Dead Down East (34 page)

All this logical thinking caused me to briefly doubt
my own conclusions…but
only
briefly. Susan St. Claire, the
“vamp,” had the real motive. Two, in fact. She was a jilted lover,
and she needed money. Killing Governor Lavoilette could resolve
both of those unpleasantries. Revenge would be immediate. The money
would begin piling up in short order.

By Susan’s own admission, she had known James Frye
for years. She knew he was next in line to be governor if William
Lavoilette died, and even I was aware that Frye was eager to begin
hydraulic fracturing in Maine. He had been promoting it for years.
If Susan waited to act until the gubernatorial election was over,
all bets would be off. James Frey might not be Senate President any
longer. Furthermore, as acting governor, James Frey would have a
much better chance of winning the general election than as an
independent candidate opposing a popular governor. No—Susan St.
Claire most definitely was the mastermind. All the facts and
intuitions pointed to her.

Angele “predicted” it. Misty more or less “saw” it.
Kathleen told me to “look for the woman.” And, in my bones,
I
knew it
.

All I had to do was to stay alive and prove it.

Angele met me on the porch when I got home.

“Great news,” she said. “I’m off till next Wednesday.
We’ll have five whole days together. We can work on our murder case
during the day and dance the nights away.”

She planted one of her patented lingering kisses on
my left ear lobe and whispered a breathy “hello” that traveled down
my auditory canal and into my chest. For a few moments I forgot my
own “great news.”

Basic instincts collided and socialized. Elation,
apprehension and anticipation was the soup du jour. Elation came
with the breakthrough in the Lavoilette case. Apprehension followed
on elation’s heals in light of the accompanying danger.
Anticipation erupted with the kiss on my ear lobe.

“Angele, let’s get together with Cynthia and talk,” I
said, trying to coordinate my mixed emotions. “There’s been a
breakthrough.”

Angele’s eyes widened as I put my arm around her
shoulder and walked her into the house. Cynthia was in the living
room with a book. I sat down in my bark-a-lounger, and Angele
settled next to Cynthia on the couch.

“I know who killed William,” I announced in a
moderately triumphant tone.

All eyes stayed on me as I told my tale of facts and
supposition. The enthusiasm that emerged at the outset gradually
ebbed into consternation as it grew more and more clear that
knowing the particulars of the murder and proving them were
entirely different matters. It was especially disquieting that at
least two, and probably three, members of the deadly trio realized
that Cynthia Dumais and I were distinct threats to them. They had
killed to get what they wanted. They would surely kill to keep what
they got.

“We have come to a definite fork in the road,” I
said. “We have an important decision to make. Either we go to the
FBI with a few facts and a theory and try to disappear in the
shadows, or we press on as independent operators. My instincts are
to press on,” I concluded.

After a few quiet moments, Angele responded, “Mine
too.”

I smiled at her and said, “Angele, I love you.”

“I’d rather live righteously on the edge, than
passively in the valley,” she replied.

We looked at one another. My heart rested and soared
at the same time. Angele is a jewel.

Cynthia joined in, “Yes. Let’s press on. I owe it to
William.”

“All right then,” I said, “we need to pool our
talents. I’ll call Randall this evening and set up a meeting with
Travis in the morning. I want to inform them of what I have
discovered. There is also another piece of the puzzle that I want
to clarify with Travis. When I last spoke with him, he mentioned
that his girlfriend had deserted him when he was arrested. He only
used her first name, ‘Susan.’ I didn’t think anything of it at the
time, but now I suspect that it might be Susan St. Claire. That
would go a long way in explaining how the trio used Travis to
execute their plan.

“I also want to arrange a ‘board meeting’ with Eric
and Billy. Think what you will about those two hombres…they are
brothers in arms. I’m brewing a plan that will require help from
both of them. I want to consider it a little more carefully for
now, and run it by them when we get together.”

We sat quietly for a minute, then Cynthia got up and
announced that she was going to get supper started. Angele followed
her into the kitchen. I retired to my office to make some phone
calls.

“Hello.”

“Randall, this is Jesse. There are some interesting
developments in Travis’ case that I would like to share with you. I
believe we will want to meet with Travis in the morning.”

I discussed the surprising DNA results and my theory
regarding the murder. Randall was enthusiastic about what I shared,
but as a lawyer he appreciated the gulf between hypothesis and
proof. Nonetheless, he agreed that we should convene with Travis as
soon as possible.

“I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow morning,” he
said.

We hung up, and I called Billy.

“What’s up, Jesse,” he said.

“There’s a break in the case. I would like to get
together with you and Eric tomorrow. Are you free?”

“Well, you know I’m not free, but I am available. By
the way, a letter arrived today for you from Dennis and Michelle
Jackson. I held it up to the light, but it’s in a security
envelope. I figure it’s your check.”

“Bring it with you when you come. How early can you
get here?”

“I’m usually up by noon.”

“Let’s plan on one o’clock. You and Eric are on a
compatible schedule. Also, do your parents still own their summer
home on Cobbosseecontee Lake?”

“Yes.”

“Is their any chance we could use it this weekend?” I
asked.

“Sure. They don’t move in until early July. A few
weeks ago I helped them get it cleaned up for the summer. Why do
you want to go out there?”

