What the Fly Saw Read online

  McCabe remembered what Pettigrew told her about that. Todd had heard a special bulletin about two cops who had been shot and killed during a traffic stop. Two sheriff’s deputies in Virginia. But the fact they were cops had been enough to trigger Todd’s apprehension about his father’s safety. And that apprehension had been expressed in the pictures that he drew.

  “Yeah,” Yin said, “Casey and I think we’re making real progress. Our kid stopped drawing pictures of his daddy the cop being blown away on the job. Now, he’s just going ballistic during playtime.”

  McCabe pushed back her chair and reached for the Elvis 2000 concert mug she’d found on the Web. “Anyone want green pomegranate lemon tea?” she asked.

  “Thanks,” Pettigrew said, “but I think I’ll stick with bad coffee.”

  “Me, too,” Yin said. “Your tea sounds a little too healthy.”

  McCabe dropped a tea bag into her mug and pressed the hot water button on the beverage unit. “If we’re stuck here for a while, both of you will live to regret the caffeine buzz you’re going to get from the coffee.”

  “I’m more likely to get heartburn,” Pettigrew said. “I’ve got my acid reflux pills right here in my drawer.”

  Yin said, “Sean, if you’d call the nutrition center woman for another date, you could stop taking pills. Having a girlfriend who teaches cooking classes is a lot better than eating cereal for dinner.”

  “I know. That dinner she cooked for me on our last date was great. But I don’t think she’d be up for getting together again.”

  “Why?” McCabe asked as she sat down with her tea. “Did something go wrong?”

  “You could say that,” Pettigrew said, glancing at his partner. “After dinner, we were talking, and she asked about my divorce. I was telling her about it when she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.” Pettigrew grimaced. “That was when it happened.”

  “When what happened?” Yin asked.

  “When I dropped my wine glass. Red wine splashed over her and the sofa and onto her white carpet. We both grabbed for napkins to mop up the mess, and that was when I elbowed her in the nose.”

  “Ouch!” McCabe said.

  “She was really nice about it,” Pettigrew said. “But I’m pretty sure she’d have other plans if I asked for another date.”

  Yin said, “How come I’m just hearing about this? When I asked you how your date went, you said you had fun.”

  “I did. But then I screwed things up at the end.”

  Yin shook his head. “We’ve got to work on your dating skills. Maybe we can get Casey to help.”

  McCabe took a sip from her mug to hide a smile. Yin and his wife were a loving couple, so Yin worried about his partner’s lack of a woman in his life.

  Or, rather, he worried about the fact that Pettigrew was having a hard time getting over his ex-wife. As Pettigrew’s friend, McCabe worried about that, too. He had now been divorced longer than he had been married to Elaine. She had spent most of their seven months of wedlock traveling for her hospitality industry job, and it was Pettigrew who had asked for the divorce. But it was almost two years later, and he still hadn’t recovered from his whirlwind courtship and marriage to a woman he’d met on a vacation in Bermuda.

  Of course, it hadn’t helped that at first Elaine had dropped in whenever she happened to be anywhere near Albany. But Sean said he put a stop to that. And yesterday when he and McCabe were downtown together, attending an awards ceremony, she detected signs that he might be coming out of his doldrums. He even made a couple of jokes.

  “All right, Detectives. Listen up,” Lt. Jack Dole said as he strode into the bull pen.

  McCabe gave her boss her full attention. So did the other detectives in the room. A natural response to a man who was six-foot-four with a shaved head and whose “listen up” was seldom good news.

  “We’ve got confirmation,” he told them. “We’re expecting at least twenty inches of snow between now and tomorrow night. We’re here for the duration. The Comm Center is having trouble with ghost images on the surveillance cameras and echoes from the acoustic devices. We need to have all hands on deck in case patrol needs backup.”

  “So we’re just going to hang around and twiddle our thumbs?” a detective in the back of the room asked.

