by Carl Schmidt
“Thank you so much for taking the time with me, Mrs. Hilliard. I am sorry that I had to discuss this tragic story with you, but I’m trying to find out all I can about the governor’s early life.”
“It’s OK. It appears they may have caught his killer. I liked Governor Lavoilette. I hope they fry Travis Perkins.”
“They may very well do that, Mrs. Hilliard. Have a good day.”
That was that. It appeared that the accident did not engender any simmering hatred for William. All the interested parties, including Lisa’s siblings, must have known that William was not driving that night. It did, however, indicate that Richard was very much indebted to William. It also suggested that William was a stand up guy and a solid “friend in need.” Other than that, it didn’t seem relevant to the murder investigation.
One thought occurred to me, however. At some later point, if I needed to test Richard’s openness, I might mention that I had seen the report about the accident. I could then ask some innocent sounding question such as, “What happened that night?” It would be interesting to see what version of the story Richard would tell. For now I just filed it away. There was no need to put him on the spot just yet. I needed to build a relationship with Richard Merrill, not tear it down.
With no further leads at the moment, I decided to get reacquainted with my bass guitar. I went into the barn where our band practices during the warmer months. It’s a large open space, and we can turn up the volume and cut loose. I tuned my guitar and put on one of our demo CDs. For old time’s sake, I began with “The Reach,” a song about the sea, written by Dan Fogelberg. In our high school band, this was one of our signature tunes. I love the bass part. It’s so lyrical.
“It's Maine, and it's autumn, the birches have just begun turning…”
I finger-plucked the morning away.
13
A List of Women & Twist of Lemon
“I’ll have the Shrimp Louisianne and a martini,” Richard said.
“Certainly, Mr. Merrill,” Jean Pierre replied, without jotting anything down. He then turned to me with definite flair and asked, “…and for you?”
When he presented us with our menus, almost fifteen minutes earlier, Jean Pierre announced his name as if it were well known throughout the tri-state region. It was clear who was in charge at our table, and any attempt to upstage him would involve consequences. On the other hand, I did not care for the precise tone he used with his “… and for you?” It implied that I was the “other guy” at the table. I chose to answer his question with a question of my own.
“How’s the ‘Slab of Ribs,’ Jean Pierre?”
It was an appropriate and promising question on three fronts. First, never before had I tried the ribs at the Kennebec Barbeque & Grille. Second, it demonstrated that I respected his judgment. And third, if anyone in the house had an opinion about anything, including the ribs, Jean Pierre would.
“I don’t eat red meat,” he announced, erecting himself in a way that reminded me of the Eiffel Tower.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll have the Slab of Ribs and a glass of water…with a lemon twist.” As I spoke the words, “lemon twist,” I swirled my index finger dramatically skyward in an attempt to gain the upper hand in our tête-à-tête.
Jean Pierre stood perfectly still for a few tantalizing moments, slowly wrote down our orders, and then sashayed Eiffel back to his tower.
I nonchalantly studied Richard’s face to see how he felt about our waiter’s performance. His lack of a specific reaction suggested that this was standard fare.
“Jesse,” he asked, “if it’s all right, can we discuss your fee before we get down to the details of our case?”
“Sure,” I replied. “My standard rate is $320 a day plus expenses. For cases that carry a substantial risk of physical danger, the rate goes up accordingly. Clearly this case falls under that category.
“I received a call from Travis Perkins this morning. He wants to hire me as well. So, at the moment, I have three separate clients on the same case. My rate will be $200 per day for each client.”
“Fair enough. Here is $2000,” Richard said, as he folded a typewritten check and handed it to me across the table. “This will get us started.”
“Thank you, Richard,” I said, and I slipped the check into my wallet.
“OK,” he said, “where should we begin?”
I looked around to see that our conversation would be sufficiently confidential. We were in a booth in the corner, and no one else was sitting nearby. Nonetheless, I spoke in a hushed tone, “When we spoke on the phone yesterday, you indicated that William had affairs with several women and that you would prepare some information about them for me.”
