Dead Down East (37 page)

Mark opened his desk drawer, produced an envelope and
handed it to Eric. Eric asked Mark to walk in front of him as they
returned to the living room.

Eric took the receipts and arranged them on the
coffee table in chronological order. The date of the first receipt
was May 3
^rd
. After that, there were a number of
receipts, mostly for groceries, until May 13
^th
. On that
day Mark purchased thirteen gallons of gas at a station in Ithaca.
The next receipt was dated June 2
^nd
from another gas
station in Ithaca for fifteen gallons of gas. There were a number
of other receipts including two for groceries, one on June
3
^rd
and the other on June 8
^th
.

“If these receipts check out, you will have a strong
alibi for at least two of the dates in question,” Eric said. “I
noticed that there are no receipts from May 13
^th
to June
2
^nd
. Where were you during those dates?”

“I was still at my summer home,” Mark replied. “I had
purchased enough food and other necessities and spent most of that
time inside my home or on the lake.”

“Was anyone with you during that time?” Eric
asked.

“Occasionally a neighbor dropped over, but for the
most part I enjoyed the solitude. I like fishing by myself during
the day and reading or watching television in the evenings.”

“So from May 13
^th
through June
2
^nd
you were at your summer home on the lake? Is that
correct?” Eric asked definitively.

“Absolutely. I spent every single night there,” Mark
replied just as definitively.

“Thank you, Mr. Prichard. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d
like to call in another assistant, Detective Wilson Thorndyke,”
Eric announced. “Wilson, would you come in please?”

Mark was slightly startled by this development, as he
now realized another investigator had been tuned in to their
conversation. His eyes opened wide as I made my entrance. Brock’s
uniform fit me to a tee. I especially enjoyed having a loaded .45
caliber Glock in a holster on my hip. I have to admit, I struck a
commanding pose as I walked into the room. A silver Maine State
Trooper badge rested nicely on my chest. I had donned a tall, dark
gray hat with a round flat brim and a gold insignia in front. My
epaulets, tie and pocket flaps matched the color of my hat. I was
fully decked out, and if you looked at my shoes—though no one
did—you could have seen your reflection.

“Mr. Prichard, this is Detective Wilson Thorndyke,”
Eric said. “He is a trooper from the state of Maine.”

Mark took a deep breath and stood up unexpectedly. He
remained absolutely rigid for at least ten seconds. If I’m not
mistaken, his life flashed before his eyes. Then he asked
nervously, “What is a Maine trooper doing here?”

“I’m investigating the assassination of our governor,
William Lavoilette,” I said stoically. “I assume you are aware he
was murdered two weeks ago.”

“Yes,” he stammered. “I want to talk to a
lawyer.”

“You are perfectly within your rights to have a
lawyer present, Mr. Prichard, but I am confident that you will
decide against it. If you will kindly sit down, I will be happy to
explain the situation to you,” I said.

Mark Prichard turned ashen white, and he buckled at
the knees.

“Have a seat, Mr. Prichard,” Angele spoke up. “We can
get you some water if you like. You look rather pale.”

“I’ll be OK,” he fired back indignantly. “What’s this
about?”

“This is about murder,” I said, “premeditated murder,
planned and orchestrated by three people—Susan St. Claire, Aaron
Miller and you, Mr. Prichard.”

I allowed that statement to sink in while I put my
briefcase on the floor and opened it. I pulled out a set of papers
and stacked them on the coffee table. The papers had been carefully
arranged in an order that would drive my story. On top of the pile
was a photograph of Mark Prichard and Travis Perkins on Jigs and
Things’ charter fishing boat. The photograph had a time and date
emblazoned in orange along the bottom.

I handed the picture across the table to Prichard and
said, “As you can see, you were not in New York on June
1
^st
of this year. You were fishing with Travis Perkins
in the waters off Orr Island, Maine. That
is
you in the
picture, isn’t it?”

“Impossible,” he said. “That’s someone else. I admit
it looks a bit like me, but it couldn’t be.”

