Chapter 20

 

Harvey gave his presentation to a rapt audience on Tuesday morning. Mike Browning, Jack Stewart, Ron Legere, Cheryl Yeaton, and the four detectives of the Priority Unit were crowded into the chief’s office.

“After Joey’s funeral, there was a kiss-and-cry time at Joey’s parents’ house in Deering,” he told them. “That’s when his brother Philip approached Roxanne about the gun collection. He didn’t want to seem crass, but he wanted to settle it with her. The guns had sentimental value beyond their monetary value. Roxanne thought about it and told him to just take them. But Philip didn’t want to do that. He’s a precise person, and he didn’t want anyone to have a reason to complain later.”

“Smart guy.” Jack took a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah. He showed Roxanne the list he’d typed up and gave her the approximate value for the guns and offered to pay her that amount. She agreed, and she told him to take the cabinet as well, as a gift from her.”

“Which he did,” Mike said.

Harvey nodded. “Right. Except, a full gun cabinet isn’t something you can just go pick up in your car. Now, Philip drives an Audi.”

“How did he move it?” Tony asked.

“Exactly.” Harvey smiled. “Five points for Winfield. I went around to see Bolduc last night, asking that very question. It seems a friend of Joey’s from the police station overheard part of the conversation after the funeral, and he says to Philip, ‘Hey, I’ve got a pickup truck. I can help you with that if you want.’”

“Brad?” Nate asked.

Harvey shook his head.

“Brad’s got a decrepit Toyota Celica,” Eddie said. “I’m guessing Bob Marshall. He’s got a Dodge Ram, and he and Joey were close.”

“Ten points for Eddie. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. Bob and Philip are nailing down the arrangements, and along comes friend number two. He says, ‘You guys need a hand moving that?’ He’s such a nice guy, you know?”

“Brad,” Cheryl guessed.

“You got it. You’re tied with Eddie now.” Harvey leaned on the window ledge and looked down on Franklin Street. His adrenaline was pumping, and he felt they were near to closing the case at last. He turned to face them all with a smile. “The upshot was, Bob and Brad went home and changed and met Philip at Joey’s house an hour later.”

Tony jumped up from his chair. “That’s when Brad picked up the murder weapon at his apartment. He’d been waiting for a chance to dump it where it would be safe.”

Jack shook his head. “Pretty risky to hang onto it all week.”

Harvey spread both hands. “He wasn’t under suspicion. As long as nobody made a connection between Brad, the gunman, and Joey, he could take his time.”

“Why didn’t he just heave it in the bay?” Ron Legere asked.

Harvey shrugged. “Didn’t have a chance?”

“Maybe he was planning to, but he saw this opportunity and thought it was too neat to pass up,” Eddie said. “Brad would love the irony of it. He silenced Joey before he could blab, and the murder weapon would sit innocently in the brother’s den for years, with nobody the wiser.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Harvey admitted.

“So, they opened the gun cabinet before they took it to Philip Bolduc’s house?” the deputy chief asked.

“Well, as I understand it, Jack, it wasn’t actually opened until they unloaded it in Falmouth,” Harvey said. “Brad suggested they’d better check to make sure nothing shifted.”

“Brad suggested,” Jimmy repeated.

“Right. So, Philip gets out the key and opens it, and the three of them start looking at the guns. Bob and Brad were both trotting out the memories. I guess Bob went deer hunting with Joey last fall, and Brad claimed he was with Joey at the shooting range when he qualified with his .45.” Harvey sat down on the edge of Mike’s desk. “And at some point, when Bob and Philip either left the room or turned their backs for five seconds, Brad took out his own .357 and switched it for Joey’s.”

“Wait a minute,” Tony said. “I don’t want to rain on your parade, Captain, but if he didn’t make the switch until after the funeral, how did Philip Bolduc get the serial number of Brad’s gun on the list he made the day before?”

