The Red Queen Dies (21 page)

“Because you're an extraordinary writer, even under those circumstances.”

“Quit trying to butter me up and eat. I'll tell you if I find anything.”

McCabe went over to the fridge and found herself a cup of yogurt. She tossed in a handful of walnuts and took a banana from the fruit bowl, then sat back down at the table.

“Umm,” Angus said.

“Umm, what?”

“Probably nothing useful. Got a note here about sending a reporter to interview Ted Thornton. Thornton knew Jessup, didn't he?”

“They were old friends. When was this interview?”

“Monday, July twelfth, 2010.”

“What was the interview about?”

“Thornton's plans to expand his business interests in the Capital Region. The reporter asked a question that Thornton didn't like, and Thornton said, ‘Interview over,' and got up and walked out. I wrote a note to myself about arrogance and power. I was thinking of writing an editorial.”

“Did you?”

“Looks like I was working on it a few days later, but then they started to get a handle on the oil spill in the Gulf. My editorial turned into a piece about modern disasters and their aftermath. I couldn't work Ted Thornton in.”

“But Thornton was here in Albany in July 2010.”

“Hadn't built his mansion yet. He was renting a house on Willett Street, across from Washington Park. Rumor was that he was going to try to buy up all of the houses along there. That was the question that made him get up and walk out on the interview.”

“You mean when your reporter asked about the rumor?”

“Didn't like being questioned. Whatever he was considering, he seemed to change his mind before he moved on it. Nothing to do with what you're interested in.”

McCabe broke off a piece of banana and stirred it into her yogurt. “I asked Ted Thornton if he knew anything about our first two victims. He said he had never heard of them.”

“Since they would have been young girls back in 2010, unless you're implying that Thornton—”

“I don't have any reason to think that. But it does occur to me that with his interest in various modes of transportation, he probably also has an interest in science.”

“So you're thinking he might have had something to do with the summer science camp?”

“He donates lots of money to charities and good causes through his foundation. Maybe back in 2010, he made a donation to a science camp.” McCabe scooped up another spoonful of yogurt. “Whatever these murders are about, if it somehow started with the science camp, then there's a motive that we might be able to get a handle on. Not some whacked-out psycho who likes shooting women up with phenol.”

“Sometimes serial killers have motives that make pretty good sense. Greed, for example. The payoff from the insurance policies they have on their victims.”

“I think we can assume that isn't the case here.”

“Didn't say it was. Just agreeing with you that your killer may not be foaming at the mouth.”

“It would be a whole lot easier if he were. Easier to spot him.”

“You got reason to be certain the killer's a man?”

McCabe pushed back her chair and stood up. “Forensics has been able to put together a profile from the trace evidence on the victim's bodies. They aren't prepared to swear in blood, but the indicators are male, European ancestry. Of course, we could have a killer who is leaving fibers and hairs for us to find.”

“So it could be a woman.”

“With the method of death, there's no reason why it couldn't be. But as Agent Francisco would remind us, most serial killers who kill women are men.” McCabe dropped her yogurt container into the recycle bin, the banana peel into a compost can. “Thanks for the info, Pop. I've got to get to the station. Baxter and I are going to spend some time going over what we have.”

“Don't work too hard,” Angus said.

He had been saying that for years. Her reply was a part of the same ritual: “I won't.”

 

21

 

Baxter came in a few minutes after she had settled down at her desk. He was carrying a Cambrini Bakery box. “Brain food,” he said.

“Bless you,” McCabe said.

“Since we're probably going to be here long enough to order pizza, we may as well make it a complete pig-out.”

“And repent and start over once the case is solved.”

Baxter leaned back in his chair. “You see any solution in sight? I checked the master file, and we still don't have anything useful on that women's group that sponsored the camp. They organized as a nonprofit. No record of any other activity by the group after they rented the building, hired the instructors, and put on a two-week science camp.”

“I swore my Dad to secrecy and asked him if he remembered his newspaper covering anything about a girl running away from summer science camp.”

“Did he?”

“No, and he was able to check the index of the articles for that month. Nothing.” McCabe took a sip of the ‘coffee' that one of the detectives on the morning shift had made. She wrinkled her nose and put her mug down. “But he did come across something else in his notes from that month. Ted Thornton was here in Albany. One of my father's reporters went to interview him.”

“But Ted Thornton said he had never heard of either vic.”

“Maybe not. But I'm wondering if he might have made a donation to the women's group that sponsored the camp.”

“And if he did?”

“No idea. But at least we'll have found something linking all three victims.”

“And that would be our good friend Theodore. How do you want to handle finding out?”

“We should have some more information about the group from Research by tomorrow morning. But, in the meantime, we could run this by the lieutenant and see if there's any problem with contacting Ted Thornton and asking him directly.”

“Thornton will probably refer us to Ashby.”

McCabe picked up her ORB. “I hate to interrupt the lou's time off. He and his wife go bowling on Sunday morning.”

“Bowling?”

“They love the game. Whenever they both have a Sunday morning off, they go bowl a few games.”

“What does the lou's wife do?”

“ER nurse.”

When Dole answered, she could hear the clash of bowling balls in the background. When she had explained their theory about Thornton as a possible donor to Girls in Science, he said, “Go ahead and ask him about it and see what he says. If it was a legitimate nonprofit, he shouldn't have anything to hide. If he stonewalls you, we'll pull the CO in on it. But the general agreement on this is that as much as possible we treat Thornton the same way we would anybody else.”

“That's what we were thinking, sir.”

“Let me know if you get anything useful.”

“Good luck with your game.”

“I'm going to need it. The woman just got another strike.”

“What'd he say?” Baxter asked.

“Go ahead and check with Thornton. Try to handle him the same way we would anyone else.”