“Yes,” Richard said, matter-of-factly. “Last night I made out a list of names with addresses and phone numbers for most of them. I have also recorded the approximate dates of the affairs and some noteworthy characteristics about each relationship.”
Richard handed me a typewritten spreadsheet. It was two full pages. There were seven names, including Cynthia’s, each with considerable detail. I surveyed the list briefly, folded it twice and put it in my shirt pocket.
“Thank you, Richard. You’re very efficient. I appreciate that. This should drive my investigation for quite a while. I would like to ask a few questions about each woman on the list, but let’s find a more private place for that. I also need to know about Rebecca.”
“Yes. After lunch, we’ll go to my office, and we can discuss those details.”
“I presume you’ve heard that Travis Perkins was arrested this morning,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any thoughts about that?”
“He is certainly the most likely suspect in my opinion,” he said. “What did he say when he contacted you?”
“He said he’s being framed. The authorities have a tentative identification on the gun used in the murder, and it appears to be Travis’ gun. Travis says it was stolen from him. Of course, we already know he didn’t pull the trigger. I am reserving judgment until I have a chance to hear more details. I’ll be interviewing him as soon as he hires a lawyer.”
Richard propped the back of his hand under his chin, thought for a few moments and then replied, “Well, he knew about the affair with his ex-wife, and he almost certainly knew that William was spending the weekend in his summer home. He might even have known that Cynthia was with him. I’d give him the benefit of the doubt, but at the moment, I’m not feeling a whole lot of doubt.”
“He certainly is the obvious suspect. But it’s a little too obvious for me. Why would he give his own gun to someone to murder the governor? He knew very well that the ballistic fingerprints of his firearm were on file. It’s like signing a confession before committing the crime.”
“That’s true. But human nature is hard to understand, and jealousy is a blinding emotion,” Richard said.
Jean Pierre placed Richard’s Shrimp Louisianne gracefully on the table, and remarked, “Excellent choice, Mr. Merrill. And here’s your martini.”
He then put my plate in front of me, a little off center I thought, followed by a glass of water…with a twist of lemon…and asked, “Is there anything else I can get either of you?” looking squarely at Richard as he spoke.
“No thanks, Jean Pierre,” Richard replied.
“Hmmmm…Ribs!” I said, to no one in particular.
Jean Pierre glided away as if exiting a three-act play in the middle of the first act.
If I had been dining with Angele, ribs would not have been a viable option. I would have ordered the pasta primavera without the chicken or the shrimp. But Richard was a client. I wanted him to see me in a “take charge” mode. And, of course, there were Jean Pierre’s feelings to consider as well.
The Slab-of-Ribs proved to be a road too far. To be sure, the ribs were fabulous, but I should have ordered the Half Slab. Then I remembered that Billy Mosher would be over for band practice on Thursday, accompanied by hi
s faithful canine companion, Alonso.
Alonso acts a lot like Billy. He’s friendly, but generally lazy, 90% housebroken, and chases females whenever the opportunity arises. I guess the main difference between the two is their choice of targets for romantic involvement. Alonso prefers dogs, while Billy avoids them, most of the time.
Our waiter magically reappeared about ten minutes after we asked for the check.
“I’ll need a doggie bag for Alonso,” I announced.
Jean Pierre used a form of French Canadian sign language to indicate he had heard my request. He handed the check to Richard, of course.
Ribs in hand, Richard and I left the restaurant. It was a short drive to the Capitol where William’s body lay in state.
As we entered the building, I asked Richard if we could take a few moments to pass by the open casket before continuing our conversation about William’s personal life. In about five minutes, we were at the front of the line. William was a handsome man. It was easy to see how he charmed the ladies. What puzzled me was how he had managed to keep his affairs out of the public eye. Undoubtedly, he had Richard to thank for that slight of hand.
