by Carl Schmidt
“He had his enemies, of course. After all, he was the most powerful man in the state; with power comes risk. He’d been slandered dozens of times, but that’s the nature of politics. It seems to get uglier every year, but the violence normally happens with money, not with guns.
“William didn’t even own a gun. He never hunted. He borrowed a shotgun once for a photo shoot, and held a membership with the NRA, but that was entirely for show. He hated guns, and, quite frankly, he detested the NRA’s presence in Maine.
“I remember one night during the first general election. After a grueling three-way debate on television, William sat with me and said, ‘The goddamned Second Amendment has killed more Americans than all of our enemies combined.’ I don’t think he’s right about that, but I understood his frustration. During that debate, John Fickett made an unusually snide comment, even for him. He said, ‘Lavoilette is so soft on crime that if you handed him a .45, he wouldn’t know which end to hold.’
“Fickett is a prick. If you handed him a long-stem rose, he’d shove it up your ass, thorns and all.”
I detected some anger in that remark, and I began to wonder why he was wearing a Hawaiian tie. Richard wore his emotions on his sleeve and seemed oblivious to the delicacies of speaking in the presence of a lady. But my poker face was fully attached to the front of my head. I wanted to get to the bottom of this, even if that meant snorkeling beneath Cynthia’s dignity.
We all came up for air, and Richard continued.
“Men like Fickett perpetuate an atmosphere of violence in America. Really he’s a weasel and a coward. He stirs things up until somebody takes him literally and goes ballistic. He already told the press that William should have been armed on Saturday night. As if that would have made a difference. Cynthia tells me he went to help someone with a flat tire. Was he supposed to walk up to a stranger in need on the road, and point a loaded gun in his face? No, a gun wouldn’t have saved him there. Caution and better judgment, perhaps, but not a gun.”
Then he added, “Fickett can’t find his head with both hands.”
That last remark made me chuckle to myself, but not because I found it funny; I found it out of date. I think it was funny back in the 80’s. That was the decade when my father used the same expression, time and again. My Dad might have been a physics professor at work, but when he was home, he was a regular guy with regular emotions and regular jokes. My generation upgraded that line to, “If Fickett had a brain, he’d take it out and play with it.”
Richard was clearly on the cusp of the two generations, trapped somewhere in between. I would have placed him in the older generation based on that quip alone, were it not for the Hawaiian tie. He’s mixing his metaphors, I thought. I decided to suspend judgment, temporarily, and to consider him an anomaly.
I wanted Richard to talk more about possible suspects and motives. Of course, Fickett might be a suspect, and his attitude resembled a motive, but I was pretty sure that Richard wasn’t suggesting that Fickett was directly responsible. Richard was just blowing off steam. I turned the discussion to something more substantive.
“Do you suspect the murder was political or personal?”
“I don’t know,” Richard replied, quickly and decisively. He probably had the same question put to him by the FBI, and was just repeating himself. But it sounded as though he really had no specific suspect in mind.
“Did Cynthia’s name come up in your interview?” I asked.
“No. They didn’t ask about her, and I didn’t offer her name.”
“You’re going back this afternoon. If her name comes up, what will you say?”
“I guess it depends on how specific their questions are. If I am not asked directly about her whereabouts on Saturday, I won’t say anything, and I won’t lead them to Cynthia by offering suggestions. I fully understand that Cynthia is not entirely safe. She has seen the face of the murderer. She will be a target if word gets out that she is an eyewitness to the crime.”
“But if her name does come up, I’m assuming you will tell them that she was dating the governor. Right?”
“Yes, I’ll have to. If I can avoid it gracefully, I will. But if they have her name already for any reason, my guess is that they will already know that the governor and she were in a relationship. Surely they would want me to substantiate that fact. I’ll have to play it by ear. It’s almost certain that the truth will eventually come out, but since there is very little that Cynthia could do to help them find a suspect, there’s no point in bringing up her name until absolutely necessary.”
“Good,” I said. “It will be important that you get back with us this afternoon after the second half of your interview and let us know whether or not her name was mentioned.”
“I’ll do that,” he said.
I wanted to discuss the women in the governor’s life, but I didn’t want Cynthia around when that happened. Richard might not be totally honest with her sitting there, and he could easily withhold important details to spare her feelings. I knew I would have to talk with him alone. For the moment, it didn’t look as if he was going to generate any definite leads for me. I also didn’t want to wear out my welcome the first day. The FBI had just grilled him, and they were going to resume their culinary work in the afternoon. I decided it would be better to cut our first interview short and let him catch his breath.
“Listen, Richard,” I said. “I really appreciate your coming over this morning. I know you’ve had a rough time of it, and you have to go back for more this afternoon. Let’s get together again soon—tomorrow if possible—and chat then. I don’t really know what your professional position has been. Were you a direct aide to the governor? Will your position change now that the Senate President will become the acting governor?”
“I was an aide to the governor. Right now it’s not clear if I still have a job. As you probably know, the Senate President is not even from the same party. Chances are I’ll be gone in no time flat. That suits me anyway; I don’t have the stomach for any more of this.
