by B. D. Smith
It had been a simple plan. At some point prior to Don and Ximena arriving at the cabin the killer had used the nearby extension ladder to reach the top of the chimney and seal off the flue with the tarp, using the bungee cord to hold it in place. The length of cable was left dangling down the side of the chimney. There was little chance, given the dark night, that either Don or Ximena would notice the tarp when they arrived at the cabin. Returning in the last hours before dawn, the killer could simply pull the tarp off of the chimney, using the attached cable, and then disappear back into the darkness. Not wanting to risk being seen with the murder weapon, the killer had later dropped it in a snowbank on the ice-covered Sebec River, confident that spring floodwaters would carry it downstream.
3.
Soon after he was elected Sheriff of Piscataquis County, Jim Torben got rid of the large ornate desk his predecessor Don Hudson had been so proud of. Hudson, a transplant from Massachusetts, had been arrested on federal drug charges and removed from office a while back. In stark contrast to Hudson, Torben was not “from away.” He had been born and raised in Dover-Foxcroft and had joined the sheriff’s department soon after graduating from Foxcroft Academy. Steadily working his way up through the ranks in the sheriff’s department, Torben had gained the respect of the people he worked with on a daily basis, as well as many of the communities dispersed across Piscataquis County - one of the largest and least populated counties east of the Mississippi. In place of Don Hudson’s desk Torben had picked up a large and well-used oak library table at the Chesley Auction House over in East Corinth, twenty minutes away down Route 15.
The morning after the discovery of the piece of canvas that had been used in the murder of Don Robertson, four people sat around the sheriff’s oak table and contemplated how to approach what they all recognized would be a difficult if not impossible case to crack. Doug Bateman sat next to the sheriff, with Anne Quinn and Jack Walker facing them across the table. While Anne, Doug, and Jim had previously worked together on a number of high-profile cases, Jack was new to the group. He hadn’t worked any major crimes before, but Anne had been partnered with him on and off for the last six months or so and thought he might be ready for the challenge. Torben had agreed with her suggestion, and assigned Jack to the case.
Stan Shelter, who was Doug Bateman’s boss at the Major Crimes Unit North over in Bangor, was also in the meeting, on the speakerphone. He would probably have nothing to offer to their discussion, and it wasn’t clear that he was even listening. That was fine with Bateman – the last thing he wanted was interference from Shelter – a consummate bureaucrat with little experience in major crimes and a penchant for long-distance micromanagement of the MCU’s widely dispersed detectives. MCU-North’s jurisdiction encompassed almost half of the entire state of Maine - the five predominantly rural northern and easterly counties, covering 20,000 square miles and encompassing over 300,000 people.
Setting down his coffee cup, Jim Torben turned to Doug.
“Doug, now that the Robertson death is considered a homicide, the investigation is in the hands of MCU. Stan Shelter and I talked this morning and he’s assigned you as the lead detective in the case. He also requested our assistance in the investigation, and I agreed.”
Looking around the table, Doug frowned.
“Well, it looks like we’re starting from absolute zero, and we’re already several months behind. We know how Robertson was killed, and when. We also know that the murder was premeditated and carefully planned, and that the killer knew that Don and Ximena would be spending the night in the cabin. But that’s it. We don’t have any suspects or any motives, no convenient CCTV footage or much chance of locating any witnesses. Not too many people were likely out and about in the woods in the middle of the night, except of course for the killer.”
Looking across the table at Anne and Jack, Doug continued.
“The case is also complicated in that Robertson was back and forth between here and Portland, so we need to look for leads in both places. The most logical way to divide up the work is to have my partner Tom Richard and I look into his life on the coast, and for Anne and Jack to pursue the case here.”
Doug paused in anticipation of Stan Shelter interrupting over the speakerphone. He thought there was a good chance his boss would veto the involvement of his partner Tom Richard, who was once again the subject of an internal review involving a claim that he used unnecessary force in subduing a suspect in a rape case. Doug waited for any response from the speakerphone and realizing with relief that Shelter did not appear to be paying attention, he hurried on.
