Fort Point (Maine Justice Book 2)

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Of course,” Harvey said, his pen poised to write.

  “Martin left several bequests to his favorite charities,” Clayfield said. “Two hundred thousand dollars to the local Humane Society—he was always an animal lover. Five hundred thousand to the medical center for its cardiac unit, and fifty thousand to the local senior citizens’ center.”

  A writers’ colony up the coast was getting another fifty grand, and the Portland Public Library half a million. Blake’s son and daughter would each inherit an even million outright, and Thelma got the rest.

  The rest? Clayfield was vague, but estimated forty million.

  “That’s a big chunk of change,” Harvey said.

  “Oh, Mr. Blake’s books were highly successful. He got a million-dollar advance for the last one, and five million for the movie rights to The Irish Sun last year. With good handling, he piled up quite a lot, as you can see.”

  Harvey saw, all right. What he saw was motives. Big ones. But they didn’t seem to fit the crime. He couldn’t picture the librarian knifing Blake so they’d get the money for the library quicker.

  Back at the office, Eddie briefed him on the Blake classmates he had questioned. They had all talked to Martin Blake at the reunion, some more and some less. Blake had been friendly to everyone. The Belfast lawyer had talked to him quite a bit and given Blake his business card. They had been friends in school, and they’d talked about old teachers and things they had done together after school, riding bikes and digging clams.

  It was almost time for Blake’s agent to arrive. Harvey brought in his e-mail and checked the crime updates. No flags came up.

  Terry got off the elevator with the agent, Robert Hoffsted. Harvey introduced himself and ushered him into the interview room. It was a small room with a rectangular table and four chairs, a couple of cheap prints on the walls, and a video camera near the ceiling in one corner. The large mirror was one-way glass, and a tiny observation room the size of a pantry was next door. They used the interview room for questioning suspects and witnesses. Harvey got right to the point.

  “Mr. Hoffsted, I understand that you handled most of Martin Blake’s contracts and book marketing for him.”

  “I handle the contracts and any business with his publisher,” Hoffsted said. “He has a publicist for the marketing.”

  “I see. Can you can tell me about the new book that was supposed to be published in the fall?”

  “You mean Border Feud. He signed the contract last year. It was their standard language—no surprises. The book will be published on schedule.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, the manuscript was complete, if a bit unpolished. Martin had worked on it for eight months, and the rough draft was in hand two weeks ago. He had been making some revisions. His publisher will take it as is, make any corrections that are obviously needed, and send it to press. It should sell very well.”

  “And his widow will get the royalties?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you get?”

  “Fifteen percent—the industry standard.”

  They talked for a while, and Hoffsted gave Harvey more information on their working relationship and the publicist’s name and contact information, so Harvey could touch base with her if he wanted. When he left, Harvey joined Eddie in calling more reunion guests.

  *****

  Jennifer waited patiently beside Harvey’s desk. He was talking on the phone, his back to her. When he hung up, she touched his shoulder lightly, and he swung around.

  He jumped up with a smile. “Hey, gorgeous, lunch time already?” He leaned toward her, but when she shot a glance toward Mike’s desk, he drew back. She didn’t like disappointing him, but there were half a dozen other people in the room, and it really didn’t seem appropriate to let him kiss her in front of his boss.

  “Are you guys going to eat?” she asked. “It’s quarter past twelve.”

  “Sure. You want to go someplace?”

  “There’s not really time. We’d better stick with the café.”

  They walked down the stairs together.

  “Jeff called,” Jennifer said. Her brother Jeffrey had been in Portland the week before to interview and test for a fire department job. He was an EMT in Skowhegan, and wanted to move south. He had stayed at Harvey’s apartment for two nights, and they’d become good friends.

  “What did he say?” Harvey asked. “Did he get it?”

  “He doesn’t know yet. They called him to come interview again Thursday.”

  “When’s he coming down?”

