Dead Down East

by Carl Schmidt

  “Aaron contacted you shortly after the murder to let you know that he had been successful. You immediately left the state and drove all night, arriving in Ithaca, New York at—let me see that receipt—yes, at 6:34 AM, Sunday morning, June 2nd. The driving time from Brunswick, Maine to Ithaca, New York is about seven-and-a-half hours.”

  I paused to catch my breath, and then spoke to Angele, “Mrs. Richards, would you be kind enough to go into Mr. Prichard’s kitchen and fetch me a glass of water?”

  “I’d be happy to, sir,” Angele replied.

  I watched Angele get up and leave the room. I thrilled with a measure of delight to see her perform so well under the pressure. Our plan was coming together nicely. When Angele was out of sight, I turned to observe Prichard. He sat in a heap, looking as glum as a child with a lump of coal on Christmas morning.

  Angele returned to the room and handed me the glass.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Richards,” I said.

  I sipped it slowly. When my whistle was sufficiently wet, I continued my monologue.

  “Mr. Prichard, we have corroboration for many of the details I have just laid out. Mr. Kenneth Harper, the owner of Jigs and Things, is willing to testify that you went fishing on his boat on June 1st. Andy Booker, the motel clerk at the Nestle Inn, will testify that you and Travis Perkins checked in on the evening of June 1st, but that you did not check out in the morning. You left sometime in the night and stranded Mr. Perkins there without a vehicle.

  “The photographs of you on the fishing trip were taken by John Westcott. He has indicated that he will be happy to testify that you were on the boat. His photographs speak for themselves; they are ample evidence that you were there. And, of course, there’s Maine State Trooper, Travis Perkins. He will gladly tell the court everything.

  “We have a rock solid case against you. If you don’t cooperate with us right here and now, you will spend the rest of your days in federal prison. I might also add that there is a distinct possibility that your life will be abbreviated. This is a capital crime, Mr. Prichard. The District Attorney intends to press for the death penalty.

  “Having said all this, I have to tell you that we have a problem with our case. We are absolutely certain we can convict you of murder in a court of law. We are about 90% sure we can get a guilty verdict against Aaron Miller. The evidence in his case is largely circumstantial, but compelling.

  “The strongest piece of evidence that we have on Mr. Miller is DNA. He was wearing a fake beard when he shot Governor Lavoilette. An eyewitness can attest to that fact. His beard came partly unglued as he dragged William Lavoilette’s body away from the side of the road. He was observed reattaching it as he returned to his vehicle. That beard was found wrapped inside a towel near the crime scene. The towel has a bullet hole through it and powder burns on it. It was used to muffle the sound of the gunshot. Aaron Miller discarded it near the scene of the crime, along with the Glock and a stolen license plate he used on his Honda.

  “The DNA evidence comes from skin cells and human hair left on the tape that held the beard to his face. We are certain that the DNA found on the beard will match that of Aaron Miller’s. When we arrest him, we will have a legal right to test his DNA and verify that fact.

  “Here’s our problem. We have very little evidence that points to your sister, Susan St. Claire.”

  I paused and then said, “That reminds me. Susan is your sister. That fact proved vital in our discovery process. You wondered how we determined that the DNA extracted from the blood stained shirt belonged to you. That piece of evidence was provided to us by a private investigator hired by Travis Perkins.

  “The investigator obtained a saliva sample from Susan St. Claire. The DNA from that sample was compared with the DNA sample of the bloody shirtsleeve. The two samples indicated that Susan St. Claire and Justin Cook are siblings. Once we discovered that, the details of the case quickly fell into place.”

  Prichard’s head drooped noticeably as I said that.

  “Now,” I continued, “let’s get back to the case we have against Susan St. Claire. Unfortunately, it is very weak—too weak to go to trial. There is no direct evidence that indicates she was involved. We are certain she masterminded the assassination. Susan is a hard-hearted woman, driven by greed. Aaron Miller is a cold-blooded killer. They both deserve to be punished for their heinous crime. On the other hand, we suspect that you were probably reluctant to participate. We guess that you were pressured.

