Dead Down East (30 page)

“So tell us, Jesse,” Michael said, “who is Cynthia
Dumais, and what does she have to do with the Lavoilette
murder?”

I proceeded to tell them how I got involved and what
I had been doing for the past week. I left out the part about
Dennis Jackson and his Colt .45. But I did mention the incident
with the tire iron. That explained my mashed Forester.

“I have provided two anonymous tips to the Maine
State Police and the FBI,” I said. “First I directed them to the
murder weapon, which they had not found during their initial search
of the area. I told them exactly where to find the gun and other
objects related to the murder. That tip demonstrated that I am a
reliable informant. Later I sent them photographs of the man who
stole Travis Perkins’ gun, which, incidentally, was used to kill
the governor. It was stolen the day of the killing. If they can
find this accomplice, they can interrogate him. I have his DNA too,
but I don’t know how to locate him. He might not even live in
Maine.”

“Why don’t you just tell the FBI about Cynthia?”
Michael asked.

“There are several reasons. For one thing, she
wouldn’t be much help to them. Cynthia was an eyewitness to the
killing, but it happened very quickly at night, and the murderer
was wearing a false beard. She told me there was no way she could
positively identify him.

“Furthermore, Cynthia’s name might surface in the
press. The killer, or killers, may already know she was in the
governor’s car when the murder took place, but we can’t be sure.
She feels that it’s safer for her to stay hidden for now. She’ll
come forward if she can help, but she doesn’t want to be known as
‘the other woman.’ She’d never have a normal life after that. It
would be like
The Scarlet Letter
, or Monica Lewinsky.”

“Who can forget?” Mom said derisively.

“Exactly,” I replied. “The FBI has found two
different strands of long hair in the governor’s summer home that
do not belong to Rebecca or anyone else they can identify as of
yet. They are having DNA tests done on them now, but even if they
suspect a particular woman had been there secretly, they could not
insist on DNA samples from her. It’s not a crime to have been in
the governor’s home. The Supreme Court will be hearing a case
related to this in the near future, but currently the police cannot
demand a sample from any individual who is not a suspect in a
crime.

“On the other hand, as an ordinary citizen, I can
collect DNA samples as long as I’m not invading anyone’s privacy. I
have three samples now. Two are from women who had affairs with the
governor, and one is from the accomplice who stole Travis Perkins’
gun. I am hoping to interview a few more women next week. I’ll see
what I can manage to get from them. Including Cynthia, there are
seven women on my list.”

“The governor had affairs with seven women?” Michael
asked incredulously.

“According to Richard Merrill, he did,” I said. “They
occurred over the past five years. I have definitely confirmed two
of them, and a third one is likely.”

“I voted for him,” Mom said. “If I’d have known about
the affairs, I probably would have stayed home on Election
Day.”

“When I collect my samples and have them analyzed, I
intend to turn them over to the FBI with the names of the women. It
might prove helpful.”

The room went silent for a while. Everyone processed
the story.

“Michael,” I said, “I’m curious as to what you and
Kathleen think about my approach to the case. What do your
instincts tell you?”

“Well, you seem to be handling it appropriately.
There is some danger involved, for sure. Proceed
very
carefully,” Michael said emphatically.

“The next woman on my list hung up on me, just as
Dennis Jackson did. Either she doesn’t want to be bothered, or she
has something to hide. Dennis Jackson saw through my façade as an
entrepreneurial homebuilder. I’ll be more cautious with Susan St.
Claire.”

“What do you know about her?” Kathleen asked.

I related everything I knew, except for the part
about the moose head. I didn’t want them to think I was relying too
heavily on a psychic.

“I’ll find out all I can about her before I set up an
interview,” I said.

“Her situation could be similar to Cynthia’s,”
Michael said. “She’s running a business. It would be bad publicity
to have her name connected to a murder investigation.”

“That’s true,” I replied. “I’ll just follow through
with her and see where it leads.”

It was hugs all around when Mom and I got up to
leave. As Kathleen embraced me, she whispered in my ear, “I’ll see
you in my dreams, Jesse.”

Monday morning I made some calls. The first one was
to Richard Merrill.

“Richard, I’m about to call Susan St. Claire, but I
want some clarification on the notes you have on her.”

“What do you need to know?” he asked.

“On your spreadsheet, at the end of the third
paragraph under her name you wrote, ‘
The Vamp
’ in italics.
What did you mean by that?”

“Did you ever see the movie,
Body Heat
?”
Richard asked.

“Of course. It’s a classic. Kathleen Turner was
amazing,” I replied with enthusiasm.

“Richard Crenna never knew what hit him,” he said
ominously.

“William Hurt, too,” I added, “at least before it was
too late.”

“Right,” Richard said. “Oscar, the detective,
cautioned Ned Racine about Mattie Walker, ‘She's trouble, Ned. The
real thing. Big-time, major league trouble.’”

“I remember that,” I said.

“When you’re dealing with Susan St. Claire, think
‘Mattie Walker.’ I should have put a star by her name,” Richard
added. “William’s affair with Susan St. Claire’s was brief and
fiery. She made a sizable donation to his campaign and made a point
of being very friendly. She’s quite an attractive woman.

“After they had been seeing each other for about a
month, she pressured him to change his position on natural gas
drilling. William was reluctant to allow hydraulic fracturing in
Maine. He was very concerned about the possible long-term
contamination of drinking water. One night she became irate. After
that, William stopped seeing her.”

