Dead Down East (23 page)

I had already considered those possibilities, but I
was amused to hear them from a lawyer. Any port in a storm, I
guess.

“I’ll see what I can come up with,” I said.

“Travis, you know about the governor’s habit of
driving alone in his car without protection,” I said. “I’m assuming
that’s not common knowledge. Whoever killed the governor planned it
out carefully. He, or she, must have been familiar with some of his
routines. Who else might have known about this? Did you say
anything to Justin?”

“Absolutely not. If he knew about it, he found out
from someone else.”

“That’s why I’m asking. Who else might have
known?”

“I…I don’t know,” Travis stammered. He appeared to be
hiding something. This probably was evident to Randall as well,
because we both just waited quietly, as if expecting him to tell us
more.

The next thing Travis said was, “My girlfriend won’t
even talk to me. She thinks that because I’ve been arrested, I must
be guilty.”

“Who’s your girlfriend, Travis,” Randall asked.

“Oh, just a woman I’ve been dating for a while. Her
name is Susan. I called her yesterday afternoon. At first, she
talked normally, but when I told her I was in jail, she clammed up.
At the end of our conversation, she told me not to call her again.
I guess it’s over.”

“When we clear you, she’ll probably come around,” I
offered.

“Maybe. But it sounded final over the phone.”

“Well, that’s all I have for now,” I said. “I’m going
out of town to follow a lead this afternoon, and I will probably be
going to Portland within a few days to interview Dennis and
Michelle Jackson. Michelle was one of the governor’s most recent
affairs. Dennis and the governor had a heated argument about a year
ago.”

“Yeah. I was there,” Travis said. “That’s a really
good idea. Dennis has quite a temper. I had to escort him out of
the governor’s campaign headquarters.”

“One last item, Travis,” I said. My rate is normally
$320 a day plus expenses. I’ve decided to charge $400 on this case
because of the added danger. After all, it is a murder case. You
and Richard can split my fee. It will be $200 a day for you.”

“I can pay you. I’ll have your check next time you
come.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“I think we are done for now,” Randall announced.

We said our goodbyes and left the room.

• • •

I dropped off the blood sample at Paternal Affairs on
our way home. When we arrived, Cynthia was in the kitchen preparing
some sandwiches for our trip to Brunswick. When Cynthia saw her,
she said, “Hi there, Allison. How have you been?”

“Just dandy, Cynthia.”

“So you two have met?” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Cynthia replied.

Thinking that it might be helpful to get all our
cards on the table before going to the scene of the crime, I said,
“You’ll have a chance to catch up later, but first, if you don’t
mind, Misty, I’d like to speak with Cynthia privately.”

We slipped into my office, and before I could say a
word, Cynthia handed me a check for $2000.

“Thank you,” I said, and put it in my desk drawer. “I
think it will work out better for all of us if we can share the
details of your situation with Angele and Misty. I know we can
trust Angele to be discreet, and you seem to be friends with Misty.
What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know that Misty has unusual
powers of perception. If I tried to hide my involvement, she’d pick
up on it anyway. So let’s tell them both, and explain the need for
secrecy.”

We all gathered in the living room for a chat.

“Cynthia has something to tell you,” I said.

Cynthia captivated them with her story. When she
described the actual shooting, they both could hardly believe
it.

Misty was the first to comment.

“We’ll get that son-of-a-bitch, Cynthia. God
almighty, you’re lucky to be alive.”

I capped off her story by explaining in detail where
some important evidence might be located, and how we will need to
conduct ourselves at the crime scene.

“If we find anything significant, we can’t touch it.
We’ll be looking for the murder weapon, which happens to be Travis
Perkins’ gun. It’s a .45 caliber, Glock 21 pistol. We’ll also be
looking for a Maine license plate that reads, ‘GOFURS,’ a white
towel and possibly some gloves and a fake beard. We’ll be searching
along a road that will probably have some traffic on it, and we
don’t want to attract attention. We need to get in, make our
search, and get out as smoothly and as quickly as possible.

