Dead Down East (19 page)

“We got to Jigs and Things by eleven thirty. We
fished that afternoon and got back in at six o’clock.

“We caught several sharks, some striped bass and a
few bluefin tuna. We kept the tuna. We had them filleted, and we
put them on ice in my larger cooler. Then we checked into our rooms
and had a quick supper. We finished eating about 7:30. We wanted to
get to bed early; our next day’s charter started at six in the
morning.

“We retired to our separate rooms at the Nestle Inn
at about 8:00 PM. I watched a little television and was asleep by
9:00. I set my alarm for 4:30 AM.

“When I woke up in the morning, I looked out the
window and noticed that Justin’s car was gone. I figured he was out
getting something, so I called his cell number, but he didn’t pick
up.

“I got dressed and waited till 5:30, but when he
hadn’t returned, I went to his room. The curtain was wide open. I
could see that the room was empty. He cleared out in the middle of
the fucking night.

“Justin had paid cash for our two rooms. Now that I
think about it, he paid cash for everything and always asked for
receipts. At the time, I thought it was odd that he didn’t use a
credit card, but he was so fussy about the receipts, that I didn’t
give it much thought.

“I went into the motel restaurant to get some
breakfast. I was still hoping he had just gone out for something
and would return. When I sat down to eat, the waitress took my
order and then said, ‘Did you hear about the governor?’

“I said, ‘I don’t think so. What about him?’

“‘He was murdered last night seven miles north of
here on Sebascodegan Island.’

“I asked her what details she had heard. She said
there were no arrests as yet. When I asked her the exact location
where the murder took place, she said he was murdered on Route 24,
just south of the bridge going back to Brunswick.

“I went numb. I was stuck on Orr’s Island, with no
car, and the governor had just been murdered close by. I began
wondering if Justin Cook might have been involved. I replayed the
events of the weekend in my mind, and then I remembered that he had
gone back into my house by himself, and he knew where I kept my
gun. I thought, ‘Good God, maybe he took my gun and killed the
governor.’ It seemed impossible, but I had a slipping feeling that
it might be true.

“Here I was, near a federal crime scene and without
transportation. My instincts told me to call in to my office and
explain my situation. But then I wavered. I had no alibi. The
governor had been having an affair with my ex wife, and now he had
been murdered. I might well become a suspect. If I were found in
the vicinity, it would appear that I had both motive
and
opportunity. I decided to get back to Augusta any way I could
without informing anyone and hopefully without leaving a trace. I
might be able to explain away a stolen pistol, but why was I here?
Anything I said would sound very bad.”

Randall stopped him for a moment and inquired, “The
governor was having an affair with your ex wife? How long did that
go on?”

“For about a year. We were divorced two years
ago.”

“I see,” Randall said. His bushy eyebrows lifted
noticeably as he jotted this down. Then he said, “OK. Go on.”

“There are only two ways to drive off the island. The
quickest route is on Highway 24, which cuts directly through the
murder site. The other way is to take Mountain Road west off of 24
and then go north on Route 123, Harpswell Road. I decided to walk
to Route 123—that’s five miles—and then hitchhike off the island. I
put my coolers into a dumpster and set out on foot.

“Along Mountain Road, a guy stopped his car to ask me
if I needed a lift. I told him my car had broken down on Orr’s
Island, and I was trying to get to Brunswick to get a bus home. He
gave me a lift. He wasn’t planning to go to Brunswick, but he had
some spare time and drove me right to the bus station. We chatted
along the way, but I didn’t give him my real name.

“I caught a bus for Augusta, and took a cab home.

“I got back about noon. When I walked up to my door,
I found it was unlocked. Justin never locked the fucking door. He
just pretended to lock it. I rushed to my bedroom and opened the
dresser where I keep my gun. My heart sank. The gun was gone.”

At this point Travis stopped talking. Randall and I
took it all in. You could have heard a pin drop.

Randall finally spoke, “Can you describe Justin? Is
there any chance you have a picture of him?”

“Well, I don’t have a picture of him. I can describe
him, of course, but I have something even better. I have his
DNA.”

“What,” I blurted out. “You have his DNA?”

