James Hayman - The Cutting

‘Pretty good record,’ said Maggie, as Kenney stepped down from the ladder. She was gesturing at the T-shirt.

‘Oh, that,’ said Kenney with a smile. ‘That’s a UVM joke — ’74’s the year Vermont dropped football. I suppose you’re cops, aren’t you?’

McCabe ignored the question. ‘That’s a beautiful boat you’re working on,’ he said.

‘It surely is that,’ said Kenney. ‘She’s a 1936 Alden sloop. Kind of rare. They don’t make boats like this anymore.’

‘Yours?’

‘I wish. There’s no way I could afford anything like this. Rich people buy these boats and hire people like me to fix them up. Like I asked before, you guys are cops, right?’

‘That’s right,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m Detective Margaret Savage, Portland PD.’ She held out her shield and ID. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Michael McCabe. If you’re Tobin Kenney, we’d like to talk to you.’

‘Yeah, that’s me. I guess you want to talk about Katie? Jesus, what a terrible thing that was.’ He walked away from the scaffolding that held the boat, across the small yard, and up three steps to a wooden deck at the back of the house. Maggie and McCabe followed. ‘Anybody want a beer? Or an iced tea or something. You probably can’t drink alcohol if you’re on duty.’

‘No thanks, we’re fine,’ said McCabe.

Maggie sat at a small round patio table near the kitchen door. McCabe leaned against the railing. Kenney seemed edgy, but that wasn’t strange. People talking to cops in a homicide investigation were usually edgy, even when they didn’t have anything to hide. Kenney emerged from the kitchen. He was sipping a bottle of Geary’s and carrying a bag of potato chips. He slipped into the chair next to Maggie. ‘So what do you want to know?’

‘Tell us about Katie,’ said McCabe. ‘Everything you can think of, even if it doesn’t seem relevant. We’re going to record the conversation.’

‘Oh yeah? Why’s that?’ asked Kenney.

‘Let’s just say we’re not real good at taking notes.’ Maggie put the small digital recorder on the table and turned it on.

‘That’s okay. I’m not much of a note-taker myself.’ He focused his attention on Maggie instead of McCabe. Maybe he found her attractive. Or maybe just less threatening.

‘What can I tell you about Katie?’ He shrugged. ‘She was a good kid. Smart. Real good player. I guess you know, I’m assistant coach of girls’ soccer. I met Katie coaching the freshmen my first year in Portland. For her age, she was about as good a player as I’ve ever seen. Small but fast. Great moves. If this hadn’t happened, she had a good shot at making all-state this year. She was already getting some interest from Division I schools, and she’s only a junior. Was only a junior,’ he corrected himself.

‘You played at UVM?’ asked Maggie.

‘Yeah. Three years varsity. Mostly second string. I was okay but no great shakes.’

‘Was Katie popular with the other players?’

‘I think so. She never acted like a big star. Just tried to fit in. Pretty girl. Big smile. Always seemed lighthearted. Except on the field. There she was totally different.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked McCabe.

‘She was an aggressive, competitive player who couldn’t stand losing. She pushed herself harder than the other players — harder than the coaches — ever did. It was like she was trying to prove something. Y’know, it’s hard to believe she could actually be dead. Who the hell could do something like that?’

‘Somebody bad,’ said McCabe. He paused, watching Kenney and letting the silence hang to see if it would provoke a reaction. It didn’t. Kenney just sipped his beer, looking from one detective to the other, waiting for the next question. Finally McCabe asked, ‘Did you ever see anyone hanging around at practice sessions that maybe shouldn’t have been there? Guys particularly. Anyone that made you suspicious?’

‘You know, when she went missing, I thought about that. Occasionally we get scouts from college teams. Mostly we get to know them, but there were a few this year I didn’t recognize.’

‘Any of them seem particularly interested in Katie? Interested enough to talk to her? Get to know her?’ asked Maggie.

‘Sure. They all wanted to talk to Katie. Pitch their schools. Like I said, she was our best player by far and still only a junior. It’s gonna be a tough year without her.’

‘Do you usually talk to them?’ asked Maggie.

‘They’re supposed to let us know they’re there. Sometimes they don’t. Y’know, now that you mention it, one day after practice, the same week she disappeared, I saw Katie talking to some guy I didn’t recognize.’

‘What about him in particular?’

‘Just that she seemed real excited. Nodding and smiling a lot. After he left I asked her who he was. She said a scout from a school down south. That surprised me. Our players — even the good ones like Katie — don’t usually attract a lot of interest outside New England. She didn’t tell me his name.’

‘Remember which college?’

‘Yeah,’ Kenney said thoughtfully. ‘I’m trying to remember what she said. University of Southern Florida… Western Florida… something like that.’

Florida again. McCabe asked, ‘Can you describe the guy?’

‘I didn’t get a good look at him. Mostly from the rear.’

‘How about his size?’

‘Big. I’d say around six foot two. Built like an athlete. Trim. Broad shoulders.’

‘Hair?’

‘Well, he had hair. Unlike yours truly.’ Kenney flashed a smile at them. ‘Dark, I think. He was wearing a cap, so it was hard to tell. Back of the hair was trimmed short and neat. Conservative. They talked for a while, then he got in his car and left.’

‘What kind of car?’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Kenney paused. It came to him. ‘An SUV. One of the expensive ones.’

‘Color?’

‘Dark. Green, I think.’

‘Did you notice the plates?’

‘Didn’t even glance at ’em.’

‘What was he wearing?’

Kenney closed his eyes as if trying to relive the moment in his mind. McCabe found it frustrating other people couldn’t visualize scenes as easily as he could. ‘Cowboy boots,’ he said finally, ‘black cowboy boots. Not many people in Maine wear ’em. Jeans, I think. A long-sleeve black polo shirt. A baseball cap.’

McCabe found it hard to imagine Spencer in cowboy boots, and he didn’t have broad shoulders. ‘Anything else you remember?’

‘Just that I told Katie not to talk to any more scouts, especially guys, without letting one of her coaches know. That it wasn’t smart.’

‘How’d she react to that?’

‘Practically rolled her eyes. Like any kid, she thought nothing bad could ever happen to her.’

‘Any word what the school’s doing as a result of her death?’ asked Maggie.

‘Not yet. My guess is the principal will declare the day of the funeral an official day of mourning and let the kids take time off to attend whatever service the family’s planning. That’s what I’d do.’

‘When was the last time you saw Katie?’

‘At practice. The day she disappeared. Wednesday before last.’

The answer seemed honest enough. Without Annie Rafferty as a witness, McCabe might have accepted it as the whole truth. Of course, McCabe knew, Rafferty might have made the whole thing up. A tired old woman, possibly dozing, in front of a bedroom window? Any defense lawyer worth his salt would jump on that and suggest that Rafferty was asleep and dreaming. Even if Rafferty was wide-awake and telling the truth, how were they going to prove the girl she saw on Kenney’s front porch was actually Katie? McCabe had to push harder. Get Kenney himself to provide the corroborating evidence. ‘You teach biology?’ he asked.