by Leslie Meier
Matt shook his head. “No, but I’m pretty sure he knew where she was getting them, and he certainly wasn’t trying to get her to stop. There’s a term for what he was doing; he was an enabler, right?”
Lucy didn’t like the idea but had to admit the possibility that Ty had enabled Heather’s drug use. Husbands and wives often had shared secrets that they kept to protect each other. Ty had admitted knowing that Heather used marijuana and occasionally cocaine, but had denied knowing that she was into heavier drugs. Now Lucy was rethinking the truth of that claim, which seemed increasingly unlikely. She pressed on, pleading with them: “C’mon, you must have some suspicions, some idea who she was getting them from?”
“I don’t know for sure,” began Luisa, letting out a big sigh, as if she was finally getting a weight off her chest, “but I got the feeling it wasn’t some random dealer, some stranger. I think it was somebody she knew, somebody she trusted.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Just because of Heather’s personality. She really wasn’t very adventurous. She had a small circle of friends; she wasn’t spontaneous. She wasn’t comfortable leaving home; she refused to use public transportation or stay in motels. She didn’t even like the hospital; she wasn’t convinced it was really clean.” She paused. “It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think she would have taken any drugs unless whoever gave them to her looked her in the eye and told her they were perfectly safe.”
“So you think she got the drugs from someone in that small circle of friends?” asked Lucy, turning to Matt.
He picked up a salt shaker and ran his fingers down the smooth ceramic cylinder. “Look, I don’t know for sure. My drug of choice is a nice, cold IPA, but it’s no secret that illegal drug use is practically an epidemic around here. People die of overdoses all the time; just check the obits. And like the social workers say, it involves people in every class, including college-educated professionals with high incomes. So do I think somebody I know is dealing? I think it’s more than likely, but I don’t know who.”
“Not even a suspicion?” prompted Lucy.
Luisa turned to her brother and shrugged. “I’ve got enough to think about. I just don’t let my mind go there. I try to take people at face value. What you see is what you get.” She picked up the vase and adjusted the flowers. “Now that’s better, isn’t it?” she asked, stepping back and cocking her head to one side.
“Thanks for the chat,” said Lucy, who knew when it was time to quit. “See you at the debate.”
Luisa smiled mischievously. “May the best woman win.”
* * *
Leaving the restaurant, Lucy was struck with the fact that in Tinker’s Cove, as in many coastal Maine towns, the town fathers had seen fit to locate the parking lot in a piece of prime, waterfront real estate. A strip of grass with a few benches was a recent addition, and she paused to snap a photo of an old gentleman who was enjoying the fine day and watching a flock of geese heading south. After getting his permission to use the photo and jotting down his name, she continued on her way back to the office, trying to decide if Matt and Luisa had been telling her the truth. Now that she thought about it, it seemed that Luisa had rather smoothly managed to change the subject when she joined the conversation. They had given her one bit of interesting information, however, and that was their belief that Heather had gotten the fatal drugs from someone she trusted, someone in her close circle of friends.
Driving the short distance to the Courier office, Lucy’s thoughts turned to Brendan Coyle, another member of the group, who ran the local food pantry. He provided healthy food for an ever-increasing number of families who struggled to make ends meet by juggling several part-time jobs in the new “lean” economy. She’d interviewed Brendan often, learning that the great majority of pantry clients were working at low-paying jobs that didn’t offer guaranteed hours, which meant that shifts were only allocated as needed. A cashier or stock clerk who was expected to work overtime in the busy tourist season would only get fifteen or twenty hours a week, at minimum wage, come winter.
She’d always enjoyed talking to Brendan, who was passionate about his work and seemed to her to have a generous, kind spirit. He was a big man, with a full beard and a huge smile, who laughed a lot. Now, as she drove along, she wondered if she’d missed something.
Was the pantry a convenient cover for the distribution of illegal drugs? Was Brendan himself a user?
Pulling up at a stop sign, she decided she was being ridiculous. Brendan was a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy; it was absurd to think otherwise. Perhaps she ought to take Luisa’s advice and start accepting people at face value, instead of suspecting them of all sorts of devious behavior.
Turning on to Main Street, and parking in front of the police station, she found herself wondering about Kevin Kenneally. He was a member of the group, and he’d portrayed the artist Millais in Heather’s tableau. She knew he must have been present at the haunted house, but now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember seeing him at the party afterward. That didn’t mean he wasn’t there; the party had been crowded and spread throughout several rooms. Or he might have left early, moving on after doing his duty in the tableau. He’d certainly had the opportunity to give Heather the fentanyl, but motive and means? He was an assistant district attorney, clearly a man with an eye on the future. He was active in community organizations like the Hibernian Knights and other clubs; he was always available for a quote or interview, and was clearly laying the foundation for either a run for public office or a successful private practice. More importantly, she thought, he had the trust of DA Phil Aucoin, who often said he had complete confidence in Kevin. That was something Aucoin didn’t give easily; he certainly didn’t take people at face value. He thought the worst of everyone, and Lucy admitted ruefully that everyone included her!