  Dole said, “No, Quincy, the first call we get for backup will be all yours. Of course, your partner may not appreciate that, but you can settle it between the two of you.” He glanced around the bull pen. “Meanwhile, let’s try to get caught up on some of that outstanding paperwork.”

  McCabe had already started tackling hers. “Paperwork” meaning the idiosyncratic notes she and everyone else had in their ORBs. Most of them put off transferring their case notes to the Master File.

  When the lou was out of sight, Yin said, “It would be nice if our state-of-the-art surveillance system were able to handle the weather.”

  “The weather’s been crazier than usual,” McCabe said.

  “Just like the world in general,” Pettigrew said. “The latest breaking rumor has it Howard Miller is considering heading to Albany for Lisa Nichols’s trial. All that media coverage would give his presidential campaign a boost.”

  “Media coverage while he rants about evil women,” McCabe said. “Even Lisa Nichols doesn’t deserve Howard Miller and his hatemongers at her trial.”

  McCabe’s ORB buzzed. She checked the ID and touched view. “Hi, Chels. Are you at home because it’s your anniversary or because of the blizzard?”

  “Blizzard. We closed at four today,” Chelsea, her best friend, said. “There was no point in staying open after the travel advisory went into effect. Anyone with good sense had stocked up with food and planned to eat in.”

  “Well, happy fifth anniversary in spite of the weather. Did you get the card I sent? The gift I ordered isn’t going to make it until flights are taking off.”

  “Hannah, tell me again … what’s the name of the island your brother and his girlfriend went to on vacation?”

  “Roarke’s Island. Why? You and Stan thinking of celebrating with a romantic couple’s getaway to a jungle oasis?”

  “I was afraid you might not have heard, so I thought I’d better tag. Hannah, there was a news bulletin about an earthquake.”

  “An earthquake?”

  “Not a major quake, but the epicenter was near the mainland of San Ramon and the resort island. There was a rock slide on the island.” Chelsea paused. “The road leading into the resort is blocked. The people staying there are cut off until help can get to them.”

  McCabe stood up. “Do the authorities know if the guests at the resort are all right?”

  She could feel the gazes from Pettigrew and Yin, who were overhearing the conversation. No point in going out into the hall now.

  “According to the bulletin,” Chelsea said, “they still have satellite communication. Some minor injuries were reported, but the resort seems to have come through the quake without serious damage.”

  “Then it’s only a matter of sitting tight until a rescue unit can get to them.”

  “And they should be fine until then. There may be some aftershocks, but they don’t anticipate another quake. The bulletin said the resort complex is on high ground and far enough inland to be safe even if there should be a tsunami.”

  “But I should let my dad know what’s going on.”

  “He might even have spoken to Adam by now. Anyway there’s nothing to worry about. You know your brother. Right about now, he’s rolling around in his wheelchair, glaring at his fellow guests with his one good eye and ordering them to stop having hysterics. Dr. Adam McCabe, superscientist in action. Of course, he’s also probably seriously put out that he’s stuck at a resort his girlfriend talked him into going to.”

  “Poor Mai,” McCabe said. “I hope she survives this.”

  * * *

  Nodding her head as Yin and Pettigrew offered words of encouragement, McCabe excused herself to step out into the hall and tag
her father. He answered, coming on screen with white hair ruffled, cheeks red.

  “Pop, don’t tell me you’ve been outside in this weather.”

  “Had to walk the damn dog,” Angus said. “Your juvenile dog walkers went off with their mama and daddy to their grandparents’ house.”

  “We need to give him a name, Pop,” McCabe said. “We’ve been letting this go on way too long. The dog needs a name. And you could have opened the back door and let him go outside on his own.”

  “I needed to stretch my legs. I’ve been in the house all day, and I was tired of listening to reporters yapping about the blizzard.”

  “Well, when you were a reporter, didn’t you believe in thorough coverage of major events?”