“Anne, Jack, are you two OK handling things here in Dover?”
Both nodded, and Jack raised his hand to speak as he glanced down, opening his iPad.
“I might have some leads on possible motives and persons of interest, both here and down on the coast.”
Glancing around the table, Jack smiled at the looks of surprise that the rookie was speaking up, and continued.
“I ran into Don Robertson at the Bear’s Den the night before he was found dead. We were both on the football team back in high school and he remembered me. We ended up sharing a pitcher of beer and getting caught up. He’d had a few beers already and did most of the talking – filling me in on why he was planning on moving back to Dover, and all his personal problems down in Portland.”
Holding up his iPad, Jack continued.
“I often take contemporaneous notes on conversations I have with people when I think it might come in handy later. Given what happened that night at the Bear’s Den, I made sure to take notes on my conversation with Robertson. Don told me he and his wife Rosemary were heading for a divorce and that she was deep into a cultish self-help group down in Portland. It sounded pretty hostile, with him being warned by cult members to stay away from his wife. So on the Portland side of the investigation, his wife and her involvement with this cult might be a good starting point.”
Jack checked his iPad again.
“Don mentioned his wife’s dentist, a guy named Lee Lamen, as being her mentor in the group, and intimated that Lamen had threatened him.”
Pausing, Jack looked across the table at Doug and the sheriff. Nodding his head, Doug responded.
“That’s good work Jack. Don’s wife and Lee Lamen are solid places to start. What do you have on the Dover side of things? What happened that night at the Bear’s Den?”
“Ximena Lapointe showed up and joined us. She made quite an entrance. She and Don embraced and kissed, almost showing off for the karaoke crowd. I remembered they’d been an item in high school. Don’s interest in returning to town made much more sense with Ximena in the picture. Doug, you remember Ximena from high school, don’t you?”
With a mock serious expression, Anne spoke up before Doug could respond.
“Yes Doug, do tell us about Ximena Lapointe.”
Frowning now and looking to both Jack and the sheriff for support, Doug absently pulled at his right ear as he replied.
“Well, to be honest, Anne, I didn’t know Ximena in high school. She wasn’t part of my crowd at Foxcroft Academy. I know who she is, of course, and I’ve run into her a few times over the years, but nothing beyond that. I can confirm Jack’s assessment though – she’s a looker.”
Anne settled back in her chair, surprised at Doug’s response – not what he said, but his body language. Although she had never mentioned it to him, she knew Doug had a distinctive “tell.” Whenever he was being evasive – not exactly lying but being careful with his words and perhaps not being fully forthcoming, he would tug at his right ear. “Interesting,” she thought, filing Doug’s evasion away for future discussion when they were alone.
Doug looked to Jack, who resumed his account of the karaoke night drama at the
Bear’s Den.
“Maybe a half hour later, Wes Fuller walked in and initiated an argument with Ximena and Don. It turns out Fuller and Ximena had dated a year or so back, but when he started trying to control her Ximena abruptly dumped him. Fuller didn’t take the rejection well and began stalking her. Eventually she was forced to get him served with a restraining order. He clearly didn’t like seeing Ximena and Don Robertson together at karaoke night and was getting aggressive. I stepped in and suggested he leave, which he did, but not before he threatened Don.”
Looking down at his iPad, Jack found the passage he was looking for.
“Let’s see – here it is - ‘you can count on it Robertson, I’m gonna fuck you up.’”
Doug, Jim, and Jack all agreed that this sounded like typical bluster from Fuller. He had been a big talker but short on follow-through ever since high school.