  “That is why we have come to you first. We are here to offer you a deal,” I concluded.

  I turned to Eric and said, “Agent Cochrane, why don’t you explain our proposition to Mr. Prichard.”

  “Thank you, Detective Thorndyke,” Eric said.

  “Mr. Prichard,” Eric began, “the FBI and the District Attorney for the State of Maine are eager to arrest and convict Susan St. Claire of premeditated murder. However, without the testimony of either Aaron Miller or you, there is virtually no chance that we can get a conviction. We are willing to give up our case against you, to offer you complete immunity, provided you are willing to testify truthfully to all the facts in this case.

  “No doubt, this will be a difficult decision for you. We realize that you will not be enthusiastic to testify against your sister. But the alternative for you is bleak. If you do not agree to testify, we will make the same offer to Aaron Miller. We are quite sure he will be willing to cooperate. After all, he is not family. His testimony will send both you and Susan to prison and probably the gas chamber. With you out of the way, he could take over your businesses for himself and make a fortune drilling natural gas, which is about to break wide open with a new governor at the helm.

  “Either way, we are going to get Susan St. Claire. The only question is whether she will be convicted of murder along with Aaron Miller, or with you. We have agents standing by ready to make the same offer to Mr. Miller if you balk.

  “We’d prefer that you accept the offer because Aaron Miller pulled the trigger. But we will do whatever is necessary to bring Susan St. Claire to justice.

  “There is one other reason why it is important for us to put Aaron and Susan behind bars. The eyewitness to the murder is being held in a secret location. Her home was invaded by an armed man two days ago. Detective Thorndyke, would you show Mr. Prichard some of the photographs of that home invasion?”

  I picked out three of the photos and handed them to Prichard.

  “As you can see,” I said, “someone entered her home a little after two o’clock on Friday morning. We are quite certain it was Aaron Miller. We have determined the precise height of the intruder from the photographs. He is 6’1” tall, which is the same as Mr. Miller, according to his Maine driver’s license. He also has the same build. Our eyewitness will not be safe until we lock away the guilty parties.”

  Eric continued, “Our offer to you will expire the moment you contact a lawyer or any other individual by phone. We consider Susan a flight risk. We cannot arrest her at this time, and if she hears about our proposal, she might decide to leave the country. We can arrest Aaron Miller the moment you phone your lawyer, but we can’t touch Susan without an agreement from you or Mr. Miller.

  “So, Mr. Prichard, what will it be?” Eric asked finally. “Are you willing to accept our offer of immunity?”

  Mark Prichard stared blankly into space for a time and then closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he was finished communing with whomever or whatever, he looked at us one at a time until his eyes rested on Eric once again. Then he said, “OK. I’ll accept your deal. I told Susan from the beginning that this was a bad plan. It was too desperate. But she wouldn’t listen. Damn! She can be a complete bitch.”

  35

  The Long Ride Home

  “Brock, we have a canary!”

  “Wow, that’s great!” Brock said and then asked in a hushed tone, “Can we speak freely?”

  “Sure,” I replied. “I left Eric and Angele with Mark Prichard in his house put
ting the finishing touches on the agreement. I’m outside enjoying the small town Pennsylvania ambiance.”

  “So it worked?” Brock asked half incredulously.

  “Like a Swiss watch,” I replied. “Thanks for your help, Brock. Is there any chance I can keep the trooper uniform?”

  “None,” Brock replied.

  “Let’s see,” he continued, “I’ll have to call this in and explain it to my superiors. Are the details of the murder exactly as you figured?”

  “I believe so. We’ll send you a PDF file of his statement as soon as it is edited and signed. All you have to do,” I said, “is convince the FBI and the State of Maine to go along with our slight of hand.”

  There was a long pause at the other end. Finally Brock replied. “Right. That’s all I have to do.”

  His tone was not very encouraging.

