Dog Eat Dog

by David Rosenfelt

  To get all this, Sam must have broken into either police or court records, though it’s possible it was available in public documents. I’m not inclined to ask how he got it, just in case it’s illegal. I’m okay either way, but I prefer ignorance as a fallback position.

  “Anything else on him?” I ask, but I’ve already heard enough to be stunned. Stokan was one of the tentative suspects in the original investigation, as documented in the discovery. Like everyone else, he was eliminated when his DNA did not match.

  “Works construction for a company based in Augusta. Not married. I have other stuff … addresses at work and home … I can email you all of it.”

  “Thanks, Sam. Please do that.”

  I hang up and ponder the latest depressing development. The guy who threatened to assault me is a professional assaulter. I’m going to guess that the guy with him was not a mediator.

  The only thing I can think of that might prevent them from trying again is that they think I gave the police their license plate when I fake-called 911.

  Of course, I’ve really given it to the police since then, though I tend to doubt that the cop did anything with it. Either way, their having it doesn’t protect me from assault, it merely points out the potential assaulters after the fact. I am much more interested in preventing the fact.

  The interesting part of Sam’s report is that Stokan was possibly involved in selling drugs. The toxicology report indicated that Charkin had opioids in his system, at a high level. Maybe Stokan doesn’t want me to be investigating the murder not on behalf of society, but because he committed it.

  It’s unlikely, but it puts Stokan at the top of my list of suspects. Unfortunately, he’s also at the bottom, since his is currently the only name on the list.

  I stop off at Charlie Tilton’s office to see how my top assistant is doing. He’s just pulling up as I get here. “Sorry if you were waiting,” he says, even though I hadn’t mentioned that I was coming. “But work got in the way.”

  “You were in court?”

  “No, I got a haircut. Looks good, huh? Fifteen bucks, but worth every penny.”

  “Getting a haircut is work?”

  “Of course. What if I have to go to court? You want me to look unkempt?”

  “Never. I think all lawyers should be totally kempt.”

  “Good. I’m trying to live up to your standards. And now I can expense the fifteen bucks.”

  We go up to his office and he makes us both coffee. For me coffee is like beer; I drink it because it’s there and I feel like I’m supposed to, but I don’t particularly like the taste.

  Once we’re settled, I ask, “Where does one go to buy drugs around here?”

  “This case is really getting to you, huh?”

  “Something like that. Charkin had opioids in his system. Where is he likely to have gotten them? I spoke to the cops and they said it’s an answer they never came up with.”

  “Who did you speak to?”

  “Captain Oliver. State police. It was his case.”

  “Good man, but he wasn’t being straight with you. He knows where Charkin got the drugs, at least indirectly. What he meant was that he couldn’t prove it.”

  I’m not surprised that Captain Oliver wasn’t totally forthcoming, and I’m pleased that Charlie seems to have the information. “So what’s the answer?”

  “Jerry Donnelly. Known as Big Jerry, mostly because he’s big and his name is Jerry.”

  “And he deals?”

  Charlie nods. “Among other things. He’s what would pass for organized crime in this area.”

  “Maine never struck me as an organized crime type of place.”

  “There’s not going to be a war between the Five Families, and no one is going to the mattresses, but we have our share. And it all revolves around Jerry Donnelly. He commits crime and he’s organized, so that would fit the textbook definition.”

  “So he would be capable of murder?”

  “Oh, yes. No question about it.”

  “And where does he get the drugs to dispense?”

  “That’s a question that I don’t think has ever been answered, or at least I’m not aware if it has. But drugs are the key to his operation; they bring in the most money, and the word is that Donnelly is hurting for money these days.”

  “Why?”

  Charlie shrugs. “Organized crime doesn’t pay like it used to, and there is a large employee payroll. Good people, or in this case bad people, don’t come cheap.”

  “What about Henry Stokan?”

  Tilton reacts in surprise. “Boy, you do get around. No legal grass grows under your feet. What is your connection to Stokan?”

  “He doesn’t want me representing Matt Jantzen; instead of filing a legal brief with the court, he threatened me in a parking lot.”

  “How did you get out of that one?”

  “I told him you were Jantzen’s lawyer.”

  “I hope that’s big-city humor. Stay clear of Stokan; he’s meaner than he is dumb, and he’s really dumb. And as you already know, he’s large.”

  “He had a friend with him the same size. I’m actually not sure which one was Stokan, although the one talking was the driver, and the truck is registered to Stokan. I’m getting a photo of him.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “Would he be connected to Donnelly?”

  Tilton thinks for a moment. “Could be. Make that probably. Donnelly doesn’t do his own dirty work.”

  “Sam says the guy who threatened you is dangerous,” Laurie says.

  “That’s disappointing; I told Sam to keep it to himself. Sam obviously is not familiar with the concept of lawyer / computer-guy confidentiality.”

  “I forced it out of him. I told him I’d never make him another pancake if he didn’t tell me everything.”

  “Everybody’s got their price. But what he said was correct; even more than he knows.” I tell her what Charlie Tilton told me about Stokan and Jerry Donnelly.