  “Tomorrow night. I told him to call you. Maybe he can stay over with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “He said they’ve narrowed it down to six, for the two spots.” There had been about fifty applicants taking the practical test when Jeff did.

  “Hey, that’s great. Sounds hopeful.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, Jennifer reached out hesitantly and touched his sleeve.

  “Harvey, I love you.”

  He turned toward her with a melting smile and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. Suddenly she wished the cake and invitations and florists’ appointments were behind them.

  “I love you, too.” He brushed her forehead with his lips. “Can we just relax tonight?”

  Jennifer flinched. “You’re getting the tuxedoes fitted, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And I’m going to talk to Mom and see if she’s got the food and the girls’ dresses under control.”

  “Jenny, I know all this is going to be terrific, but doesn’t it seem like we’re going to an awful lot of trouble for this wedding?”

  “Well…” She tried to gauge his mood. Was this just fatigue, or was he annoyed?

  “I know you want it to be nice, but you’re running yourself ragged.” He drew her closer and leaned back against the wall beside the door. She snuggled against his shirt front, trying not to think about the camera up in the corner. Harvey would probably scrap the big wedding gleefully and walk over to city hall to stand in front of a justice of the peace for five minutes. The hectic preparations were his fault, though, for insisting on such a short engagement.

  She was quiet for a few seconds, enjoying his warmth and the secure feeling she had when he held her. Then she looked up at him.

  “I know it’s kind of a headache, but it’s important to me. I want to have all our friends there, all the people we love, and I want the church and all the traditional things. Is that okay? I don’t want it to be torture for you.”

  “Yes, of course it’s okay.” He kissed her tenderly and stroked her hair. “I’ll come over tonight after the tux fitting, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Now, come on. We won’t have time to eat lunch if we stay here any longer.”

  As usual, the café was full of cops. Eddie had an outside table with Sarah Benoit and Cheryl Yeaton. Harvey waylaid a waitress and gave their order, and he and Jennifer sat down with the others.

  Sarah immediately turned to Jennifer. “So what color are the bridesmaids’ gowns?”

  “Blue,” said Jennifer.

  “Oh, nice.”

  “Can I see your ring?” Cheryl hadn’t seen it yet. “Oh, that’s beautiful!” Jennifer extended her left hand and admired her ring again. It was a diamond with a small sapphire on each side. Harvey had picked it out, and she loved it.

  “What’s your dress like?” Sarah asked.

  Harvey and Eddie looked at each other. Eddie made a face and resumed eating.

  Jennifer described her wedding gown. Harvey took out his pocket notebook and was soon absorbed in notes, sporadically taking bites from his sandwich.

  Two patrolmen walked up to the table. Jennifer recognized Nate Miller and the governor’s nephew, Tony Winfield.

  “The divers were leaving when we got to the bridge,” Nate said to Harvey.

  “Did they find anything?”

  “I don’t know. Sorry. Any w
ord from the lab on the blood yet?”

  “Not yet,” Harvey replied.

  Cheryl broke off in midsentence. Jennifer had a moment of slight queasiness.

  “Do you guys have to talk about blood while we’re eating?” asked Sarah.

  “Sorry,” Harvey said.

  Tony didn’t talk. He just smiled at the women.

  “So, did you see Ms. Heflin?” Harvey asked Nate.

  “Yes. The Blake children arrived last night. The daughter’s husband and two children are with her. The funeral will be Thursday at one. And they’re upset about not being able to go in the tower room.”

  “Oh, boy,” Harvey said. “I’ll go out there this afternoon and talk to them. You guys get some lunch.”

  “Are you two going to a lighthouse Saturday?” Eddie asked, and Jennifer smiled. At last, a topic they could all enjoy.

  She and Harvey had a summer project of visiting the state’s old forts and lighthouses. They had been to Fort Scammell, Fort Williams, Fort Western, Portland Head Light, and Rockland Breakwater Light. The previous Saturday, they had visited Spring Point Ledge Light and Fort Preble. It was a bigger project than they’d realized when they started, and there were more lighthouses and forts than they could possibly get to in one season.

