The Maine Nemesis

by R Scott Wallis

  ​“The mob?” Leonard asked under his breath.

  ​Solis bristled. “I don’t think they call it that, but I guess so. It’s most decidedly organized crime. Based mostly in Mexico. A lot in Florida, too. And all of it scares the living shit out of me. I stay out of it as much as I can—and thank God they leave me out of it—but I hear things at family gatherings. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I married that woman. I love her, I love our kids, but I’m scared for my life every single day. And the shit I pulled with Patty…”

  ​It was starting to make sense. “Maribelle found out about Patty.”

  ​“That’s my best guess. I should have known better.”

  ​Leonard was sweating and freezing cold at the same time. “And she somehow followed Patty home to Maine and killed her?”

  ​“No, no, no. Maribelle didn’t do it. I know for a fact that she didn’t kill Patty, unless she has invented a transporter device like they had on Star Trek.”

  ​Leonard noticed a change in the man’s delivery. He was more earnest. “Uh huh. Where was Maribelle on July 3rd?”

  ​“With me on the boat. At least a dozen people can confirm that. She’s not stupid.”

  ​“Okay. Hold on.” Leonard ordered a rum and Coke and Solis asked for another beer from the waitress. When she was gone, Leonard asked, “So how does paying Alameda get Patty killed?”

  ​“That’s the part I can’t figure out.”

  ​Leonard wracked his brain. “I have to assume that Alameda lied to us about pocketing all the money. Unless there was another order from your wife to a hitman.” He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “How far are you willing to go to help me figure this out? I don’t want you to get killed, too.”

  ​The dry cleaner was silent for a few moments. “Little, I’d love to say to you that it’s time for me to take my kids and get away from the world that my wife comes from, but I’m afraid that she’d have one of her brothers track me down and kill me. I’m not even exaggerating a little bit. It’s a very dangerous family. Many people have simply disappeared in our lives; people who crossed my wife or her brothers. If she knew I was sitting in a bar talking to a police officer…well…that’d probably be the end of both of us.”

  ​“Then we’re going to have to figure out how to keep you safe, but have her go down. I have no interest in seeing you killed, Mr. Solis.”

  ​“Ric,” the man said.

  ​“Okay, Ric,” Leonard said, “we’re going to need to figure out how to communicate without you getting in to trouble. And I need you to help me prove that it was Maribelle’s money that went to Alameda. Then I’ve got to figure out exactly what happened to every single dollar of that money.”

  ​“I know the Miami-Dade Police and the FBI are watching us,” Ric said sadly. “I’m not stupid. I get followed all the time. They must think I’m doing something sinister, when I’m fucking not. Did you ever watch The Sopranos?”

  ​“Of course. It was one of my favorite TV shows. I was sad when it ended. Although I hated that ending.”

  ​“Everyone did,” Solis said. “But my life is just like that. Remember how the FBI agents were always up Tony’s ass, but they never really pinned anything on him? That’s our fucking life.” He was silent for a few moments, then said, “I’m sorry that I got your wife killed. I know that sounds disingenuous, but it’s true.”

  ​Leonard didn’t see any point in holding a grudge against the trapped man. “I believe you. Thanks for that.”

  ​“I’ll establish a new Gmail account at my office and send you the money market account statement that shows the transfer of funds to the Cayman account. It’s a joint account that has both Maribelle and my names on it. We hardly ever touched it, which is why I didn’t initially see the transaction. We set it up years ago to pay for renovations to the Miami house. It’s had about $600,000 sitting in it for years.”

  ​“If only I had that kind of money, to simply forget about a half million dollars,” Leonard said offhandedly.

  ​“I realize how inane it sounds, but when you have millions and millions…” The man’s voice trailed off.

  ​“And I’ll see about getting a warrant to look into how Alameda spent the money.”

  ​“If this goes so far as to have my wife implicated, and it goes to trial, how will it be explained how the prosecution got their hands on my bank statement? How do we keep me out of it?”