Harvey smiled. “Joey’s friends were very helpful that day. Philip showed them the list, and they compared it to the guns in the cabinet, exclaiming over each one. ‘Yeah I remember this one. Hey, that’s a nice shotgun.’ And Bob, in his innocence, says, ‘Hey, you really ought to have the serial numbers down, Mr. Bolduc. Just for your own protection.’ Maybe that’s when they left the room, to get a pen or something, I don’t know, but I do know the numbers weren’t on that list until after the cabinet was moved. They weren’t on Joey’s handwritten list. I got the copy Philip gave Roxanne. No serial numbers. I thought he’d done it earlier, but no. He claims he typed them in that night and made the official copy for the estate records after they moved the cabinet.”

“And he put down the serial number of Brad’s gun,” Mike said with satisfaction.

“Brad was mighty lucky,” Tony said. “If there’d been a record of the serial numbers before that, he’d have been caught.”

Harvey shrugged. “Probably not, unless Philip compared the numbers on the guns to those on the list later. Even then, they couldn’t tie it to Brad. I’m sure he wiped his prints off. And if they found a stray print or two, so what? All three of them were handling Joey’s guns that night.”

“You’re positive Bob Marshall’s not tied up in this?” Mike asked. “He did initiate moving the cabinet.”

Harvey nodded. “Bob’s okay. And I don’t think Brad planned to plant the gun there until he heard Bob and Philip talking about moving it. It just came up, and he took advantage of the situation.”

“If you can get Lyons to admit to all that, you’ll be doing well,” Jack said.

“I don’t expect him to admit it, but there’s one more thing that will help in this.” Harvey turned to Detective Sergeant Legere. “Ron, how often do items go missing from the evidence lockers?”

Ron was clearly startled. “Not often. Why? Is something missing?”

“When was the last time?” Harvey asked.

“Well, there was an old case where someone was looking for a knife a few months ago. I don’t think we ever found it, but it was from a case that was years old.”

“How about drugs?”

“We’re extremely careful, Harvey. You know that.”

“Still, once in a great while, you might lose a few ounces of pot?”

Ron grimaced. “It happened a couple of months ago in a heroin case. The hearing came up, and we couldn’t lay our hands on the evidence.”

Harvey nodded. “Donald Lloyd. He’s a custodian at City Hall. We like him for Joey’s hired killer.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, it was his heroin that disappeared.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief.

“Only a few people generally have access to the evidence room,” Harvey said. “I’m happy to say I don’t. Occasionally, a key has been entrusted to me for short periods of time, but usually if I want something out of there, I have to go get you, Ron, or you, Jack, or …”

“Or me,” Cheryl said.

“Yes. Or, until last week, Brad Lyons.”

“What’s missing?” Mike asked.

“That may be hard to prove. See, Brad was hurting financially.”

“It’s his own fault,” said Nate. “Child support going three ways, last I heard.”

“Right. But if he wanted to hire someone to do a job—a big job—”

“Say, a murder?” Mike asked.

“Well, yes, just for example. He seems to have kept a string of people indebted to him in case he needed them. My boys have uncovered four cases where perpetrators are willing to admit Brad Lyons suspended their bail or reduced their charges on the spot, after booking. Donald Lloyd is one of them. He didn’t want to admit it, but he finally did, under skillful questioning by Detective Miller.

Harvey nodded to Nate, and Nate gave him a casual salute.

“Lloyd believed he was looking at a mandatory jail sentence of five to ten years,” Harvey continued. “Sergeant Lyons was very sympathetic, and in the end got the charges dropped. Lloyd says Brad implied that he might ask him for a favor later.”

Cheryl frowned at him. “But he’s not saying that favor was to murder Detective Bolduc, is he?”

“Right. Lloyd says Brad never called in the favor, but I don’t buy it.” Harvey turned to Ron. “Here’s what I think. Once in a great while, the person with the keys to the evidence lockers might have the opportunity to make away with a few items. Not often.”

“What kind of items?” Legere asked uneasily.

