Fort Point (Maine Justice Book 2)

by Davis, Susan Page

  “Fantastic.”

  “So, where are we going?”

  “You sure you want to know?”

  “Well, I at least need to know whether to pack a swimsuit or a parka.”

  “I’ll tell you later, when you can thank me properly.”

  She chuckled. “I also heard from the probate court.”

  “What about?”

  “They’re distributing Coastal Technology’s assets.”

  The lilt in her voice told him it was a relief to finally hear something about the defunct software company that had employed her for two years.

  “Terrific. What are you getting?” Jennifer’s contract at the ill-fated Coastal Technology had given her royalties on the sale of software she had developed.

  “Everybody’s getting the last paycheck they owed us, and they’ve given me a choice on the program rights. Either a lump sum of five thousand dollars, or keep the five percent interest and collect that if anyone continues to market the programs. Or I could sell my rights to someone else.”

  “So what do you want to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m leaning toward the lump sum. Too much hassle otherwise.”

  “Do it. I’ll invest the five grand for you in a separate account.”

  “We could put it toward the house.”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s good for women to have money in their own names nowadays. You can use it for something later, if you want, or fund an IRA or something. Now, how about lunch? Are you available?”

  “Meet me in the garage in an hour.” When they hung up, Harvey went to the airline’s website. The price he wanted was still good, and he made the reservation. Tickets to London on July 18. He printed out the confirmation and went back to work humming.

  *****

  Harvey drove through the drive-up at McDonald’s, and they ordered salads and soft drinks. Eating in the Explorer would be much more private than having lunch at the café.

  She watched Harvey while he ate, and his brow stayed furrowed, as though he was thinking about something he didn’t like.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  He let out a big sigh. “Something’s going on in our unit that you need to know about.”

  “Besides the investigation, you mean?” She fought back a smoldering anxiety.

  “Yes. Mike’s thinking of retiring next spring.”

  “He’s talked about it for a while, hasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I think he means it this time. And he wants me—” He broke off and stared out the side window, and she tried to classify his mood. Anger? Fear? “He wants me to have his job.”

  She set her drink down. “Whoa!”

  “It gets worse. The police chief called me to his office this morning.”

  “What for?”

  “Same thing. When we close the Blake case, they’ll promote me and train me to take over the unit when Mike leaves.”

  “Congratulations!” She smiled eagerly, but he didn’t say anything. She leaned over and pulled his glasses down. The lenses got dark in daylight, and she wanted to see his eyes clearly. “You’re not smiling.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure I want it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mostly, I guess I want Mike to stay.”

  “Nothing stays the same forever.”

  “I know. But me in management.”

  “The men respect you.”

  “That’s another thing. Arnie and Pete will probably be gone by then. I’ll be left with Eddie and three new guys.”

  “So, you can mold the unit to be the way you’ve always wanted it to be.”

  “It is the way I want it now.”

  She sighed. Lending moral support to a depressed genius was exhausting. He had a pessimistic answer to everything. “Then tell the chief you’re not interested.”

  “I’m not?”

  “You’re telling me you’re not.”

  “I told you no chocolate cake, too.”

  She put the salad dish up on the dashboard and slid over near him. “I think you should let this percolate for a few days. You’re short on sleep, and you’re in the middle of a very stressful case. Not to mention you’re getting married in nineteen days. That doesn’t add any stress.”

  He smiled, pulled the glasses off, and kissed her lightly. “So what’s the up side to all this?”

  “The up side is that you’re getting married in nineteen days.”

  He kissed her again. “You’re very convincing. Now tell me why I want Mike’s job.”

  “Aside from you being the smartest, most qualified detective in the world?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re good at directing people. You’ve coordinated tons of investigations, and you always come out on top.”

  “Not always. I’ve blown a few.”

  “You work well under pressure, and you’re always learning new skills.”

  “Such as?”

  “Handling the press.”

  “Gag.”

  “So, if you’re the boss, you can make one of your men hold the press conferences, like Mike makes you.”

  “That I could enjoy.”

  “It will give you higher rank.”

  “I don’t care about that. I work better when no one pays any attention to me.”

  “More money?”

  “We can live on what I get now.”

  “Prestige?”

  “I don’t care what other people think. Except you.”

  “Maybe I’d like being married to the captain.”

  “Would you?”

  “I’ll have to think about that.” She stroked the back of his neck. “Let’s think and pray about it for a few days.”

  “Okay.”

  She sank back, drained.

  “I love you,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

  She looked around the parking lot. There were only a few cars, and those nearby were empty. She leaned over and kissed him, sliding her arms around him. Her fingers brushed the leather holster strap, and she buried her face in the warm front of his pale blue shirt for a moment, then sat up. “If you change your mind, you’ll be a terrific captain. And if you don’t, you’ll still be a terrific detective.”

  She put the lunch containers in the bag, and Harvey got out to put them in the trash can before driving back to the station. He parked in the garage, and before he could open his door, she said, “Tell me now.”

  “What?”

  She could tell that he knew what by his innocent smile.

