Chapter 90
Sabine Drew had advised against visiting Spero during teaching hours.
Based on what she’d learned from Tim Sadlier, staff at the school were stretched as it was, and there was no point in my presence being more disruptive than necessary.
It seemed redundant to tell her that I made my living being disruptive, and necessity was in the eye of the beholder, but I’d leave it until later in the afternoon before driving out to the school.
I had plenty to occupy me in the meantime.
The Somerset County Sheriff’s Office in Madison had initially dealt with the cases of both Scott Theriault and Mallory Norton, since missing person reports fell under its jurisdiction.
Only when criminality was suspected, or a formal request for assistance was made, would the Maine State Police’s Major Crimes Unit step in.
As things stood, Scott’s death had been investigated, and that case was effectively closed.
Mallory’s disappearance, meanwhile, was currently a joint operation between the sheriff’s office and the MSP’s Troop C, based in Skowhegan, though Troop C was working closely with the MSP’s Major Crimes Unit–Central, in Augusta.
Searches of the area, like the one in which Sabine had recently participated, were continuing, and registered guides were being instructed to remain vigilant, but the unspoken assumption was that Mallory Norton would not be coming back to Bingham, not alive.
To reduce any friction on my part, the smart move with law enforcement was to let both the Somerset County sheriff and the MSP know I was in Bingham and would be asking questions, so I drove first to Madison, which was about twenty-five miles south, and then to Skowhegan, a little farther on, to present my credentials like a visiting diplomat.
It was a while since I’d had cause to visit Somerset County for work, but attitudes toward private investigators, or this private investigator, remained unaltered: first coldly polite, edging toward skeptical, before growing distinctly chilly and downright unwelcoming once calls were made and my reputation for leaving a mess was confirmed.
The Somerset County lieutenant I spoke to in Madison wasn’t so bad, since he could hand me off to the MSP and blame them for any turmoil that followed, but a Sergeant Byers from MCU–Central, who happened to be in Skowhegan when I arrived, was all for running me out of the county, then the state, and from there into the Atlantic until I drowned.
Only the intervention of a detective named McKibben, who was working the Norton case, prevented his sergeant from giving it the good old college try.
“Byers is old-school,” said McKibben. He lit a cigarette as we stood in the parking lot, which was safer ground for me.
“He thinks private investigators, like children, should be seen and not heard, or better still, neither seen nor heard. That goes double for you. When you show up, the noise level rises.”
“And there I was,” I said, “trying to be polite.”
“For Byers, your being here is impolite. You remember Gordon Walsh? He and Byers are tight. That might have something to do with it.”
Detective Gordon Walsh of the MSP and I had once been close, but not any longer, not since Walsh became convinced I had lured a man to his death.
“I’d prefer not to be here either,” I said, “but duty called.”
I gave him a rundown on what I’d been up to so far.
I mentioned that I’d spoken with Jenny Barrien about Spero, and touched on the flags she’d raised about possible financial mismanagement, but I didn’t name Roger Teal.
Neither did I tell McKibben that Sabine Drew, local celebrity medium, was in Bingham, because I was afraid he’d feel obliged to mention it to Byers, who would then have two people to run into the sea.
“It sounds like you have a lot of nothing,” said McKibben. “And that’s being generous.”
“Right back at you,” I said.
“We’re following leads.”
“Where?”
“Nowhere so far, but we haven’t given up.”
“Ward Vose told me his son had started seeing a local girl, but Scott had to keep quiet about it because it was against Spero rules.”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with Ward,” said McKibben. “I helped put him in jail a few years back. I felt bad about it. Even the judge felt bad because Ward’s an okay guy.”
“Could Mallory Norton have been the girl Scott was seeing?”
“We had it from her mother that Mallory might have had a boyfriend, but the mother didn’t know who it was and no one else did either. I find it hard to picture it being a kid from Spero. Santopietro keeps a close eye on his students, and they’re not allowed into town unsupervised, not after dark.”
“It doesn’t mean someone from town couldn’t have gone out there.”
“No, but neither does it mean that someone was Mallory Norton.”
“Did you ask at Spero?”
“We got blank stares. Have you been?”
“Not yet. It’s on my card for later today. What’s it like?”
“Like somewhere else you don’t want to be,” said McKibben. “I couldn’t wait to get out.”
“So what’s the working theory on Mallory Norton?”
“Unofficially, we don’t think she’s going to be found by Lake Parlin.” Lake Parlin lay between Bingham and Jackman. “We’ve been over that ground more than once, with dogs.”
“But that was where her car was found, right?”
“It might have been driven there by whoever took her, to put us off the scent. The way things stand, she might as well have been beamed up into space.”
I thanked McKibben.
“For what?”
“For not voting in favor of drowning me.”
“Don’t do anything to make me regret it,” he said.
“If I find myself walking in your tracks, I’ll try not to step on your heel. But I don’t want to give up on a link between Mallory Norton and Scott Theriault just yet, if for no other reason than Ward Vose will ask me about it next time I see him.”
“Are you going to speak to the Nortons?”
“If they’ll speak to me.”
“They might, if you ask your psychic friend to put in a word for you. You know her, right—Sabine Drew?”
There was no point in denying it.
“Yes, I know her.”
“Is it just a coincidence that she’s up here at the same time as you?”
“Not completely,” I said. “But she has her own reasons.”
“And you didn’t see fit to bring this up while we were talking?” He tutted in mock sorrow, killed his cigarette, and tossed the butt in the trash. “One step closer to drowning, Mr Parker, one step closer.”