“A few weeks ago, your men busted a drug ring. Brought in fifteen kilos of heroin and a pile of cash.”

Ron nodded diffidently. “Yeah, that was a good bust.”

“How much cash?” Harvey asked quickly.

Ron shrugged. “Thirty-eight grand, I think. We’re getting some back on the state program, and we’ll use it to buy equipment.”

“Right,” Harvey said. “Thirty-eight thousand, four hundred dollars was recorded in the report.”

“So?”

“So, who counted the money the night you brought it in?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see, there were a bunch of guys on that case. I’d have to look at my own report.”

“Joey Bolduc, Bob Marshall, Lloyd Gordon, and Paul Trudeau,” Harvey said. “You had eight patrolmen for backup.”

Ron blinked. “I won’t question you. I’d say you’ve done the research.”

“I have. But which one of them counted the thirty-eight grand?”

“I don’t know,” Ron admitted.

“That was a trick question,” Harvey said with a smile. “I suggest to you that none of them counted it.”

“They gathered it all up in a bag,” Ron mused. “It was all over the house, you know? We kept searching and finding stashes of bills.”

“So, you took it back to the station uncounted,” Harvey prompted.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“And who was on the night desk?”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. There’s supposed to be two cops together every time confiscated money is counted. But your unit was extremely busy, unloading the dope and booking—what?—seven prisoners, if my memory serves. Might you not have handed the cash in the sack to the night sergeant and asked him to please count it and log it in Evidence?”

Ron grimaced. “I might have. I honestly don’t remember, Harvey.”

Harvey smiled. “See, right there is temptation for Brad Lyons. You have no idea how much money is in that bag. It’s up to Brad to count it and enter the amount in the log. But for a guy who needs money—”

“You’re saying he planned to kill Joey way back then?” Eddie asked.

“No, but I’m saying it’s possible, just possible, he might have seen the chance to take some extra cash here and there. That bust is one example.”

Mike grunted. “No proof whatsoever, and never will be.”

“True,” Harvey said.

Ron ran a hand through his hair. “I try to be careful with stuff like that.”

“We all do,” Harvey said. “That doesn’t mean that once in a while you or I or Cheryl—any of us—mightn’t trust the wrong person.”

“Any one of the officers could have pocketed a few bills at the scene, as far as that goes,” Cheryl said uneasily. “We’d all like to think it never happens, but…”

“But if we find that Donald Lloyd was suddenly flush at about the time of the murder …” Harvey let it trail off.

“Have you?” Mike asked.

“Not yet,” Harvey admitted. “I thought he’d have done the hit in return for beating the jail sentence, but something convinced me that he must have been paid.”

“Well, that’s all very interesting, but it’s only speculation,” Ron said.

Harvey sighed. “Okay, but the other part—the part about switching the guns. That happened.”

Mike got up and refilled his coffee mug. “Get Lloyd in again and lean on him. If he’s your shooter, you need more than him coming out of City Hall at the right time and beating a drug charge.”

Harvey nodded. “We’ll be talking to Bob Marshall, too, to get his version of the gun cabinet story. And I thought I’d have Jimmy ask your other detectives about the drug bust, Ron. Just to see if anyone remembers counting the money that night.”

“You’ll get my men upset. They’ll think you’re trying to say we were sloppy.”

“Would I say that?” Harvey smiled. He turned to look at his four detectives. “Gentlemen, let’s get to work.”

 

*****

At noon Sarah Benoit left the locker room and hurried to catch up with her partner. “Lunch at the diner?”

“Only if we eat inside,” Deborah replied. “It’s too cold to sit on the sidewalk today.”

They walked down the block and into the little restaurant.

“Hey, Sarah,” Candi Mullins called from a booth. “Have you girls seen this yet?” She held up the new edition of Portland Life magazine.

“It’s out already?” Deborah squealed. “Let me see!”

She and Sarah squeezed into the booth with Candi and Marge.

