Fort Point (Maine Justice Book 2)

by Davis, Susan Page

  “More pictures arriving this afternoon,” Eddie said.

  “Did you order anything?” Jennifer asked.

  Harvey shrugged. Jennifer sighed and pulled her wallet out of her purse. She handed Eddie a five-dollar bill. “Eddie, would you please get the captain a turkey sandwich and a carton of milk?”

  “Hey, none of that!” Harvey snatched the bill. “Eddie’s not my slave.” He held it out to Tony. “Winfield, get the captain a turkey sandwich and a carton of milk.” They all laughed hysterically.

  Harvey tucked the money back in Jennifer’s purse before Tony could take it, got up, and went inside and ordered a sandwich and milk, just to please Jennifer. Then he went out and sat with his arm around her, watching little glints of sunlight bounce off her hair.

  The waitress brought his food out, and Cheryl finished and left.

  “I’ve been thinking about the motives,” said Tony, his fork suspended over a piece of chocolate cream pie. He looked at Harvey self-consciously. “If you want to talk shop over lunch, sir.”

  “Sure.” Jennifer had finished her salad, and she sat back, leaning into Harvey’s arm. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Well, why was Fairley killed?” asked Tony.

  Her ears were perfect. No earrings. She’d told him her father had laid down the law to the three Wainthrop girls: no extra holes in their heads while he was supporting them. By the time she was out on her own, she hadn’t wanted any.

  Eddie kicked him.

  “Oh, what? Fairley?” Harvey threw Tony a glance. “Accident, I guess. I mean, they killed him, but they didn’t mean to do it, so it was manslaughter.”

  “All right, why was Whitney killed? His friend thinks it wasn’t suicide, so why was he killed?”

  Now Tony had his attention. “Because Whitney was going to tell on the others.”

  “Right. So why was Frederick killed?”

  Harvey shook his head. “Because he drove the car?”

  “No, no, no,” said Eddie.

  “No?” Harvey asked.

  “They’d have done it long before if that were the reason,” said Tony.

  “Because he was going to tell, too,” said Jennifer.

  Tony pointed at her. “Yes. It has to be. They killed Philip so he couldn’t tell on them. Then, twenty-one years later, they killed Luke Frederick so he couldn’t.”

  Harvey looked at the sandwich he hadn’t touched. “Then we’d better take very good care of Matt Beaulieu and Joel Dixon.”

  “There’s one more question,” said Eddie. “Why was Martin Blake killed?”

  “Because he knew something,” Jennifer said.

  “But what?” Tony asked.

  Even Jennifer had no answer.

  *****

  “That woman in Epsom,” Arnie said to Harvey late in the afternoon. “I finally got hold of her. Cathy Wagner.”

  “Nadeau’s ex-wife.”

  “Yeah. There’s something funny there.”

  “How?”

  “She sounded really down. Wanted to know if she had to come up here.”

  “It’s not that far, an hour or so.” Harvey drove through Epsom every time he went to see his sisters. “Is she coming?”

  “I didn’t say she had to. But she was quite fatalistic. Said she knew it would all come out eventually.”

  “What would come out?”

  “The burglary stuff, I guess,” Arnie said.

  “Did you tell her not to call Nadeau?”

  “Yes. Told her not to talk to anyone about it.”

  “So, what did she give you?”

  “Not much. She wanted to know if she had to answer my questions.”

  Harvey rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s tricky, with her being in New Hampshire. Why don’t you ask Pete about the legal fine points.”

  Arnie came back a few minutes later. “Pete says we can go down there and talk to her. We can’t make her come up here unless we’ve got a formal charge. If she wants to come talk to us, that’s another story.”

  “I guess I’ll call her,” Harvey said.

  Arnie gave him the number, but no one answered his call.

  *****

  “What kind of jewelry would you suggest?” he asked Eddie on the way home. “I want to get Jenny something special.”

  “Gold.”

  “Gold what?”

  “Anything gold.”

  “Not sterling silver?”

  Eddie’s eyebrows morphed. “Her engagement ring is gold, doofus.”

