Chapter L

I decided it might be more straightforward to drop by Moxie's house than try to update him on developments over the phone. He invited me into the kitchen, where the table was spread with paperwork, some of it related to Colleen Clark, the rest involving other cases. The table was a dark oak monster that had come with the property. It didn't really suit the room, which Moxie had modernized, but I could see now why he'd decided to hold on to it. Half a dozen lawyers could comfortably have worked from it without touching elbows. Then again, it might have been that Moxie couldn't figure out how to remove the table from the kitchen without sawing it into pieces. It looked like the room had been constructed around it.

"Would you care for a drink?" he asked.

"No, I'm good. I've taken in so much liquid today that my body is now probably eighty percent water instead of sixty—well, water, coffee, club soda, and alcohol-free beer."

I went through the events of the day with him, from the meeting with Delaney Duhamel, through the conversation with Steady Freddy, and finally, my encounter with Sabine Drew.

"The phony psychic?" said Moxie. "Jesus, next thing this case will be attracting fortune tellers and guess-your-weight hucksters."

"I'm not sure that ‘phony' is the right word for her," I said. "Or ‘psychic', for that matter. Technically, she may be a medium."

"If you prefer ‘fraud,' or ‘fake,' I have no objection."

"She's sincere. I don't believe she's trying to deceive anyone."

"Maybe you should talk to your girlfriend, Macy, see what she says, given she was among those who got stung over Edie Brook."

Moxie had the memory of a dozen elephants, but it still bothered me slightly that he was familiar with aspects of Macy's past unknown to me until that evening.

"I might just do that. And she's not my girlfriend."

"What do you mean, she's not your girlfriend? What are you, nine years old?"

Put like that, I had to admit I'd sounded like someone denying an accusation leveled in the schoolyard. Damn Moxie and his cunning lawyerly ways.

"I might hear what she has to say," I conceded.

"Yeah, I'd do that before I started digging up half of Gretton. You might consider buying her some flowers as well before you go raking up old hurts. You can tell her they came from me, if that makes it easier."

"Thanks, Moxie. You're the best."

He flicked through some of the notes he'd made while I was talking.

"And the more I learn about Mara Teller," he said, "the less I like. There might be a way to light a fire under the police about her, if you think Furnish is dragging his heels."

"If Nowak and Becker get elected, Furnish is convinced he'll be looked after, so he's got no reason to begin picking apart the case they're making against Colleen. At worst, if we set him on Teller, he may louse things up, either deliberately or through his own incompetence. I planted the seed with Steady Freddy. He's a plodder, but he's honest and has a conscience. If he can see substance behind the shadow, he'll do the right thing."

"Speaking of shadows," said Moxie, "my neighbor told me that a woman might have been hanging around my house earlier this evening."

"Let me remind you that I didn't laugh when you offered me relationship advice just now. How many women does one man need?"

"Too many, and never enough," he said.

"So what was it?"

"Probably nothing, but there are scratches on the lock of my back door." He jerked a thumb at the door behind him that opened into the yard. "They look fresh."

I examined the lock. He was right. When I rubbed a thumb over the marks, tiny flecks of brass came away.

"How's your alarm?"

"In need of service. I've been busy."

"Weapons?"

"Only my rapier wit. I don't like guns. That's why I have you."

I stared out into the dark, where Baxter Woods lay.

"Get the alarm up to spec," I said. "I'll make a call tomorrow about that money order from the forum. If I can find out where it was purchased, I might also be able to put a face on whoever bought it."

I powered up my laptop and opened the file of photographs given to me by Delaney Duhamel. I hadn't yet gone through them slowly and in detail, but a cursory search had produced two pictures of Stephen Clark. In both he was visible only in the background, distinguished by his height. In the first, he was accompanied by a much shorter woman. Her head was down, her face turned to her left to glance up at him. Even in profile, I could see she was smiling. Around her neck hung a lanyard ID, partly obscured by the lapel of her jacket. Magnifying meant losing definition, but I thought the letters might have included at least one l.

"You think this is her?" asked Moxie. "Because Clark might have met any number of women at that event."

"Look at his right hand," I said. "It's resting on the small of her back."

"Could be, although there are women who might construe that as a friendly gesture instead of an intimate one." Moxie magnified her face. "Not enough to make a positive identification."

"Not in a court of law, but I'd know her if I saw her."

"Would Stephen Clark be willing to tell us who she is?"

"I doubt he'd confirm his own name if I asked. That door has closed."

"Still, it might be useful if we get him on the stand. Send the image to me. I'll add it to the file. What else have you got on your schedule for tomorrow?"

"Appointments with both Colleen's physician and her therapist," I said. "If I have enough time, I'll knock on more doors, but according to Steady Freddy, the Portland PD's inquiries didn't turn up anything useful on that front. I'm not sure I'll do much better."

"I'll leave it to you to decide the best use of your time. How's Colleen doing under sequestration?"

"Okay, last time I saw her, but there's a limit to how long I can keep her cooped up in Scarborough."

"Have you told your girlfriend that you've taken in a female lodger? Sorry, your non-girlfriend."

He sniggered. He was a schoolkid at heart.

"I hope someone breaks into your house and breaks your pencils," I said.