  “Buck up, Brock,” I said. “It’s true that one of the conspirators will elude prosecution for the murder of William Lavoilette. No doubt that will not sit well with the authorities, but let’s not forget the other murder.”

  “Right,” Brock replied tentatively.

  “I have a strong suspicion that after Susan and Aaron are convicted and locked away, they will do some singing of their own. Remember, Robert St. Claire died under mysterious circumstances. I’d wager it was murder. Susan and Aaron will be livid with Mark for turning them in. When the Pennsylvania DA reopens the case, it will be payback time.”

  “I hope you are right,” he replied.

  “OK, Brock. I’m going back inside. You’ve got some selling to do. After you receive Mark Prichard’s signed confession, you’ll have about eight hours until we’re back at Camp Billy. Good luck.”

  I returned to the living room and found the trio working out the final details of the agreement. I had written the combined confession and immunity deal before leaving Maine. All that Eric and Angele had to do was to tweak it to fit any part of the crime scenario that I omitted or didn’t get right beforehand.

  We knew full well that a new deal would have to be drawn up by the genuine authorities. They would have about twenty hours to get their act together before Brock hauled Mark Prichard’s ass into the Kennebec County Jail Monday morning.

  “How’s it going?” I asked Angele.

  “We’re almost done, Detective,” Angele responded.

  Within five minutes the agreement was finished and signed electronically.

  I wanted to proofread it before we sent it off in an email. The details cleared up a few of the nagging questions I had. For example, I had wondered why Aaron threw the gun and license plate on the far side of the highway. According to Mark’s statement, Aaron panicked after the neighbor came out and saw him standing by his car. The plan had been to kill Cynthia as well, but Aaron wasn’t about to stick around under the circumstances. He was afraid that Cynthia, or the guy across the road, might call the police. He had to dispose of the weapon, the license plate, towel and beard quickly. He didn’t want any of those items in his car as he left the island. He was especially concerned that his car might be identified, and he’d get stopped before he could get away.

  Another interesting point was that Susan St. Claire had initiated a friendly, platonic relationship with Travis Perkins, but he wouldn’t offer any valuable information about the governor’s schedule or routine. She had to switch gears and wear him down in bed before he was willing to tell her about Cynthia and the governor’s planned trip to his summer home.

  Once Susan knew that Cynthia was sleeping with William, she set in motion her plan to kill him and cast the blame on Travis. He had the more glaring and obvious motive—revenge.

  “Mr. Prichard,” I said, “Let me explain to you the parameters of our return trip to Maine. You will not be allowed to contact anyone until we have you safely inside the Kennebec County Jail. The first thing I need from you is your cell phone.”

  He reached into his pocket and handed it to me.

  “OK,” I continued. “You will need to pack your personal belongings. Get together some clothes and toiletries, enough to last a week. One small suitcase will have to suffice. Agent Cochrane will remain with you as you gather your things. In the meantime, I will send your statement to Sergeant Brock Powell, who is standing by in a temporary facility just outside of Augusta. He will prepare for our arrival this evening.

  “Once you are packed, we will drive there, and we will all spend the night. Sergeant Powell will transfer you to the jail on Monday morning. For our safety, you will ride in the back seat of our car, with a single handcuff to an anchor point. As long as you cooperate fully, we will not have to put the cuffs on both hands. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Mark replied.

  “All right,” I concluded. “Go ahead and pack your bag.”

  Eric escorted Mark into his bedroom down the hall. When the door closed, Angele sidled up to me and planted a wet FBI kiss on my mouth.

  “You’re not trying to seduce an officer of the law, are you?” I whispered.

  “You look so sexy in that uniform,” she whispered back.

  That was all the celebration we were willing to risk at the moment. I attached Mark’s statement as a .PDF file to an email message and sent it to Brock’s private address. A few minutes later, Mark returned to the living room with his suitcase in hand and Eric on his tail.