  ​Leonard considered that for a moment. “If part of that money was used to fund Patty’s murder, we’ll have to backtrack that to Alameda, backtrack that to the Cayman account, and then to yours. If we can get the Caribbean folks to give us the information we need, we can go to your bank directly and get the statement from them. That would leave you out completely. And Maribelle would be arrested. Of course, we’d have to prove that it was her, and not you, who made the transfer and sent the instructions to Alameda.” He paused for a moment. “Shit. I’m just confusing myself.”

  ​“It’s a mess,” Solis said. “But, to be honest, why would I be sitting here telling you all of this if it was me who ordered the hit? It was all her.”

  “We’ll have to piece it all together. If she did it, there will be a trail. You can’t even get a cup of coffee these days without there being a record of it.”

  ​“I’ll help any way I can. But we can’t meet again or talk on the phone. I’ll email you from the new account early next week.”

  ​“And I’ll see about getting a warrant for a search of Alameda’s apartment.”

  ​“I need to get back to the hotel before Maribelle,” Solis said. He finished his beer and stood up. He threw down a $100 bill. “I doubt we’ll meet again, Officer Little.” And he was gone.

  ​Leonard wanted to get back to Skyler and tell her everything he’d learned…and try to figure out how the hell he was going to get a New York City judge to agree to a search of Alameda’s place.

  * * *

  ​“You do realize that we are way over our heads, don’t you?” Skyler asked after Leonard relayed everything that Ricardo Solis told him.

  ​“And then some.”

  ​Skyler poured two neat bourbons from the hotel suite’s minibar and returned to the sofa. “And there is the possibility that Ricardo himself has orchestrated this whole thing to make it look like his wife is guilty.”

  ​“That could be true, especially if he desperately wants to get away from the mob life of hers. Or, she could be the one. That’s why it’s so important that we get the evidence from Augie Alameda’s place. There might be something there. An email from Maribelle Solis with instructions to pay a hitman would be ideal. Or maybe we’ll find nothing.”

  “One option,” she said carefully, “is that we do nothing. We just walk away.”

  ​“And not pursue Patty’s murderer?”

  ​“If a member of one of the largest organized crime families took out a hit on your wife, and we arrest someone from that family, and that person goes to trial and then to jail…yeah…we’ll be fucked. How do you think they’re going to feel about you and me? The rest of that family, I mean. Will we always have to look over our shoulders? Will we need bodyguards like Carissa has? What kind of life would that be? Messing with the mob is very serious, Leonard.”

  ​Leonard couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but it was starting to sink in. “So, we just let them get away with it.”

  ​“It sounds wrong, but this is so much bigger than us. And it won’t bring Patty back. Perhaps we should go home, say a proper goodbye to your father, and just go hang out in Washington, D.C. for a little while.”

  ​He took a long pull on his drink then set the glass down on the coffee table. “Let’s table this for tonight.” Leonard pulled Skyler close to his body and kissed her deeply. The taste of the expensive bourbon in their mouths intensified the moment and soon he was on top of her. Their clothes were torn away and for the second time that day, they made love on the liv
ing room couch. He made it last as long as he could, taking his time not to go over the edge too quickly. And she loved every second.

  ​Afterwards, they retired to the bedroom and slept soundly, curled up in each other’s arms in the big comfortable bed.

  ​When they woke up the next morning they both agreed to be strong and stick to their guns. With Miami-Dade Captain Frank West assisting once again, Leonard was put in contact with a homicide detective in the New York City Police Department. It took some doing—and an endless in-person conversation at her downtown office—but Skyler and Leonard were able to convince the detective to approach a judge in order to secure a search warrant for Augie Alamada’s Manhattan apartment.

  ​Skyler knew they wouldn’t be able to turn back if something was found there, but she hated the thought of walking away, especially if Alameda did indeed help facilitate a murder. She very much disliked him and couldn’t stomach letting him get away with murder, despite all he’d done for Brenda and Carissa—not to mention Wabanaki. And if the mob ever came sniffing around, damn it, then Skyler and Leonard would just have to protect themselves; it was better than the end toward which being cowards would lead them.

