Chapter Four
Fifty miles from Hampstead on Yorkshire Boulevard in downtown Bracebridge, Maine, Noah Madill pulled his Crown Victoria to a stop alongside a police cruiser in front of the Beatty Building. He lumbered from the car and looked up at the posh sixteen-story structure housing the offices of dentists, doctors, accountants, architects and lawyers.
A uniformed officer stood at the entrance. “Second floor, Suite 200, Lieutenant.”
Noah nodded and took the stairs. The scent of furniture polish and industrial cleaners accompanied him through the hallway on the second floor. Patrol cops, Higgins and Johnson, awaited him.
“What we got?” Noah asked, directing the question to both of them.
“Levi Cain, lawyer, stabbed to death in his butter leather executive chair,” Johnson said.
“Weapon?”
“Left on the scene. A crucifix.”
Noah’s eye twitched. Just like the judge.
“What’s one dead lawyer?” Higgins asked.
“I don’t know. What’s one lawyer?” Noah played along.
“A step in the right direction,” Higgins guffawed.
“Not on my turf, it isn’t.”
The door to the spacious office hung open. Sunlight streamed in through the vertical blinds hanging in the window. Noah took everything in — the victim, head slumped to one side, a silver cross protruding from his heart, his white shirt blotched with blood, the gold pen clutched between his fingers, the banker’s light on the upper left corner of the desk, the telephone sitting to the front of it, the computer and keyboard on the opposite side, the papers and note pads strewn across the desk top, the volumes of statutes, law journals and bellows files piled high on the desk, chairs, tables and floor.
He turned to his left and studied an eight-by-ten portrait of a fifty-ish blond-haired woman sitting on the credenza among more files and journals.
Not a speck of lint blemished the plush carpet beneath his feet and not a dot of dust hazed the tops of furniture that he could see.
The air conditioning ducts swept the putrid odor of death through the office.
“This is how you found him?” Noah asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Johnson said.
“Touch anything?”
“No, sir.”
He checked the lock on the door. No sign of forced entry. Nothing appeared out of place and nothing indicated a struggle, which made him wonder, like the judge, if the victim knew his assailant. He didn’t need to examine the murder weapon to know the cross was identical to the one used on the judge or that the end had been sharpened to a point. He was sure, too, they would find no fingerprints on the murder weapon. Just like the judge.
Noah grimaced. All indications looked like they had a vendetta killer on their hands. “Who phoned it in?”
Higgins checked his notebook. “Donald Hubley. An accountant down the hall. He has coffee with Cain every morning. When Hubley arrived this morning, this was how he found him. He’s pretty shaken.”
“Did you take his statement?”
“Yup. Hubley said he didn’t see anyone. The offices don’t open ‘til nine and with the exception of him and Cain who usually arrive around eight, there isn’t anyone else on the floor until around eight-thirty.”
“Did Cain have a secretary?”
“No. Hubley said Levi practiced criminal law and didn’t need one.”
Cutbacks everywhere. “Where’s Hubley now?” Noah asked.
“In his office down the hall. Suite 204. Smythe is with him.”
Noah sensed someone at his back. He turned and stared into the face of his partner, Joe Shephard, a cop in his early thirties who’d recently made detective and who loved the ladies. If he didn’t miss his bet, Joe hadn’t changed his clothes from yesterday.
“What a way to start off a perfectly good Tuesday.” Joe looked at the body. “What’re the odds? Two vics, stabbed with a cross and all within days of each other. ”
Noah stared at his partner. “You look like shit.”
“I feel like shit.” Joe ran his fingers through his uncombed hair and belched.
The coroner, Max Anders, walked through the door. His six-foot height, three hundred pound weight and authoritative manner all but filled the room.
Noah’d worked with him many times over the past twenty years. He was a good friend and colleague and never failed to amaze Noah with his reverence for the dead.
“Remind you of someone?” Noah asked the coroner.
Max adjusted his bow tie and set his leather bag on the floor beside the desk. “Uh-huh. Judge Thomas Russell.” He patted Cain’s hands as though assuring him everything would be all right.
Noah would have asked the Doc for a guesstimate on the time of death, but Max refused to give educated guesses or to speculate, even for a friend and colleague. Max learned a hard lesson a long time ago not to give away too much information without scientific facts to back him up.
The crime team arrived, unpacked forensic equipment and set up quickly.
Noah stepped aside to let the photographer do his job.
His gut told him they wouldn’t find any trace evidence. He already learned the crosses could be bought in any chain store across the country, and no one the judge had sent to prison was recently released. If it weren’t for that, Cain’s death might have made the connection they needed to solve these murders.
Noah scowled and headed out of the building with Shephard following close behind.
“You need a shrink,” Shephard said on the sidewalk.
Noah ignored the comment and looked around for his partner’s five-liter Mustang. When he didn’t see the car, he turned to Shephard. “How’d you get here? The bus?”
“I hitched a ride with a black and white.”
“Short again?” Noah asked, referring to Shephard’s finances. He paid the equivalent of a month’s rent for his Mustang. That on top of rent, food and utilities and the other necessities of life, like his social life, usually left the young fellow broke.
“Only until payday.”
Shephard said that like the day was tomorrow. Noah raised his brows. “That’s eight days away.”
“I can do the math.”