Gathering up her bag and getting out of the car, she stopped at the police department to pick up the weekly log. The log was a popular feature of the weekly paper, and whenever Ted tried to discontinue printing it, considering it a waste of space, he got complaints from readers. They apparently enjoyed reading the carefully worded notations that suspicious activity was reported on Parallel Street or that a traffic violation had occurred on Route 1. Details such as the name of the offender or the exact description of suspicious activity were never included, offering readers plenty of opportunity to speculate about who among their neighbors was involved.
The log was always waiting for her at the dispatcher’s desk, and it was there in the lobby that she bumped into Kevin Kenneally, who was on his way out. He greeted her warmly and seemed in no rush to leave, so Lucy took advantage of the situation to ask him about the steps his department was taking to stop drug trafficking in the county.
“Well, you know DA Aucoin created the Drug Task Force to tackle that very problem, and they’ve had terrific success seizing more than a ton of illegal drugs and hundreds of thousands of dollars,” he said.
Lucy knew all about the task force, which in her opinion worked at an exceedingly slow pace. Investigations were inevitably drawn out and took years, which was difficult to understand since she herself had witnessed drug deals in broad daylight, often in public parking areas. That was her next question.
“Well, the task force has to operate very carefully and must abide by strict legal guidelines or their cases get thrown out of court,” said Kenneally. “Any sort of undercover activity or phone tapping, anything like that must be closely and carefully supervised. And, of course, it takes time to build the trust of suspected offenders.”
“But I’ve seen drug deals take place in the parking lot at Blueberry Pond,” protested Lucy, mentioning a popular swimming spot.
“Those folks are low-level bottom feeders,” said Kenneally. “The task force is after much bigger fish.”
“I understand that, but isn’t there a community policing theory about broken windows, that if police stop petty crimes, it changes the environment in which more
serious crimes can take place?”
“I think that’s been discredited,” said Kenneally, giving her a rather patronizing smile. “That sort of thing involves racial profiling, stop and frisk, and we certainly don’t want to perpetuate that sort of discrimination. Besides, here in Tinker’s Cove, I don’t think you’ll find many broken windows.”
“We have some pretty run-down areas,” said Lucy.
“Well, poverty is always with us, but just because a family doesn’t have much money doesn’t mean it’s involved in criminal activity.”
Lucy could think of several exceptions to this rule that everybody in town knew about, but decided not to press the issue.
Kenneally had taken a step toward the door and seemed ready to end the interview. “I guess I’ll see you at the debate,” he said. “Should be interesting.”
“I’ll be there,” said Lucy, giving him a little wave. “Thanks for the interview.”
“Always happy to chat with you, Lucy.” He pushed the door open, holding it for Lucy, and the two walked down the steps together. He strode down the sidewalk to his car, and Lucy paused at the curb, preparing to cross the street to the newspaper office on the other side. She was waiting for a pickup truck to pass when she heard a female voice calling her name. Turning around, she saw Officer Sally Kirwan waving at her from the station steps. She waved back and waited for Sally, who was in a hurry to talk to her.
“What’s up?” she asked, as Sally met her.
“Let’s move along a bit,” said Sally, casting an eye at the police station. “This is a bit sensitive.”
Lucy knew that Sally handled a lot of confidential matters, especially domestic disputes and crimes against women. She expected to hear about something along those lines as she accompanied Sally for a little stroll down the street. Reaching the alley between the hardware store and the fudge shop, she stepped inside and Lucy followed, eager to hear whatever tip Sally was so eager to share.
“This is on the QT, and you can’t say it came from me, but I really think people ought to know what’s going on,” began Sally.
“No problem,” said Lucy. “I’m always grateful for background information.”
“It’s about the evidence room in the station. It seems that some illegal drugs that were seized and stored there have gone missing.” Sally paused, giving Lucy a meaningful look. “That’s why Kenneally was at the station today. He met with the chief to discuss the problem.”
“If these drugs are missing, they must have been taken by somebody in the department,” said Lucy. “They’re the only ones with access, right?”
Sally gave a knowing nod. “That’s right.”
“But won’t they be missed? I imagine they’re evidence needed for a trial, right?”
“A lot of defendants end up plea bargaining. The court’s backed up, and instead of waiting months for a trial, they want to get on with their lives, so they plead to a lesser charge and take a couple of months in the county jail, sometimes just probation.”
“What happens to the evidence then?”
“It sits there, piling up, and when they run out of space, they destroy it.”
“How much is missing?” asked Lucy.
“Heroin, hundreds of tabs of oxy, some fentanyl, a lot of pot.”
“Any suspects?”
Sally pressed her lips together, thinking. Finally, she spoke. “A couple of officers have had issues with drugs in the past—went to rehab and recovered—and I imagine they’ll start with them.” She paused. “I’m not going to name names; I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course not,” said Lucy, who would have given anything to get those names. “You’ve been a great help. Thanks.”
Sally looked a bit uneasy, already regretting what she’d done. “Don’t tell anybody where you got this, right?”
Lucy took her hand. “Don’t worry. I never reveal my sources.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m not exactly sure how to use this. I’ll have to talk it over with Ted.”