“You girls,” Marge laughed. “Seen one man, you’ve seen ’em all.”

“I’ve never seen this one before,” Deborah said, staring at the cover of the magazine. A handsome, thirtysomething man in a tank top, with a whistle hanging around his neck, grinned up at them.

“Who’s Bachelor Number One?” Sarah asked critically.

“The gym teacher at the elementary school on Brighton Avenue,” Candi replied. “Can you believe it?”

“We didn’t have gym teachers who looked like that,” Deborah said.

Sarah nodded. “It was Sister Ursula where I went.”

Deborah flipped the pages of the magazine.

“Page forty-five,” Marge said and sipped her soft drink.

“Would you like to order?” A waitress stood at Sarah’s elbow.

“Oh, sure, turkey on whole wheat and coffee. How about you, Debbie?”

“The same,” Deborah said absently. “Here we go. Oh, Sarah, look at Tony. He’s cute!”

Sarah shrugged. “He’s always cute.”

Marge laughed. “Good for you, Sarah. There’s more to a man than looks.”

Sarah looked over Deborah’s shoulder at the picture. Tony Winfield’s dimples were in top form as he cleaned his Heckler & Koch .45. He was wearing a gray T-shirt, with his detective’s badge pinned to the front.

Candi rose. “Looks don’t hurt. Bring that down to me in Records when you’re done with it, girls.” She and Marge left tips for the waitress.

“They tamed his cowlick,” Sarah said, still gazing at Tony’s picture.

“It’s a great picture,” Debbie insisted.

Sarah moved over to the other side of the booth. “So, which guy do you pick?”

Debbie smiled. “This one’s not bad. He’s on the county commission.”

“And he’s single?”

“Widowed.”

Sarah frowned. “They picked a widower as one of the city’s ten most eligible men?”

“He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s too old, though. Forty-six.”

“What’s wrong with an older man?”

“I want a guy with enough energy to play tennis on Saturday.” Debbie turned the page.

“Here you go, Sarah. Number Seven. He’s a chef at that Mexican restaurant on Market Street.”

Sarah took the magazine. “Not my type.”

“You’re too picky.” Debbie reached for the magazine.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Sarah’s brow furrowed. “I know this guy.”

“The chef?”

“No, Number Eight. He’s a fire fighter. Mark Johnson.”

“Let me see.” Deborah pulled the magazine from her hands and scrutinized the photo. “Not bad. Not a classic dreamboat, but definitely worthy of consideration. Hmm. Twenty-nine, never married, graduated from USM. He’s an EMT at the main fire station.”

“I know,” Sarah choked.

Debbie looked up quickly. “What, you’re seeing this guy or something?”

“Not exactly. I’ve only met him a couple of times. I didn’t expect him to show up in the beefcake layout, though.”

“It’s not that bad,” Debbie insisted. “They all have their shirts on. Except this mechanic. Definitely a narcissist.”

The waitress came with their lunch, and Sarah moved her sandwich in front of her then reached for the magazine again. It was a good picture of Mark. He was in uniform, standing at the open back door of the ambulance.

“I’d let him give me mouth to mouth,” Debbie said with a wicked smile.

Sarah frowned and thrust the magazine into her hands. “He’s really quiet. I’m surprised he did it.”

“Because Eddie wouldn’t?”

“Eddie’s engaged.”

Debbie sighed. “Now that would have been cover material. Better than the gym teacher, even.”

“Are you seeing Derek again?” Sarah asked abruptly.

Debbie’s glance was wary. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it. He wants me to go out with him again, but … remember when they had him in a couple of weeks ago for questioning?”

“Yeah, you told me about the hair thing.”

“Well, he’s okay, but I started remembering why I broke up with him in the first place.”

“Why did you?”

“He’s just … how do I say this? Dull. Dull as dishwater.”

Sarah smiled. “As long as you don’t tell me he was the insanely jealous type.”