“Tomorrow might be all right,” he said. “I’d like to help anyway I can. Really, I’m sorry if I sounded heavy-handed earlier. I’m on edge. Yes, tomorrow should work fine. How about joining me for lunch?”
“Great,” I said, happy about his change in attitude. “Where shall we meet?”
“There’s the Kennebec Barbeque & Grille on Water Street,” he offered.
“Sounds good. What time?”
“Let’s make it one o’clock. Give me your phone number, just in case something comes up.”
Now that Richard seemed a little friendlier, I wanted to talk some more. I gave him my number, and then said, “Before you go, I’d like to ask you a couple more questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“How do you feel about Cynthia’s ex-husband, Travis Perkins? Did he know that William and Cynthia were dating?”
“Yes he did.”
Cynthia gasped, but didn’t say anything. Richard and I both noticed.
“How did he find out, and who else knows about it?”
“I think I know how he found out, but I don’t know who else might know.”
Richard paused a minute and then continued, “About three months ago, William spent the weekend at Cynthia’s place. I helped arrange the rendezvous. On the following Monday morning, I had a meeting with William in his office at the State House. Travis was one of two officers assigned to protecting the governor that day. As I was leaving the governor’s office by the south exit, Travis followed me out the door and said he wanted to talk with me.
“It was cold outside, and there was a lot of snow on the ground, so no one was around. We were alone on the walkway. Out of the blue he said, ‘The governor’s affair with Cynthia is putting his life in danger, and it’s my responsibility to protect him.’
“He was very hot about it, but he tried to make it sound as if he was just doing his job. I asked him how he found out about the affair, and he
replied, ‘It’s my job to know these things, and it’s none of your business how I get the job done.’
“I reminded him that I was not only an aide to the governor, I was also his best friend. I needed to know how he found out, and who else knows.
“All he said was, ‘No one else knows, and as an officer of the Maine State Police, I am not at liberty to discuss my methods with you.’
“And with that he stormed back inside the Governor’s Office Building.
“I called William that evening after work. I wanted to be sure he was alone when I told him about my meeting with Travis. The next day, William called him into his office for a private conversation.
“Apparently Travis had seen the governor alone, driving away from the Blaine House parking lot. This was after hours, and Travis was on his way home. He decided to follow the governor ‘for security reasons.’ When William got to my house, Travis parked nearby. He then followed William on foot around the block and saw him get into Cynthia’s car and drive away. He hurried back to his own car and then sped all the way to Cynthia’s house just in time to see her car disappear into the garage.
“William considered firing Travis, but he decided to follow the advice of the ancient Chinese general, Sun-tzu: ‘Keep your friends close, and keep your enemies closer.’
“William told him never to tell anyone about the affair. If he did, he would be fired. As far as I know, they never discussed it again.”
“Do you have Travis’ phone number and home address?” I asked.
“Sure.”
He pulled out his iPhone, flipped through some screens and read them to me. Along with his home address, he had three phone numbers for Travis, his office number, his home phone and his cell. I wrote them all down.
Then, I did my best Columbo impersonation. I paused, for dramatic effect, and then said, “Richard, there’s just one more thing…
“As you know, I am representing Cynthia in this case. But when I interview people close to the governor, and especially women, it would be helpful if I didn’t have to divulge Cynthia’s name as my client. It might affect their responses. Besides, Cynthia wants to remain anonymous and hidden from view.
“So, I am wondering if it would be all right with you if I say that you hired me to investigate the murder. There’s a very significant advantage to this. Most of the people who are close to the governor know you, and they are aware that you know them. They will be more inclined to speak openly and truthfully if they think I will be reporting back to you. If I happen upon someone involved in the crime, he—or she—will feel exposed if he refuses to talk, and pressured to not be caught in lie.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Jesse. I’m all for it. In fact, I have decided to cover half of your expenses.”
He turned to Cynthia and said, “I’m sure you won’t mind.”
He turned back to me and said, “I was considering this before we met, but quite honestly, I wanted to size you up first. You seem to handle yourself well, and you have one big advantage over the FBI. Cynthia is your eyewitness. Currently, they only have a homeowner who happened on the scene and wasn’t even aware that a murder had taken place until it hit the news.
“Feel free to check with me to verify the stories you hear. The FBI is treating everyone as a possible suspect, me included. They might ask my opinion about developing leads, but they won’t be open to discussing what they know. If you keep me apprised of what you uncover, I might be able to help you decipher things.”
“Right,” I said.
He was essentially correct in his assessment, but something troubled me. Richard belonged to the relatively small circle of people who actually knew where the governor would be over the weekend. Whoever killed him had that same information. I couldn’t completely rule Richard out as a suspect. It was entirely possible that Richard would be applying General Sun-tzu’s advice in his dealings with me. Maybe I was now Richard’s enemy, and he wanted to keep me close.
Instinctively, my thoughts turned to Rhonda. Soon I’d be dusting her off and getting her loaded. I might even have to sleep with her. My heart skipped a beat and my mind began to drift. Come Thursday evening I could be involved in a ménage à trois with Rhonda and Angele—two loaded women and a private dick. What would Bogey do?