  “Where we’re going.”

  He drew a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket, opened it deliberately, and handed it to her.

  “London? Really?” She stifled a scream.

  “Unless you’d rather see Copenhagen…”

  “No, no! This is fabulous!” She hugged him around the neck and kissed him, momentarily forgetting about the cameras.

  “Are you sure you like it?” His smile was on high beam.

  “It’s perfect! For both of us!” She waved the paper like it was a semaphore and she was trying to signal her mother in Skowhegan.

  “Well, sure. We can poke around and find where all your favorite authors lived.”

  “And see historical sites from the Middle Ages!”

  “Right, from back when I was born.”

  She swatted him with the paper. “Maybe we can go over there and find a mystery to solve together, like Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane.”

  He laughed, and she caught her breath. He was happy, at least for that moment. She hoped she could always bring that look to his face.

  Another car pulled in beside them, and he squeezed her hand, then got out and opened her door.

  *****

  Harvey went to see John Russell that afternoon. The editor assured him Blake had had documentation for his accusations.

  “Pretty interesting reading,” Harvey told him. “How could he turn up so much, all at once?”

  “H
e started researching this months ago. The more he dug, the more he found. He put it together between stints of getting a new novel out.”

  “Could I see the documentation?”

  “What do you need?”

  “Anything that would be helpful to my investigation. If Blake’s claims are true, Murphy might have a motive to stop him.”

  “Oh, they’re true. You think he’d stab a guy like that?”

  “I don’t know. He could hire someone for it. I just want proof he had reason to hate Martin Blake.”

  “But Murphy didn’t know about the story. Nobody does but you and me.”

  “What if he did?”

  “I don’t like that idea.”

  Russell got up and walked to the wall and pulled an ugly landscape to one side on a hinge, revealing a wall safe. “Off the record,” he said with a wink and began opening the safe. “Martin had me lock up his proof. He has file cabinets that lock, but he didn’t think they were secure enough.”

  He brought two large manila envelopes to his desk, where he sorted through the contents.

  “There you go.” He selected a piece of paper and shoved it across the desk.

  Harvey whistled. He was looking at a very incriminating inter-office memo originating in Murphy’s capitol office. It named a sum to be obtained in consideration for a vote.

  “Murphy wrote this?”

  “Yes, to a lobbyist. Check his handwriting.”

  “Was Murphy stupid?”

  “Maybe too trusting. There’s more.” Russell produced document after document: printouts of e-mail messages, pages from Murphy’s appointment book, notes from associates, memos from lobbyists and other political hangers-on. Having read Blake’s article, Harvey could see where it all pointed.

  “How did Blake get copies of all this?”

  “He had a source inside. Someone who loves his or her country, but didn’t like Murphy much.”

  “So he left all his proof here, in the safe. Can I have copies?”

  Russell considered. “I suppose so, if you swear it won’t end up in the wrong hands. This is a coup for the Press Herald, and as Martin’s last work, it will sell papers. I’ll be ready to go with it Friday, I think. I don’t suppose the P.D. would object? I mean, it wouldn’t compromise your investigation?”

  “No, in fact, it might bring it to a head. Go for it.”

  “All right, but this stuff stays confidential until we go to press.”

  *****

  “I’ve compiled those pictures from Fort Point,” Eddie said when Harvey walked into the office.

  “Show me.”

  Eddie went to his desk.

  Harvey called to Pete Bearse, “So, Pete, I heard you took the bar exam.”

  “Yeah. Probably won’t hear for a while.”

  “You’ll pass.”

  “I think I did. But then, you can’t be too sure on these things. I’ve heard of a lot of guys taking it three or four times.”

  “Kennedys, even,” Harvey said.

  Pete laughed. “So, you guys will get somebody new in here. I wonder if Mike’s thought about it.”

  “He may have someone in mind.” Harvey thought of Nate Miller or Jimmy Cook. Knowing city politics, they might end up with Wonder Boy. He just hoped the administration wouldn’t put a pretty girl in there, or Eddie’s work would go to pieces.

  Eddie was at his elbow. “I set it up on my screen. Can you come take a look?”

  Harvey went over and sat down in Eddie’s chair. He clicked through the ones of them up around the fort and lighthouse, until he came to photos of himself and Eddie standing on the rocks near the ocean. In the first ones, they stood together on the flat rock at the edge of the water. It was a distant shot, and their backs were to the camera. Thelma Blake might well question the identity of the men she saw.

  In the next picture, Eddie was up higher, on the rounded rocks, wearing only his boxers. Harvey was below the rock, bending down to pick up a stone. Jennifer had snapped a couple of them standing on top of the rock together, facing the bay.

  “Makes me cold, just looking at you.” Harvey flipped to the next one. He was on one knee, looking over the side of the rock. Eddie wasn’t visible. There was one more picture, Leeanne holding the binoculars in both hands, just below her chin, looking gravely at something in the distance. “That’s a good picture of Leeanne.”