“Until he makes it clear that he's not?”

“You got it. But Thornton did tell us he wanted to be helpful.”

“This means I get to see Roz again,” Baxter said, grinning.

McCabe shook her head, “You and that robot.”

“The woman of my dreams. Low-maintenance.”

When McCabe reached Bruce Ashby, he gave the okay for them to visit. Ted, he said, would be happy to answer any other questions they might have.

“I wonder if Clarence Redfield would be as happy to see us,” McCabe said after she had passed that on to Baxter. “I was thinking about Redfield when I was out running this morning.”

“What about him? Other than whether you're going to get your friend to beat him up.”

“I was thinking some more about what we talked about. That we still don't know how Redfield knew that we had a serial killer. During the press conference, Jacoby shut him down before he could say what it was that he knew about how the two victims had died. We still don't know how much he knows. Or how he knows.”

“You thinking Redfield should be on our list of suspects?”

“Only wondering about him,” McCabe said. “If you were the killer, wouldn't it be a great way of staying off the suspect list to be out there accusing the police of being incompetent and engaging in a cover-up.”

“Yeah, it would be. On the other hand, we could have someone in the department who's feeding Redfield information.”

“That's more likely. Either that or Redfield's been in contact with the killer. But I think at the task force meeting tomorrow, we should put Redfield on the table. See how people are feeling about how he might fit into this.”

“Want to swing by and pay him a visit after we see Thornton?”

“Maybe we'd better wait until we have something that we can use as a conversation opener. If we just drop by, he'll probably call his lawyer and claim I'm harassing him because of his thread.”

“Okay. However you want to play it.”

“That's what I like,” McCabe said. “An agreeable partner.”

Baxter pushed back his chair and stretched. “Does being agreeable buy me about five minutes to make a call?”

“Sure, go ahead. I'll meet you at the door.”

McCabe glanced up from her ORB as he walked away. Probably the same woman he was calling on Thursday after the autopsy. Probably telling her he was going to be tied up most of the day and making a date for later.

She glanced back down at the screen in front of her. She had no reason not to trust Baxter … unless being easy to get along with made him suspect.

After all, he didn't have to mention the call. He could have said he needed to make a pit stop in the john. Could be that was where he was going to make his call.

*   *   *

Bruce Ashby opened the door at Ted Thornton's house.

“Where's Roz?” Baxter asked.

“Who?” Ashby said.

“Rosalind. The maid.”

“Oh, she … I happened to be passing, so I signaled her that I would let you in.”

“Thanks for letting us drop by,” McCabe said. “We'll try not to take up too much of Mr. Thornton's time.”

“I should have told you when you called that this will have to be short. Ted and Lisa are taking Greer and her husband down to the City on the airship later this afternoon. The memorial service for Vivian is tomorrow.”

“A public service?” McCabe asked.

“Private. For Vivian's close friends and associates. Cremation rather than burial.”

Horatio, the cat, did not appear, either, as they followed Ashby back through the house. This time, their destination was a room filled with cushioned wicker furniture, green plants, and sunlight from the windows that made up one wall. Lisa Nichols and Ted Thornton were sitting in adjacent chairs, with a table between them. They were sharing the Sunday paper over coffee and croissants.

There was no sign of Greer St. John and her husband, Ron.

Thornton stood to greet them, waving them to the sofa across from where he and his fiancée were seated.

“Need me, Ted?” Ashby asked.

Thornton passed the cup of coffee he was pouring to McCabe. “Please help yourself to sugar and cream. Are you … uh, going to have any questions that Bruce might be helpful in answering, Detective McCabe?”

“Thank you,” McCabe said. “And, yes, actually we do have a question that might require Mr. Ashby to check his records.”

“Then, Bruce, why don't you join us?”

Thornton poured coffee for Baxter and gestured for Ashby to serve himself. When everyone was seated with the cups in hand, he said, “Now, how can we help you?”

Lisa Nichols, chic in white slacks, black tunic top, and strappy black high-heeled sandals, crossed her legs. She had been silent, but she seemed interested in what had brought them back for another interview.

McCabe, both of her feet on the floor, took another sip of her coffee, which was excellent, and set the cup on the table at her elbow.

“We need to ask about a donation that you might have made to a nonprofit organization back in 2010,” she said. “The organization was called Girls in Science. It was a women's group that sponsored a two-week summer science camp for girls twelve to fourteen.”

Thornton raised an eyebrow. “I take it … take it … this organization has some relevance to your murder investigation.”

“We've learned that Sharon Giovanni and Bethany Clark both attended this science camp.”

“But I'm … uh, pretty sure Vivian wouldn't have,” Thornton said.

“No,” McCabe said. “But it did occur to us that your foundation might have made a donation to the group. It would have been a worthy cause and one that you might have supported because of your interest in innovations in transportation.”

Thornton nodded. “‘Innovations in transportation.' I like that phrase. Not your usual cop phrase.”

“Cops aren't generally illiterate, Mr. Thornton.”

“No, of course not … of course, not. I meant no offense, Detective McCabe. What I was getting at in my clumsy way is that most cops … in my admittedly limited experience … prefer plain, blunt language rather than multisyllable phrases.”

“Depends on who we're talking to,” Baxter said.

“Yes,” Thornton said, smiling back at him. “And, of course, given Detective McCabe's wordsmith parents—”

“Who are not the subject of this conversation, Mr. Thornton,” McCabe said. “Do you recall making a donation to Girls in Science? Or being contacted by anyone from the group?”

Thornton turned to Ashby, who already had his ORB in his hand. “Anything?”

“Searching,” Ashby said.

“While Bruce is doing that, what would it mean if I had donated to this group? With regard to your investigation, that is?”