  “You think either or both of them could be involved in the killings?”

  “Right now your guess is as good as mine. Stokan could have just been pushing around the big-city lawyer and letting him know that he thinks Matt is a killer that shouldn’t be defended. Or he could have been involved and doesn’t want an investigation to uncover inconvenient facts.”

  “And Donnelly?”

  “According to Charlie, if Charkin was taking drugs, then it’s a good bet they somehow came through Donnelly. But I have no idea why Donnelly would have been inclined to kill a customer.”

  “Or set Matt up to take the fall. Have you asked Matt if he has any connection to Donnelly or Stokan?”

  “No, but I will.”

  “And of course none of this explains the DNA.”

  Laurie has just put her finger on the main fact hovering over this case … the herd of elephants in the room. No matter what we uncover, we’re eventually going to have to explain away the DNA.

  Even proving that someone like Stokan was the killer wouldn’t be enough. There would be nothing that would prevent Matt from being seen as his accomplice, present at the scene and attacked by Charkin, resulting in Matt’s blood on his hand.

  “You want to get to the unpleasant part of this conversation now?” she asks.

  “You mean so far we’ve been having the fun part?”

  “Marcus is coming up there tomorrow.”

  “We’ve been through this; I don’t need him. I’m being careful and Stokan thinks I gave his license plate number to nine-one-one.”

  “Here’s the mistake you’re making. You’re viewing this as a negotiation, as if we’re trying to reach a decision that hasn’t already been made. Marcus is coming up there tomorrow; he already knows about it. You can either reserve him a room or hopefully yours has a king bed.”

  Laurie clearly thinks she can intimidate me. Unfortunately, in this case I can’t pretend to call 911, so I’m pretty much left without options. Marcus is coming, whether
I like it or not, and the part of me that isn’t an egotistical idiot likes it.

  Marcus can handle Stokan and his friend without calling 911. Marcus could handle Russia without calling 911.

  “Okay. Call me tomorrow and let me know what time Marcus will be here, and I’ll meet him.”

  “Thank you,” she says, as if I am doing her a favor.

  “Does Marcus like lobster?”

  “Have you ever come across something that Marcus doesn’t eat?”

  “No, but at some point we should do a tofu test.”

  I head down to the jail to talk to my client. I could have called him, but over the years I have learned that being locked up before trial tends to make people feel insecure. They fear that they have been forgotten and appreciate it when people pay attention to them. People such as their lawyers.

  Like all such meetings, this one starts with the client asking about progress in the case. Matt wants me to say that I have achieved a breakthrough, and the charges are about to be dropped with an apology from the state.

  Once I gently dispense with that fantasy, I ask, “Does the name Henry Stokan mean anything to you?”

  “No.”

  I show him a photograph of Stokan that Sam has somehow gotten and emailed to me. It’s a mug shot. “Do you recognize him?”

  “No. Is that Stokan?”

  “Yes. What about Jerry Donnelly? That name ring a bell?”

  “It feels like it might, but I can’t place it. Who are these people?”

  “Bad guys. Stokan threatened me the other night, and Donnelly is said to run various criminal enterprises in this area.”

  “Why did Stokan threaten you?”

  “For defending you.”

  “Is this guy involved in our case, or does he just dislike me?”

  “I hope he’s involved.”

  “Maybe he’s the killer?” Matt asks.

  “Hard to say, but he and Donnelly have potential. But having a motive or connection to the victims would help.”

  “I didn’t have a motive or connection, but they think I did it.”

  “Your blood DNA was on the scene. If you’re ever playing a game of ‘motive, connection, DNA,’ DNA beats everything.”

  When I get back to the hotel, Henry Stokan is waiting for me.

  At least I think it’s him. The truck looks the same, although I’m not exactly a truck aficionado. I know they’re bigger than cars, but that’s basically it.

  Two people are in the truck. I can’t make them out in the shadows, especially because I am almost directly behind them, but they look like large men. I’m going to assume one of them is Stokan; if I’m wrong, no harm, no foul. If I’m right, then also no harm, because I am not going anywhere near them.

  The truck is running; the headlights are on. Maybe that’s so they can have the air conditioner working. I can’t be sure, and it’s not particularly hot out. But if Stokan is trying to lie secretly in wait, he’s not good at it. Either that or he is underestimating me and not expecting that I’ll be watching out for him.

  They haven’t seen me, so it’s pretty easy to avoid them. I just drive around to the back, make sure no other occupied cars are back there waiting for me, and park the car. I’m a little nervous about it because this area is darker and less likely to be observed by anyone, so I hurry from the car to the lobby door.

  Once I make it inside, I head up the back stairs to my second-floor room, without going to the main lobby. When I’m safely in the room, I do a quick look around to make sure no unwanted visitors are inside, though I have no idea what I would do if I found one.

  I can see the main parking lot from my window, so I look outside and confirm that the truck is still there. I’m not sure what I should do; I can’t call the cops and expect them to come out because of a suspicious truck. I certainly have no proof that the two are waiting for me, or threatening me.