Noah reached into his pocket and took out a money clip. He peeled off five twenties and handed them to his partner. “Pay me back when you can.” Noah noticed he didn’t need to force the loan on him.
“Thanks, man. Okay, bring it on.” Shephard made a come-hither motion with his hand.
“Bring what on?” Noah frowned.
“The lecture. The bit-off-more-than-I-can-chew spiel. The sell-the-car-or-cut-back-on-the-ladies advice.”
Noah shook his head. “No lecture. I didn’t loan you money so I could speak my mind about your state of affairs.”
“No?”
“No.”
Shephard swallowed. “You still need to see a shrink.”
Again, Noah let on he didn’t hear the remark and watched him pop a piece of nicotine gum in his mouth. “How’s that coming?”
“The gum helps. I can only afford one vice on my salary.” He grinned like a kid in a toy store. “Man, I love that car!”
Noah understood obsession and would give him his take on the subject, but found himself in no position to advise, not when he still felt for his wife what he did, even knowing her proclivities.
“I still think you need to see a shrink, and as much as you pretend the suggestion hasn’t been made, it has.”
“You’re probably right.” Noah couldn’t take insult at his partner’s recommendation. Shephard was a little low on discretion and diplomacy, but he had Noah’s well-being at heart. He couldn’t fault him for that.
“I can’t imagine what you went through finding your wife naked in the arms of another woman.” Shephard shook his head dramatically and stared at the ground. “Man, that’s a blow to the ol’ cajones, huh. No wondering if she was pretending all these years? Women are good at
faking orgasms. Not that I know that firsthand, of course, but I’ve heard stories.”
Noah jingled change in his pant pocket. Like he said, a diplomat Shephard was not. “I’m okay.” He wondered what a shrink would say if he knew he had pinned an eight by ten glossy of his wife on his dart board and used her nose as the bull’s eye.
“No manhood problems?”
“Nope.”
“Fifteen years. Took her long enough to find out she doesn’t like men. It sucks, man. If it were me, and I weren’t such a stud, I’d probably think I caused her to jump the fence.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Joe.”
He slapped Noah on the back. “Look, if it makes it any easier to accept, I say tell yourself what you want to hear and fuck your wife’s bedfellows.”
Noah smiled. He always appreciated Shephard’s take on things. If nothing else, it entertained.
“Thanks for the advice.” Noah climbed behind the wheel, started the car and turned on the AC. It was only nine o’clock and already the sun set the vinyl on the seats aflame.
Shephard plopped onto the passenger seat and shut off the air conditioning. “That stuff’s harmful to your health and having that frigid air beating on your chest like that can cause respiratory problems.”
Noah shook his head. Since Shephard was forced to quit smoking, he had become more aware of health risks and spewed his newfound knowledge any chance that came his way. Some Shephard took seriously. Some he misinterpreted, and some he simply didn’t understand whatsoever.
“Don’t we have a couple of murders to solve?” Noah asked.
“Yeah. The old lawyer probably had a coronary when he saw the crucifix coming at him. God. Wouldn’t that be something? The murderer killing a dead man and gets to stand trial for defacing a corpse.”
“We’ll get him for the judge’s murder.”
“He was an old geezer, too, and could have had a heart attack. Who’s to say at this point? The autopsy’s not back, yet. Can’t you see the headlines?”
Noah grinned.
Shephard looked across the seat at him. “What? You don’t think it’s possible?”
“Possible, not probable. Besides, I don’t think our killer is finished yet. We’re bound to get lucky at some point.”
“And have one of our vics die from stabbing through the heart rather than natural causes, albeit natural causes brought on by sheer fright?”
Noah nodded, grinning.
Shephard punched him in the upper arm. “You’re poking fun.” He laughed. “It could happen. Stranger things have.”
Noah had to agree.
“The lawyer’s lips were blue, just like the judge’s, and there wasn’t much blood from the wound, either. Just like the judge.”
Noah had noticed that, too, and mentioned it to Max. The Doc refused to give away anything, just as he suspected he would. He pulled from the parking spot, thinking Shephard might be on to something.
Shephard cranked down his window and yelled at a teen walking past on the sidewalk. “Those things’ll kill you, man. Savvy up and butt out.”
The kid gave him the finger.
Shephard shook his head. “Kids today have no respect.”
Noah noticed him giving the kid his I’m-a-cop-and-I’m-going-to-bust-your-ass look. “That’ll scare the crap into his droopy drawers, all right.”
“Damn straight.” He stuck his shirt inside his pants. “Where we going?”
“To see Mrs. Cain.”
“I hate this part of the job. Telling the family.” He blew a fierce breath through clenched lips.
Noah knew what Shephard meant. He hated this part, too. Disbelief came first, shock second, then tears and remorse. He was no different from any other cop. These emotions always triggered something inside a police officer, even the hardened ones and the ones that prided themselves on saying they had seen it all. Inevitably, when he thought like that, something came along and surprised the hell out of him. Like Dallas. He hadn’t seen that coming and never would have believed it had he been foretold.
“Where do they live?” Shephard asked, smacking the wad of gum in his mouth.
“Kennebecasis Park.”
“Ritzy.” He spit into the palms of his hands and smoothed them over his hair. “How’s that? Better?”
Noah looked at him. “You may want to zip your fly.”