“It’s not that simple,” she said. “There are all kinds of options.”
“Chocolate,” said Eddie.
“No, not chocolate!” Harvey scowled at Eddie. “And no little bride and groom on top.”
Jennifer gulped. “Well, what do you want then?”
“I don’t care.”
“Yes, you do,” she said carefully. “You just said no chocolate, and no little bride and groom.”
He was silent for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. “Okay, so anything but that.”
“Could you go by the baker’s after work with me?” She hated to ask him to get involved in the wedding minutiae when he was so busy, but when their wedding day came she wanted everything to be right. She didn’t want to embarrass him, even a little, in front of all his friends and relatives.
“Okay, and then we’ll go to your place and work on the guest list.”
She smiled in relief. “The bakery is down on Exchange Street. Patricia Lundquist.”
Harvey blinked. “Lundquist?” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Michael and Patricia Lundquist, Exchange Street, Portland. One of them was Blake’s classmate.”
“You’re kidding,” said Eddie.
“What?” Jennifer asked, looking from Harvey to Eddie and back.
“She’s on a list of people we need to question about the homicide we’re working,” Harvey said. “She and her husband were at the deceased’s class reunion yesterday.”
Eddie shrugged. “Coincidence.”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Lundquist a few questions after we sample the cake,” Harvey said. “You take the jewelry to the widow, Ed, then start calling other reunion guests and ask if they talked to the victim yesterday. I’ll try to get a preliminary autopsy report and hold the press conference at three.”
“You’re holding a press conference?” Jennifer felt a little lost. She wasn’t sure yet how much he would share with her about his work once they were married, but the mention of a press conference leaped out at her. She knew he hated dealing with the media.
“Yes, our dead guy is famous, and I have to.”
“Who is it? Or am I allowed to ask?”
Harvey looked at Eddie, and he lifted his shoulders. “It’s going to be public knowledge in a couple of hours anyway,” Eddie said.
“Martin Blake,” Harvey told her, and sipped his coffee.
She stared at him. “Martin Blake? You’re not serious.”
“Yup.”
“Oh, no, not Martin Blake.” She couldn’t understand how he could be so nonchalant about it.
“Yup.”
“You a fan of his?” asked Eddie.
“Yeah, I’ve read several of his books, and he’s a great writer. And he has a huge readership. Everybody loves him. He’s always giving money for something, like the park, or the university, or the hospital. Most people who get rich leave the state and don’t put their money back into Maine like he does.”
“Did,” said Eddie.
Jennifer grimaced.
“So, which of his books have you read?” Harvey took out his notebook and a pen.
Jennifer thought about it. “West of Buckfield, The Irish Sun, Time Adrift, Morristown. That’s my favorite.”
“Morristown?” He was writing quickly.
“Yes, it was his first book. They say it’s his best. I think so. Of course, I haven’t read them all. But it’s about Maine. I know they’re all well researched, but in Morristown, you know he lived there.”
“I wonder if Morristown is Portland incognito,” Harvey said.
“Maybe. It’s a coastal town.” She thought about it. “It’s smaller than the real Portland, but it could be, I suppose. He grew up here.” She swallowed hard. “Am I a witness?”
Harvey laughed. “No, gorgeous, just an informant.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and she glanced around quickly as her face heated.
Eddie grinned at her. Apparently his life was a lot easier when Harvey was happy.
*****
Back at his desk, Harvey called the medical examiner. There were several designated M.E.’s around the state, with the chief one located in Augusta. He reached the office of the Portland one, Dr. McIntyre, who had been out at the scene that morning.
“You’ll have to call Augusta,” his receptionist said.
“The body went there?” Harvey asked.
“Celebrities always do. Dr. McIntyre’s up there with the chief M.E., doing the autopsy.”
Harvey called Augusta, and after a short hold, Dr. McIntyre came on the line. “Can’t tell you much yet, Larson. Sorry.”
“I know, but I have to give a press conference at three.”
“Well, he was stabbed once, and it punctured his right lung. He was still breathing when he hit the water. Cause of death, drowning, but the knife wound could have killed him, unless he’d gotten help immediately.”
“So, he went into the water right after he was stabbed.”
“I’d say so.”
“Time of death?”
“Tentatively, between ten and midnight last night.”
“Someone saw him alive around ten-thirty,” Harvey said.
“Okay, between ten-thirty and midnight, then. That’s all I can give you now. I’ll fax you the official report when we’re finished. We’re expediting this one, but it may be a couple of days. We’re being thorough, as you can imagine.”
“All right. Tox screens?”
“Oh, yes, all of that, but it takes time.”
Harvey thanked him and hung up, then went over his notes and wrote a few sentences on another sheet of paper in preparation for the press conference.
Mrs. Blake had given him the family attorney’s name, and Harvey called and made an appointment for nine o’clock the next morning. Then he called Blake’s agent. Bob Hoffsted had been notified by Mrs. Blake. He would come to the police station office at 11 a.m. the next day. Harvey’s schedule for Tuesday was filling up.