  I don’t even know if I want them to know I’ve evaded them or not. It could get them to leave, or possibly to try to get into my room.

  I turn on the television and watch the Red Sox game. Every five minutes or so I peek out the window. Stokan, or whoever it is, makes it as far as the fifth inning and then leaves.

  I have to admit, at least to myself, that I am glad Marcus arrives tomorrow. Laurie left a message that he should be here at 3:00 P.M., so I just have to stay alive until then. I should be able to manage that.

  I will leave it up to Marcus to decide how to handle Stokan; Marcus is outstanding at stuff like that.

  Before I go to bed, I go on Facebook. The Tara Foundation has a page, so I like to see posts from people that have adopted dogs from us, showing off their new family members.

  There’s nothing of consequence on there, so I go to my main page. There’s never anything enlightening there, since I have so few Facebook friends, and this time is no exception. There’s a post saying, “Share if you still eat sauerkraut.” I have no idea if that means I should share the post or share the sauerkraut, so I log out of Facebook.

  I double-lock the door and go to sleep. I wake up three or four times during the night because I hear noises, but each time everything seems okay, and my glances out into the parking lot don’t reveal the truck.

  I’m tired when I wake up in the morning, and the temptation to stay in bed, or at least in the safety of the room, is strong. But I am Andy Carpenter, fearless lawyer, so I have my morning coffee and muffin and head out to face the world.

  My first stop is the Senator hotel in Augusta, not far from the state capitol and the Augusta General Hospital and Medical Center. The Senator was actually recommended to me as a nice place to stay, but it was too far from the Wiscasset courthouse to make sense.

  I’m here to talk to Ginny Lawson, a radiology technician at the hospital who was a coworker and friend of Tina Welker’s. Ginny was one of the people that the police interviewed, so that’s why I picked her to talk to.

  She didn’t ask my role in the case; I just told her that I was investigating it. She was fine with that; it seems like she just wants to talk. She suggested we meet at the Senator for coffee, but as is my normal procedure, I’m going to inhale a blueberry muffin as well.

  I can’t say I’m expecting much from this interview; it’s more like I’m doing due diligence and checking a box. If one of the victims of the murder was specifically being targeted, it seems more likely it was Charkin, because of his drug use.

  Tina Welker has so far come across as a decent, fun-loving type who did not seem to have any serious enemies. I haven’t done a deep dive into her life, but neither have I seen any red flags that would lead me in her direction.

  I’ve gotten here first, so when a young woman walks in and looks around, I wave to her. I’ve had little success in my life waving to young women, but this time this one sees me and realizes who I am.

  We chitchat a bit about whether I like being in Maine. I tell her that I like it a lot, which I do, though I don’t add that my working here makes me long for the day I can head home.

  I’m about to move the conversation to where I want it to be when she says, “You wanted to talk about Tina? I told the police a long time ago that I didn’t know anything.”

  Her unsolicited denial gives me some faint hope that she does know something. “In a matter this serious, it’s good to go over things again. What was your relationship with Tina?”

  “We were great friends, both at work and outside of it.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Augusta General … it’s a big hospital not far from here.”

  I nod. “I passed it on the way. What do you do there?”

  “I’m in radiology; so was Tina. We do mostly radiation treatment for cancer patients. She was actually the leader in our area. And she interacted with other units in the hospital who needed radiological services of all kinds done. Tina was a people person, so it was natural that she would assume that role.” Then, “I still miss her, though had she lived she probably wouldn
’t still be working there.”

  “Why not?”

  “A new director came in around the time Tina died and ruined everything. All these stupid rules, and she’s been bringing in her own staff. Tina’s replacement has alienated many of us. I might leave soon myself; I just feel like I should help them get through the machine changeover; it’s going to be chaos, especially for the patients.”

  Ginny’s job dissatisfaction isn’t high on my list of concerns right now, so I go through the standard questions, asking if Tina had any enemies that Ginny knew of, or if Tina expressed any fear of anyone.

  “I can’t picture anyone not liking Tina,” Ginny says, echoing what I’ve heard from everyone else. “But there’s no question that she was acting weird those last few weeks, and she was unhappy.”

  “What do you mean by weird?”

  “Maybe weird is too strong. But she stopped wanting to go out; we all used to have dinner together once or twice a week, and Tina backed out the last few times. That was unlike her, and it made those dinners a lot less enjoyable; that’s for sure. We didn’t laugh nearly as much.”

  “But you don’t know why?”

  “No, she never said, and I didn’t want to pry. I know Tina’s mother was real sick around that time, and money was a problem. Also might have been that guy she was seeing, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Peter Charkin?”

  Ginny nods. “Yeah, the guy who also died that day. He was no good for her; he changed her.”

  “Changed her how?”

  “Her whole attitude; the way she looked at the world … the way she interacted with people. She seemed wary and maybe afraid. And he was controlling, which surprised me. Tina wasn’t the type a guy could control. I remember hoping she’d dump him and get back to being Tina.”

  “Did she ever say anything specific? Maybe something he asked her to do? Or something he had done that bothered her?”

  “No. Nothing that she ever mentioned.”