I picked up a second photograph, handed it to him and
said, “Take a look at this picture carefully, Mr. Prichard. You
received a cut on your right hand when you tried to remove a
fishing lure from the mouth of a hammerhead shark. Please notice
that the left sleeve of Travis Perkins’ shirt is now stained red.
It’s your blood on that shirt. That blood is loaded with your
DNA.”

Prichard instinctively covered his injured hand as he
responded to my statement, “How do you know it’s
my
DNA?
I’ve never been tested.”

“We’ll get to that a bit later,” I said patiently.
“What is it they say? Oh yes, ‘Every picture tells a story.’ Here’s
another.”

I handed him one of Billy Mosher’s finest—a
Photoshopped image of me purloining a .45 caliber Glock from the
bureau drawer in Travis Perkins’ bedroom. It was my body and my
denim jacket, but the head on my shoulders belonged to Mark
Prichard. The digital work was absolutely seamless.

“That picture is a fake. I was…”

He stopped speaking suddenly, swallowing his thought.
I suspect the sentence would have ended with “…in that room by
myself.”

“Then why is Travis Perkins still in jail?” Prichard
asked in a fiery tone.

Angele spoke right up, “He is still in jail for two
reasons. First, he has not been entirely cooperative. He is worried
that he might be accused of being an accessory to murder. Travis
Perkins provided Susan St. Claire with important information that
she used to plan the murder of Governor Lavoilette. Travis is
embarrassed by this.

“The primary reason that Trooper Perkins remains in
jail is for his own protection. He can testify in court against
Susan St. Claire and you. His testimony is vital to our case. We
don’t want anything to happen to him while Susan St. Claire is
still at large.”

“I demand to see a lawyer,” Prichard shouted.

“Mr. Prichard,” I replied, “Let me remind you of
something I said earlier. I am confident that you will choose to
not contact a lawyer. If you will sit quietly and listen to what I
have to say, I think we can wrap this up rather easily. I’ll begin
with the evidence we have that connects you to the crime—several
crimes actually: conspiracy to commit murder, accessory to murder
before the fact, lying to a federal officer, and obstruction of
justice.

“You approached Travis Perkins on May
15
^th
, posing as Justin Cook, a story writer for
Police Magazine
. You indicated you wanted to write a
human-interest story about Maine State Troopers. On May
18
^th
, you visited Travis at his home and took some
photographs of him. You even asked him to put on his uniform and
wear his gun for the pictures. That’s how you discovered where he
keeps his service weapon when he is off duty.

“On June 1
^st
, the day of the murder, you
returned to Trooper Perkins’ home and had breakfast with him. You
had made reservations to go fishing together on Saturday and
Sunday. The two of you got into your car to leave, but you asked to
return inside to use the bathroom. Travis gave you his key, and you
went back in alone. That is when you stole his .45 caliber Glock
from the bureau.

“Incidentally, the photograph of you stealing his
weapon was extracted from a video. There are four video cameras set
up in the Perkins’ home. We have video of you entering the front
door, walking through his living room, and, of course, removing the
Glock from the bureau drawer. Many policemen have video cameras and
alarm systems set up in their homes. These public servants are
often threatened with violence for the service they provide.

“You returned to your Taurus with the Glock concealed
in your denim jacket. You then put that jacket with the weapon in
the trunk of your car. You also intentionally did not lock the
front door of the Perkins home, as you had promised. We suspect
that you intended to have Aaron Miller return the Glock in the
event that your assassination plan did not work. That way you would
remain in good graces with Trooper Perkins for any further attempt
on the governor’s life.

“You and Travis then drove to Jigs and Things on
Orr’s Island and went fishing for the afternoon. The two of you had
dinner that evening and retired to the Nestle Inn at eight o’clock.
You registered under the name Justin Cook and wrote the license
plate number on the form. It was a Maine plate, number 622-JVT.
That plate was stolen on or about May 15
^th
from Victor
Audet in Augusta.

“You received a call on your cell phone and drove
away from the motel at approximately 8:30 PM. That was shortly
after the governor’s car left his summer home. The governor and his
date drove to Brunswick to see the movie,
Lincoln
, at a
cinema complex a few miles away. You drove to the theater and met
with Aaron Miller. At that time, you gave him the Glock, and you
remained to stake out the governor’s car.

