Dead Down East (12 page)

“Cherchez la femme,” I said.

“What’s that?” Eric asked.

“It’s French for, ‘Look for the woman.’”

“The French know about women,” Eric replied,
philosophically. “Rebecca Lavoilette. Twenty bucks says she’s
guilty.”

“I suppose it’s possible, but I’ll take that bet,
Eric.”

I dug in my wallet and pulled out a twenty.

“Here,” I said. “You hold the money. When it’s all
over, you can give me forty.”

Eric kissed the twenty and put it in his wallet.
“Money in the bank,” he said.

“Listen, I’m expecting a visitor in a little while.
If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive you home now.”

“Sure,” Eric said. “By the way, I’m working on a new
song. I should have it completed by Thursday. I’d like to have the
band play it this weekend if we can arrange it.”

“Sounds good. Have you finished your breakfast?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

I drove Eric home and got back to my place in about
fifteen minutes. There was a silver Lexus with a mint green
interior parked in the driveway. Richard Merrill was waiting for me
in the living room.

Richard Merrill stood about 5’10”. He was wearing a
stylish gray silk suit with a colorful Hawaiian tie—not the kind of
outfit you’d wear to a funeral. But then, that would come later in
the week.

Richard waited for me to walk over to him. I couldn’t
decide whether this was a ploy to gain the upper hand or a courtesy
to Cynthia, who was standing beside him.

I reached out my hand and said, “Richard Merrill, I
presume.”

“Yes,” he replied, as we shook.

“I’m Jesse Thorpe.”

“How do you do?”

A little formal, I thought, but he’s been a friend to
the governor for almost four years…longer if you count the
pre-gubernatorial decades.

“Let’s sit down,” I suggested. “Would either of you
like something to drink?”

“Water would be fine,” Richard said.

Cynthia nodded, and I fetched three waters in
distinctly different tumblers, just to keep them straight.

“Richard, I understand that you’ve just been
interviewed by the FBI,” I said. “How did that go? Do they have any
idea who murdered Governor Lavoilette?”

“The FBI and the Maine State Police hold their cards
close to the vest,” he said. “They questioned me for an hour and a
half. I was William’s closest friend. There was a lot of ground to
cover. I have to go back at two o’clock to continue the
interview.”

“I assume you know that Cynthia has hired me to
protect her and to investigate the murder privately.”

“Yes, Cynthia told me.”

“I could ask you a lot of questions,” I said, “but I
think it would be simpler if you’d just tell me whatever you think
is important for me to know for my investigation.”

“Have you done this kind of work before?” he
asked.

I didn’t care for the tone of his question. It
sounded vaguely condescending and hinted that I might be in over my
head. I was, of course, in
way over
my head, but it was my
job to keep my own cards close to the vest too. I’ve had plenty of
experience with hecklers in nightclubs, so I knew how to handle a
suit with an attitude.

“I’ve been a licensed private investigator for six
years. I have experience providing protection, researching crimes,
questioning combative individuals, and assisting defense and
prosecution lawyers. Granted, this is the first time I’ve been
involved in a murder case, so I’ll be more cautious than usual. But
I’m up to it. I have a .38 Special and a license to have it
concealed on my person. Hopefully it won’t be necessary to use
it.”

I’ve practiced that speech for years. It’s the first
time I’ve given it to a live audience, but I managed to ad lib the
part about the concealed firearm rather nicely. All in all, I
sounded pretty self-assured…perhaps a decibel too loud and ever so
slightly defensive, but both of those indiscretions were minor at
worst, and probably went undetected. At least Richard appeared
satisfied when he replied, “OK.”

He paused for a minute to collect himself. Cynthia
sat next to him on the sofa and didn’t say a word.

Richard began, “I’ve known William since high school.
He was my best friend. We’ve shared our highs and lows. I never
imagined something like this. I’m in shock. This came totally out
of the blue.

“He had his enemies, of course. After all, he was the
most powerful man in the state; with power comes risk. He’d been
slandered dozens of times, but that’s the nature of politics. It
seems to get uglier every year, but the violence normally happens
with money, not with guns.

“William didn’t even own a gun. He never hunted. He
borrowed a shotgun once for a photo shoot, and held a membership
with the NRA, but that was entirely for show. He hated guns, and,
quite frankly, he detested the NRA’s presence in Maine.

“I remember one night during the first general
election. After a grueling three-way debate on television, William
sat with me and said, ‘The goddamned Second Amendment has killed
more Americans than all of our enemies combined.’ I don’t think
he’s right about that, but I understood his frustration. During
that debate, John Fickett made an unusually snide comment, even for
him. He said, ‘Lavoilette is so soft on crime that if you handed
him a .45, he wouldn’t know which end to hold.’

“Fickett is a prick. If you handed him a long-stem
rose, he’d shove it up your ass, thorns and all.”

I detected some anger in that remark, and I began to
wonder why he was wearing a Hawaiian tie. Richard wore his emotions
on his sleeve and seemed oblivious to the delicacies of speaking in
the presence of a lady. But my poker face was fully attached to the
front of my head. I wanted to get to the bottom of this, even if
that meant snorkeling beneath Cynthia’s dignity.

We all came up for air, and Richard continued.

“Men like Fickett perpetuate an atmosphere of
violence in America. Really he’s a weasel and a coward. He stirs
things up until somebody takes him literally and goes ballistic. He
already told the press that William should have been armed on
Saturday night. As if that would have made a difference. Cynthia
tells me he went to help someone with a flat tire. Was he supposed
to walk up to a stranger in need on the road, and point a loaded
gun in his face? No, a gun wouldn’t have saved him there. Caution
and better judgment, perhaps, but not a gun.”

