“Phil Whitney wrote a confession implicating himself only. It didn’t say he was going to end it all, or anything like that. Then he died. Was it a suicide note? Or did the guys threatening him make sure he could never wrestle with his conscience again?”
Harvey thought about that. It was time for Matt Beaulieu to stop thinking of them as messed up kids. “Sir, will you please tell me who those men are?”
“I’d like to come home and see my sister, and Phil’s family. If I’m going to blow this wide open, I owe them something.”
“You’ll come to Maine?”
“Yes. This weekend if I can. I’ll have to look into it and discuss it with my wife.”
“Time is important,” Harvey said.
“Give me your number. I’ll get back to you.”
Harvey gave him his work number and his cell phone number and asked him to call as soon as possible, day or night. “Sir, you won’t disappear on me?”
“No. I won’t do that. It’s time this thing was cleared up.”
Beaulieu broke the connection and Harvey hung up, frustrated.
Arnie came to his desk. “Harv, I got Mike Jr., but he was very vague. He thinks Mike and Sharon’s jumping-off point was Eagle Lake.”
“Talk about remote.”
“Yeah. What do you suggest?”
“Call Fisheries and Wildlife.” Arnie went back to his desk.
Harvey popped the tape out of the recorder and took it to Eddie’s desk.
“You got Beaulieu,” Eddie said, his eyes on his monitor, and his fingers moving on the keyboard.
“Yes. He knows who was in on the burglary, but he won’t tell me.”
Eddie whistled. “Was Beaulieu there?”
“He says not. His buddy Phil Whitney told him about it.”
“Even if he told you, it’s hearsay.” Eddie closed his computer file and turned to face him.
Harvey said, “Dying confession.”
“You think that will fly?”
“He told him the night before the suicide. It’s all we’ve got so far.”
Eddie cocked his head to one side, considering. “Well, it’s the only thing we have that remotely resembles a motive for Martin Blake’s murder.”
“I recorded the whole conversation. Listen to it, okay?” Harvey laid the cassette on his mouse pad.
“Sure. I’ll take it in the interview room right now.”
Harvey’s Bible lay to one side on his desk. He picked it up, opening to Romans where they had read Wednesday night at the church Bible study. They’d been in chapter three, and he skimmed down the next chapter. It was all about Abraham, and he didn’t understand it all, but he got the message that it wasn’t what a man did that justified him; it was what he believed.
He stopped on verses 20 and 21. He staggered not at the promise of God through unbelief, but was strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully persuaded that, what he had promised, he was able also to perform.
He closed his eyes and asked God for more faith, and to help him quit staggering. He knew quite a few of the promises by that time. God would never leave him. He would give peace and strength. He would answer prayer. It had taken Eddie to remind Harvey of that. He prayed for Eddie. When he opened his eyes, Arnie was standing beside him.
“You okay, Harvey?”
“Yeah, what have you got?”
“Mike got a fire permit at the ranger station in Eagle Lake on Saturday and put down three possible destinations. The wardens are going to try to locate him. They’ve got a plane in Ashland, and they can put half a dozen men in the field.”
“I don’t know if the state should spend so much money on this,” Harvey said. “It’s not like looking for a lost person who needs help.”
“They said they can get volunteers to help them if he’s not camping where it says on the fire permit.”
“Can you call the mayor and tell her? It’s an isolated area, and it may take a while.”
Arnie nodded. “Sure thing.”
*****
Tony and Nate came in from Stroudwater and told him their witnesses hadn’t been able to add anything helpful.
“Okay,” Harvey said. “Do what you can on the other leads.”
He went down the stairs, all the way to the basement. It was stiflingly hot. Jennifer looked up in surprise when he opened the door to Records. She glanced over at her supervisor, Marge. Marge just shrugged and smiled a little. Jennifer left her computer terminal and came into the hall.
“I’m sorry,” Harvey said, “but we’re having a major meltdown upstairs.”