  “I didn’t believe in pounding people over the head with bad news. With a real newspaper, you could read the sections you were interested in and leave the rest. With these damn news streams—”

  “I know, Pop,” McCabe said. “I do have a reason for calling.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “It’s about Adam and Mai.”

  “What about ’em?”

  McCabe told him. When she was done, he said, “Well, it sounds like they’re both alive and likely well. Not that your brother’s going to find it easy going if they have to do any walking.”

  “I know.” McCabe paced in the other direction as two uniforms stopped near her to talk. “Adam took his exoskeleton so he’d be able to get out of his wheelchair, but his exoskeleton isn’t designed for navigating post-earthquake terrain.”

  “So I guess he’s in for a spot of humiliation before it’s over with.”

  “Humiliation? Pop, under the circumstances, I don’t think—”

  “Then you ain’t thought, have you? Not being able to walk in that situation is going to go straight to his pride. You know how much he hates having to have people help him.”

  Yes, McCabe knew that well. She’d spent a large portion of her life feeling guilty because Adam sometimes needed help. Even with his superduper wheelchair and his exoskeleton and all the other gizmos he’d designed to compensate for having only one eye and legs that didn’t work, he sometimes needed help.

  She said, “Well, it’s not like any of the other guests are going to walk to safety. From what Chelsea said, they’ll all be waiting to be rescued.”

  “Let’s hope it stays that way,” Angus said. “That they can just sit there sipping their drinks and wait for the cavalry to arrive.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I’ll get on the horn to my contacts and see what else I can find out.”

  The uniforms ended their conversation and moved on, and McCabe paced back toward the bull pen. “I tried tagging Adam but I couldn’t get through.”

  “If he could contact us, he would have done it by now.”

  “But the earlier news stream did say satellite communication was still working.”

  “They could be restricting use. I’ll get back to you when I hear something.”

  “I’ll do the same,” McCabe said. “Although you’re more likely to hear something before I do. You and the dog be careful during the snow.”

  “The dog and I know how to take care of ourselves,” Angus said.

  * * *

  Pettigrew said, “Your dad hear anything yet?”

  McCabe shook her head. “Mind if I check the news stream?”

  “Go ahead,” Yin said. “We told the rest of the guys.”

  “Thanks. I just want to see if there’s an update, then I’ll settle down so we can all try to get some work done.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Pettigrew said. “We’re going to be here for a while. We need to stretch the work out so we don’t get bored.”

  McCabe touched the wall, bringing up the news stream.

  “I’m Suzanne Price. The lead story this hour is a blizzard named Jezebel, now barreling up the East Coast. After lightning and torrential rains on Friday, the nation’s capital is now under a state of emergency with over eleven inches of snow. The National Weather Service is predicting the eastern portion of New York and New England could see double that amount. Wind gusts could exceed seventy-five miles an hour as Jezebel heads north. At the bottom of the hour, we’ll be speaking with one of the Weather Service meteorologists about this massive and dangerous winter storm.

  “Earlier today supporters of third-party presidential candidate Howard Miller gathered for his arena rally in Roswell, New Mexico. Miller again challenged Janet Cortez, the likely Republican candidate, to a series of Lincoln-Douglas–style debates on what he called the ‘overrunning of this country by illegals and criminals from south of the border.’ During this same speech, Miller called for the abolition of the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday, which honors the civil rights leader, anti-war activist, and champion of immigration reform who died a decade ago.”

  Pettigrew said, “Miller makes ordinary garden-variety bigots look like left-leaning liberals. And the media keeps giving him airtime.”

  “He’ll get more of it if he turns up here for Lisa Nichols’s trial,” McCabe said.

  On the wall, the news anchor continued:

  “Mr. Miller repeated his call for embattled President Nora Kirkland to declare her intentions regarding the Democratic nomination. He said the American people have a right to know now if she will seek a second term. Last week, Miller accused President Kirkland of engaging in unlawful surveillance of her political opponents and demanded impeachment procedures be initiated against her. Candidate Miller compared President Kirkland to President Richard Nixon, who was convicted by the Senate of high crimes and misdemeanors and forced from office.

