Dead Down East (17 page)

“He said he’s being framed. The authorities have a
tentative identification on the gun used in the murder, and it
appears to be Travis’ gun. Travis says it was stolen from him. Of
course, we already know he didn’t pull the trigger. I am reserving
judgment until I have a chance to hear more details. I’ll be
interviewing him as soon as he hires a lawyer.”

Richard propped the back of his hand under his chin,
thought for a few moments and then replied, “Well, he knew about
the affair with his ex-wife, and he almost certainly knew that
William was spending the weekend in his summer home. He might even
have known that Cynthia was with him. I’d give him the benefit of
the doubt, but at the moment, I’m not feeling a whole lot of
doubt.”

“He certainly is the obvious suspect. But it’s a
little too obvious for me. Why would he give his own gun to someone
to murder the governor? He knew very well that the ballistic
fingerprints of his firearm were on file. It’s like signing a
confession before committing the crime.”

“That’s true. But human nature is hard to understand,
and jealousy is a blinding emotion,” Richard said.

Jean Pierre placed Richard’s Shrimp Louisianne
gracefully on the table, and remarked, “Excellent choice, Mr.
Merrill. And here’s your martini.”

He then put my plate in front of me, a little off
center I thought, followed by a glass of water…with a twist of
lemon…and asked, “Is there anything else I can get either of you?”
looking squarely at Richard as he spoke.

“No thanks, Jean Pierre,” Richard replied.

“Hmmmm…
Ribs
!” I said, to no one in
particular.

Jean Pierre glided away as if exiting a three-act
play in the middle of the first act.

If I had been dining with Angele, ribs would not have
been a viable option. I would have ordered the pasta primavera
without the chicken or the shrimp. But Richard was a client. I
wanted him to see me in a “take charge” mode. And, of course, there
were Jean Pierre’s feelings to consider as well.

The Slab-of-Ribs proved to be a road too far. To be
sure, the ribs were fabulous, but I should have ordered the Half
Slab. Then I remembered that Billy Mosher would be over for band
practice on Thursday, accompanied by his faithful canine companion,
Alonso.

Alonso acts a lot like Billy. He’s friendly, but
generally lazy, 90% housebroken, and chases females whenever the
opportunity arises. I guess the main difference between the two is
their choice of targets for romantic involvement. Alonso prefers
dogs, while Billy avoids them, most of the time.

Our waiter magically reappeared about ten minutes
after we asked for the check.

“I’ll need a doggie bag for Alonso,” I announced.

Jean Pierre used a form of French Canadian sign
language to indicate he had heard my request. He handed the check
to Richard, of course.

Ribs in hand, Richard and I left the restaurant. It
was a short drive to the Capitol where William’s body lay in
state.

As we entered the building, I asked Richard if we
could take a few moments to pass by the open casket before
continuing our conversation about William’s personal life. In about
five minutes, we were at the front of the line. William was a
handsome man. It was easy to see how he charmed the ladies. What
puzzled me was how he had managed to keep his affairs out of the
public eye. Undoubtedly, he had Richard to thank for that slight of
hand.

Richard and I found our way down the hall and into
his private office. We sat on either side of his desk, and I pulled
out his spreadsheet of names. I put my legal pad and pen on the
desk and said, “First, let’s talk about Rebecca.”

It wasn’t necessary to ask any specific questions.
Richard launched into his speech as if he had rehearsed it. He
pulled no punches and got right to the juice.

“Rebecca arrived home from her trip to Africa
yesterday afternoon. She came to the Capitol early this morning to
see William’s body. After that, she came directly to my office.
Rebecca has always been cordial with me. We have ‘an
understanding.’

“William had his first affair about five years ago.
While he was forming a team for his campaign, he hired Cheryl
Greenwood as one of two personal secretaries. She dealt primarily
with the press. I worked closely with both of them; Rebecca stayed
on the sidelines.

“By that time, Rebecca had already been working
closely with the United Relief Fund of Maine, and preferred not
being too visible in the campaign. Her father’s embezzlement case
had been an embarrassment. Both William and Rebecca thought it was
best if she simply continue with her nonprofit work. It might have
appeared that this was a political strategy, but I know Rebecca
very well. Her work was heartfelt. The fact that it ‘looked good’
did not really weigh in on her decision.