“The chief?”
“You heard.”
“It’s pretty awful.” Jennifer’s gray eyes had the worried cast. “They’re saying he might not be able to come back.”
“You heard right. The mayor wants to appoint Mike as chief.”
“Not Deputy Chief Neilsen?”
“He’s out of here as of the thirty-first, moving south to his own kingdom.”
“But Mike—”
“Tell me about it.” He sighed and put one hand against the wall, leaning on it. “She’s putting me in charge of the unit, Jenny. She knew about that little plan.”
“Did you tell her you don’t want it?”
“No.”
She put her hand up to his forehead and wiped away a bead of sweat. “Things are changing.”
“Big time. They’re sending game wardens into the Allagash to find Mike and bring him back. He’s gonna love that.”
“Sounds like what happened when McKinley was shot and they had to go climb a mountain to find Teddy Roosevelt.”
He pulled his tie off. “You girls are cooking down here.”
“The computers keep crashing, and the copier won’t make more than three copies without overheating. Marge finally got approval to requisition an air conditioner. We’re supposed to have it by Monday. We’ll see.”
“Pray for me,” he said.
“I am, and I will.”
“I’ve reached a guy in Oregon who may help us a lot on the Blake murder, if he decides he feels like it. He says he’ll come to Maine, but I don’t know. He’s a retired naval officer. I think he’ll do the right thing.”
She nodded. “Good. Lunch today?”
“Maybe.” Food was the furthest thing from his mind.
“You need to eat, Harvey.”
He was thinking about Mike Browning and Matthew Beaulieu and David Murphy.
“I’ll get some sandwiches and bring them up to your cushy, cool office,” Jennifer said.
“Do that.” He pulled out his wallet and gave her a twenty. She was back through the door to Records before he could do anything else. He took the elevator back upstairs, something he never did. The stairs were always faster, but he didn’t need that exertion today. As the elevator made its way slowly upward, he stood dripping with sweat and praying. The door opened at the third floor, and he stepped out into cool air.
Tony was sitting at Mike’s desk with the telephone receiver to his ear. He hit the mute button when he saw Harvey and called, “I’ve got the woman in P-A. Fotter’s girlfriend. She’s giving me a better description of the men on the bridge.”
“Ask her about the cigarette.”
Nate smiled at Harvey as he poured himself coffee. “Terry says we’re yours for the duration of the Blake case.”
“Great. I won’t have to keep asking for you and Tony every day.”
Eddie came from the interview room. “I listened to the tape, Harv. You’re right. We need this guy in the witness box.”
Harvey blew out a measured breath. “I’ll do everything I can to get him to talk.”
Tony came over. “Fotter’s girlfriend says the shorter guy on the bridge was wearing a jacket and had dark hair. He was definitely smoking. The tall man was leaning back with his elbows on the railing.”
“Sounds like maybe they knew each other,” said Nate.
“Blake didn’t smoke,” Eddie put in.
/> Harvey nodded. “Blake was the taller man. He was over six feet, wasn’t he? Let’s have the autopsy report out again.” Eddie went to his computer.
“Did your suspects smoke?” Tony asked.
Harvey leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, picturing Murphy’s office, then Nadeau’s. “There was an ashtray on Nadeau’s desk, and somebody told me Murphy smokes. I don’t remember seeing him do it, but—” Carl’s words came back to him, the day he and Jennifer had eaten at his house. “His doctor’s been after him to quit.”
“Maybe he did quit,” Tony said.
“Arnie,” Harvey called. “Can you charm Alison Murphy again?”
“Maybe. What do you want to know?”
“If her husband still smokes. I’m not sure we should ask her about the burglary. She might tell David we asked, and that would upset him.”
“Well, this has probably already sent him through the roof,” said Pete, tossing the morning’s Press Herald on his desk.
The banner headline screamed at Harvey: Maine Congressman implicated in kickback scandal. The subhead said, Martin Blake’s last exclusive to the Press Herald.