“For security, Billy. The developments in the
Lavoilette murder case present some risks for Cynthia and me. Is it
set up for the Internet?” I asked.

“It’s set up for everything. In the seventies they
built a fallout shelter in the back, which now doubles as a root
cellar. My parents are survivalists, but they lost their way in the
sprawl of Portland and the breakup of the Soviet Union. There’s
WiFi, generators, rifles, surveillance equipment and cases of
beans, rice and canned goods. Except for the boaters on the lake,
we could hole up there for months without seeing another soul.”

“Perfect,” I said. “We’ll call it ‘Camp Billy.’”

“How long do you think we’ll need to stay there?” he
asked.

“That will depend on whether or not my plan
works.”

“So…you have a plan?” he queried
enthusiastically.

“Sort of. It’s percolating now. We’ll talk about it
with Eric, Cynthia and Angele. Is it OK if I invite Brock to join
us there?”

“Will I have to hide the pot? He’s a nice guy, Jesse,
but he is a cop.”

“I think it will be fine. First, I’ll have to see if
he is free for the weekend. He could be very helpful to us. He
smoked marijuana back in the day, Billy. He sets his sights on real
crimes,” I said.

“He is likeable; I’ll give him that,” Billy
admitted.

“OK, then. I’ll call Eric. If you don’t hear back
from me, be at my place by one o’clock. Oh, yes…and bring Alonso.
We’ll want a guard dog.”

“Alonso goes where I go, Jesse. He’s my partner until
I find a woman who is willing to stay past seven in the
morning.”

“Bring your 35mm camera with you when you come,” I
said.

“Will do.”

“Good night, Billy. And thanks. I have the balance of
your finder’s fee waiting for you.”

I knew that would be incentive enough for him to get
here on time.

• • •

“Jesse!” Eric said.

“Eric, what are you doing for the next five days?” I
asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?” I asked.

“On what you have in mind,” he responded.

“Are you up for an adventure?” I asked.

“Always.”

“I know you own a pistol. What kind is it?”

“When I heard about the Glock used in the Lavoilette
murder, I decided to get one for myself. I picked up a beauty on
Tuesday at the pawn shop.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Do you have a holster and
ammunition?”

“Both.”

“Bring it all with you tomorrow. Be at my place by
one o’clock.”

“Do I need to get a Kevlar body suit?”

“I hope not. I think you’ll be safe.”

“My daily rate goes up when danger is involved,” he
suggested.

“Mine too,” I replied. “If everything works out, you
will be generously rewarded. Bring that dark three piece suit I saw
hanging in your closet; you’ll need to look like a
professional.”

“I haven’t worn that since Uncle Ned’s funeral two
years ago.”

“And a pair of dark shoes, dark socks, a white shirt
and a conservative tie,” I added.

“Jesse, am I auditioning for a Quentin Tarantino
movie?”

“Not that I know of,” I replied.

“I’ll be there,” he said and hung up.

I needed to make one more call.

• • •

“Hello.”

“Hello, Brock, this is Jesse.”

“What’s up?”

“Are you free this weekend?”

“Yes. I get off work at five tomorrow, and I’m not
scheduled again until Tuesday morning.”

“How would you like to spend the weekend at Billy’s
summer home on Cobbosseecontee Lake?” I asked.

“Are we goin’ fishing?”

“I don’t think so. There’s more important stuff to
do. I could really use your help and your expertise.”

“Count me in.”

“Pack your things tonight, and be prepared to stay at
the lake until Tuesday morning. Also, if you don’t mind, could you
bring at least one complete trooper uniform? You do have extras
don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, but his voice turned up into a
question. “We are issued three complete sets. But what’s this all
about?”

“I can’t spell it out for you now. Besides, I don’t
have all the details worked out yet. By Friday night, you will be
up to speed. Trust me. It’s important.”

“I’ll pack tonight and call you when I get off
work.”

“Thanks, Brock.”

• • •

Angele rang the dinner bell. I made a quick check of
the surveillance videos at Cynthia’s home. Everything there was
still fine.

Over soup and salad, I shared the arrangements I had
just made and explained that we would be spending several days at
Camp Billy. It would be a safer location, and the six of us could
put the finishing touches on my plan.

The excitement was palpable. It carried over into the
bedroom till midnight. Then I slept like a log.

The smell of java got me out of bed at seven o’clock.
I dressed, poured a cup and went to my office. I pulled up the
videos at Cynthia’s home and was jolted awake. Only two of the
cameras were actively producing images, and the one in her bedroom
displayed a room that had been turned upside down. Bureau drawers
and clothing were strewn across the bed and the floor.

I rolled the videos back in time hour by hour until I
reached 2:00 AM. At that point, all four cameras were producing
images. At 2:21 the camera positioned to view the back yard
displayed a figure, probably a man, approaching the door. The moon
was nearly full and provided enough light for an adequate image. He
was wearing a ski mask and appeared to be holding a pistol in his
right hand.

Another video showed him entering the living room at
2:23 with a small flashlight in his left hand and the gun, now very
clearly, in his right. The bedroom camera found him in the middle
of that room at 2:24. For the next five minutes he went through the
drawers and shelves and randomly tossed things around the room.