pissing him off was his feeling that, deep down, Shockley saw Katie Dubois’s murder as an opportunity to generate headlines that’d make him look good, headlines that might even lend traction to his rumored run for governor. Especially if it was Mike McCabe, the cop from away, the cop Shockley hired over the objections of many in the department, who cleared the case. That’s what was pissing him off.
McCabe forced himself to put Shockley’s press conference out of his head. He pushed the button to boot up his computer and Googled ‘Cumberland Medical Center,’ ‘Portland,’ and ‘heart surgery.’ On Cumberland’s Web site he learned its cardiac unit, the Levenson Heart Center, was the jewel in the hospital’s crown, named one of America’s top one hundred cardiac facilities three years running. A little more digging told him a Dr. Philip Spencer headed up the cardiac unit and was, apparently, its superstar surgeon.
He clicked on Spencer’s name, and his bio popped up on the screen. Tufts University Medical School, 1988. Residence in cardio-thoracic surgery, Bellevue Hospital, New York City, ’88 through ’92. Advanced training at the Brigham in Boston in heart transplant procedures, ’92 through ’96. Came to Maine in 1996, nine years ago, to start Cumberland’s transplant program. Spencer’s list of honors ran for several paragraphs. Obviously, if anyone knew how to remove a human heart and who else in Maine had the skills to do it, Spencer was the guy.
He called Spencer’s office at Cumberland, but the doctor wasn’t there. To McCabe’s surprise, his home number was listed. He lived on the West End near the hospital. McCabe tried the number. A woman answered.
‘Mrs. Spencer?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Detective Michael McCabe, Portland police. Is Dr. Spencer at home?’
‘No, I’m afraid he’s not. I think he’s gone out for a run.’
‘Could you ask him to call me when he returns?’
‘May I ask what this is in reference to? We’ve already given to the Children’s Fund.’ Her voice and manner were pure Yankee blue blood.
‘Mrs. Spencer, this is not about a donation. We’re investigating a homicide, and Dr. Spencer may be able to help.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s about that poor girl, isn’t it? Do you have any suspects yet?’
‘Mrs. Spencer, I’m sure you’ll understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.’
‘Of course. I’ll have Philip call you.’
McCabe gave Spencer’s wife his cell number. He looked up and saw Tom Tasco and Eddie Fraser standing by his desk. They looked tired. Normally Eddie had a kind of jumpy energy. He couldn’t stand still. Right now he was standing still.
‘We may have a witness,’ Tasco said.
McCabe hung up the phone. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Eddie and I were canvassing all the commercial properties in the area to see if anybody saw or heard anything,’ said Tasco. ‘There’s a moving and storage company
‘Eleven. Outside City Hall.’
‘Alright. Just do me one favor, Chief. A case like this is going to bring the nutcases out of the woodwork. So let’s not give out too many details.’ Knowledge of the details was exactly what they could use to separate genuine informants from the fakers.
‘Fair enough,’ said Shockley. ‘How about we don’t mention the earring or how the body was arranged?’
‘How about we don’t say anything about her heart being cut out either. That’s the big one.’
Shockley didn’t respond. He knew the details about Katie’s heart would really turn the media on. McCabe figured he was reluctant to give that up.
‘Alright,’ he said finally. ‘We’ll keep the heart to ourselves.’
‘That’s the right decision,’ said McCabe. ‘I’ll be there. So will Maggie.’
‘Good,’ said Shockley. He hung up.
McCabe stared angrily at the dead phone in his hand. He knew it wasn’t the need for a press briefing that was bugging him. That was a given. Part of the game. What was really pissing him off was his feeling that, deep down, Shockley saw Katie Dubois’s murder as an opportunity to generate headlines that’d make him look good, headlines that might even lend traction to his rumored run for governor. Especially if it was Mike McCabe, the cop from away, the cop Shockley hired over the objections of many in the department, who cleared the case. That’s what was pissing him off.
McCabe forced himself to put Shockley’s press conference out of his head. He pushed the button to boot up his computer and Googled ‘Cumberland Medical Center,’ ‘Portland,’ and ‘heart surgery.’ On Cumberland’s Web site he learned its cardiac unit, the Levenson Heart Center, was the jewel in the hospital’s crown, named one of America’s top one hundred cardiac facilities three years running. A little more digging told him a Dr. Philip Spencer headed up the cardiac unit and was, apparently, its superstar surgeon.
He clicked on Spencer’s name, and his bio popped up on the screen. Tufts University Medical School, 1988. Residence in cardio-thoracic surgery, Bellevue Hospital, New York City, ’88 through ’92. Advanced training at the Brigham in Boston in heart transplant procedures, ’92 through ’96. Came to Maine in 1996, nine years ago, to start Cumberland’s transplant program. Spencer’s list of honors ran for several paragraphs. Obviously, if anyone knew how to remove a human heart and who else in Maine had the skills to do it, Spencer was the guy.
He called Spencer’s office at Cumberland, but the doctor wasn’t there. To McCabe’s surprise, his home number was listed. He lived on the West End near the hospital. McCabe tried the number. A woman answered.
‘Mrs. Spencer?’
‘Yes?’
‘This is Detective Michael McCabe, Portland police. Is Dr. Spencer at home?’
‘No, I’m afraid he’s not. I think he’s gone out for a run.’
‘Could you ask him to call me when he returns?’
‘May I ask what this is in reference to? We’ve already given to the Children’s Fund.’ Her voice and manner were pure Yankee blue blood.
‘Mrs. Spencer, this is not about a donation. We’re investigating a homicide, and Dr. Spencer may be able to help.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s about that poor girl, isn’t it? Do you have any suspects yet?’
‘Mrs. Spencer, I’m sure you’ll understand, I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.’
‘Of course. I’ll have Philip call you.’
McCabe gave Spencer’s wife his cell number. He looked up and saw Tom Tasco and Eddie Fraser standing by his desk. They looked tired. Normally Eddie had a kind of jumpy energy. He couldn’t stand still. Right now he was standing still.
‘We may have a witness,’ Tasco said.
McCabe hung up the phone. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Eddie and I were canvassing all the commercial properties in the area to see if anybody saw or heard anything,’ said Tasco. ‘There’s a moving and storage company
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