  Eddie smiled. “Yeah, Jennifer must have taken it while we were down on the shore.”

  “Well, get the personal stuff out of the slide show. Save that one for yourself if you want. Then call Mrs. Blake and ask her if we can bring these over. She may be able to help us.”

  In Harvey’s vehicle on the way to Thelma’s house, Eddie said, “Harv, was my behavior acceptable on Saturday?”

  “Sure. I wouldn’t have found the glasses without you.”

  “I mean with Leeanne.”

  Harvey glanced at him. “I thought you were fine. How serious are you about Sarah?”

  Eddie hesitated. “I could be serious. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know her very well. I like her. She’s smart.”

  “She’s got some baggage. Family stuff.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Eddie shrugged. “I think I could live with it. But I’m not sure I want to tie myself down yet.”

  “Then don’t. Wait until you’re sure you won’t have any regrets.”

  “You and Jennifer … she knows about everything from the past?”

  Harvey shot him a sidelong glance. “Everything—even some stuff you don’t know.”

  Eddie laughed. “And she still wants to marry you?”

  “Strange, isn’t it?”

  *****

  Harvey presented the slide show to Mrs. Blake on a flash drive that she put into her laptop. She looked for a long time at the photos of the two detectives standing together on the rocks. First the flat rock, then the rounded rock. At last she tapped the second one.

  “I’m sure it was here. They climbed up and stood talking. The waves washed around the bottom of these rocks. I remember thinking they would get their feet wet when they got down.” She smiled. “My daughter left this morning, and I’m lonely. I’m glad you boys came around. It hits you when you have to face the first day alone.”

  “Mrs. Blake, if there’s anything we can do for you…” Harvey said.

  “No, no. I’ve just got to get used to it. Barbara Heflin will be leaving soon. There’s nothing for her to do, now that Martin’s gone.” She clicked through the photos again. “You think the Frederick man was killed there?”

  “I can’t say, ma’am. But your evidence is important.”

  “What does this have to do with Martin’s death?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Harvey said. “They died the same day, and they’d talked to each other. We went up there to see if we could understand it better, find anything that had to do with either your husband or Frederick.”

  “But you didn’t find anything that relates to Martin’s death?”

  “Not for sure.”

  “Come back and see me again,” she said.

  “We will.”

  Eddie went ahead of him out of her sitting room, and she called Harvey back. “Mr. Larson, I don’t want whoever did this to get away with it.”

  “I know, Mrs. Blake. We’ll get him.”

  She gave him a smile. “Nice looking young man, your partner.”

  *****

  Arnie was back from the optician when they returned to the office, with word that the glasses were definitely Luke Frederick’s. Harvey called state police headquarters and told Captain Wadleigh about Eddie’s discovery. Wadleigh was excited about the find, and a little miffed that his men had overlooked the glasses. He suggested an appeal to the public, in an effort to find people other than the reunion guests who had been at the park on the twentieth.

  Harvey said, “I’ve been thinking of doing the same thing on the Portland case. Now that we’ve identified a po
ssible murder scene, I’d like to hear from more people who were in the area that night.”

  Wadleigh was agreeable to letting Harvey ask for witnesses on both matters, since Blake had been in both locations the day of the murders, provided he would continue to share information about the Fort Point reunion with him.

  Harvey called Eddie, Pete, and Arnie to his desk. “I hate to say it, but I need to hold a press conference. Appeal to the public.”

  “Sort of, anyone who drove over the bridge the night of June 20th call us?” asked Eddie.

  “Right, and anyone other than Blake’s classmates who visited Fort Point that day.”

  “Tourists,” said Pete. “There had to be other people there.”

  Harvey called the chief to update him on the case, and Leavitt seemed a little disgruntled that he and Eddie had found evidence for the state police’s case, but not for their own.

  “Sir, the Frederick murder is somehow connected to the Blake murder. I hope it doesn’t upset you too much that some of the evidence points to Congressman Murphy.”

  “You have to go wherever it takes you, Larson.”

  *****

  Jennifer met Harvey at her door at six o’clock with a thick paperback book in her hand.

  “Ready to visit Mr. Bailey?” Harvey asked.

  “Yes, but first, I went to the bakery to pay Patricia for the cake,” she said. “We were talking about Martin Blake’s books, and she told me a lot of stuff in the first book really happened.”

  “His daughter said something like that to me, too,” Harvey mused.

  Jennifer held out the book. “It’s bad stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, there was this robbery. Some kids from the high school were involved, but Patricia said it never was solved. In the book it was solved, but not in real life.”

  “Slow down. What happened in real life?”

  “Some kids from the high school broke into someone’s house and trashed it. Then the owner came home, and they beat him up and left him there. I can’t remember all the details, but Patricia said it really happened. The man died.”

  “And it’s in this book?” He took the paperback from her and looked at the garish red cover with embossed gold letters: MORRISTOWN, by MARTIN BLAKE. It was a fat mass market edition. He turned to the publishing information. “The first edition was published 21 years ago. May I take it? I think it’s time I read Blake’s first book.”