  “Watch it, I’m your boss now.”

  “You’d pull rank on me?”

  Harvey smiled a little. “No, you’ll always be my equal now, Eddie. You’re my brother in Christ.”

  “That’s nice. Get her a locket.”

  “A locket? Isn’t that old-fashioned?”

  “Jennifer’s old-fashioned. You’ve said so yourself. Put your picture in it, or a piece of your hair.”

  “Think so?”

  “Stop here.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes, doofus.”

  Harvey stopped.

  “Park the vehicle,” Eddie said with exaggerated patience.

  Harvey nosed the Explorer down the street to an empty parking spot. Eddie got out, so he got out. They walked back up the sidewalk the way they had come, and Eddie stopped in front of a shop window.

  “Antique jewelry.” He nodded at the display.

  Harvey clapped him on the shoulder and went inside. He walked out ten minutes later with a frilly, gold Victorian locket.

  “You sure she’ll like it?”

  “Guaranteed,” Eddie said. “Now take me to the Bible store.”

  “I think they closed already.”

  “You’re probably right. I want to get a Bible like yours.”

  “Tomorrow,” Harvey said.

  Chapter 18

  Wednesday, July 7

  The next morning Harvey called Cathy Nadeau Wagner. She answered, sounding wary.

  “Mrs. Wagner, it’s very important that you talk to us about what happened back then,” he told her.

  “I’ve been talking to my husband,” she said.

  “And?”

  “He didn’t know any of it.”

  “So, will you talk to us?”

  “I can’t—you don’t—”

  “Mrs. Wagner, you knew Martin Blake was killed?”

  “Yes, I heard it when it happened. What has that got to do with me?”

  “It was the latest of four murders.”

  “Four?”

  “Yes. You knew about Mr. Fairley, the night of the burglary thirty-five years ago.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Then Philip Whitney.”

  “It was suicide!”

  Too quick, too loud, he thought.

  “Did you hear that Luke Frederick died early on the same day Martin Blake was killed?”

  “No, not Luke, too.”

  “Mrs. Wagner, do you see a pattern here? You need to talk to me. Did Tom ever talk to you about the burglary?”

  Long pause. Then she swore. “I think—”

  Harvey waited.

  “Should I get a lawyer?” she asked.

  Harvey’s pulse rocketed. “If you want one. Could you come up to Portland?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No. We can come to you in Epsom. I’ll need to make some arrangements.”

  She swore again.

  “Mrs. Wagner, you won’t go anywhere?”

  “No, no, you might as well come.”

  “Tomorrow,” Harvey said. “We’ll be there as early as we can.”

  “I knew it.”

  “You knew what?”

  “That this would happen.” She hung up.

  *****

  Harvey wanted to be the one to go to Epsom to interview Cathy Wagner, but he also wanted to be at the airport when Matt Beaulieu got off the plane.

  “You can’t do both,” Eddie said.

  “If I leave
for Epsom first thing in the morning—”

  “Send Pete and Arnie.”

  Harvey sighed. “You’re right. We need to be here.”

  He briefed Pete and Arnie. “You might have to work hard to find out what she knows,” he cautioned them. “She was Nadeau’s girlfriend when the robbery happened, and they got married a few years later. She divorced him ten or fifteen years ago. That may be irrelevant to our case. Start at the beginning, with the cold case. Go wherever it takes you from there.”

  Arnie leaned back in his chair. “I was going to pick up Alison Murphy’s reunion pictures in the morning. She had prints made. You’ll have to send someone.”

  Harvey sighed. “We need some good pictures. I thought it would be easy.”

  The afternoon was filled with tedious detail. When Harvey got to the church that night in time for the Wednesday Bible study, he tried to put it all aside. After the service, Beth managed to pull him out of Jennifer’s earshot and whisper, “Bridal shower for Jennifer, here, Friday night.”

  “That’s our counseling night.”

  “Pastor will cut it short. Just have her here as usual. Mum’s the word.”

  “Okay.” This cloak and dagger stuff was so silly, he thought. They should just tell her.