I wanted to nail down Richard’s whereabouts over the weekend without sounding nosey.
“Richard,” I said. “I imagine the FBI will want to know where you were on Saturday night. Cynthia told me you were out of the state.”
“In fact they did ask me that, first thing. I showed them my hotel and gas receipts. I spent the weekend on Martha’s Vineyard. Business and pleasure.”
I decided it would seem a little indelicate for me to ask to see those receipts, so I passed on that. Besides, if Richard happened to be involved in the murder, he was smart enough to have a good alibi. I felt sure he actually was on Martha’s Vineyard, quite probably schmoozing with Martha herself.
Both Richard and Rebecca were out of the state when William was killed. That didn’t qualify as a major coincidence, but it was interesting nonetheless. The mental notes were piling up.
As I rose to shake his hand, I casually asked, “Richard, are you married?”
He smiled and said, “No, I’m not.”
I didn’t know if it was the exact angle of his smile or his Hawaiian tie, but it suddenly popped into my head that Richard could be gay. If I were a woman, I probably would have figured that out before I shook his hand the first time. In fact, a finely tuned woman might have “known” he was gay by the mint green upholstery in his Lexus. Angele can spot a gay man by the smell of his cologne at fifty paces. I’ll never understand women.
I figured Cynthia and Richard would want to talk privately, so I gave them that opportunity. “See you tomorrow at one o’clock, Richard” I said. “Feel free to stick around here for some lunch before you go back into town. Cynthia, you have the run of my kitchen if you want to fix something. Right now, I want to research the governor’s life on the Internet.”
I walked down the hall and into my office. I checked the surveillance videos; nothing appeared to be happening at Cynthia’s house. If anything had happened, a motion detector would have logged the exact time of the intrusion. The only thing that had moved was a lady and her dog, up the street and back again.
I checked my email to see if I had gotten a reply about the license plate. Strike two. So I decided to read some of the governor’s bio. I Googled his name and opened Wikipedia. There would be plenty of time for more serious reading later. His Wiki-page began, “William Louis Lavoilette, born August 15, 1968, assassinated on Sebascodegan Island, June 1…” Bloggers never sleep.
I heard Richard’s car drive away, and then Cynthia joined me in the office.
“I know that you didn’t want to talk with Richard about other women in front of me,” she said. “Thank you for that. I’d like to keep the memory of William the way it is. I loved him, and he loved me. That’s certain. There’s no way to improve upon that memory. But it could be tarnished with gossip and speculation. I’m confident that the truth won’t undermine what we had together. No one is perfect, but William was the genuine article. He was warm and caring. He led Maine with his heart, and he stole mine in the process.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Cynthia. Everything I know about him is favorable. I voted for him, and I was planning on doubling down in November.
“There’s nothing new at your house or with the license plate ID. I want to spend a little more time researching William’s life. Then I’ll call Travis to get a better sense of him. I doubt that he will want to talk to me, but since I am representing Richard now, he may be willing to open up. In the meantime, try to recall anything that William or Richard ever said to you that might be important, even if it seemed insignificant at the time. A name, a corporation, a bill in the State House—anything that would be worth investigating. If your memory gets bloated, empty it out and use your intuition. I’m a
man and you’re a woman. Let’s keep both genders on the case.”
Cynthia nodded and walked out. I returned to the online biographies of William Lavoilette.
William was born and raised in Bath, Maine, about eight miles east of where he went to college at Bowdoin, and ten miles northeast of where he was murdered. His father, John Lavoilette, worked for decades as a private contractor for the shipbuilding industry in Bath and retired in 2009. He and William’s mother, Patricia, still live in the area.
I was able to discover that their home was across the Sagadahoc Bridge near the small town of Woolrich. I took note of their address and phone number. Depending on how the investigation proceeded, I might eventually visit with them, but only after a reasonable period of mourning.
During William’s first year at Bowdoin College, he was involved in a fatal automobile accident. There were four people in a car when it hit a deer along Route 1. The car careened off the road and crashed into a tree. Lisa Hilliard, a nineteen-year-old woman sitting in the front passenger seat, was killed. No one else was seriously injured. William was the driver.
A police investigation concluded that William was not at fault. They determined that he was probably not speeding at the time of the crash. A breathalyzer test indicated that William had not been drinking. There was a young man and woman in the back. Two of the passengers had been drinking that night—Lisa Hilliard and the man in the back—and although he was below the legal drinking age of twenty-one, no charges were filed against him.
Near the end of the article a name jumped off the page, “The passengers in the back seat were Richard Merrill and Virginia Latham, and the car belonged to Richard.”
I was struck by the possibility that Richard could well have been driving, and William might have covered for him because Richard was drunk.
I jotted down the names, Lisa Hilliard and Virginia Latham. The accident occurred more than twenty-five years ago, but you never know. Painful, unresolved memories have a way of festering over time. Lisa was someone’s daughter and, more than likely, someone’s sister.