  * * *

  ​That Saturday afternoon, Augie Alameda was in Vancouver, Canada, completely unaware that four New York City police officers—accompanied by a Wabanaki, Maine police deputy and his public relations professional girlfriend—were breaking down the front door of his Hell’s Kitchen apartment.

  ​Leonard and Skyler were asked not to touch anything, as they weren’t officially supposed to be there. And then the team got to work. They searched through the man’s paperwork and seized his desktop computer. They found a file folder containing bank statements—the most recent showing a $150,000 payment from a numbered account. They looked for hidden compartments, false bottoms, and other secret hiding places. And about an hour into the operation, a latex gloved officer held up a white envelope he’d found inside an old dictionary. “It’s postmarked from Miami, dated June 24th of this year,” the man said.

  ​The contents of the envelope were two typewritten pages. The first simply asked Augie to promote Wabanaki, Maine for a $100,000 fee that would be wired to his bank account. The second page directed him to take the remaining $50,000 out of his bank account, in $100 bills, and to place that money in a kid’s lunch box. The lunch box was to be left in the city trash can located at the west corner of 11th Avenue and West 48th Street at Noon on June 29th. There was nothing else.

  ​“Nobody would just do that out of the blue,” Skyler said. “Who would agree to leave $50,000 in cash in a random trash can? If someone mailed this to me, I’d go right to the police with the letter as soon as I opened it.”

  ​“You would,” the officer said, “but not everyone is as moral as you. I suspect there’s some history of this kind of thing happening before. We’ll learn more as we go through the rest of Alameda’s stuff. But it’s not looking good for him. I believe this proves that your suspicions were correct.”

  ​Leonard swallowed hard. “What happens after the search is over? It’s not really a New York City case. Who gets this evidence?”

  ​“It’s not an NYPD case at all, you’re right,” the officer said as he took photos of the envelope and contents before slipping them in an evidence bag. “We’re doing this as a courtesy to the Wabanaki Police Department as requested by our good friends in Miami-Dade. But now, I think we all need to turn this case over to the FBI. I suspect your department is not qualified to take this much further.”

  ​“You can say that again,” Leonard said.

  ​Skyler placed a hand on Leonard’s back. “I think we need to get out of here.” She turned to the officer in charge. “Do you need us for anything else?”

  ​“No, not now. But I suspect the feds will want to talk to you. I’m going to call their field office and get them on this right away. They’ll undoubtedly have a lot of questions. If you leave the city, just let me know where you’re going so that I can tell them.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  ​A week and a day later, in the mid-afternoon, Leonard and Skyler sat in the front pew of the Wabanaki Unitarian Church, but not for very long. The memorial service was short and sweet, without all the pomp and circumstance and “religious mumbo jumbo” that Maynard Little would have dreaded. A few of his friends spoke, a short prayer was said, and then people were invited to file up and pay their respects to the small wooden box that held the former Sheriff’s ashes, and to say a few words to his son. Most expressed how horrible they felt that Leonard had lost both his wife and father in the same month. Leonard was extremely humbled and appreciative of the love and the large turn-out, even though there had been no sign of—or even a message from—his mother.

  ​At his grandmother’s house following the service, a local caterer set out an impressive spread on the first floor, while a team of painters worked upstairs. Leonard wasn’t wasting a single minute; he wanted the house on the rental market just as soon as was humanly possible, so that he could justify spending the rest of the summer with Skyler in Washington, D.C., and not worry about finding another job right away. Between his two houses and Skyler’s cottage, they were looking at making a hefty profit in the newly tourist-heavy seaside town.

  ​Skyler had finished up projects at the cottage, including having the several bullet holes patched and ridding the place of clutter. She’d packed up all her summer clothes, personal photos, and treasured art pieces and knick-knacks, and shipped them all to D.C. She intended to eventually return to spend summers in Wabanaki, but it would have to be in a new house. Sadly, her beloved cottage was ruined, for her, forever.