Richard and I found our way down the hall and into his private office. We sat on either side of his desk, and I pulled out his spreadsheet of names. I put my legal pad and pen on the desk and said, “First, let’s talk about Rebecca.”
It wasn’t necessary to ask any specific questions. Richard launched into his speech as if he had rehearsed it. He pulled no punches and got right to the juice.
“Rebecca arrived home from her trip to Africa yesterday afternoon. She came to the Capitol early this morning to see William’s body. After that, she came directly to my office. Rebecca has always been cordial with me. We have ‘an understanding.’
“William had his first affair about five years ago. While he was forming a team for his campaign, he hired Cheryl Greenwood as one of two personal secretaries. She dealt primarily with the press. I worked closely with both of them; Rebecca stayed on the sidelines.
“By that time, Rebecca had already been working closely with the United Relief Fund of Maine, and preferred not being too visible in the campaign. Her father’s embezzlement case had been an embarrassment. Both William and Rebecca thought it was best if she simply continue with her nonprofit work. It might have appeared that this was a political strategy, but I know Rebecca very well. Her work was heartfelt. The fact that it ‘looked good’ did not really weigh in on her decision.
“Rebecca found William and Cheryl in an uncompromising position late one evening when she stopped by unannounced at his campaign office. Rebecca told me later that she thought he might be having an affair, but couldn’t bear to confront him. She had called his cell phone at about 9:30 that evening, wondering where he was, but he didn’t pick up. She drove over and found them on the couch in his office.
“That ended the affair, and Cheryl was asked to leave the campaign. She got a nice severance and was discrete about everything. But William and Rebecca never slept together again after that night. Within six months, they both were having their own private affairs, William with Barbara Davis, and Rebecca with Joseph Ross, the Director of The United Relief Fund. In fact, Rebecca is still very close with Joseph. There have been some rumors about all this, but, for the most part, these affairs have stayed under the public radar.”
“Why didn’t they just get a divorce?” I asked.
“At first it was to save the campaign. Once William became the governor, it was to nurture his popularity. They both were ‘doing well’ on the side. Besides, as the First Lady of Maine, Rebecca carried considerable weight with her relief work. A divorce would have tarnished her image. Basically, they just became comfortable with their arrangement.”
“Cynthia told me that William and Rebecca planned to get a divorce after the upcoming election,” I said.
“Yes. I think that would have happened. William told me that Cynthia was the real deal. They were genuinely in love. William was downright giddy about her.”
“From what you have said so far, I would not think that Rebecca could be a viable suspect in the murder. Do you concur with that?”
“Absolutely. She felt betrayed at first, but her relationship with Joseph Ross helped soothe the pain. She was looking forward to the divorce so she could move on with her life.”
“Of course, there would be a financial incentive to have William murdered,” I suggested. “After all, he was loaded.”
“Yes, but if you knew Rebecca, you’d see that that was not an issue. They had been married for over twenty years, so she would be well compensated in a divorce settlement. Besides, Joseph Ross has money of his own. Rebecca is not a gold digger.”
“OK. Let’s look at each of the affairs on your list. First of all, do you think the list is complete? Could you have missed anyone?”
“Not likely. William was very open with me. For most of these women, I helped to arrange their times together…not every single time, of course, but I was instrumental in keeping the affairs discrete.”
While I read through the notes on his list, Richard sat patiently, allowing me to get up to speed. My first question was, “I see that under Michelle Jackson’s name, you wrote, ‘Be careful of Dennis Jackson. He could be trouble.’”
“Absolutely. He is one mean hombre. All of the women on that list were single at the time of their affairs except for Michelle. I cautioned William to end it with her. It looked like a car wreck waiting to happen.”
I found that metaphor especially apropos.
“Yes,” I said. “In fact, I spoke with Dennis briefly on the phone yesterday.”
“Really? Did you know about Michelle?” Richard asked.