“Yes. He caught a small hammerhead shark and insisted
on removing the hook by himself. The shark squirmed, and his teeth
slashed the bottom of Justin’s right hand. I was standing next to
him at the time, reaching in to steady the shark’s head. As he
swung his hand up and away, he grazed the sleeve on my shirt and
left a trail of blood near the cuff about six inches long. That
shirt is now sitting in the hamper in my bathroom.”

I interrupted Travis and asked, “Why didn’t you wash
off the blood when that happened, while you were on the boat?”

“I didn’t see the blood at that point. It’s a red
flannel shirt, and the stain is on the underside of the sleeve. I
first noticed it when I changed for dinner. By then it was dried
on.”

“Have you told the FBI about the shirt?” Randall
asked.

“No. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to even tell my story.
It’s so unbelievable. I wanted to wait and hear what you’d suggest.
At first, I thought I should take the shirt someplace safe, but
even that would be suspicious. If I produced the shirt later, why
did I hide it? So I decided to leave it in the hamper. At least it
is in my house, which I’m sure has been cordoned off for
evidence.”

“You’re right about that,” Randall said. “Blood on a
shirt in your hamper would be suspicious. They’d have it analyzed
to see if it matches the governor’s.”

“Right, but I took a precaution. On Monday, I cut off
a three-inch piece of the shirt with the blood trail, put it in an
envelope and mailed it to my sister. I wanted some control over the
evidence if push came to shove. Who knows what the FBI might do
with that shirt.”

“OK,” Randall said. “Is there any way that Justin
would have known where the governor would be on Saturday?”

“Sure. It was in the papers. The governor was going
to his summer home to finish writing his acceptance speech for his
nomination. In fact, Justin mentioned that he knew the governor was
at his summer home for the weekend. He also knew that my main job
was to protect the governor. It’s fairly well known where his house
is, but Justin asked if I knew its exact location. As we passed the
turnoff from Route 24 which leads to his home, I pointed out that
we were less than a mile from it.”

“That’s Cundys Harbor Road,” I offered.

“Yes,” Travis said. “Do you know the way?”

“I’ve been there,” I replied. I didn’t want to bring
up Cynthia’s name, so I left it at that. If Travis was involved—and
clearly he might be—I didn’t want him to know that Cynthia was an
eyewitness. The actual murderer was still at large, and Cynthia
would very much be in danger.

“Let’s have that description of Justin,” Randall
said, pen in hand.

“I’d say he’s in his mid forties. He’s not very tall,
maybe 5’8”. Average build. About 160 pounds. He has light brown
hair, and he’s clean-shaven. He has no special distinguishing
marks, no scars or anything that stands out. He’s descent looking.
His face is tanned, and his complexion is fairly smooth.

“Incidentally, I called
Police Magazine
on
Monday. They have no record of a Justin Cook. Now I wish I had
called them sooner, but I had no reason to suspect he was
misrepresenting himself. I hadn’t received a check yet, but he said
they always pay when the story is submitted. He showed me his
working ID, but he didn’t give me a business card. He said he
prefers to contact potential subjects, but doesn’t want a lot of
calls requesting interviews, so he doesn’t give out his phone
number. He said, ‘You’d be surprised how many people want their
pictures taken for the magazine.’”

“We might be able to track his cell phone calls, if
you supply us with the time and dates of the calls he made to you.
My guess, though, is that he was using a prepaid phone, which is
now in the trash somewhere,” Randall said. “But we can give it a
try.”

“I thought about that already. I made out a list of
his calls. I put it in the envelope with the piece of shirt I sent
to my sister.”

“What is your sister’s name, address and phone
number?” I asked.

“Her name is Danielle Bacon.
She lives at 133 Amber Road in Portland. I can’t recall her number,
but it’s in my cell phone memory. She’s in the book; you can look
it up. By the way, I told her to give the letter to you and no one
else, Jesse.”

“I’ll call Danielle,” I said. “My girlfriend lives in
Portland. Do you think I could have her pick it up? She’s coming up
here on Thursday.”

“I’ll call her and tell her,” Travis said. “What’s
your girlfriend’s name?”

“Angele Boucher.”