  ​“Ronald and Muffy Lassiter’s house is for sale,” Sheriff Kristin Grant mentioned over the buffet table. “Perhaps you’d like to stay in Wabanaki?”

  ​Skyler wrinkled her face. “If I had an extra $10 million laying around, which I do not, I still wouldn’t buy that monstrosity. It’s so out of scale with the rest of the town, don’t you think?”

  ​“I’ve been inside,” Kristin said, looking around to make sure no one was in earshot, “and I can tell you, it’s pretty fucking amazing. There’s an indoor pool and the his and her bathrooms off the master bedroom are each bigger than my entire apartment. It’s super over the top.”

  ​“How’s Porter doing at the academy? I’m so glad he decided to go.”

  ​“He seems to be doing very well. He’s allowed to come home in the evenings and on weekends, so I see him a lot.” She scanned the room. “He’s around here somewhere.”

  ​Skyler cocked her head. “Wait. You see him a lot?”

  ​“We’re sort of dating.”

  ​“That makes me very happy, Kristin. Good luck with that. He’s a smart cookie…when he wants to be.”

  ​“I agree. He just needed something worthwhile to do and someone to believe in him. He spent way too many years dwelling on the accident. He’s much happier now.” Kristin was beaming.

  ​“I’m thrilled,” Skyler said. “I guess we need to have a debrief on the whole Patty thing before we leave, huh?”

  ​Kristin got serious. “I still can’t believe Leonard resigned. And you’re both leaving Wabanaki?”

  ​“Yes. I’m torn up about it, but I need to get a way for a while; too many bad memories for me now. We’re going to spend the rest of the summer in D.C. I’ve neglected my clients long enough. And now I have the Carissa Lamb account to work on.”

  ​“That’s so very exciting,” Kristin said. “Alright, let’s talk tomorrow morning. I have an update from the FBI scheduled at 10 o’clock. I could let you two listen in if you want.”

  ​“Oh, we want. And we’ll be there,” Skyler said. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” She went over to Leonard who’d just finished up a phone call in a far corner of the room. “Who was that?”

  ​“Brenda,” Leonard said, wiping away a single tear. “She went on and on for five minutes straight about how sorry
she was that she wasn’t here in person. But apparently, you had her on speaker phone during the service? I had no idea.”

  ​“Yeah. She felt so bad that she couldn’t get away from Manhattan, but they’re running her ragged down there. They’re determined to get those shows taped in record time. She says that she’s run out of ideas of things to cook.”

  ​Leonard straightened up and smiled when he saw the mayor enter the room. “I better go talk to more people. I have to explain for the 100th time why I’m leaving Maine. Should be fun.”

  ​Skyler watched as he walked over to Lois and gave her a big hug. The mayor had Charlie with her and he was looking up nervously at the tall man looming above him. Skyler felt sorry for the son who would never get to know how good a man his father, Tanner Millhouse, was until he lost his way. She mourned deeply for the loss of her best male friend, and her heart broke for his family. But she knew that Charlie’s grandmother and great-grandmother would take very good care of Tanner’s son and always speak fondly of his parents. Plus, the kid was going to be as rich as Croesus now that the blueberry fortune had been officially unrestricted.

  ​After the guests had left and the caterers had cleaned up the monumental mess left behind, Skyler and Leonard drove back to the Captain’s Inn for one last night in the town they loved so much. After a quick nightcap, and a final toast to Maynard Little, they went to bed early and slept soundly.

  * * *

  ​At the FBI briefing the next morning, the couple learned that Maribelle Solis had been arrested for paying to have Patty murdered and, under intense examination, the dry cleaner’s wife broke down and confessed to trying to make it look like her cheating husband ordered the hit. She was expected to take a plea deal to receive a reduced sentence, if she cooperated fully with investigators who were trying to track down the actual murderer…and begin to crack her family’s crime syndicate.

  ​That information sent collective chills through Skyler and Leonard’s bodies.