  We left the house and got into our car. Mark sat in the right rear seat. After he put on his seatbelt, I cuffed his wrist to the belt by his right side. The grab handle above his head would have provided a more secure grip, but the thought of his right arm dangling at the end of a handcuff in the passenger window was not appealing. We certainly didn’t want to be interviewed by a highway patrolman about our “prisoner.”

  Eric joined him in the back seat. Angele drove the first shift. When we reached Binghamton, New York, we stopped for lunch. Drive through would have to do. The positioning of the cuffs allowed our captive to eat his cheeseburger without too much trouble.

  Other than giving us his lunch order, Mark didn’t say a word until we were halfway through the state of New York. Just outside of Oneonta, he started talking. He seemed to be having second thoughts about implicating his sister.

  “It’s Aaron’s fault,” he said. “Susan can be selfish, sure, but Aaron put ideas into her head. He planned the whole thing. You should be going after him and leave Susan out of it.”

  “Obviously she was willing,” I said. “She went to bed with Travis Perkins to extract the information she needed to get to Governor Lavoilette.”

  “Yes, but it’s all because of the damn heroin. Aaron is an addict. He had smack around the house all the time. At first Susan wouldn’t touch it, but eventually he got her to try it. Before long, she had to have it. He put a spell on her. She would do anything he told her, just to get high. She shouldn’t be going to prison; she should be in rehab.”

  “I’m sure the court will take that into consideration,” I said. “You will have an opportunity to tell the whole story to agents in Augusta. The immunity deal you signed in Troy is binding, but they will go over everything with you in much greater detail. They’ll prepare a more extensive statement for you to sign once you give them all the facts.”

  Mark retreated into his shell again and stayed there until we crossed the Pisquataqua River. The Maine air must have revived his tongue.

  “Susan is four years younger than I am,” he said. “When we were growing up, she was sweet and pretty. I loved her. I screened all her boyfriends in middle school. There were plenty. She was very attractive. Boys were showing up at the house in droves.

  “By the time she was in high school, she had so much power over young men that she wouldn’t listen to me anymore. She had them wrapped around her little finger. She loved to be in control. That became the driving force in her life. Controlling men.

  “But she lost that when she started with the heroin. It changed her. She is not the person she once was. If I had it to do over, I’d kill A
aron Miller. I should have done that years ago.”

  He talked non-stop for the next half-hour. By the time Portland was in our rear view mirror, he was weeping.

  It was a depressing story, to be sure, and I was growing uncomfortable that he might change his tune when he got before the authorities in Augusta.

  “Tell the agents the whole story, Mark,” I said, trying to reassure him. “They’ll want to know all of this. The court will consider everything carefully. You’re doing the right thing. If we had approached Aaron first, he’d have let you both swing.”

  “That’s for sure, the sorry son-of-a-bitch,” Mark said. “I really don’t have any choice. It’s just a hard pill to swallow.”

  That was reassuring.

  At 8:30 PM we took the Lewiston exit off the Maine Turnpike and proceeded north on route 202. When we were just north of the city limits, we pulled to the side of the road and blindfolded Mark. We explained that for security reasons, we did not want him to know the precise location where he would be spending the night. He complied without protest.

  It was a little past nine when we arrived at Camp Billy. We kept Mark blindfolded as we escorted him inside. He was introduced verbally to Brock Powell. Cynthia and Billy remained silent through the proceedings.

  Dinner was ready for us when we arrived. Billy dished up a plate for Mark, and Brock took him to the root cellar. That would be his quarters for the night. He could eat and sleep on a cot. Once inside, Brock removed the blindfold and read him the riot act. Before retiring, he would be allowed one blindfolded trip to the bathroom. After that, he would be locked away till morning.

  The rest of us celebrated. Billy poured margaritas. When we were sufficiently lubricated, he served his specialty—chicken enchiladas, Spanish rice and beans. I was thoroughly amazed that Angele made a one-night exemption to her otherwise strict vegan diet. I suspect that the tequila had something to do with her relaxed standards. Privately she explained that we were all so elated that she didn’t want to put a damper on the festivities. She also confessed that she enjoyed Billy’s gourmet presentation.