Debbie turned her eyes upward. “I think the Priority Unit has given up on him as a suspect.”

 

*****

Harvey skipped lunch. He didn’t do it often anymore. Jennifer would be upset if she knew, and if he put off eating too long, his hands would begin to shake, but he wasn’t thinking of those things at noon. He just kept going over the evidence, pulling out file folders and consulting his computer.

At two o’clock, someone put a paper bag on the corner of his desk, and he looked up.

“Thanks, Ed.”

“Find anything?”

Harvey stretched and reached for the bag. “Not yet. I haven’t talked to Bob Marshall yet. He’s out on assignment. You want in on the interview?”

“Yeah, sure. Paul Trudeau told me he thought Bob and Joey counted the drug money that night in August.”

“Bob and Joey?” Harvey was startled. “I was so sure they gave Brad that job.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Paul thinks he remembers Bob and Joey ticking it off as they put it in the bag.”

“Who logged it?”

“Brad, and according to the record, he put it in the locker for them. But if two detectives were keeping count …”

“And only one of them is left to ask about it.” Harvey unwrapped a ham sandwich and took a bite.

“There’s Brad,” Eddie said tentatively.

“Yup. We need his version, for sure.”

“You want me to set it up at the jail?”

“Sure. He’ll want his lawyer there.” Harvey pulled a half pint of milk from the bag and poured it into his coffee mug. “Did Jennifer call you or something?”

“You were supposed to go home for lunch.”

“I was? Oh, man.” Harvey reached for the phone, and Eddie turned toward his own desk.

“I am so sorry, gorgeous,” Harvey said when Jennifer answered the phone. “I completely forgot we had a date.”

“It’s okay. I was a little worried about you.”

“Why didn’t you just call me, baby?” Harvey asked softly.

“I didn’t want to make you feel guilty. But I wanted to make sure you were okay, so I asked Eddie. Did you get something to eat?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“No.” He could almost see her wistful gray eyes. “I’d like to just stay home with you.”

“You’ve got it.”

“Well, if this case keeps you going late, I’ll understand.”

“Not tonight. I promise.”

 

*****

“You’re trying to hang larceny on me now?” Brad asked in disbelief.

Harvey said hastily, “I’m just trying to find out who counted the drug money that night, Brad.”

He sat across from Brad and his attorney in a visiting room at the county jail. Brad looked terrible. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was thin and haggard.

“If I could look at my log, maybe I could help you,” he said wearily, “but I’ll tell you this. If I counted it, it all went in the locker.”

“Who brought it in? Do you remember? Ron and half his squad were on it.”

Brad shook his head. “Probably the sergeant handed it to me. I don’t know.”

“Do you remember how much was in the bag?”

“No. I don’t remember counting money that recently, Harvey. I really don’t. If I did, it would just be to confirm the amount for Ron.”

Harvey leaned back in the metal folding chair. “How long have you had your .357 Magnum?”

Brad looked at him blankly.

“The Smith & Wesson we took from your apartment,” Harvey said.

“Oh, seven or eight years.”

“Where did you get it?”

“A gun shop on Forest Avenue.”

“I know the place.”

“He probably has a record of the transaction,” Brad said testily, “but if that gun was the murder weapon, I’d have heard about it before now.”

“You’re right, it’s not. We have the murder weapon.”

Brad’s eyebrows shot up. “Then why the interest in my revolver?”

“The day you helped Philip Bolduc move Joey’s gun cabinet to his house…”

“What about it?”

“Joey had a .357 in his collection.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Was it similar to yours?”

Brad shrugged. “I suppose so. I think mine’s a little older. What’s the deal?”

Harvey rose. “Sorry, I can’t go into it.”

“You just want to drive me nuts in here, don’t you, Larson? You want to pin the murder on me, but you can’t, so you’re coming up with all these other niggling things. You’re going to say I embezzled who-knows-how-much drug money next, aren’t you?”

“I’m just trying to get at the truth, Brad.”

