A Priestly Affair (Jesse Thorpe Mysteries Book 2)

by Carl Schmidt

  “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us find him?”

  “That’s about it,” she replied.

  “Holly, is there anything you want to ask Tina about her husband?”

  “I think you’ve got it covered,” she replied.

  The room grew quiet. It was time to switch gears.

  “Before you go, Tina, I would like to ask you a personal question, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I guess so,” she replied.

  “I was wondering about your companion at the Rusty Tavern the night before last. I believe you said she was a college friend of yours. Your questionnaire indicates that you went to the University of Connecticut. Is that where the two of you met?”

  “Yes, Nicole and I were in the same sorority.”

  “She looked familiar to me. Does she live here in Portland?”

  “Don’t you already have a girlfriend, Jesse?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s not that. I was just trying to place her. What’s her last name?”

  Tina eyed me with a measure of suspicion but eventually said, “Shepard.”

  “Nicole Shepard?” I remarked pensively. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell. I was thinking her last name might be ‘Levesque.’”

  Tina froze.

  “Where did you get that name?” she asked, trying quickly to regain her composure.

  “From one of our clients,” I replied.

  “Who would that be?” Tina asked nervously.

  “I can’t reveal his identity, but he lives in Portland,” I replied. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  I took hold of the computer mouse and initiated the video.

  “Why don’t you come around here and watch?” I suggested.

  Tina walked behind me as the video played. When it was over, I asked, “Did you know that Nicole has a three-year old daughter?”

  “What makes you think that’s Nicole Shepard? You can hardly see her face.”

  I opened the gallery of photographs Holly had taken in the park and scrolled to an excellent close-up.

  “Here is a picture of Nicole taken a few moments before the scene on the bleachers. It looks quite a bit like the lady who was with you on New Year’s Eve.”

  “I don’t think so,” she replied somewhat forcefully. “That’s somebody else.”

  Ranger barked.

  It took us by surprise. I did my best to restrain a chuckle at the canine polygraph. We both turned to find Ranger eyeballing Tina Woodbury.

  Tina and I turned back toward the picture on the screen, and I eased into, “You know her better than I do. I just thought they looked a lot alike. It’s curious that they both have the same first name.”

  Tina looked as though she were pinned between a dog and a hard place. She had just presented us with a $500 check to find her ex-husband, and now she was noticeably disturbed by the video of her friend. I wondered if we still had her as a client.

  Finally she said, “You’re mistaken. Nicole Shepard doesn’t have any children.”

  “My mistake,” I said. “I only got a brief look at her the other night. I put two and two together and got five.”

  Tina did her best to cover her nervousness, but she didn’t manage that very well. Her eyes darted back and forth, and she bumped the corner of the desk getting back to her purse on the chair.

  “So you’ll let me know when you find Frank?” she said, her voice noticeably unsettled and higher in pitch.

  “Of course, Tina. I’m confident we’ll find him, though it’s unlikely he’ll want to talk with you.”

  I handed her Randall Bradford’s business card and said, “Randall is a fine lawyer who works in Augusta. When we locate Frank, Randall can file the legal papers for you to have your alimony reinstated along with a penalty and interest. You’ll also be entitled to be reimbursed for your expenses, so save your receipts to document everything including your travel.”

  Tina nodded quickly and made a hasty exit. She barely managing a “goodbye” as she slipped out the door.

  When she was out of sight, I turned to Holly and Ranger, who were both looking at me.

  “Not only was she lying about her friend, Nicole, but she has other skeletons in her closet as well,” Holly said.

  “Even Ranger could see that,” I replied. “He’s really something.”

  “Ranger’s smart, Jesse, but he’s not that smart,” she said.

  “But he barked the very moment Tina told a lie,” I replied.

  Holly opened her hand and held up a tiny whistle. She then winked and blew through it. The next thing we heard was the sound of one dog barking.