“Rebecca found William and Cheryl in an
uncompromising position late one evening when she stopped by
unannounced at his campaign office. Rebecca told me later that she
thought he might be having an affair, but couldn’t bear to confront
him. She had called his cell phone at about 9:30 that evening,
wondering where he was, but he didn’t pick up. She drove over and
found them on the couch in his office.

“That ended the affair, and Cheryl was asked to leave
the campaign. She got a nice severance and was discrete about
everything. But William and Rebecca never slept together again
after that night. Within six months, they both were having their
own private affairs, William with Barbara Davis, and Rebecca with
Joseph Ross, the Director of The United Relief Fund. In fact,
Rebecca is still very close with Joseph. There have been some
rumors about all this, but, for the most part, these affairs have
stayed under the public radar.”

“Why didn’t they just get a divorce?” I asked.

“At first it was to save the campaign. Once William
became the governor, it was to nurture his popularity. They both
were ‘doing well’ on the side. Besides, as the First Lady of Maine,
Rebecca carried considerable weight with her relief work. A divorce
would have tarnished her image. Basically, they just became
comfortable with their arrangement.”

“Cynthia told me that William and Rebecca planned to
get a divorce after the upcoming election,” I said.

“Yes. I think that would have happened. William told
me that Cynthia was the real deal. They were genuinely in love.
William was downright giddy about her.”

“From what you have said so far, I would not think
that Rebecca could be a viable suspect in the murder. Do you concur
with that?”

“Absolutely. She felt betrayed at first, but her
relationship with Joseph Ross helped soothe the pain. She was
looking forward to the divorce so she could move on with her
life.”

“Of course, there would be a financial incentive to
have William murdered,” I suggested. “After all, he was
loaded.”

“Yes, but if you knew Rebecca, you’d see that that
was not an issue. They had been married for over twenty years, so
she would be well compensated in a divorce settlement. Besides,
Joseph Ross has money of his own. Rebecca is not a gold
digger.”

“OK. Let’s look at each of the affairs on your list.
First of all, do you think the list is complete? Could you have
missed anyone?”

“Not likely. William was very open with me. For most
of these women, I helped to arrange their times together…not every
single time, of course, but I was instrumental in keeping the
affairs discrete.”

While I read through the notes on his list, Richard
sat patiently, allowing me to get up to speed. My first question
was, “I see that under Michelle Jackson’s name, you wrote, ‘Be
careful of Dennis Jackson. He could be trouble.’”

“Absolutely. He is one mean hombre. All of the women
on that list were single at the time of their affairs except for
Michelle. I cautioned William to end it with her. It looked like a
car wreck waiting to happen.”

I found that metaphor especially apropos.

“Yes,” I said. “In fact, I spoke with Dennis briefly
on the phone yesterday.”

“Really? Did you know about Michelle?” Richard
asked.

“Cynthia mentioned two women who might have had a
personal relationship with William. Michelle Jackson was one, and
Emily Haywood the other. I called each of them. I spoke with Emily
directly. It appeared from her story that she met with William only
twice, once at the party celebrating his election, and again later
for lunch and a job interview. Would you say that is correct?”

“I’m almost certain. Truth be known, William had her
over for lunch to ‘check her out,’ and not for a job. The three of
us had lunch together. Afterwards, William said that she was too
reserved, well, ‘inhibited’ is the word he used, so he never
contacted her again as far as I know.”

“That’s the way I read it too,” I replied.

“You said you spoke with Dennis Jackson?” Richard
inquired.

“Briefly. All I heard him say was his name. The
instant I mentioned your name, he hung up.”

“That’s Dennis!”

“Tell me about him and Michelle. According to
Cynthia, Michelle was at the party celebrating William’s victory.
But from your timeline, her brief affair with William happened just
a year ago.”