  Harvey said, “Funny you should ask. I was just thinking Jennifer and I ought to visit Fort Point.”

  “The same thought occurred to me,” said Eddie.

  Jennifer supposed she should have expected it, since their investigation involved a reunion at the park. “Business or pleasure?” she asked.

  “Both,” Harvey said.

  Sarah looked at her watch. “Gotta run. See you, Jennifer.” She and Cheryl gathered up their things. Eddie was giving Harvey a hangdog look.

  “You think you need to come along on the trip Saturday?” Harvey asked him.

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” Eddie said with a smile.

  “Why not?” asked Jennifer. Eddie was always fun on an outing.

  Sarah and Cheryl headed for the station.

  “Can I bring Sarah?” Eddie asked.

  Harvey arched his eyebrows at Jennifer.

  “It’s okay with me,” she said, watching for his reaction.

  Eddie went running after Sarah, and Harvey shrugged.

  “Did you not want to take them?” Jennifer asked.

  “Oh, it’s okay. I just like having Saturdays alone with you.” They hadn’t gone far last week, but they’d had a quiet day together, with time to sit and talk about private things. They would miss that with Eddie and Sarah along. Harvey took her hand and held it under the table.

  “Hey, Harvey!” The patrol sergeant stopped at their table, staring at Jennifer.

  “Hi, Terry,” Harvey said. “My fiancée, Jennifer Wainthrop.”

  “The new girl in Records, too?”

  “That’s right. Jennifer, this is Terry Lemieux.”

  Terry sat down and started talking to Jennifer about the wedding. She almost laughed at Harvey’s expression. The poor man couldn’t have lunch with his own fiancée without all kinds of people horning in. She would have to see that they had time to get away during the lunch hour tomorrow.

  *****

  Harvey drove to Westbrook Road to see Thelma Blake, leaving Nate, Tony, and Eddie to call more of Martin’s classmates.

  He had to spend five minutes or so commiserating with Thelma and listening to the funeral plans. She thanked him for sending Martin’s jewelry over by Eddie.

  “I need to get into the tower room to get some papers from Martin’s files to send to the insurance company.”

  Harvey apologized for not thinking of that and took her upstairs.

  When she’d located the papers she needed, Harvey glanced through them.

  “That’s fine, Mrs. Blake.” They went out, and while Harvey replaced the tape on the door, she went downstairs.

  He tried to comprehend what Thelma had lost—her life companion, her husband of nearly thirty years, her place as the wife of a prestigious author, her source of income. Of course, forty million wasn’t bad, and with care, it should last her.

  But still, he couldn’t see that she gained anything from his death. By all accounts so far, the Blakes had gotten along well, and Martin had been generous in sharing his wealth with her and their two children.

  Harvey met the son when he went downstairs. Martin, Junior. Marty, they called him. He was tall and favored his father, with wavy brown hair and direct brown eyes. He spoke slowly, with a voice that might break at any moment. Harvey left more conscious of the brevity of life, and more determined than ever to build his own family while he had a chance.

  He got back to the office later than he’d intended. Eddie met him with significance bursting from his eyes.

  “Look what the divers found.” He nodded toward an evidence bag on Harvey’s desk.

  It was an old Buck hunting knife, a nice one, with a four-inch blade that had been sharpened a lot over the years. It had lodged below the bridge, its tip between two rocks beneath the surface. The divers had found it when they’d just about decided to give up. No fingerprints. He looked it over closely through the plastic, then sent it down to the lab.

  Eddie had talked to more of the classmates and came up with one interesting exchange. A woman from Camden had heard Blake say to David Murphy, the Congressman, something like, “I know all your secrets.” She said Murphy got a strange look on his face when Blake said that.

  Harvey was still mulling that over when Jeff Wainthrop called, saying he expected to arrive around 6 p.m. Wednesday. He was excited about the job interview, and Harvey hoped he would get it.

