24

AT NINE O’CLOCK PRECISELY, the front door of the concrete block police station opened and the two-person investigative team from the Maine State Police entered the building. Like Melissa Manheim before them, the pair moved directly through the station to Mike’s office. A tall, silver-haired man dressed in a sharp blue suit knocked once on the door, sharply, then the pair entered without a word.

Mike rose, noting at first glance the smug attitude radiating off the silver-haired man and wondering if it was matched by the other member of the team. After completing the perfunctory introductions—the men’s names, if Mike had heard correctly, were Detective O’Bannon and Detective Shaw, or perhaps Shore, it wasn’t easy to tell thanks to the man’s thick down-east accent—Mike passed a copy of his notes to each man and began filling them in on the events of the past two days.

“So, let me summarize,” Detective O’Bannon, apparently the lead investigator, said. “You’ve got no suspects, no concrete leads and no idea where this person, if it even is a person, is hiding?”

“That’s right, and our ME assures me that the pattern of bruising on the neck of the first victim was most likely made by human hands. The results of the autopsy on Victim Number Two, Frank Cheslo, should be available soon. Hopefully we can get the doctor to provide us with preliminary results as early as this afternoon. I asked him to put everything else on the back burner until he completes this examination.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” O’Bannon replied snidely. “Have you ever heard of a single case where a human being, using only his hands, has ripped another man’s head clean off his body, Chief?”

Mike gazed at the man for a long moment, trying to decide on a response. For the time being he elected to take the high road in hopes of remaining part of the investigation once the Staties started calling the shots. He knew he was facing long odds, but he had come to think of Paskagankee as his town already, and Mike didn’t want to be an observer when the killer was finally brought down; although he had every expectation that would be the case. Jurisdiction wasn’t something easily shared, and the Maine State Police possessed a lot more clout than he did. “I’m relating the facts as they’ve been presented to me by the medical examiner. You can interpret them as you choose, but I thought you should know where this investigation stands. And by the way,” he added, “there was nothing ‘clean’ about how Harvey Crosker’s head was ripped off his body or how either of those men died.”

“Right. Sure. Investigation?” O’Bannon huffed. “Is that what this is? Because all I see is a couple of stiffs and nothing much being done in terms of investigating at all.”

Mike glared at the man, doing his best to keep his temper under control. “I know you look at this town and see a little Hickville police department and think you can come in here and intimidate me, but let me tell you something, we know what we’re doing. I understand we don’t have the resources to handle this type of investigation, and I understand the governor himself sent you boys up here, but from here on out you’ll keep your opinions of me and my department to yourself or you’ll find yourselves returning to Portland so fast you’ll be back in the city before you’ve finished admiring your reflection in your hotel room mirror. Am I making myself clear, detective?”

O’Bannon looked at his partner, a smirk passing over his face and then disappearing. Mike was getting tired of seeing that look on people’s faces. “Sure, Chief, whatever you say,” he answered. “Is there somewhere in this tiny shoebox of a building Detective Shaw and I can set up shop?”

Mike showed the two men to a corner at the far end of the station where a couple of desks had been thrown together and stocked with computers and file cabinets. He still wasn’t sure whether the second guy’s name was Shaw or Shore and decided it really didn’t make much difference. These two were trouble, but he was just going to have to put up with them for the time being until they caught the murderer, which, hopefully for his rapidly evaporating patience, would be soon.

As the two men began organizing their work spaces, Mike turned back toward his office. Detective Shaw/Shore spoke up; the first time he had said a word since introducing himself. “I assume we can count on the full cooperation of you and your department, Chief?” The inflection he imparted to the words let Mike know it was meant as a statement and not a question.

Mike stopped and debated telling him that he expected cooperation from the Maine State Police rather than vice-versa, but then bit his tongue and said only, “Of course,” without turning around. He stalked into his office and closed the door. It was starting out to be another long day.