  “What do you need for the house?” Beth asked.

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Who else would I ask?”

  He shrugged. “Trash bags? Light bulbs?”

  “Not disposable stuff. Gifts.”

  “Towels, maybe? Sheets? That kind of stuff?” Jennifer was approaching. “You’re her roommate,” he said quickly. “You’ve lived with her. I haven’t.”

  Beth launched into a story about her niece, Clarissa, just in time.

  *****

  Thursday, July 8

  When Harvey’s alarm went off, he smelled coffee. He’d heard Jeff come in after midnight and had gotten up long enough to say hi. He pulled his clothes on and staggered to the kitchen.

  “I hope being married is like this,” he said sleepily, pouring himself a mugful.

  “Like what?” Jeff was clearly amused.

  “Waking up to hot coffee.” Harvey had nuked it by the cup for years.

  “I’ll put a bug in Jennifer’s ear that you’re not a morning person.”

  Arnie and Pete left for Epsom at eight that morning. Harvey called Matthew Beaulieu at six a.m. Pacific time, three hours earlier than Maine time, to make sure he was headed for the airport. The commander assured him that he and his wife were on schedule.

  Tony came in with Alison Murphy’s pictures. They were better than any they had so far of David Murphy. There was one of Tom Nadeau back-to. Harvey thought it might work for Joel.

  “Let’s go with it,” he said. “Call the Dixons and see if they can bring Joel in here again. It may be hard for them to schedule it, but if they can come today, it would be good.”

  His desk phone rang.

  “Mrs. Blake is on the line,” Paula said. Harvey groaned inwardly. He and Eddie were too busy to do any hand-holding that day.

  “I was just talking to Alison Murphy,” Thelma said when he picked up the phone. “She says you’ve been asking for photographs of the reunion.”

  Harvey was alert then. “That’s right. Did you take pictures that day?”

  “Me? No.”

  “Oh.”

  “But Martin did.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, he was a good photographer. It was a hobby of his. He had an old Pentax camera, not a digital, the one he used since he became a reporter, with real film and all.”

  “Did you have his film developed?” Harvey asked.

  “Not yet. It’s still in the camera. I don’t know how to take it out. It’s one of those old ones you have to rewind. I put his camera bag away in a closet after the funeral and forgot about it until Alison told me you wanted pictures.”

  “I’ll be right there, Mrs. Blake. Don’t touch the camera. Please let me remove the film.”

  It was an old camera, all right, probably forty years old. It was all metal, no plastic, a nice 35-millimeter, and a telephoto lens was in the bag with it.

  “Did Martin have the close-up lens on the camera that day?” Harvey asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Mrs. Blake chattered on, and he depressed the button on the bottom of the camera and wound the film back into the canister, then pulled the winding lever up, and the back of the camera swung open. He pocketed the film, thanked her profusely, and made a hasty farewell.

  Not many places in town still developed film, but one of the men in the P.D. lab could do it. Harvey took it to him and paced the Priority Unit’s office while he awaited the results. He made himself not check his watch.

  Lord, give us a break, he prayed silently.

  Finally, the technician came up in the elevator with an envelope of prints.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem, Captain. And congratulations.”

  Harvey smiled. “Thanks.”

  The other men left their desks and crowded around him. He prayed again as he opened the envelope. Patricia and Michael Lundquist in the earthworks. He handed it to Eddie to pass around. Carol Harper Hastings and Alison Murphy near the lighthouse. Luke Frederick and David Murphy standing on a large, rounded rock by the ocean. Harvey stopped breathing for several seconds.

  Martin had used the telephoto. He must have stood in the exact spot Jennifer had stood in. Luke was turned three-quarters away from the camera, and David was in profile. His facial muscles were strained. The breeze lifted their hair. Luke wore the short-sleeved white polo shirt he’d been found dead in, and David had on a cranberry wool shirt over a lighter cotton sports shirt.

  Eddie peered over his shoulder. “Now, that’s something like!”