“The movie let out a little after 10:00 PM. Aaron
then drove to Sebascodegan Island and positioned his silver Honda
CRV by the side of the road at the intersection of Highway 24 and
Cundys Harbor Road and waited. He knew that the governor had to
pass there on his way home.

“You probably called Aaron just as the governor’s
vehicle left the parking lot. It is a five-minute drive from the
theater to that intersection. When the governor drove by, Aaron
flagged him down. William Lavoilette, ever the Good Samaritan,
stopped to help a man stranded on the side of the road.

“Aaron contacted you shortly after the murder to let
you know that he had been successful. You immediately left the
state and drove all night, arriving in Ithaca, New York at—let me
see that receipt—yes, at 6:34 AM, Sunday morning, June
2
^nd
. The driving time from Brunswick, Maine to Ithaca,
New York is about seven-and-a-half hours.”

I paused to catch my breath, and then spoke to
Angele, “Mrs. Richards, would you be kind enough to go into Mr.
Prichard’s kitchen and fetch me a glass of water?”

“I’d be happy to, sir,” Angele replied.

I watched Angele get up and leave the room. I
thrilled with a measure of delight to see her perform so well under
the pressure. Our plan was coming together nicely. When Angele was
out of sight, I turned to observe Prichard. He sat in a heap,
looking as glum as a child with a lump of coal on Christmas
morning.

Angele returned to the room and handed me the
glass.

“Thank you, Mrs. Richards,” I said.

I sipped it slowly. When my whistle was sufficiently
wet, I continued my monologue.

“Mr. Prichard, we have corroboration for many of the
details I have just laid out. Mr. Kenneth Harper, the owner of Jigs
and Things, is willing to testify that you went fishing on his boat
on June 1
^st
. Andy Booker, the motel clerk at the Nestle
Inn, will testify that you and Travis Perkins checked in on the
evening of June 1
^st
, but that you did not check out in
the morning. You left sometime in the night and stranded Mr.
Perkins there without a vehicle.

“The photographs of you on the fishing trip were
taken by John Westcott. He has indicated that he will be happy to
testify that you were on the boat. His photographs speak for
themselves; they are ample evidence that you were there. And, of
course, there’s Maine State Trooper, Travis Perkins. He will gladly
tell the court everything.

“We have a rock solid case against you. If you don’t
cooperate with us right here and now, you will spend the rest of
your days in federal prison. I might also add that there is a
distinct possibility that your life will be abbreviated. This is a
capital crime, Mr. Prichard. The District Attorney intends to press
for the death penalty.

“Having said all this, I have to tell you that we
have a problem with our case. We are absolutely certain we can
convict you of murder in a court of law. We are about 90% sure we
can get a guilty verdict against Aaron Miller. The evidence in his
case is largely circumstantial, but compelling.

“The strongest piece of evidence that we have on Mr.
Miller is DNA. He was wearing a fake beard when he shot Governor
Lavoilette. An eyewitness can attest to that fact. His beard came
partly unglued as he dragged William Lavoilette’s body away from
the side of the road. He was observed reattaching it as he returned
to his vehicle. That beard was found wrapped inside a towel near
the crime scene. The towel has a bullet hole through it and powder
burns on it. It was used to muffle the sound of the gunshot. Aaron
Miller discarded it near the scene of the crime, along with the
Glock and a stolen license plate he used on his Honda.

“The DNA evidence comes from skin cells and human
hair left on the tape that held the beard to his face. We are
certain that the DNA found on the beard will match that of Aaron
Miller’s. When we arrest him, we will have a legal right to test
his DNA and verify that fact.

“Here’s our problem. We have very little evidence
that points to your sister, Susan St. Claire.”

I paused and then said, “That reminds me. Susan is
your sister. That fact proved vital in our discovery process. You
wondered how we determined that the DNA extracted from the blood
stained shirt belonged to you. That piece of evidence was provided
to us by a private investigator hired by Travis Perkins.