  14

  Immaculate Misconception

  Angele popped into the office fifteen minutes after Tina had hurried out the front door. She waved at Holly and got right down to it.

  “OK, Jesse, give me the skinny. What did you get out of Tina Woodbury?”

  “She and Nicole Levesque, who is actually Nicole Shepard, are in the deep end of the pool together,” I replied. “We are in a curious position. One is the object of an investigation and the other is the subject. If we lump them into one sentence, we’ll probably end up with a circular conjugation. Or, to put it another way, we’re venturing onto a Möbius strip.”

  “You’re mixing your metaphors again, Jesse.”

  “Sorry, dear. If I had to pick one over the other, I guess I’d go for Mr. Möbius.”

  “Which means?”

  “Which means that if we walk straight ahead with Tina, standing upright, we will likely find ourselves upside down when we find Nicole.”

  “In plain English?”

  “In plain English… These two would be con men, except that they are women, and one of them has hired us to do her bidding.”

  “So Tina signed the contract?”

  “Right. Holly is tracking down her ex-husband as we speak.”

  Angele looked over and noticed Ranger sprawled behind Holly’s chair. He appeared to be napping.

  “I thought I heard a couple of barks earlier,” Angele said. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Ranger,” Holly replied. “He’s been with me for three years. He was invaluable when I was doing security work in New York.”

  “Nice,” Angele replied. Turning to me she continued, “Are you guys ready for lunch? I was thinking of Plato’s Deli. We can all have falafels while you fill me in on the case.”

  “I’d love to, Angele, but I don’t have the time,” I replied. “Maybe Holly can join you. It looks as if I’ll be heading to Massachusetts in a few minutes. I have to check a few things first, but I believe I have located Nicole’s home address.

  “Tina was very disturbed by the video in the park. She and Nicole were sorority sisters at the University of Connecticut. I suspect that Tina has already phoned to tell her that she is being investigated. If that’s the case, she may fly away like a bird.

  “After running a few searches, I managed to find the apartment complex where Nicole Shepard has been living for the past couple of years. I called the manager’s office, but no one answered the phone.”

  “Have you contacted Father O’Reilly?”

  “That’s next on my list. I’ll see if he has any interest in contacting the police. The main problem with that approach is that Nicole might actually have Father O’Reilly’s daughter. If that’s the case, it could prove embarrassing in a number of ways. Hold on, I’ll see if I can reach him now.”

  I placed the call.

  “Hello, this is Father O’Reilly. May I help you?”

  “Father, this is Jesse Thorpe. I’d like to discuss an important development in your case.”

  “Yes. Please do,” he replied.

  I quickly briefed him on the morning’s events and concluded with the near certainty that Nicole Levesque was, in fact, Nicole Shepard, living in Burlington, Mass. At the end of the conversation, I asked him if he wanted to involve the police.

  “Not yet,” he replied. “We don’t know
if she’s done anything wrong.”

  “All right,” I said. “Then I think it’s best if I drive to Burlington immediately. What do you think?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied. “We want to resolve this as quickly as possible.”

  “I can be there in a little under two hours.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and we hung up.

  “That settles it, Angele. I’m off.”

  “Holly, I’ve initiated a couple of searches. Please check on them periodically over the next hour or so. If you notice anything relating to Nicole, call me right away.”

  “Sure thing, Jesse,” she said.

  “I hope to be home for supper, Angele, but first we’ll see what happens in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

  • • •

  I was on the road in less than five minutes. An hour and a half later, I pulled into the parking lot of the Bedford Hills. Nicole’s apartment was #206. There was one covered parking space for each apartment and a separate lot for visitor parking or second cars. I was disappointed to see that space #206 was empty. I parked in the visitors’ lot and located the door to her apartment on the second floor. The front window curtain was partially drawn. I peeked in to have a look. There was no one in the living room or the kitchen. I rang the bell and waited. No one answered, and the door was locked.