Mike came to his desk. “How you doing, Harvey?”
“Pretty well. The M.E. says Blake was stabbed, but probably drowned.”
“Did you go over that bridge? If you wait, any evidence will be gone.”
“The techs were on it this morning. I looked around early, and I tagged a spot that could have been blood.”
Nate and Tony came in.
“How did it go?” Harvey asked.
Nate said, “Someone else saw Blake through a window, a block over.”
“What time?”
“He says quarter to eleven, but he wasn’t sure. Then we may have lucked out with a woman who lives in Stroudwater. She was driving home last night, and she saw two men standing on the bridge, talking.”
“Did she identify Blake?”
“Not exactly,” Nate replied. “She said at first she had no idea who they were, but after I showed her Blake’s picture, she said it could have been him. The other man had his back to her, and all she could say was that he was shorter than the one whose face she saw and had on dark clothes. Short hair, nothing that stood out in her mind. The taller guy was middle aged, she said. No beard, no glasses. She really didn’t describe him very well, but she said it could be Blake.”
“And what time was this?” Harvey asked.
“She said she got home at 10:55. She’s sure about that. She would have crossed the bridge about two minutes earlier. It’s only a few blocks.”
“All right, good work.”
Tony Winfield had stood quietly, listening to Nate recite the facts.
“Tony’s the one who found her,” Nate said. “I didn’t want to take the inquiry that far, but he said we’d ought to keep on, and that people who lived over there had to cross the bridge. He was right.”
Harvey nodded. “Good work, Winfield. Did you guys get lunch yet?”
“No, sir,” said Tony.
“Okay, go eat, then I need you to get back on it. And make sure the techs got any trash that was on the bridge.”
*****
The press conference was brutal. Eddie came in as the reporters were filling the foyer, and Harvey had him stand close by. Just as he began speaking, Mike came down the stairs and stood by the wall with his arms folded.
Most of the reporters already knew Blake was dead. The police had questioned so many people that day that word had gotten out. Harvey described the discovery of the body and presented Dr. McIntyre’s limited information, stressing that it was preliminary and the final autopsy report might contain different data. Then the questions started.
“Do you know who killed Blake?”
“We’re actively investigating every lead, and we’d like to speak with anyone who saw Mr. Blake after nine o’clock last night,” Harvey said.
“Has the family been notified?”
“Yes. Mrs. Blake is making arrangements, and her children are coming in as soon as possible.”
“When is the funeral?”
“I don’t have that information yet.”
“Are the police protecting the crime scene?”
“We don’t know where the crime took place.” He winced. He shouldn’t have let that slip. He didn’t want to mention the tentative blood smear he’d found, but he explained to them that Blake’s body was found in the estuary and might have entered the water at a different point during the night.
“Have you found the murder weapon?”
“I can’t discuss that.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“I can’t say.”
“How about witnesses?”
“We have a few witnesses, and we’re working on finding more.”
“Anything to indicate the motive?”
“It’s too early for that.”
“Who benefits by Martin Blake’s death?”
Harvey looked over at Mike. He was just leaning against the wall with his arms folded up tight, watching. They locked eyes, and Mike nodded just a little.
“I don’t have that information.”
He decided it was time to shut off the questions.
“Do you expect an arrest soon?”
“As soon as possible,” Harvey said. “And I think—”
“Do the police have anyone in custody?”
“No. That’s it for now. When we have more information to share, we’ll notify you.”
They shouted more questions, but Harvey didn’t answer. Mike turned toward the stairway and punched the keypad by the door. By the time Harvey reached it, he had the door open. Eddie and Harvey went through and Mike followed, closing the security door behind him. They went silently up two flights of stairs. When they got into the Priority Unit office, Harvey sat down at his desk. He rubbed his chin with one hand, then looked up at Mike.
“Not too bad,” Mike said.
“I shouldn’t have said anything about the crime scene.”
“It’s awfully hard not to get rattled. You did okay.” He slapped Harvey on the shoulder and walked away.
Chapter 3
Harvey typed up all his notes from the day and wrote his official report. He was just about to leave it on Mike’s desk when Nate and Tony came back.
“We didn’t learn anything new,” Nate said. “The techs had already picked up a bag of trash off the sidewalk and they said they’d log it in.”
“Good.” Harvey rubbed the back of his neck. “You guys can go home, but report to me after roll call tomorrow, okay? I’ll fix it with Terry.”
He went searching for Mike.
“That bridge looks like a good possibility,” he told the captain. “No sign of activity at the park. Should I ask for divers? We don’t have a weapon.”
“It’s a long shot, but, yeah, you might as well try.”
The divers couldn’t do it that night; by the time the men and equipment got there, the light wouldn’t be good. Tuesday morning was the best he could get.
Time to meet Jennifer for the cake foray. Eddie went down the stairs with him.
“Hey, Harvey,” said Terry Lemieux, the day patrol sergeant. He was heading from the foyer toward the parking garage, keys in his hand.
“Hi, Terry.”
“You did okay with the press conference.”
“Thanks,” Harvey said. “Could have been better.”
