by Carl Schmidt
“Why does she want you dead, Mr. Richards?”
“Because I know what she’s up to.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“Can this call be traced?” he said abruptly, changing the topic of conversation. “Can I be located by some triangulation using cell towers?”
“It’s possible, but it’s also illegal. Only police agencies and the federal government can do that. A court order would be required.”
“Who trusts the federal government anymore, Mr. Thorpe?”
“Well, the number has dwindled lately,” I replied.
“Is there a more secure way for us to talk?” he asked.
“We could have a Skype conversation. That would be more secure than a cell phone connection. At this point in time, it’s just about impossible to track Skype connections to their source. It requires a great deal of sophisticated equipment and support to identify your computer, let alone determine its location. If you took a laptop to a public WiFi source, we could talk and see each other, and there’s no way for us to determine where you are.
“Incidentally,” I added, “that would be better for me as well. I could then verify who you are.”
“Let’s do it,” he said. “I use Skype quite often. Your letter included your Skype ID. I’ll connect with you in an hour. We’ll talk face to face.”
“I’ll be here waiting,” I said.
He ended the call without saying goodbye.
24
Mexican Standoff
“If you want to pick up your car today, maybe Holly can drop you off at Sammy D’s on her way home,” I suggested.
“And miss the Skype call with Frank Richards? You must be joking, Jesse.”
“Are you angling for overtime, Angele?”
She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I’ll be working you overtime later tonight.”
As if that weren’t enough, she punctuated her sentence using the tip of her tongue. It felt like a comma, then a period, followed by an exclamation point! So much for proper decorum in the workplace.
If Holly noticed, she was discreet enough not to show it. Ranger, on the other hand, came over and tried to nuzzle in on our conversation.
“Sorry, boy,” I said. “I’m all out of jerky.”
“He’s not hungry, Jesse,” Holly said, without looking up from her computer screen. “He’s just being affectionate. Something must have aroused him. Just scratch him behind his ears. He’ll relax and sit back down.”
I did as I had been told, and so did Ranger.
“When anything exciting happens, he wants to get in on it,” Holly added.
“Don’t we all,” I replied.
At quarter to five, the phone rang. On the second ring, the caller ID read, “Our Lady of the Seas.”
“Father O’Reilly?” I said expectantly.
“Yes, Jesse. I just got back from viewing the body. It is Nicole. It’s so disheartening. Do you have any idea who could possibly have done this?”
“I have a few people in mind, but I could easily be wrong about all of them. It’s just too early to tell. I’m expecting a call in about fifteen minutes from someone who might be able to shed light on the situation. I’ll let you know when something significant turns up. Stay in touch, and please call me if you happen to remember anything that might be important.”
“I surely will. God bless you, Jesse, and be careful.”
“I will, Father.”
I announced that, “The dead woman is Nicole Shepard. Father O’Reilly identified her at the morgue.”
It was no great surprise to anyone, but there was a sobering finality about it that quieted the room.
“I’d like to stay for the Skype conversation if that’s all right,” Holly said. “I finished the preliminary background checks for Allied Shipping. I just sent them off.”
“Sure,” I replied. “He should be calling in about ten minutes. I think it’s best if you and Angele watch from the side so you’re not on camera. He might be more forthcoming if he thinks he’s talking only to me.”
The connection came in at precisely five o’clock.
“Hello, Mr. Richards,” I said. “You’re coming in fine.”
“Same here,” he said.
Tina had provided me with several photographs of Frank on her missing person questionnaire. There was no doubt about it; I was speaking with Frank Richards.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. Richards, let’s pick this up where we left off. Why would your ex-wife want you dead?”
“I left Maine eight months ago, but I followed the news of Governor Lavoilette’s murder very closely. I understand, Mr. Thorpe, that you were instrumental in bringing the guilty parties to justice. Are you aware that Tina had an affair with the governor that lasted almost nine months?”
“Yes, I do know that,” I replied. “I also know that they parted on hostile terms.”
“Very,” he said. “I was away from Maine a lot at that time. That was almost four years ago. I was frequently in San Francisco and traveled to China on numerous occasions. Our marriage was very rocky, so it was no surprise to me that she was unfaithful. It was, however, quite a surprise that she was sleeping with the governor.
“Their affair and our marriage ended at about the same time. By then, Tina was spending a lot of time with a woman named Nicole Shepard. She and Nicole began selling drugs and running a number of fraudulent schemes; one of them on the governor himself.”
“Allow me to guess,” I interjected. “She told the governor she was pregnant with his child.”
“Yes! I see you’ve done your homework,” he said, obviously surprised and somewhat amused that I was up to speed on his ex.
“But, of course, she wasn’t pregnant,” he added. “She’s never going to be pregnant. To be sure of that, she had her tubes tied. Tina doesn’t have a maternal bone in her body, Mr. Thorpe. That excites some men. It excited me at first, but it got old after a few years.