  The manager’s office was #101. I knocked and a middle-aged woman with dark rimmed glasses and a friendly smile greeted me at the door.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see one of your tenants,” I replied. “Her name is Nicole Shepard. She lives in #206.”

  “You missed her by about ten minutes, I’m afraid,” she said. “I heard what sounded like a suitcase rolling across the upper walkway, so I poked my head out the front door to see what was happening. Nicole made two trips down the stairs with two large suitcases. It looks as if she’s left us.”

  “Did she sign a lease?” I asked.

  “Exactly who are you?” the lady responded.

  “I’m sorry. My name is Jesse Thorpe. I’m a private investigator from Maine. Here is my card.”

  She studied it a bit, and then her eyes lit up.

  “Are you that fellow who solved the Lavoilette murder?” she asked.

  “One and the same,” I replied.

  “Come inside,” she said. “My name is Andrea Arnold. Bill and I manage this complex; Bill’s my husband. Is Miss Shepard in some kind of trouble?”

  “I can’t say for sure, Mrs. Arnold. I’m hoping to find her so I can discuss a private matter. Would it be possible to see her apartment?”

  “Normally, I couldn’t let you in, but since you are a long way from home on business, I think it will be all right to take a look. I’ll have to be with you for security reasons, however.”

  “That’s fine,” I said.

  Andrea continued talking as she opened a box in the dining room and withdrew a set of keys.

  “We don’t require a lease for second floor units. Those tenants rent month to month. Miss Shepard has been here a couple of years. She’s paid up through the end of January, and we have another month’s deposit. We ask for a thirty day notice, but we don’t always get it.”

  I followed her up the stairs and down the walkway. She knocked loudly and waited about fifteen seconds. When no one answered, she unlocked the door. She asked me to wait outside until she had a chance to look around. After checking, she returned to the door and let me in.

  “I believe she’s moved out,” Andrea said. “Her personal belongings are gone. I checked the closet and the dresser. They’re both empty.”

  “Does the furniture belong with the apartment?” I asked.

  “Yes, all the units on the second floor are furnished; on the first floor they are unfurnished. That simplifies things.”

  “Do you mind if I have a closer look?” I asked.

  “Be my guest,” she replied.

  “I don’t see a phone,” I said. “I assume she had just a cell.”

  “That’s correct.”

  There was nothing in the apartment except the furniture, dishes and some cleaning products. There was nothing personal in the bathroom or any of the closets. It seemed very likely that she split right after getting a call from Tina Woodbury.

  “Do you happen to have the license plate number for her car?” I asked.

  “Sure we do. When you’re done here, we’ll go downstairs, and I’ll get it for you.”

  “All right, let’s go,” I replied.

  We returned to the office, and Andrea opened a guest book that was on the shelf. She thumbed through a number of pages and then said, “Nicole drives a silver Camry with Massachusetts plates, 631-FL4.”

  Almost certainly, the Maine plates were stolen, just as we thought.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about Nicole that might help us locate her?” I asked.

  “Not really. We don’t pry into the personal lives of our tenants. As long as they pay the rent, we let them be.”

  “Did she have many visitors?” I asked.

  “I couldn’t really say. We have thirty-five apartments. We don’t spy on our tenants. She always paid her rent on time. My husband or I saw her once a month, and that’s about it.”

  She paused for a minute and then continued, “Well, there was one guy who has visited her from time to time—an older, burly fella—probably about fifty. I remember him because he drove a fancy black convertible. The first time I saw it parked in the visitors’ lot, I asked Bill what kind of car it was. He said it was a Jaguar XKR.”

  “Can you describe him in a little more detail?” I asked.

  “Well, I remember that he had jet black hair. Last summer, when it was hot, he wore a shiny silk shirt and two or three of the top buttons were left undone. He had a hairy chest and wore a couple of heavy gold chains around his neck. He reminded me of those Mafia guys in Goodfellas.”