The first steps they needed to take in the investigation seemed clear enough, based on Jack’s observations, and it only took another twenty minutes or so to lay them out. Doug would head back to Bangor and he and his partner Tom Richard would start pulling together background information on Don Robertson, his wife, and the group she had joined, in advance of setting up some initial interviews with her and her mentor Lee Lamen. Anne and Jack would interview Wes Fuller, but first they needed to talk to Ximena Lapointe and see what she could tell them about Fuller, and which of his friends she thought might have worthwhile information.
Anne spent the rest of the morning learning more about Fuller - their prime suspect on the Dover side of the investigation. Other than the protection from abuse order that Ximena had obtained, Wes Fuller only had a few other run-ins with law enforcement – mostly bar fights, suspected drug dealing, and numerous complaints regarding his boating habits on Sebec Lake. Given his obnoxious profile, Anne was not surprised to learn that Fuller was the owner of the bright red “go-fast” boat designed for offshore open ocean racing that far too often could be heard out for high speed runs on Sebec. It was loud, and irritated onlookers could hear it coming from a mile or more away.
Fuller’s boat was in fact at the top of the list of watercraft that Anne had decided would be permanently banned from the lake when she ascended to her imaginary throne and became “Queen of Sebec.” Anne lived in a cottage on the south shore and summer evenings would frequently find her and Doug on her dock sharing a bottle of wine and watching the sunset. Over the past few summers they had developed and refined a comprehensive set of regulations for watercraft that would be imposed once Anne became queen. Canoes, kayaks, and paddleboards on the lake, for example – any human-powered craft, would be entitled to a $100 annual payment. Sailboats – any wind-powered vessel, would be allowed free of charge. Powerboats, on the other hand, would in general be charged on a sliding scale based on their horsepower rating. Any boat powered by an engine of less than ten horsepower would be charged an annual fee of $25. Ten to fifty horsepower would face a fee of $50, and fifty to one hundred horsepower a fee of $200. No boats with a horsepower rating above one hundred would be permitted. And of course, jet skis – personal watercraft, would be banned and subject to hefty fines.
Anne and Doug agreed, however, that there should be two notable exceptions to this fee structure. Pontoon or “patio” boats, regardless of their horsepower rating, would not face any fees. This exemption was based on the general quietness and the slow, stately progression of patio boats – they usually slipped past in a leisurely and dignified manner, like royal barges on the Thames. The second exemption was for vintage boats – those manufactured before 1960, and in particular any wooden boats or “woodies.” There were not very many such boats on the lake, and since Doug owned one of the few woodies on the lake, a 1952 Chris Craft, an exemption for them seemed only appropriate.
Anne was surprised to learn that Wes Fuller ran a small company that plowed snow in the winter and cleared brush and downed trees in the summer months. It was not in the same category as Blue Water Tree Service or some of the other more established local firms. It certainly didn’t appear to be a source of income sufficient to support his ownership of a go-fast boat, or the large compound he owned on the south shore not too far from the Sebec Village. It was suspected that drug money laundered through his business was a substantial portion of his income, but so far proof had been hard to come by.
Anne knew that Ximena mostly conducted her real estate business from her home on Davis Street on the Foxcroft side of the Piscataquis River, and she and Jack Walker decided to drop in on her unannounced that afternoon. As they pulled up to her house Jack admired the new high-end Ford pickup parked in her driveway. His own truck had over 180,000 miles on it and was showing some serious rust.
Ximena was puzzled but welcoming, and ushered them into her home office.
“Sorry for the mess, guys. I’ve been swamped with new listings coming on the market for the spring sales season. What’s up?”
Anne and Jack had agreed that Jack would begin the questioning, given his long acquaintance with Ximena.
“Sorry for the interruption, Ximena. We’re hoping you can provide us with some additional information both about Don Robertson’s death and about Wes Fuller. I heard him threaten Robertson at the Bear’s Den on karaoke night. Was there a long-standing beef? Had he made similar threats earlier?”
Looking from Jack to Anne, and back to Jack, Ximena furrowed her brow.
“What’s this all about? Why do you want to know about Fuller and his dislike for Don? Don’s dead, what difference does it make now?”