“The area might still be cordoned off. If that’s the
case, we’ll drive on by and wait for another day. If we are able to
find any of these things, I will bring them to the attention of the
authorities anonymously.

“Are we in agreement on this?” I asked.

Three “yeses” hit the airways simultaneously.

I took the women into my office and brought up a
picture of a Glock 21 on the Internet.

“This is what the gun looks like,” I said.

I then went to Google Maps and located the area of
our search. We checked out both the aerial and ground views. We
would cover only a short section along the side of the road. I
pointed out the exact spot where I intended to park.

“We need to canvass this area thoroughly,” I said, as
I panned up and down the highway. “If we are lucky, we’ll find
most, or all, of the items close together.

“OK. Let’s pack those sandwiches and get out
there.”

• • •

It was a beautiful sunny day for a drive. The girls
chatted incessantly—all except Rhonda. She rested silently in a
holster on my belt. We all hoped she’d stay put. Misty foresaw no
involvement for Rhonda today.

After forty-five minutes, we crossed the small bridge
separating Sebascodegan Island from the mainland. Doughty Cove lay
on the right as we approached our destination. Traffic was very
light. I located the narrow dirt driveway and parked the car behind
some trees. I asked everyone to listen quietly for a couple of
minutes to make sure we hadn’t been spotted and that there was no
one else around.

After five minutes, it was obvious we had the area to
ourselves. Only one car had passed on Route 24 during that time,
and it sailed by. We got out of the car, made our way back to the
highway and divided into pairs. Cynthia and Misty turned right;
Angele and I turned left.

In less than a minute, Angele spotted a license plate
lying face down. It was about forty feet from the highway in some
high grass near a tree. She flipped it over with a stick. There it
was: GOFURS.

“
Hello
,” she cried.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “We’re undercover. Let’s keep
looking.”

I spotted the Glock a half-minute later, about twenty
feet deeper into the thicket. It had come to rest under a bush.

I waved to the others to rendezvous back at the
car.

Cynthia and Misty had no intention of leaving without
seeing what we had found. They quickly rushed over and squealed
with delight as soon as they saw the .45. At that moment, it
occurred to me that I might be more appealing to women if I carried
a larger caliber gun. You hear it all the time that “size doesn’t
matter,” but now I was having second thoughts.

“I won’t touch the weapon, Jesse,” Misty said, “but I
want to get a reading here.”

“You go, girl,” said Angele.

Misty knelt down, put her hands six inches over the
Glock and closed her eyes. A minute later, she stood up and
announced, “I see a moose.”

Angele and Cynthia quickly looked around through the
trees.

“This is moose country, Misty,” I said. “I’m sure
there are plenty of them around. But what does this have to do with
murder?”

“Wait. It’s not a whole moose…it’s just the head. I
see a moose head.”

“Oh. OK. There’s Moosehead Lake or Moosehead Beer. If
you go to any Moose Lodge you’ll find a moose head or two hanging
on the wall. Can you be more specific?”

“No, not at the moment. But it’s plain as day. It’s a
moose head.”

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll put a moose head on my
radar. Now let’s make like hockey players and get the puck outta
here.”

With that, we all hustled to the car. I backed out
near the highway, turned sharply and headed north. I was feeling
rather manly under the circumstances, with three women in the car
and a .38 Special on my hip—so I gunned it a bit. The Forester
didn’t exactly peel rubber, but it fishtailed a little, and some
gravel flew under the chassis. We were back on the mainland in
forty-five seconds.

“The FBI never thought to check the other side of the
highway?” Cynthia asked.

“Possibly,” I replied. “However, if they’d seen the
license plate, they wouldn’t have thought much of it anyway.
There’s all sorts of litter along the road. That gun was pretty
well hidden in the undergrowth. But they’ll be coming back again,
real soon. When I tell them about the Glock, they’ll show up like
worms in a compost pile.”

“How are you going to contact them, Jesse?” Cynthia
asked.

“Our next stop is the Holiday Inn Express in
Brunswick. I’m sure they have a computer in the lobby or in a room
on the main floor. The FBI and the Maine State Police both have web
pages for the purpose of leaving anonymous tips.

