3:14 A.M., Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Gouldsboro, Maine
The sound of Beethoven woke Maggie with a start. Her first thought was that these middle-of-the-night phone calls were getting really old. Her second thought was it had to be Carroll wanting to know what she’d been doing in his apartment. She disengaged herself from McCabe’s body and slipped out of the bed. She found her phone in the pocket of her jeans seconds before the message kicked in. Unknown caller. She sat down, still naked, on the couch and clicked Talk.
‘Who is this?’
‘Hello, Magpie.’
Maggie straightened. ‘Harlan? Where are you?’
‘Was Tiff Stoddard’s cell phone found with her body?’
‘What?’
‘Was Tiff Stoddard’s cell phone found with her body?’
‘No,’ she said after a few seconds. ‘Nobody could find her phone. Not with her body. Not in the apartment. Why?’
‘No reason. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Harlan, where are you?’
She heard only silence.
‘Goddamnit, Harlan, you brat, don’t you dare hang up on me.’
Too late. He was gone.
‘Goddamnit!’
‘What is it?’ asked McCabe, now sitting up in bed. He flipped on the light.
She ignored the question, clicked ‘Recents’, found the last number that had called and called it back. It rang four times. No one answered. No message requested. It was only by sheer force of will that Maggie kept herself from throwing her own phone across the room in frustration. ‘Goddamn fucking little brat.’
Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch. What the hell did that mean? When would he be in touch? And about what? And what in hell did he want to know about Tiff Stoddard’s phone for? She took a deep breath. What she really wanted to do was get back in bed, snuggle up against McCabe and maybe see if he wanted to make love again. But the cop in her was too strong. She found her clothes and pulled them on and then started pacing around the room.
‘What’s going on?’ McCabe asked, her nervous energy rubbing off on him. ‘What did Harlan want?’
She stopped pacing and told him what her brother had asked about.