Then he added, “Fickett can’t find his head with both
hands.”

That last remark made me chuckle to myself, but not
because I found it funny; I found it out of date. I think it was
funny back in the 80’s. That was the decade when my father used the
same expression, time and again. My Dad might have been a physics
professor at work, but when he was home, he was a regular guy with
regular emotions and regular jokes. My generation upgraded that
line to, “If Fickett had a brain, he’d take it out and play with
it.”

Richard was clearly on the cusp of the two
generations, trapped somewhere in between. I would have placed him
in the older generation based on that quip alone, were it not for
the Hawaiian tie. He’s mixing his metaphors, I thought. I decided
to suspend judgment, temporarily, and to consider him an
anomaly.

I wanted Richard to talk more about possible suspects
and motives. Of course, Fickett
might
be a suspect, and his
attitude resembled a motive, but I was pretty sure that Richard
wasn’t suggesting that Fickett was directly responsible. Richard
was just blowing off steam. I turned the discussion to something
more substantive.

“Do you suspect the murder was political or
personal?”

“I don’t know,” Richard replied, quickly and
decisively. He probably had the same question put to him by the
FBI, and was just repeating himself. But it sounded as though he
really had no specific suspect in mind.

“Did Cynthia’s name come up in your interview?” I
asked.

“No. They didn’t ask about her, and I didn’t offer
her name.”

“You’re going back this afternoon. If her name comes
up, what will you say?”

“I guess it depends on how specific their questions
are. If I am not asked directly about her whereabouts on Saturday,
I won’t say anything, and I won’t lead them to Cynthia by offering
suggestions. I fully understand that Cynthia is not entirely safe.
She has seen the face of the murderer. She will be a target if word
gets out that she is an eyewitness to the crime.”

“But if her name does come up, I’m assuming you will
tell them that she was dating the governor. Right?”

“Yes, I’ll have to. If I can avoid it gracefully, I
will. But if they have her name already for any reason, my guess is
that they will already know that the governor and she were in a
relationship. Surely they would want me to substantiate that fact.
I’ll have to play it by ear. It’s almost certain that the truth
will eventually come out, but since there is very little that
Cynthia could do to help them find a suspect, there’s no point in
bringing up her name until absolutely necessary.”

“Good,” I said. “It will be important that you get
back with us this afternoon after the second half of your interview
and let us know whether or not her name was mentioned.”

“I’ll do that,” he said.

I wanted to discuss the women in the governor’s life,
but I didn’t want Cynthia around when that happened. Richard might
not be totally honest with her sitting there, and he could easily
withhold important details to spare her feelings. I knew I would
have to talk with him alone. For the moment, it didn’t look as if
he was going to generate any definite leads for me. I also didn’t
want to wear out my welcome the first day. The FBI had just grilled
him, and they were going to resume their culinary work in the
afternoon. I decided it would be better to cut our first interview
short and let him catch his breath.

“Listen, Richard,” I said. “I really appreciate your
coming over this morning. I know you’ve had a rough time of it, and
you have to go back for more this afternoon. Let’s get together
again soon—tomorrow if possible—and chat then. I don’t really know
what your professional position has been. Were you a direct aide to
the governor? Will your position change now that the Senate
President will become the acting governor?”

“I was an aide to the governor. Right now it’s not
clear if I still have a job. As you probably know, the Senate
President is not even from the same party. Chances are I’ll be gone
in no time flat. That suits me anyway; I don’t have the stomach for
any more of this.

“Tomorrow might be all right,” he said. “I’d like to
help anyway I can. Really, I’m sorry if I sounded heavy-handed
earlier. I’m on edge. Yes, tomorrow should work fine. How about
joining me for lunch?”

“Great,” I said, happy about his change in attitude.
“Where shall we meet?”

“There’s the Kennebec Barbeque & Grille on Water
Street,” he offered.

“Sounds good. What time?”

“Let’s make it one o’clock. Give me your phone
number, just in case something comes up.”

Now that Richard seemed a little friendlier, I wanted
to talk some more. I gave him my number, and then said, “Before you
go, I’d like to ask you a couple more questions, if you don’t
mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“How do you feel about Cynthia’s ex-husband, Travis
Perkins? Did he know that William and Cynthia were dating?”

“Yes he did.”

Cynthia gasped, but didn’t say anything. Richard and
I both noticed.

“How did he find out, and who else knows about
it?”

“I think I know how he found out, but I don’t know
who else might know.”

Richard paused a minute and then continued, “About
three months ago, William spent the weekend at Cynthia’s place. I
helped arrange the rendezvous. On the following Monday morning, I
had a meeting with William in his office at the State House. Travis
was one of two officers assigned to protecting the governor that
day. As I was leaving the governor’s office by the south exit,
Travis followed me out the door and said he wanted to talk with
me.

“It was cold outside, and there was a lot of snow on
the ground, so no one was around. We were alone on the walkway. Out
of the blue he said, ‘The governor’s affair with Cynthia is putting
his life in danger, and it’s my responsibility to protect him.’

“He was very hot about it, but he tried to make it
sound as if he was just doing his job. I asked him how he found out
about the affair, and he replied, ‘It’s my job to know these
things, and it’s none of your business how I get the job done.’

“I reminded him that I was not only an aide to the
governor, I was also his best friend. I needed to know how he found
out, and who else knows.