“As you can imagine, the governor didn’t want any adverse publicity, so he paid her handsomely to keep it quiet. I have no idea how she managed to fool him. By then, she was out of my life, except for the alimony.”
“The story may not have reached you in California, Mr. Richards, but if you check the news in Maine over the next day or so, you will discover that Nicole Shepard was murdered on Saturday evening. Her body was just identified this afternoon.”
Frank appeared genuinely shocked. He stared silently into the camera.
“I am investigating that matter for a client,” I said. “Do you have any idea who could have done this?”
“By ‘client,’ do you mean, Tina?”
“No. Someone else hired me to investigate Nicole.”
“I could make a wild guess,” he continued, “but I would prefer not to. As I said before, Tina would rather see me dead than collect her alimony. I don’t want to complicate my life by supplying information about a possible killer.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the police and come forth with what you know about Tina’s illegal activity? I’m no lawyer, but I suspect you could have your alimony payments legally suspended or terminated.”
“I’ve never done anything illegal in my business, Mr. Thorpe. But I had a partner who did. We shared responsibilities, which worked out well for years. It allowed me to spend a lot of my time in Maine. Unfortunately, I did not always keep close tabs on what he was doing. He arranged to have several tons of illegal ivory shipped to China. When I found out, I dissolved our partnership, but I could still be held liable for breaking international law. I was stupid enough to tell Tina about it. That was before our marriage fell apart, but I should have seen it coming. In any event, she threatened to expose me. Of course, I threatened to expose her as well. You could say that our divorce was a Mexican standoff. We both backed away, and I agreed to the alimony settlement.”
“But it seems that you have a lot more on her than she does on you.”
“That’s true, which
is exactly why she would prefer that I were dead.”
“I see,” I replied.
After thinking it over for a short time, I made an offer.
“Mr. Richards, I would like to propose something to you.”
“I’m all ears,” he replied.
“I would like to sign you as a client, pro bono. If you agree to this, you will be protected under the work-product privilege statutes. Everything you tell me would be strictly confidential.”
“I’m familiar with work-product privilege. That would be fine by me. I am more than willing to funnel my alimony payments through you as part of our arrangement. I want to be in compliance, but I need to be invisible. If you discover where I live, you cannot pass that on to Tina or anyone else.”
“You have my word on that, Mr. Richards. I can send a contract to you electronically, if you like. It would take only a few minutes to finalize it.”
“Let’s do it,” he replied eagerly.
In three or four minutes time, we each had an electronic copy of a legal contract.
“You are now fully protected against discovery, Mr. Richards,” I said. “Please, if you will, tell me who you think might have killed Nicole Shepard.”
“Nicole and Tina live on the edge.”
He stopped briefly and then added, “In Nicole’s case I should say, ‘lived on the edge.’ Anyway, there are a number of possibilities. A drug deal could have gone bad. One of her bunco victims might have silenced her. But if I were looking for Nicole’s murderer, I’d start with Tony. He supplied both of them with drugs. He laundered their money. He directed them every step of the way. I saw him only once, and I don’t know his last name, but Tony is dangerous. He is either in the Mafia, or he’s starting his own family.”
Frank put the word, “family,” in finger quotes.
“What else can you tell me about him?” I asked.
“He’s about fifty, heavy set, with dark wavy hair. I believe he lives in Boston. That’s where they would usually meet. By the way, Tina and Nicole were not his only girls. I overheard the two of them talking one afternoon. There could easily be eight or ten more women working for him. They operate throughout the Northeast. I believe he even has one woman working in Miami. The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was trouble.
“Of course, I have had very little contact with Tina over the past three years. Things could have changed for her. I heard from an old friend that Tina has a new boyfriend, but you never know—he could just be a mark. Tina runs a full time hustle. You can’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth.”
We carried on with our conversation until almost five-thirty, when the law of diminishing returns kicked in. At that point, Frank began repeating himself. It was time to call it a day.
I thanked him for his help, and he agreed to transfer thirteen thousand dollars to our bank account as soon as we finished talking. Besides the twelve thousand he owed in back alimony, five hundred dollars covered Tina’s fee to us, and the extra five hundred adequately covered any penalties and interest that accrued for his late payment. I agreed to forward that money to Tina Woodbury once she waived her rights to any other extra charges.
Frank also agreed to make regular monthly payments of $1500 dollars through us for the remainder of his legal responsibility.
“It’s been quite a day,” Angele said after I closed the Skype connection.
“Yes it has,” I replied. “It’s time to have dinner and a little celebration. Would you care to join us, Holly,” I asked.
“No. You two can celebrate on your own. Ranger and I have a date with a TV dinner and a movie.”
“Do you have a specific movie in mind?” I asked.
“Roman Holiday would be nice, or maybe Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I’m a big fan of that genre, and I love Audrey Hepburn. Wait Until Dark is one of my favorites, but there’s been enough murder and intrigue around here for one day.”
“See you both tomorrow,” I said.
Ranger wagged his tail, honored to be included in our goodbyes, or perhaps he was just happy to be going home after a long day at the office.