  “Great, Jeff. I’ll be there when you get here, and we can go over to Jennifer’s after you unload.”

  Next, he called the home of the honorable David Murphy, but was told that the Congressman was unavailable.

  He and Eddie were on the phone for hours, chasing people down at their desks, in their cars, and in stores. They pulled one teacher from a classroom and a horse trainer from the barn.

  “Makes me feel unwanted, bothering all these people,” Eddie said.

  Harvey nodded. “Don’t forget, reporters are probably hounding them, too, looking for a story on Martin Blake’s last day, spent with his high school buddies.”

  The news crews hounded the detectives, too, calling about the autopsy and the divers at the bridge. Terry, downstairs, hadn’t given them anything, and Harvey was cagey with the few that got through his screening, but since the diving area was so close to the place where Blake’s body was found, the reporters drew the natural conclusion that the police were after evidence in Blake’s murder.

  Forty-two classmates had gone to the reunion, and twenty-five of those had brought their spouses or dates. The detectives went on down the list, but hadn’t talked to half of them by the end of their shift.

  “We’d better quit for now and get to the formalwear store,” Harvey told Eddie. They were due there at five-thirty, and it was already ten past. Mike was just walking out the door, and Harvey called to him.

  “Oh, right,” Mike said. “Almost forgot.”

  Harvey gave Carl’s office a quick call, but no one answered. He and Eddie went to the parking garage and followed Mike up the street a couple of blocks, to the store on the corner of Franklin Avenue.

  Jennifer had been in the week before and selected the style and color. Considering the outfits he saw on mannequins that day, Harvey decided she hadn’t done too badly. No pink cummerbunds or long tails. She’d chosen a conservative, medium gray tux with a black vest, white shirt and black bow tie.

  The men gave their sizes, and the clerk got out the outfits and shoes. Carl came in just as they were about to hit the dressing rooms.

  Eddie’s tux fit perfectly, and he was heart-breaker handsome, but no one said so. Even the clerk’s eyes lit up when she saw him in the outfit. Harvey could only imagine what the girls wanting to catch the bouquet would do.

  The clerk told
Harvey he’d have to come back for another fitting. Great. Just what he needed, another appointment. Mike and Carl got fitted, and they all went out to the parking lot.

  “Margaret told me to remind you that you and Jennifer are coming to our house Sunday,” Carl said.

  Harvey pulled out the pocket planner Jennifer had bought him when she bought her wedding planner. “You’re right. If it’s in here, it’s official.” He took out a pen and scribbled in the next fitting for the tux.

  “You and Jennifer have every minute planned until the wedding,” Eddie said sadly.

  “That’s right. If you want to see us, you have to make an appointment.”

  Mike and Carl headed for I-295, and Harvey drove Eddie home. He stopped at the grocery store and bought a few things, then went home and made himself sit down at the table and eat. It was a habit he’d long neglected, but Carl had told him at his checkup the week before that he needed to start taking care of himself, especially if he didn’t want his bride to outlive him by fifty years or so.

  That was an unwelcome thought. At their first premarital counseling session, Pastor Rowland had gone over some financial considerations with them. Harvey already knew Jennifer was sixteen years younger than he was, but when the pastor started talking about how women live longer than men, he started to feel old and decrepit.

  He knew the pastor was being practical. He had to change his W-4 form soon, too, and make sure Jennifer’s name went on his medical insurance at work, but the life insurance thing was the one that really got him down. It was the standard policy they got through the department, and if he got killed in the line of duty it was double indemnity, but still, the sooner he made Jennifer his beneficiary the better.

  He went to his home computer. He hadn’t checked his stocks in days, but they had all closed in an acceptable range. He started thinking about the honeymoon and did a little online reconnoitering, then called Jennifer. He always called Jennifer. He couldn’t breathe long without hearing her voice during those weeks.

  “Can I come over?” he asked her.

  “Did you get the tuxedoes fitted?”

  “Yup, all four of us.”

  “Great! I guess you can come.”