Jack looked over to Anne and she picked up the questioning.
“Ximena, Don’s death has been reclassified as suspicious. We don’t think it was an accident. I can’t go into the details right now, but it looks like he was murdered. Since Wes Fuller threatened Don in public a few hours before he died, he’s on our list of people of interest. We’re hoping you can tell us more about Fuller, and about that Thursday night - both at the Bear’s Den and later at the cabin.”
Stunned into silence, Ximena stared past them, out the window. Finally, she replied.
“But Don died of carbon monoxide poisoning. He wasn’t murdered.”
Anne shook her head.
“No, it was a deliberate killing. Someone covered the chimney to trap the carbon monoxide fumes in the cabin. And we need your help to catch his killer.”
Visibly shaken, Ximena sat forward in her chair and replied.
“How can I help? What do you want to know?”
Jack opened his iPad and started through his list of questions.
“Let’s start with that night. Don told me that you were late getting to the Bear’s Den. What delayed you?”
“Well, I had a dinner meeting with a big potential buyer for a property on the lake. That wrapped up on time, but my babysitter, Suzie Arter, was late, again, and then I managed to run my sled into a ditch on the way to the Bear’s Den.”
“Who’s the buyer? Anything unusual there?”
“His name is Nigel Underwood. He’s a Brit who lives down on the coast somewhere. He’s an older man – maybe mid-sixties, sharp dresser and a bit smarmy. Nigel seemed normal enough, but it was a bit unusual the way he dropped off the face of the earth after our dinner meeting that night. He said he would be in touch with me the following week to make an offer, but then never followed through. I tried to contact him, but all my calls, texts, and emails went unanswered. If you wanna know the truth, it pissed me off.”
Jack asked for the contact information for Underwood, added it to his iPad, and went to the next question on his list.
“Let’s talk about your babysitter, Suzie Arter. I think I remember you telling us earlier that you had to be home by 1AM that night. She had stayed overnight for you a num
ber of times previously, hadn’t she? Why didn’t she stay over that night?”
“I think she had a big test the next day – her SAT test if I remember right.”
“We’ll check on that with Suzie. OK, next question. Do you remember anything unusual about that night after you left the cabin – you said it was about midnight?”
“Yes – right about midnight. I had set my Fitbit to wake me. I don’t remember if the heater was still on when I got up, but it was still warm in the cabin. I remember that. I woke up with a headache and figured I had too much beer at the Bear’s Den. But it cleared up soon after I stepped outside. The snow was coming down really hard then, and it took me longer than I expected to get home.”
“You didn’t see anyone around the cabin or on the way home? You didn’t hear anything?”
“Nope. The snow muffled sound pretty well, and visibility was down to almost nothing. It was hard to even see the trail. I was afraid I was going to go in the ditch again and would have to call someone to come and get me.”
“OK, let’s talk about Wes Fuller. How long had he known about you and Don? Had he made previous threats?”
“That was a real surprise to me. I don’t think Wes and Don had ever run into each other since high school. Don never mentioned Wes having bothered him before, and I had not had many real problems with Wes since I got the restraining order. Him showing up and harassing us at the Bear’s Den that night was right out of the blue.”
“Anything else you think we should know about Wes Fuller before we talk to him?”
Ximena went still for a moment. Taking a deep breath, she replied.
“Looking back on it, I can’t believe I ever got involved with the creep. He seemed nice enough at first, and being the subject of gossip myself, I chose to ignore all the badmouthing I had heard about him. Plus, he always had excellent weed. Everyone in town thinks he’s just a blustery fraud – always making threats and posturing but never really following through. That’s how he comes across. But it’s a mask. As soon as I saw what’s behind the mask, I got away from him as fast as I could. He scares me. Wes is involved in drugs – no question, and a bunch of other ugly stuff. And he’s really smart. Or sly, I guess would be more accurate. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind the murder of Don Robertson.”