“Are you sure they were sleeping together?” I asked.
“She said they weren’t even friends.”

“I’m absolutely certain they were sleeping together.
The first time it happened was in my home. I heard them in the next
room. The walls were shaking.”

“Big-time, major league trouble, eh?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll proceed with caution. Thanks, Richard,” I said.
“Tell me something else. When you spoke with the FBI, which of the
seven names on this list did you provide to them?”

“Just two—Michelle Jackson and Lori Trumbull. I
couldn’t avoid Michelle’s name. Lots of people saw Dennis Jackson
get angry with William. The blowup was more or less public
knowledge, but it is not widely known that William and Michelle
were romantically involved. William’s affair with Lori flew well
below the radar, but she was fairly visible as an associate around
the office. If I failed to supply her name, it might look as if I
were withholding evidence.

“I wasn’t going to give them Cynthia’s name under any
circumstances. The other four affairs all happened more than two
years ago. I thought it was better to let sleeping dogs lie. I gave
you the full list. I assume you will investigate them with
discretion. William was my dearest friend. I will do everything I
possibly can to protect his good name. I also was thinking of
Rebecca. A public display of William’s string of affairs would be
painful for her, and it would be damaging to her reputation.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’ll be faithful to your
concerns. I’ll be interviewing Rebecca today. Should I avoid
bringing up the names of these women? It would definitely be
awkward for me to mention them.”

“Right,” Richard said. “On the other hand, she might
be able to provide you with some important clues. I’ll call her
first, and tell her that you know about the women. I think she will
want to help in any way possible. I’ll call you back after I’ve
spoken with her to let you know how she responded.”

“Great. That will make my task a lot easier,” I said.
“Thanks again, Richard.”

There was a brief knock at the front door before it
opened. Then I heard Billy call down the hallway, “Jesse, I have
your business cards.”

Cynthia must have let him in. I’d been keeping the
doors locked for a week.

“Come on down. I’m in the office,” I shouted.

“Very nice, Billy,” I said after seeing the cards.
“You’d make a fine counterfeiter.”

“I’ve given that some thought, Jesse. After all, I’m
very fond of money.”

“Aren’t we all?” I replied.

“What would we do without rhetorical questions?”
Billy asked with a grin on his face.

“Very clever, Billy,” I said, “I knew you were witty,
but I didn’t realize you were sophisticated as well.”

“I’m oozing sophistication, Jesse. I went to the
University of Maine Farmington. It’s a bastion of droll
erudition.”

“That’s true. It’s a much better school than most
people realize. Did you graduate?” I asked.

“No, but I did complete two-and-a-half
semesters.”

“Well done,” I said.

“Are you referring to the business cards or my
academic career?”

“Both, but mostly the cards. Here’s your twenty
bucks,” I said as I opened my wallet.

“Can I get an advance on the finder’s fee?”

“What happens if you can’t find the letter?” I
asked.

“I shouldn’t have any trouble. I know where my
mailbox is.”

“OK, here’s a hundred. There’s a story behind how I
got this C-note. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m a little short
of time.”

“Thanks for the advance, Jesse.”

Billy tucked the hundred-dollar bill in his shirt
pocket, turned and left the premises.

It was just over a week since Cynthia arrived. She
had settled in reasonably well. I was keeping her informed of my
progress, and we shared meals whenever I was around. She had an
assistant helping her with property listings, and they managed to
keep up with business over the phone. On one occasion, she had
driven to town to finalize the sale of a home, but returned here
quickly after that was done. She had books to read and found ways
to pass the time, but she stayed on full alert. She was convinced
that her life was still in danger, and I assumed she was right. I
was armed at all times, even inside the house. Dennis Jackson
weighed heavily in my thoughts, even after his contrite phone
message. Now there was Susan St. Claire and Aaron Miller to
consider. Without Angele to soothe my nerves, I probably wouldn’t
have been getting much sleep.

The phone rang. It was Richard.

“Jesse, you’re free to talk with Rebecca about
anything. Finding William’s killer is her primary objective now.
Their marriage was dissolving, but she still loved and respected
him. She knows about the women, and she’s ready to discuss them. In
fact, I told her that the women were your primary focus. She’s OK
with that.”

“Thanks. That takes a load off my mind. Is there
anything else I should know?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Good luck, and keep me informed.
I’ll have my office in the State House until Friday. Then I’m
clearing out. If you stop by this week, I’ll give you another check
for your services.”

“OK, I’ll see you in a few days, Richard.”

• • •

Maine state law limits the size of contributions that
individuals can make to those running for public office. For
gubernatorial candidates the limit is $1500 for primaries and $1500
for the general election. A list of donors, recipients, dates and
the size of all contributions is available online. Susan St. Claire
made two contributions of $1500 each to William Lavoilette’s first
campaign. I also checked for Aaron Miller and Mark Prichard. Aaron
contributed a total of $3000 to Clayton Andrews’ campaign, and Mark
donated $3000 to John Fickett’s. Northland Natural Gas made their
political bets across the board.

Clearly the trio was trying to buy influence,
regardless who won the election. They had a vested interest both in
natural gas exploration and tar sands pipelines. If Maine were to
permit an expansion in either of those areas, their companies stood
to get very healthy overnight. That seemed motive enough to want to
eliminate a governor who stood in their way. That same motive
provided an opening for me to get up close and personal with Susan
St. Claire.

With freshly printed business cards in hand, it was
time to make my next move.

“Susan St. Claire speaking,” came the familiar
voice.