“Do whatever you think is best,” said Sally, straightening her heavy utility belt. “Just keep me out of it.”
“Right,” said Lucy, watching as Sally marched down the road in her blue uniform. Not many women could carry it off, thought Lucy, but Sally had a trim little figure and looked rather smart as she marched along.
Chapter Nine
On the night of the debate, the high school auditorium was packed; it was standing-room only. The Hat and Mitten Fund always held a bake sale at these civic events, and Lucy was pleased to see they were doing a brisk business, selling homemade treats and hot coffee. She stopped and bought some shortbread and coffee, which she figured would provide the energy she needed to cover the event and write it up before heading home to bed.
Walking down the aisle to the front of the auditorium, where she had been assured there would be a reserved seat for her, she paused here and there to greet friends and neighbors. Finding the promised seat, she didn’t have long to wait for the debate to begin. Roger Wilcox, a veteran local politician who had chaired the town’s board of selectmen for eons, was moderating the event and was a stickler for promptness. When the hands on the clock over the stage clicked into place at 7:00 p.m., he tapped the microphone, calling for silence.
“Welcome, all,” he began. “It’s great to see so much interest in the upcoming election for state rep. We have three highly qualified candidates: incumbent George Armistead, and two challengers: businesswoman Andi Nardone and attorney Bob Goodman.” Roger was a tall man, well into his sixties, with gray hair and wire-rimmed spectacles, and Lucy knew from experience that he always held the door for a lady. So she wasn’t at all surprised when he gave Andi a gentlemanly bow of the head and invited her to be the first speaker. “Ladies first,” he said, adding a brief introduction summarizing her qualifications for office, which included a college education, community involvement, and a successful business career.
Andi didn’t seem pleased with his choice of words, however. “I don’t know that I’d call myself a lady. Ladies stay home and drink tea like this,” she said, miming taking a sip from a tea cup with her pinky raised.
The audience laughed, enjoying her little joke at Roger’s expense.
“I don’t spend my days drinking tea,” she continued, “I bet you’ve seen my Green Thumb Landscaping trucks around town. I started that business from scratch, and I now employ dozens of workers and have hundreds of satisfied customers.
“But why am I running to be your state rep, you may wonder, when I have so many other responsibilities?” She paused and looked at the audience. “Well, it’s because my experience starting a business opened my eyes to the many hurdles women face in our society. When I applied for my first small-business loan, I had to ask my father to co-sign for me. The bank wasn’t willing to grant me a loan based on my business plan; I had to be sponsored by a man.
“Nowadays, they’re practically begging me to borrow money,” she continued, with a naughty smile that got a laugh from the audience. “So I have to admit that women are making progress, but it’s slow. We’re a long way from being treated equally with men, and that’s especially true when it comes to state government. Women are fifty-one percent of the population, they say, but we do not have fifty-one percent representation in the legislature.
“In closing, I don’t want you to think I am a one-issue candidate. It’s true that I’m a feminist and will work to establish equal rights for women, but I am a citizen of Tinker’s Cove, and I will work hard for all of you, for this very special, unique community. So I humbly ask for your votes come Election Day. Thank you.”
Andi got a healthy round of applause, and not just from the women. A lot of men, she noticed, were nodding along in agreement and clapping. Lucy was relieved that Andi hadn’t attacked Bob directly, but that sense of relief faded when Andi took the first question, which Lucy suspected had been planned all along.
The questioner was Lori Johnson, a mom who coached youth soccer and
was a strong advocate of equal funding for girls’ athletics. “You’ve spoken about your strong feminist convictions, but can’t men also be feminists? Do you think you will do more for women than the other candidates?”
“I’m so glad you asked that question, Lori,” said Andi, moving into an obviously carefully prepared answer. “I have to say I have seen no evidence at all that George Armistead supports women’s rights; in fact, he has consistently voted to reduce funding for women’s health programs. He has also voted against legislation designed to extend the time period in which victims of sexual abuse of both sexes can take legal action against their abusers.”
Lucy glanced at George, who she suspected wasn’t the least bit bothered by these accusations but instead regarded Andi as little more than an annoying upstart.
Moving right along, Andi turned her attack on her primary target, Bob. “As for Attorney Bob Goodman, I was very surprised when he chose to defend a man charged with murdering his wife. Bob claims to support women’s rights, he calls himself a feminist, but when push comes to shove, I fear he’s just as much a member of the old boys club as George Armistead.”
This caused quite a buzz in the audience, and Bob raised his hand, demanding an opportunity to rebut Andi’s charges. Roger Wilcox demurred, saying he would have a chance to explain his views shortly, and allowed Andi to take a few more questions.
When Bob took the podium, he abandoned his prepared speech and instead defended his decision to represent Ty Moon, reminding the audience that the DA had dropped all charges against him. He argued forcefully for the right of the accused to a strong legal defense, regardless of sex, religion, or race. “Everyone is presumed innocent until proven otherwise,” he declared, “and I am innocent of these aspersions on my character. If you vote for me, you will find I will do everything in my power to represent the interests of all citizens in this district, whether boy or girl, man or woman, cat or dog!”