Page 18 of The Instruments of Darkness

“I apologize,” she said.

“That’s not necessary.”

Despite the front, Evelyn, like her daughter, was no more than two steps from crumbling to pieces.

“Is Mr. Castin here?” she asked.

“We’re going to meet him at Middle Street,” I said.

“You know, I was warned against allowing my daughter to hire him. I was told that he sometimes behaves in a manner unwise for a Maine lawyer—unwise for any lawyer, for that matter.”

“I’ll concede that he’s unconventional,” I said, “but then, this is hardly a conventional case. Speaking of which, Colleen, we ought to get going. Before we leave, I was wondering if you have a spare set of keys to the house?”

Colleen retrieved a leather keyholder from a hook inside one of the kitchen cabinets and handed it over.

“For you?” she asked.

“For the men who are going to be keeping an eye on you and your home. We’ll have copies made and return the originals to their spot.”

“Do you want the alarm codes and password, too?”

“Can’t hurt, but it’s not going to be standing empty.”

She wrote the information on a piece of paper, drew a deep breath, and took in her kitchen as though for the last time.

“Well, then,” she said. “I suppose we’d better get this done.”

THE FULCI BROTHERS PULLED up in their truck just as we were locking the front door. Colleen and her mother looked understandably alarmed, which was the effect the Fulcis had on strangers, and occasionally even on close acquaintances. Evelyn Miller reached into her bag, possibly for a can of Mace.

“These are the men who’ll be taking care of you and your property,” I told Colleen. “Let me introduce Paulie Fulci and his brother, Tony.”

The Fulcis had dressed to impress in pressed tan chinos and white shirts. They looked like massive vanilla ice cream cones.

“I’ve made up the bed in the spare room,” said Colleen, once the pleasantries were out of the way, “and there’s food in the refrigerator, but not much. I’m sorry, I haven’t really been able to shop.”

Paulie thanked her and assured her that they could feed themselves, which was never in any doubt. I gave him the keys and the alarm details, and left it up to the brothers to decide how to divide their responsibilities, but I didn’t anticipate any more problems with graffiti and excrement. I also asked them to pick up a video doorbell and a couple of cheap motion-activated cameras that could be accessed from cell phones.

The presence of the Fulcis appeared to have impressed Evelyn sufficiently to thaw her attitude still more.

“You know some threatening people, Mr. Parker,” she said, as she joined her daughter in the back of my car.

“I do,” I said. “Someday, you may even get to meet them.”

CHAPTER XI

As anticipated, Colleen Clark’s arrival provoked a burst of surprised activity at Portland PD headquarters, which eventually concluded, after some hurried telephone calls, with her arrest on the charges of criminal restraint by a parent, endangering the welfare of a child, and the manslaughter of a child under the age of six. An hour later, Erin Becker sailed in wearing a cocktail dress and heels, having been forced to leave a campaign fund-raising dinner in Brunswick to deal with the consequences of Colleen’s presentation of herself to the authorities. Even without the heels, Becker would have been taller than Moxie or me, and it was interesting that when she and Paul Nowak appeared together, the latter arranged for them to remain seated, or found a way to stand one step higher than her. Ultimately, he’d be forced to resort to lifts in his shoes.

Becker was a striking brunette, happily married to a business executive husband—as far as anyone could tell—with three children under the age of ten whom she sensibly didn’t parade for photo opportunities, because criminals had a habit of taking it amiss when prosecutions went against them. She was clever, too, walking a political tightrope between the liberal east of the state and the more conservative interior, but she had little kindness to her, and no mercy. Those with ambition in the AG’s office didn’t progress by not putting people behind bars, and there were few votes in leniency.

That she was unhappy with the current turn of events was clear from the look she shot at Moxie, and she didn’t demonstrate any greater delight at the sight of me. She cornered Moxie outside the interview room in which Colleen was being held and asked him just how smart he thought he was. Moxie, as he told me later, was tempted to reply that it depended on the company, but common sense prevailed. In the game being played, he had sacrificed a pawn in the hope of gaining an advantage elsewhere on the board, but Becker still had it in her power to punish him for what he’d done. She made this instantly clear when she announced that Colleen would be transferred, not to Cumberland County Jail but to Maine Correctional Center in Windham. It was a vindictive move and nothing more, and potentially placed Colleen in danger. The MCC was overpopulated to such a degree that women were incarcerated in temporary buildings with male inmates, and accommodation originally designed for two or four female prisoners routinely housed twice those numbers. With staff overstretched already, Colleen’s safety couldn’t be guaranteed, even if she was kept in isolation, not with the charges leveled against her.

“Why would you do that?” said Moxie. “What’s the benefit?”

“She’s a suspected child killer,” said Becker. “Maybe you’d prefer to have her put up at the Regency?”

“I checked with Cumberland County Jail,” said Moxie. “They’re not even at capacity, and they’ve only one female inmate right now: a repeat DUI awaiting trial because she couldn’t make bail. The Cumberland County DA isn’t going to kick up a fuss if she’s sent on her way so my client can have their exclusive attention.”

“You really think I’m going to make life easier for her, after the stunt you just pulled?”

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