  Harvey handed off the picture and looked at the next one. Tom Nadeau and David were standing on the rock. David looked angry. Tom’s back was to the camera. The next one showed the two of them on the ground, walking away from the rock, toward the right of the picture. The angle was a little different. Maybe Martin had been partway down the path for that one.

  The rest were of the picnic, with one at the end of an elderly couple he didn’t recognize, in front of a yellow ranch house. Martin’s cousin in Searsport and his wife?

  Harvey checked the strips of negatives, to make sure of the order of the three photos of the men on the shore. They were in the order Blake had taken them; Frederick and Murphy first, then Murphy and Nadeau. He looked at the middle one again, with David’s face livid. Harvey tried to imagine what he was saying to Nadeau. Luke Frederick was nowhere in sight.

  “Martin Blake’s last masterpiece,” he said.

  Eddie, Pete, and Tony passed around the prints.

  “M confronts TN—TN is defiant,” Harvey said softly. “That wasn’t notes for the book. He was writing captions for the pictures. Too bad Martin went to help Thelma with the tablecloth.”

  “He almost caught the murder on film,” Eddie breathed.

  “Yes, but which one of them did it?”

  The elevator opened, and Jennifer got out as Harvey’s desk phone rang.

  “Hey, gorgeous. Can you get that, Winfield?” Harvey looked at his watch, and Tony walked over to answer the phone.

  Harvey took Jennifer’s hand. “Eddie and I need to get over to the airport.”

  “The plane doesn’t land until two-ten,” said Eddie.

  “We ought to be there early. Sometimes they come in early.”

  “You haven’t eaten anything,” Jennifer said.

  He hadn’t seen her that morning, either. “Sorry. Oh, Jeff came in at midnight.”

  “How is he?” she asked.

  “He’s good. Left for work when I did.”

  Tony came to stand beside him. “That was Arnie. He and Pete are bringing the Wagner woman up here.”

  “I thought she didn’t want to come,” Harvey said.

  “Arnie says she’s got testimony w
e need on this thing, and they talked her into coming up here with them. They had to wait for her to square it with her husband and pack a bag. They should be here when you get back with Beaulieu.”

  “All right, let’s get going, Eddie.”

  “You didn’t eat,” said Jennifer.

  “I’ll get something at the airport.” He gave her a hasty kiss and followed Eddie down the stairs.

  On the way there, they drove over the bridge where Martin Blake was killed. A blue heron stood among the tall weeds in the peaceful cove where the body had been discovered. Eddie turned into the airport entrance and parked in the garage, and they walked over to the terminal.

  Harvey checked the information desk to make sure the plane was expected on time. The attendant told him the last leg of Beaulieu’s trip would bring him up from Newark, and the plane was just leaving the ground in New Jersey. Beaulieu would come in on the lower level.

  Harvey and Eddie ambled past car rental booths and snack shops to the escalator. Kiosks with displays for Maine shoes and Swiss watches were sprinkled around both levels. They had the better part of an hour to kill.

  “You hungry?” Harvey asked. “I promised Jenny.”

  They found a small restaurant that served burgers and sandwiches. After a light lunch they went back to a row of chairs near Beaulieu’s gate.

  Airport workers moved past them, and other people drifted to the chairs. Harvey’s mind bounced between the case and the wedding.

  Eddie stared out toward a DeHavilland Twin Otter. “Lying is a sin.”

  Harvey frowned, trying to connect that statement with the airplane. “Yeah.”

  “Even if it’s for a reason?”

  Harvey looked at him. “Like an undercover case?”

  “Well, yeah. Like that.”

  “Still a lie,” Harvey said.

  Eddie was silent.

  Beaulieu’s plane should be halfway from Newark to Portland. Harvey said, “I’m going to go check on him.” He walked down to the desk for the airline and got in line behind two passengers.

  When he got up to the counter, a slender young woman in the airline’s navy-trimmed gray blouse smiled at him. “How may I help you, sir?”

  He held his badge up. “I’m Captain Larson, with the Portland P.D. I’m here to meet a passenger on your flight 1350 from Newark. Can you tell me for sure if he’s on board?”