  “Anything else?” I asked. “Did you get the license plate on his car?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that. We don’t snoop. If it weren’t for the black car, his hairy chest and the gold chains, I wouldn’t have given him a second look. He’s been here a number of times over the past two years.”

  “Do you know if Nicole has any children?” I asked.

  “None that I ever saw, Mr. Thorpe.”

  I had printed one of the better pictures of Nicole from her walk in the park. I pulled it from my coat pocket and showed it to Andrea.

  “I just want to be sure. Is this Nicole Shepard?”

  “That’s her. No doubt about it.”

  “Do you have her phone number?” I asked.

  “We should have it on file. I’ll check.”

  She found the number and gave it to me.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Arnold. I would like to ask one more favor.”

  “You want me to call you if she comes back, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “No problem. I’ll keep your card in her file, and I’ll tell my husband to be on the lookout. We have to keep her apartment vacant for the rest of January. If she turns up, I’ll call you immediately.”

  “Thanks for your time and help,” I said.

  “That Lavoilette murder…that was really something. Can you imagine?” she ventured.

  “I certainly can, Mrs. Arnold. It was a terrible thing.”

  • • •

  I grabbed a burrito at a local drive through and headed back to Portland. On my way, I called Father O’Reilly.

  “Hello?”

  “Father, this is Jesse Thorpe again. I’ve been to Nicole’s apartment, and it looks as though she has gathered her personal belongings and moved out without notifying the landlord. This happened about forty-five minutes ago. I’m driving back now. I’ll be in Portland at about three o’clock. Will you be home?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to see you.”

  “By all means.”

  “Do you have the DNA
report for Nicole and Evelyn?”

  “Oh yes. I have it.”

  “I’d like to see it, if you don’t mind. We have a few things to discuss. I’ll see you at three.”

  • • •

  The monsignor was waiting at the door when I parked my car in front of the rectory. He handed me the DNA report as I entered his home.

  “Thank you, Father. Give me a minute, I’d like to read the description of the samples.”

  All three samples were saliva. Father O’Reilly and Nicole had their samples taken at the Paternal Affairs office in Portland at the same time. Evelyn’s had been evaluated three weeks earlier, but there was no indication of how it had been collected. It just read, “Evelyn Levesque - saliva sample.” Under that, was a printout of her DNA profile. The report stated with virtual certainty that the two adults were the parents of “Evelyn Levesque.” The chances of that now appeared remote. It was far more likely that the child had never been born.

  “Father, the report indicates that a sample of Evelyn’s saliva was submitted three weeks before you and Nicole were tested. I am almost certain that there is no ‘Evelyn Levesque.’ We need to know how Nicole got your saliva.”

  “How do you know there’s no Evelyn?” he asked.

  I laid out the whole story for him. Nicole had been living in Burlington for two years in an apartment without a child. She had probably used stolen license plates when she left Maine. Her last name was “Shepard,” not “Levesque,” and she fled from her apartment within an hour of my conversation with Tina Woodbury. By the time I finished my narrative, the monsignor and I were in agreement as to the logical conclusions. He had been defrauded of $60,000 over the past three years, and Nicole, now aware of the investigation, was on the lamb. The only thing we needed to decide was how to proceed.

  “I think it’s time to go to the police, Father,” I said. “There is more than enough evidence to file a complaint. The authorities are better equipped to locate her than I am. They might even have other legal issues pending on the mysterious ‘Nicole Levesque.’ But it’s your call. What do you think?”

  “As you can imagine, this is all very embarrassing for me. Suppose the police are able to track her down and charges are filed. Can you imagine the trial? I would be disgraced. I might even be forced to leave the church. If I don’t go to the police, I’ll probably never hear from Nicole again. Life will proceed for me and for the members of my parish as if nothing had happened. Sending her to prison will not solve her problems. The bottom line is… Nicole is troubled.”