As Harvey headed toward the door and the guard opened it for him, Brad shouted, “Well, the truth is, I’m being set up here! I’m an easy target right now, that’s the truth!”

 

*****

Jennifer met him at the door to the garage with Connor in her arms.

“What’s for supper, gorgeous?” He kissed her, then Connor. He shifted his briefcase to his left hand and reached to take the baby.

“Warmed over lunch,” Jennifer said apologetically.

“Great. I’m starved.”

They went into the kitchen.

“Want to eat in the living room?” Harvey asked. “I’ll make a fire in the fireplace.”

Jennifer eyed him carefully. “All right, that would be nice. I’ll fix our plates.”

When she carried them to the other room five minutes later, the fire was blazing. Harvey came in behind her, swinging Connor high as he walked. He had changed from his suit to jeans and a Portland Fire Department T-shirt.

“Hey, Connor, turn the light off,” he coached, holding his son up near the switch.

Connor laughed and threw his head back.

“No, over here, bubba,” Harvey said, taking the baby’s hand and guiding it to the light switch. The overhead light went off, and Connor squealed.

“You want to sit on the floor?” Jennifer asked uncertainly, holding the plates.

“Yeah, we’ll have a picnic.” Harvey sat down on a quilt he had spread on the floor. He laid Connor down, and the boy beat the air with his feet and hands. “Just like a turtle on his back,” Harvey laughed.

“I’ll get the drinks.” Jennifer set the plates on the edge of the hearth.

She was coming back with two glasses when Harvey’s cell phone rang. She set the glasses on the coffee table with a sigh.

“Yeah, Eddie. Okay. Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll be there.”

She smiled tremulously as he closed the phone.

“What’s the matter, beautiful?”

“Are you leaving?”

“Now? No way!”

“Later?”

“Come here.” He reached toward her. She took his hand, and he pulled her down on the floor beside him. “I am not leaving this house for the next twelve hours. Period.”

She threw her arms around his neck with a sob. Harvey rubbed her back gently.

“You’re not crying, are you, sweetheart?”

She reached around his neck with her left hand to dash at the tear that rolled down her right cheek. “Why would I cry?”

He kissed her hair and held her close. “Eddie was just telling me tomorrow’s schedule. I’m staying home tonight. I don’t care if Jill Weymouth calls and says her house is being robbed and there’s a body hanging from the chandelier. I’m not leaving.”

Jennifer took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually weepy and possessive, am I?”

“No, you absolutely are not. You’re the greatest. I spend night after night working sometimes, and you never complain.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her, then pulled back to look into her eyes. “You okay?”

“Yes. Well, maybe.”

“Maybe?” Concern darkened his bright blue eyes. “What kind of maybe? Jenny, what is it?”

She turned her face away from him, but rested her cheek against his shoulder. Connor laughed and reached toward her, and she put one finger into his grasp.

“Harvey, I think I might be pregnant again.”

He sat stock still for an instant, then crushed her closer against his chest. “Really?”

“I—I don’t know. I just—think maybe.”

He laughed. “Fantastic. You want me to go to the drugstore?”

She pulled in a ragged breath. “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

She looked long into his eyes and nodded, a smile slowly curving her lips. “I thought you would be. I hoped you would be. But I wasn’t positive. I mean, it’s so soon.”

He frowned. “You’re all right, aren’t you? I mean, is this a problem?”

“No, no. It’s great. If you think it’s great, it’s great.”

“Oh, I most definitely think it’s great.”

Her smile was bigger then. “I knew you would, really. I just—there’s been so much going on lately. I wasn’t going to say anything until I knew for sure, but tonight I just feel like I want you to be here when I find out.”

Harvey’s smile was tender as he pulled her gently toward him. His lingering kiss was interrupted by Connor’s loud hoots that turned to wails when no one responded.

“We’ll eat supper, then we’ll go to the drugstore.” Harvey leaned to pick up the baby. “We’ll find out tonight.”