“Oh, well, could have been worse. Say, have you seen the new girl in Records?”
Eddie and Harvey looked at each other.
“We’ve seen her,” said Eddie.
“Some looker, hey?”
Harvey said, “She’s my fiancée.”
Terry looked at him. “No! Really?”
“Really.”
“Hey, congratulations! You’re really getting married?” Terry looked at Eddie. “He’s not pulling my leg, is he? I thought Harvey was a confirmed bachelor.”
“He’s getting married, and I’m the best man,” said Eddie. “I have to wear a tux.”
“No kidding. Is everyone invited? When’s the wedding?”
“July seventeenth,” Harvey said. “Sure, everyone’s invited. I’ll stick an invitation on the bulletin board.”
Eddie and Terry went toward the garage, and Harvey started punching the keypad at the basement door, where the stairs went down to Records and Human Resources and all those other windowless underground offices. He got the code wrong, which happened too often, and was starting over when the door opened and Jennifer came out.
She smiled, but wouldn’t let him kiss her in the foyer. “Are you ready for some cake?”
“Guess so.” He took her hand and headed for the garage.
In her car, she handed him a piece of paper.
“What’s this?”
“A list of things we really need to talk about tonight.”
He looked at it. Cake, guest list, apartment, honeymoon, vows, tuxedoes, motels for guests.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re having the tuxes fitted tomorrow after work.”
“Great. Cross that off.”
“Maybe I should wait. Mike and Eddie will go, but I’m not sure Carl will make it. He might have an emergency appendectomy or something.” Carl was Harvey’s doctor, and also his friend. Harvey had recruited him and Mike as groomsmen.
She drove over to Exchange Street and pulled into a parallel parking spot. The street sloped down toward the Old Port and the harbor. The stores were old brick buildings, each with its own style of window arches. The varied brickwork patterns satisfied something in Harvey. Jennifer led him down the sidewalk to a bakery with doughnuts and a flag-striped cake in the window. A bell rang as he opened the door. Inside, the air smelled sweet and yeasty. Patricia Lundquist was putting things away for the night, getting ready to close shop.
“Jennifer?” she said brightly.
“Yes, and this is my fiancé, Harvey Larson.”
Patricia eyed the badge on his jacket. “Portland P.D.”
“That’s right,” Harvey said.
She smiled. “When the groom comes in, I know he wants to taste the cake.”
“I don’t care, really. Whatever Jennifer wants, as long as it doesn’t taste like cardboard.”
Jennifer looked a little embarrassed. “I need some help deciding on the decorations,” she said. “One of us has an antipathy to little bride and groom cake toppers.”
Patricia laughed and took them through a door at the back of the shop, through a professional kitchen with huge ovens, broad butcher block islands, and lots of stainless steel, into a smaller office. They all sat down, and she brought out a three-ring binder and opened it to display pictures of wedding cakes.
“I’ve got photos of about two dozen styles of cakes I’ve done. Take a look at the pictures and see if there’s something that appeals to you. If not, give me your ideas and I’ll tell you if I can d
o it.”
Jennifer flipped the plastic pages slowly, studying creations with frosting flowers and columns and plastic doves and teddy bear brides and grooms.
“This one,” she said at last. “What do you think?” She held it out to Harvey.
It was a simple cake, compared to some, four square layers, with fancy frosting that looked like braid on the edges, and flowers that looked real on the top and at the corners of each layer.
“Looks fine,” he said.
“All white frosting, and flowers to match my bouquet,” said Jennifer.
“What will be in your bouquet?” Patricia asked, writing on a tablet.
“I don’t know yet.” Jennifer looked at Harvey. He shrugged.
“Just let me know as soon as you can. And how many people will you be serving?”
Jennifer looked at him. He shrugged again.
She smiled apologetically. “I’m not exactly sure. We were going to finalize the guest list tonight. Could I call you tomorrow with an estimate?”
The two women discussed the decorations, the date, time and location, and two dollars a slice. Pretty expensive cake. At last, Patricia went into the kitchen and came back with two plates, each of which held three small slices of wedding cake, white, yellow, and chocolate.
“Dessert first tonight.” Harvey picked up his plastic fork and tried the white cake. It tasted much better than cardboard. The chocolate wasn’t bad, either.
Jennifer was saying, “Harvey prefers that we don’t have chocolate.”
“Well, this chocolate is pretty good,” he said. Jennifer stared at him in shock. He couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry. Get whatever you want.”
She nodded, smiling. “Maybe we can have one chocolate layer and the rest white.”
“Of course,” said Patricia. She wrote it down. “So, it’s all set. Just call me by Friday with the number of guests and the final choice for flowers to match your bouquet.”
“Pink roses,” Harvey said.
Jennifer turned and stared at him.
“Pink and white for your bouquet, pink for the cake,” he said. “Unless…you’d rather have something else?”
“No, I’d love that.” A smile spread across Jennifer’s face, and he knew he’d said the right thing for a change.
Fort Point (Maine Justice Book 2) Page 3