  “In other news, the trial of the cyberterrorist accused of hacking into the electrical grid supplying power to the southwestern states has been moved to federal court in Phoenix.

  “Here at home in the Capital District, concern continues about water main breaks. The breaks are caused by the freezing and then rapid thawing of the ground in which the pipes, the oldest dating back to the nineteenth century, are buried. These breaks have created problems for homeowners in the affected neighborhoods. Streets have been flooded and houses have been damaged. Albany mayor Beverly Stark has been under fire for what critics have characterized as her lack of attention to needed infrastructure repairs.

  “On Tuesday, the trial of Lisa Nichols is scheduled to begin in Albany. Nichols is accused of the murders with phenol injections of two young local women and Broadway actress Vivian Jessup, who was in Albany writing her first play. Nichols, the accused killer, is a well-known photographer and the former fiancée of industrialist-adventurer Ted Thornton, who had established a base in the city before…”

  McCabe waved her hand, shutting down the stream. “Nothing new.”

  * * *

  McCabe rapped on her boss’s half-open door. “Lou, could I speak to you?”

  Lt. Dole gestured toward one of the chairs opposite his desk. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Lisa Nichols. Her trial starts on Tuesday morning.”

  Dole rubbed his hand over his gleaming brown scalp. “You’re not trying the case, McCabe. You arrested her; now all you have to do is testify.”

  “I know, sir. I guess I’m having a hard time accepting the possibility she might walk. If the jury believes that story about her reaction to mixing medications causing her to commit murder—”

  “Then they believe it. However it turns out, you’ve done your job.”

  “Yes, sir, I know that. But I hope neither side asks for a postponement. I’d like to get my testimony over with, preferably before Howard Miller puts in an appearance and we end up with even more of a media circus.”

  “Having a nutcase like Miller in town ranting about a ‘billionaire’s killer blonde girlfriend’ and the decadence and corruption of the privileged class isn’t likely to do the defense any good.”

  “No, sir. And since Ted Thornton is the alleged decadent and corrupt billionaire in question, he must be hoping M
iller will stay away, too.”

  “Thornton may decide to keep on sitting this one out down in the City,” Dole said.

  “There’s one other thing, sir. It’s about my brother, Adam. I don’t think this will affect my duty this weekend, but just in case something comes up…”

  When she was done, Dole said, “If it looks bad, they’ll get a US military unit in there to get them out.”

  “I hope it won’t come to that, sir.” McCabe stood up. “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about it.”

  “Your brother can handle himself. This is his problem not yours.”

  “Yes, sir,” McCabe said.

  The “sir” was both a show of respect and a way of maintaining her professional distance at moments like this. Twenty-five years ago, Patrol Officer Dole had been the first uniform to respond to an emergency call. He’d found McCabe, age nine, trying to stop her older brother from bleeding to death. Adam had survived. The burglar she’d shot had not.

  “By the way,” Dole said, “your partner’s cleared to come back to work.”

  “He’ll be happy about that,” McCabe said. “Last time I talked to him, Baxter had about had it with his flu quarantine.” She glanced upward at the flickering lights. “It looks like we may need the backup generator before the blizzard’s over.”

  The wind whooshed, rattling the windows in Lt. Dole’s office.

  9:14 P.M.

  After dinner the patients at the psychiatric facility were herded back into the recreation room. Seated in what passed for an armchair, Lisa Nichols read a feature story about the environmental catastrophe threatening China’s economy. Well-written story, mediocre photos. She should have been the photographer on that assignment. Her fingers itched for her favorite camera.

  She held her hands out, staring at the ragged cuticles. She needed a manicure. She needed nail polish to keep from biting her nails.

  One stupid slip of the tongue because she was annoyed, and there went everything she’d worked for and the plan she was supposed to execute. But it would have been fixable. She could have recovered from her stumble if it hadn’t been for that black bitch.