“Here’s what I have in mind. All three of you will go
to the front desk and engage the attendants. Tell them you are
planning some kind of a convention in Brunswick. You want to see
the amenities and learn about their group rates. While you are
keeping them busy, I’ll lag behind and look around as if I’m
checking the place out. When I find a computer I can use, I’ll sit
down and send off an anonymous tip to both agencies.”

Angele was all over it.

“Let’s make it a legal convention,” she beamed. “I
work with lawyers every day. They are always looking for an excuse
to get out of the office. I have a business card with the name of
our law firm on it. That should get their attention.”

“I’d better stay in the car,” Misty said. “I’d stick
out like a sore thumb.”

“No, no,” I replied. “Go in separately and then just
look around the lobby. You’ll be an added distraction.”

“There you go,” she said. “I was born to play that
role.”

We pulled into the entrance of the Holiday Inn and
set the wheels in motion. My accomplices were perfect. With two
beautiful women at the main desk, a lawyer’s convention in the
offing, and a roving psychic in a tie-dye dress, I had all the
cover I needed to slip into the computer room unnoticed. I booted
up an available PC and got online. Within a minute, I found the two
websites and posted the following tip on both of them:

You’ll find the gun that murdered Governor
Lavoilette across the road from the crime scene, on the west side
of the highway. It’s about fifty feet northwest of the mailbox.
You’ll also find a license plate, “GOFURS,” lying nearby. That
plate was stolen and used on the getaway car.

If you make a wider search from that point north to
the bridge, you may also find a white towel with powder marks on
it, a fake beard and a pair of gloves.

I’ll be in touch.

Samuel Spade, Jr.

The code name would establish a reference for future
communications. After they find that gun, Sammy will be on the top
of their snitch list.

I strolled out of the Holiday Inn Express and got
into my car. The women were right on my tail.

• • •

We were back in Augusta by four o’clock. I drove to
Misty’s shop and walked her to the door. I handed her two freshly
minted fifty-dollar bills.

“What’s the hundred dollars for?” she asked.

“That’s on my account. We’ll settle up, as per your
instructions, when the case is closed. In the meantime, I’ll keep
my eyes open for the head of a moose, and I’ll try to keep my own
melon in one piece. Which reminds me… Have you received any further
word on the second dead guy?”

“Not yet. But if he shows up in my tea leaves, you’ll
be the first one I call.”

“By the way, I’ve been wondering about something,” I
said.

“What’s that?”

“Earlier today in the parking lot, how could you tell
which car was mine?” I asked.

“I watched you drive up,” she replied.

“Thanks, Misty.”

Angele, Cynthia, Rhonda and I made our way back to
the Thorpe Estate. Cynthia retired to her room. Angele and I went
to my office.

“I need to get home this evening, Jesse. I have a
little work to do tonight. I want to be back in Portland by eight,
so I figure I’ll have to leave about six-thirty.”

“I might be making a trip down there either on Friday
or Monday,” I said. “I’m hoping I can arrange an appointment with
Dennis Jackson.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

I opened the spreadsheet of the governor’s affairs
and pointed to Michelle Jackson’s name, just below Cynthia’s on the
list. I gave her the full rundown of what I knew, including a
detailed account of my phone call with Dennis. Angele’s eyes lit
up.

“I think he’s guilty,” Angele blurted out.

“We’ll see. There are lots of
possibilities.”

“Yes, but I have a nose for this kind of
thing. I’ll bet you a hundred dollars Dennis arranged the
murder.”

“That’s a little steep, Angele,” I
replied.

“OK.
Twenty
then.”

“Why not,” I said. “It’s a bet.”

I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and handed
it to her. “You can give me two of these if we find out that Dennis
was not involved.”

Angele unhooked the top button of her blouse
and slipped the twenty into her bra, “for safekeeping” she said.
“There, it’s in the bank.”

“I love doing business with you,” I said.

“Jesse, darling, we are a full-service
bank.”