“It looks as though I’ll be in Portland for the rest of the week,” I added, “that is, if Angele doesn’t kick me out of her apartment.”
“You’re safe tonight, honey,” she cooed. “Besides, I need you to drive me home, don’t I?”
“I guess you do.” I said. “But there are a couple of things I have to do. I want to talk with Eric, and we need to be home by six o’clock. I want to record the local news reports on DVR. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll let you drive while I make the call.”
We walked briskly to my car. Angele drove and I dialed.
“Jesse!” Eric said. “What’s up?”
“Eric, is Billy still there?”
“Yeah. We finished working, but we decided to raid your refrigerator. We don’t want all of your food to go to waste.”
“You mean—like the canned tuna, frozen vegetables and beer?”
“Jesse, everything’s got an expiration date.”
“Is Alonso with you?” I asked.
“Billy brought him to work this morning.”
“I hope he’s getting his exercise outside,” I said.
“Not to worry, Jesse. Alonso isn’t messing up your place.”
“Good,” I said. “There’s something I want you and Billy to do ASAP.”
“Name it,” he replied.
I told him about our new clients, Xavier LaGrange and Frank Richards, and that Nicole Shepard had been murdered. Then I gave him some instructions.
“I want you and Billy to drive to Tina’s house in separate cars. Park your car where you can just barely see her place. Have Billy drive right up to her house and knock on the front door. If Tina answers, he is to tell her that I’ve spoken with her ex-husband, Frank Richards. He has agreed to transfer thirteen thousand dollars to our checking account by tomorrow. I can mail her a check or transfer the money directly to her account, whatever she wants. Explain that the extra thousand covers her expenses and late fees, and that Billy has come personally because she hasn’t returned my phone calls.
“Have Billy tell her that Nicole Shepard has been identified as the woman murdered on Saturday evening at the Rutland Arms in Portland. It’s important that he says that he ‘heard it on the news.’ Got that?”
“Got it!” Eric replied.
“I want to know exactly how she reacts to that piece of information. It will be either a revelation or something she already knows. I want to know which. Also, record the exact time that Billy talks to her. It could be important.”
“OK. So what am I supposed to do there, Jesse?”
“She doesn’t know who you are, and I want to keep it that way. I may need you for more surveillance work later on. If she’s not there, just go home. If Billy talks with her, stake out her house for an hour or so. If she goes anywhere, follow her. Call me in the morning and tell me how things worked out.”
“Will do, Jesse.”
“Oh, yeah. One more thing. Take your Glock. Be armed at all times. The same goes for Billy.”
“Sure thing.”
“Good night, Eric. Watch yourself. We’re dealing with unsavory characters.”
Angele and I were silent for the rest of the ride. We arrived home at exactly 5:55, just in time to set the DVR for the six o’clock news.
Our day calendar was finally clear. My thoughts turned to the evening’s prospects for R and R. Knowing Angele, it would probably be light on rest, and heavy on recreation, and not in that order.
We had a quick supper, watched a movie and hit the sack at nine-thirty. I fell asleep a little before midnight, just after she said, “Jesse, can we do that one more time?”
25
Death on the Cape
Watching last night’s news at the break of day is not what you’d call my normal routine. Sipping Joe or even frolicking in bed with Angele would be more like it. I rarely watch local television and never
in the AM.
Until now.
Father O’Reilly had called us the previous day at 4:45 PM, just after he returned from the morgue. That meant he identified the body at about four o’clock. There was very little time for Portland stations to pick that up for their six o’clock reports. I figured it might get on the ten o’clock broadcast, provided the next of kin had been notified.
And that’s what happened.
Maine learned the murdered woman’s name at either 10:24 or 10:26 PM, depending on whether folks were watching NBC or CBS. That fact would only matter in our investigation if we could find someone who knew her identity prior to 10:24. Xavier knew it, of course, but if he didn’t murder Nicole, someone else also knew who the dead woman was before Monday’s nightly news sent it to the airwaves.
On the other hand, an even more puzzling consideration was, “What happened to Diana?” If the two-year old posing as his daughter was actually in the room Saturday at five o’clock, then who whisked her away? And, where was she now?
Winston Churchill once said, “Russia is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.” It has occurred to me from time to time that when you wrap something that big into something else, and then put them both inside some other thing, you end up with a very big package. Russia, I thought, was more of a conundrum. On the other hand, “Diana” fit well into Churchill’s wrapper.
After breakfast, Angele and I picked up her car at Sammy D’s, and we drove separately to the offices of Schroeder, Wilson and Fines. Angele was working her day job on the ground floor; I bounded up two flights of stairs hoping to solve my riddle.
Holly and Ranger had opened up, and they both were hard at work—Holly typing away at the computer, and Ranger sawing logs.
“Good morning, Holly,” I said. “How was Audrey Hepburn last night?”
“I decided to watch Casablanca instead.”
“Bogart! Excellent choice.”