“Oh, boy,” Harvey said. “This will heat things up. Arnie, call Alison, but be discreet.” He frowned at the headline. “David Murphy didn’t know about this until yesterday. His source was a little slow.”
“Someone at the paper?” asked Eddie.
“He admitted to me that somebody there tipped him off. John Russell told me that not even the newsroom staff knew about it beforehand. He was right to be cautious, but even so, several people had to learn about it yesterday, when they laid out the page. Tony, you and Nate picked up some butts on the bridge, didn’t you?”
“Not us, the crime scene techs. Everything they got went into the evidence locker.”
“I’ll get it.” Harvey went down to Evidence and had to hunt for the detective sergeant. He pulled him out of a meeting to get the bag of trash.
“Hear about the chief?” the sergeant asked, opening a locker.
“Yeah,” Harvey said. “It’s too bad.”
“Big mess.”
“Maybe not.”
“You know something I don’t know?” Sergeant Legere asked. “The deputy chief’s leaving. They’ll bring in someone new, and we’ll all have to break him in.”
Harvey shrugged. “That’s life. Thanks.” He took the bag and went back upstairs.
It didn’t look very promising. Five cigarette butts, a wad of chewed gum, a candy wrapper, a Coors can, and a few scraps of paper. He wondered if he could get DNA testing on the butts and the gum. They had already matched Blake’s blood, but he’d need saliva samples from the suspects for a job like this.
He called the lab to ask about the logistics of DNA testing on the cigarettes. The tech told him to call Augusta. The state crime lab was the only place that could do it.
Arnie called, “Okay, Harv, Murphy is trying to quit, but he’s been unsuccessful so far. Smokes Camels. Chews gum only rarely.”
“How’s Alison?”
“Bored and lonely. Hubby’s always at the capitol.”
“Did she hit on you?” asked Pete.
“Would I tell?”
Harvey smiled. “Did she mention the newspaper story?”
“No. Did you want me to ask?”
“No, we’re good.”
They kept on, bit by bit. At noon, Jennifer arrived with sandwiches and cold drinks for two. Harvey sent the rest of the men away for lunch. She set the food out on his desk.
“It’s really hot out,” she said. Tendrils of her hair that had escaped the French braid stuck to her neck.
“They’ve gotta get that A.C. unit for your office.”
“Do you have any pull with the mayor now?”
“No, but when Mike gets back, I may have an in with the chief.”
“They haven’t found him yet?”
“Not as far as I know.” Harvey envisioned the state plane buzzing Eagle Lake, and game wardens in canoes paddling furiously up Wallagrass Stream, stopping to feel cold campfire ashes and question moose and beaver.
Harvey asked a blessing on their lunch, and Jennifer started eating her sandwich. Harvey looked at his and pushed back from the desk.
“Eat, Harvey.”
“Not hungry.”
“Eat anyway. Please.”
He wanted to make her happy, and he’d said sincerely he would do anything for her. He took a bite. When he’d swallowed, he said, “I need to get back to work.”
“Relax for twenty minutes.”
“I can’t.” He stood and went to the file cabinet and pulled out Thomas Nadeau’s file.
“Harvey, please, you’re going to get sick.”
He dropped the file on the desk and sat down, making himself not touch it. He picked up half the sandwich and took another bite. Jennifer was watching him.
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” she asked.
“No.”
“Yes, you do. But I’m not going until I see you eat that sandwich.” He took another bite and a sip of Pepsi. She said, “I should have gotten milk for you.”
“It would have soured by the time you got it in here.” He made himself eat it all and said, “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to annoy you.”
“I know.” She smiled at him, but with a touch of regret. “I hoped I could make you forget all this for a while. I guess that’s not possible without transporting you away from the office.”
“I keep thinking about that gun,” he admitted.
“The one from the old burglary, that the man shot himself with?”
“Yes.”
“Someone else kept it,” she said.