“Travis, let’s go back to the murder scene,” I said.
“From what I have heard in the news and read in the papers, the
governor was alone in his home over the weekend, but went out to
see the movie,
Lincoln
, in Brunswick on Saturday night. A
few witnesses came forward saying they saw him at the theater. He
was murdered at about 10:30, shortly after the movie let out.
Pictures in the press show his car headed west at the intersection
of Cundys Harbor Road and Highway 24, as if he were driving away
from his home, not towards it. What do you make of that?”

“How should I know? Plus, I’m not so sure he was
alone. I wouldn’t be surprised if Cynthia was with him. He often
would sneak out with his girlfriends. He even had Richard Merrill
cover for him on dates and weekends. Check with Richard. He might
know for sure. My guess is that Cynthia was in the car.”

“Here’s what I think. Let me know if this sounds
plausible,” I said. “I think there had to be two people involved in
the killing—someone to keep track of the governor’s locale, and the
killer himself. Justin was with you until 7:30 that evening, or
perhaps a little later. He probably didn’t leave the Nestle Inn
right away, or you would have heard him drive off. Correct?”

“Most likely. Our rooms were side by side, and his
car was parked out in front of his room. I suppose he could have
left at about 8:00, but I didn’t hear him drive away.”

“OK. Let’s say there was an accomplice. He knows the
governor is in his summer home, so he positions himself somewhere
along the road to the house, possibly at the intersection of Cundys
Harbor Road and Route 24. The governor would have to drive past
that point in order to get off the island. There is no other way
out. So he waits there, looking for an opportunity. He knows the
governor might go out for dinner, or whatever. He’s patient. He
wants to kill the guy, but he wants to be as careful as possible.
He sees the governor’s car drive past the intersection at about
8:00 on his way off the island, and he follows him to the Royal
movie complex.

“Once in the parking lot, he sees the governor get
out of his car and walk into the theater. But it’s a crowded place.
He couldn’t kill him there without being noticed. So he calls
Justin and tells him what’s up.

“Justin leaves the motel and joins his partner in the
theater parking lot. They figure he’ll be going back home after the
movie lets out, so one of them remains in the parking lot waiting
for him to leave. The other one sets up at the intersection where
the murder took place. The lookout calls his partner when the
governor leaves the theater parking lot. The murderer stands by his
car, pretending that he needs help of some kind…car trouble
probably. He flags the governor down as he is turning off Route 24.
It’s a quiet road late at night. The governor stops his car, makes
a U-turn and parks behind the murderer’s car, heading west, away
from his home. The governor then gets out of his car to help the
guy, and is murdered on the spot.

“This jives with the witness in the house across the
street regarding the time of the murder. He saw two cars heading
west, the governor’s and the assailant’s. What do you think?” I
asked.

“It could have happened that way,” Travis
replied.

“Yeah,” Randall agreed, “but something is puzzling
me. Why would the governor go out to the movie, when he could have
gotten it on Pay-Per-View, or Netflix?”

“It sounds to me as if he had a date,” Travis said.
“I bet he was with Cynthia. The governor was like that. He liked
being out on his own. It was a nightmare guarding him. He would
often sneak out without protection.”

“I’ll give Cynthia a call and ask her about this,” I
said. “As far as I know, she hasn’t volunteered anything to the
police. Her name hasn’t come up in any of the reports I’ve seen. If
she were a witness, the FBI wouldn’t release any information she
had provided. Besides, they would need to protect her
identity.”

“Randall, how long can they hold me without charging
me?” Travis asked.

“Technically they can hold a material witness as long
as it is necessary to ‘prevent a failure of justice.’ They can keep
you here until the cows come home, if they can demonstrate to a
judge that you are an important piece of the puzzle.

“Travis, as your lawyer, here is my advice. Tell the
authorities the whole story. Everything. If you hold anything back,
they will likely hold you indefinitely. Besides, you have some
important leads for them.”

“To tell you the truth, I hated the governor,” Travis
replied in a menacing tone. Two sets of ears perked up with that
declaration. “I didn’t kill him, but I hated him. He smooth-talked
women like he was fucking Don Juan himself. He’s a big part of the
reason Cynthia and I got a divorce. I don’t even care if they find
out who did it. Of course, I want to get out of here, but all they
have on me is that my gun was used to kill him. If I tell them the
whole fucking story, they will probably use the parts they want and
convict me of something…as an accessory before the fact at the very
least. No way I am telling that story. Not now anyway. I’m going to
wait to see what develops.”