“Cynthia mentioned two women who might have had a personal relationship with William. Michelle Jackson was one, and Emily Haywood the other. I called each of them. I spoke with Emily directly. It appeared from her story that she met with William only twice, once at the party celebrating his election, and again later for lunch and a job interview. Would you say that is correct?”
“I’m almost certain. Truth be known, William had her over for lunch to ‘check her out,’ and not for a job. The three of us had lunch together. Afterwards, William said that she was too reserved, well, ‘inhibited’ is the word he used, so he never contacted her again as far as I know.”
“That’s the way I read it too,” I replied.
“You said you spoke with Dennis Jackson?” Richard inquired.
“Briefly. All I heard him say was his name. The instant I mentioned your name, he hung up.”
“That’s Dennis!”
“Tell me about him and Michelle. According to Cynthia, Michelle was at the party celebrating William’s victory. But from your timeline, her brief affair with William happened just a year ago.”
“Right. Dennis owns a large construction company with offices in Portland, Augusta, Waterville and Bangor. They have a home in Augusta, but Dennis is often away in Portland. He made a sizeable donation to William’s first campaign, and Michelle worked in the campaign office as a volunteer. That’s why she was invited to the party. Dennis was also there.
“William flirted with lots of women, rather easily I might add. He was very cozy with Michelle at the party, and Dennis seemed upset about it. So William backed off. To my knowledge, they didn’t see each other again until a little over a year ago.
“To assemble the team for his reelection, William phoned most of the people who had helped him the first time around. Michelle agreed right away and was on board for the first general meeting. At that time, William had not been with a woman for months. Sparks flew immediately. When the meeting adjourned, Michelle was the last to leave; only she didn’t leave. The electricity between them was palpable. I’m surprised the office didn’t burn down that night.”
I was getting a little warm myself. My thoughts drifted briefly to Angele, but I managed to forcefully suppress my imagination. At $600 a day, I figured I owed eac
h client my undivided attention.
“The affair with Michelle was brief and fiery. I don’t know exactly how Dennis found out, but he stormed into the campaign office one day, grabbed Michelle by the arm and literally dragged her into the street. She drove away sobbing. Dennis came back in and gave William an earful. There were two security officers in the room, along with me and one other volunteer. Now that I think about it, one of the two officers was Travis Perkins. In any event, Dennis was escorted out and was read the riot act for threatening the Governor of Maine.
“I haven’t seen Dennis since.”
“OK. Dennis just moved to the top of my list of suspects,” I said.
I felt my cell phone vibrate; the Caller ID indicated it was from Randall Bradford, J.D. “This could be Travis’ lawyer,” I said to Richard. “I’d better take the call.”
“Hello, this is Jesse Thorpe.”
“Mr. Thorpe, this is Randall Bradford. I received a call from Travis Perkins. He has asked me to represent him in the case of the murder of Governor Lavoilette. Mr. Perkins is being held as a material witness. He asked me to contact you. He tells me that he has hired you as a private investigator.”
“That is true. I spoke with Travis this morning, just after he was arrested.”
“Would it be possible for you to meet me at the Kennebec County Jail within the hour?”
“Absolutely. I’m in the Maine State House right now. I could be there in ten minutes if you’d like.”
“It’s almost three o’clock now. Let’s meet there at three-thirty. I’ll arrange for us to talk with Mr. Perkins.”
“That will be fine. How will I recognize you?”
“I’ll find you. I am looking at a picture of you right now. It is on your PI website. I assume it is a recent photograph.”
“Yes it is. I’ll be there at three-thirty.”
We hung up.
“Perfect timing, Richard,” I said. “I have taken up quite a bit of your time already, and I have a lot of ground to cover with the women on your list. Travis should provide me with plenty of additional information. He seemed eager to tell his story. I’ll let you know how that goes as soon as I have a chance to digest it all…along with those barbequed ribs,” I added.