“Right. Dennis owns a large construction company with
offices in Portland, Augusta, Waterville and Bangor. They have a
home in Augusta, but Dennis is often away in Portland. He made a
sizeable donation to William’s first campaign, and Michelle worked
in the campaign office as a volunteer. That’s why she was invited
to the party. Dennis was also there.

“William flirted with lots of women, rather easily I
might add. He was very cozy with Michelle at the party, and Dennis
seemed upset about it. So William backed off. To my knowledge, they
didn’t see each other again until a little over a year ago.

“To assemble the team for his reelection, William
phoned most of the people who had helped him the first time around.
Michelle agreed right away and was on board for the first general
meeting. At that time, William had not been with a woman for
months. Sparks flew immediately. When the meeting adjourned,
Michelle was the last to leave; only she didn’t leave. The
electricity between them was palpable. I’m surprised the office
didn’t burn down that night.”

I was getting a little warm myself. My thoughts
drifted briefly to Angele, but I managed to forcefully suppress my
imagination. At $600 a day, I figured I owed each client my
undivided attention.

“The affair with Michelle was brief and fiery. I
don’t know exactly how Dennis found out, but he stormed into the
campaign office one day, grabbed Michelle by the arm and literally
dragged her into the street. She drove away sobbing. Dennis came
back in and gave William an earful. There were two security
officers in the room, along with me and one other volunteer. Now
that I think about it, one of the two officers was Travis Perkins.
In any event, Dennis was escorted out and was read the riot act for
threatening the Governor of Maine.

“I haven’t seen Dennis since.”

“OK. Dennis just moved to the top of my list of
suspects,” I said.

I felt my cell phone vibrate; the Caller ID indicated
it was from Randall Bradford, J.D. “This could be Travis’ lawyer,”
I said to Richard. “I’d better take the call.”

“Hello, this is Jesse Thorpe.”

“Mr. Thorpe, this is Randall Bradford. I received a
call from Travis Perkins. He has asked me to represent him in the
case of the murder of Governor Lavoilette. Mr. Perkins is being
held as a material witness. He asked me to contact you. He tells me
that he has hired you as a private investigator.”

“That is true. I spoke with Travis this morning, just
after he was arrested.”

“Would it be possible for you to meet me at the
Kennebec County Jail within the hour?”

“Absolutely. I’m in the Maine State House right now.
I could be there in ten minutes if you’d like.”

“It’s almost three o’clock now. Let’s meet there at
three-thirty. I’ll arrange for us to talk with Mr. Perkins.”

“That will be fine. How will I recognize you?”

“I’ll find you. I am looking at a picture of you
right now. It is on your PI website. I assume it is a recent
photograph.”

“Yes it is. I’ll be there at three-thirty.”

We hung up.

“Perfect timing, Richard,” I said. “I have taken up
quite a bit of your time already, and I have a lot of ground to
cover with the women on your list. Travis should provide me with
plenty of additional information. He seemed eager to tell his
story. I’ll let you know how that goes as soon as I have a chance
to digest it all…along with those barbequed ribs,” I added.

Richard chuckled. “What did you think of Jean
Pierre?” he asked, with a wink.

It didn’t require Sherlock Holmes to deduce that the
two of them were similarly aligned, though I doubted they were a
couple. Jean Pierre had been rather formal when speaking to
Richard, calling him “Mr. Merrill.” Nonetheless, I felt the need to
answer Richard’s question in a politically correct way. After all,
I was sitting in the Capitol Building.

“Jean Pierre is a piece of work,” I said. “But I
liked him immediately. I hope he realized I was pulling his leg
about the ribs.”

“He’s a little over the top. I liked the way you
placed your beverage order. I believe your finger gesture got under
his skin just a bit. Don’t worry, though. Lots of stuff gets under
his skin. That’s just who he is. I would wager twenty dollars, that
if you went back there a month from now, he’d put a ‘glass of water
with a lemon twist’ in front of you when he greets you at the
table.”

I removed a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and
handed it to Richard. “That’s a bet,” I said. “You hold the money.
We’ll go back a month from now, and you can give me forty if he
forgets the lemon twist. I’ll simply ask for water, and we’ll see
what he delivers.”