“Yes. But who?”
“Is it important?”
“Philip Whitney’s best friend thinks it wasn’t suicide. If he’s right, that gun is a murder weapon. I checked the computer, but there’s no record of it ever being entered into evidence by the officer who investigated the suicide. They don’t usually for suicides, but Whitney’s brother says the family didn’t claim it, and I can’t find that it was ever sold.”
She put her hand on his cheek. “I’ll go now. You won’t rest until this is over, will you?”
“Probably not. But I’m not forgetting our counseling tonight. I’ll pick you up.”
She ruffled his hair and went away.
He called the Department of Fisheries and Wildlife and got through to the commissioner.
“Any word on Mike Browning yet, sir?” Harvey asked.
“No, but we’ve got a retired warden who’s a good friend of his. They’ve gone fishing together several times. He knows some of Browning’s favorite spots. He’s on his way up there now. Going to check Churchill, and on up toward Umsaskis. Maybe down the Allagash from there. If anyone can find him, Page can. And we’ve got some guides who are looking along the St. John and the Fish River.”
As soon as Harvey hung up, his phone rang. “Please hold for the mayor.”
“Mrs. Weymouth,” he said.
“Yes, Larson, anything on Captain Browning?”
“I just spoke to the Fish and Wildlife commissioner. They’ve got a lot of people working on it. It’s just a matter of time.”
“And the Blake case?”
“We’re getting closer.”
“This is one case we want solved, Larson, even if we have to spend a little money. Martin Blake, for heaven’s sake. Reporters are in my office every day.”
“Here, too, ma’am.”
“Could you give them something today, to take some attention off this police chief thing?”
“To be frank, Mayor, I was glad something was pulling the spotlight off the Blake case.”
Jill Weymouth chuckled.
Harvey said, “We did get the report back from the state lab last night. The blood from the bridge on Route 9 was definitely Martin Blake’s. I’ve told a couple of reporters who have called, but I didn’t want to hold another press conference.”
“That would be ideal, ma’am, but it may take us a little longer to close this out.”
*****
When the men came back from lunch, Harvey brainstormed with them on how they could get information on Thomas Nadeau. “I can’t call his wife like we did with Murphy,” Harvey said.
“Why not?” asked Eddie.
“He’s not married,” Harvey said.
“Correction. He’s divorced. Call the ex-wife.”
“Didn’t know there was one.”
“I’m sure there is.” Eddie stepped toward the file cabinet.
“I’ve got the file.” Harvey held it out to him.
“You could try to charm his secretary,” suggested Pete.
“Arnie’s better at that than I am,” Harvey said, and Arnie shrugged as though he was willing to make the sacrifice.
Eddie paged through the file, frowning. “I can’t seem to locate it, but I’m sure there’s an ex-wife.”
“Maybe Patricia Lundquist would know,” Harvey said. “Let’s take her yearbook back.”
He thought about walking over, but when they went out the door the heat drove them back in, and they went to the garage for his Explorer. The thermometer near the garage door showed 95. The bakery was well cooled, keeping the frosting from melting, but store was empty.
Patricia came from the kitchen in her apron, her face flushed. “Hello, detectives. Business is slow in this weather. People go for ice cream, not cakes, in heat.”
Harvey held out the yearbook. “Thanks for lending me this. Could I ask you one more question?”
“Ask away.” She set the yearbook down behind the counter and started putting cookies in a bag.
“Thomas Nadeau was married?”
“Yes, he married Cathy Perkins.”
“But he’s divorced now?”
“Yes, a long time now. Never remarried.”
“Where does she live?”
“Out of state. Vermont, maybe?”
“She wasn’t a member of your class?” Harvey asked.
“No, she was a year younger.”
“So, she was a junior when this robbery thing happened?”
“Right.” Patricia picked up the yearbook and ruffled through to the small headshots of the junior class. “That’s Cathy.”
Fort Point (Maine Justice Book 2) Page 22