Forty-Six

“When we get inside,” Stone Gibson said, “I’d like the lead. The homicide is mine, after all.”

“I’m just here in an advisory role,” DA Stephanie DuBois said.

“And I have no problem with you leading,” Peyton said.

It was Monday morning at 9:15, and they were outside a conference room in the Aroostook County Jail in Houlton.

“Does he know his sister is dead?” Peyton asked.

Stone nodded. “They told him yesterday, and they say he didn’t take it well.”

When they entered, Freddy, seated next to his attorney at a rectangular metal table, looked up. There were no coffee cups on the table this time, just Stone’s iPhone, the voice-recording app activated.

“I don’t got much to say to you fucking people.” Freddy looked at Peyton. “You were there, eh? And you let it happen.”

“Freddy,” Stone said, “we are all terribly sorry for your loss. And you should know that Agent Cote talked your sister out of killing herself. She also tried to get her to leave the cabin. She attempted to help her, and risked her life to do so.”

Freddy looked at Peyton, head tilted. “You did that?”

“Yeah.”

Shelley Wong, Freddy’s court-appointed attorney, had a legal pad out. She wasn’t even thirty, but had gone to Columbia. There were two other changes Peyton noted: Freddy no longer wore his soiled jeans and shirt—he wore an orange jumpsuit—and he was sporting a first-class shiner.

“Where’s Steve St. Louis?” Stephanie asked.

“Can’t afford him now. Sherry was paying for him.” He motioned toward Shelley Wong. “She’s smarter than him anyway.”

Karen Smythe had mentioned Shelley Wong to Peyton. Karen had told Peyton that Wong had an “adorable” baby and was married to a teacher. But this was neither the time nor place to mention their connection via a mutual friend.

“I wanted to stay in Garrett, eh?” Freddy said. “But they moved me here. You like my black eye?”

“Tough place?” Stone said.

“These guys are a bunch of assholes. Real criminals.”

“And you’re not?” Stone said.

Freddy looked at him. “I pled not guilty, didn’t I? I got sucker-punched in the face yesterday.”

“Well, county jail is better than state prison, believe me.”

“I’m working on having you moved back to Garrett,” Wong said, “until your trial.”

Freddy listened then turned to the threesome seated across from him. “See? She’s smart, eh?”

“Freddy,” Stone said, “I’d like to talk some more about the night Simon Pink was killed.”

“We been over that a hundred times.”

“I’d like you to tell me who was in the cabin.”

“I don’t know. I told you already. I set the fire early that morning. All that shit happened before I got there.”

“I think you’re a really good brother, Freddy,” Stone said.

“I don’t see the relevance,” Wong said. “Where are you going with that, detective?”

“It’s a tragedy, but Sherry is dead now, Freddy.”

“Again,” Wong said, “relevance?”

Stone stared at Freddy. Freddy wasn’t confused now. Peyton saw it in his steady eyes. Freddy St. Pierre Jr. was thinking.

He turned to Peyton. “My sister’s gone now, too? First my parents, now her. And you were there, eh?”

Peyton nodded. “Freddy, there wasn’t anything I could do. I talked her out of killing herself.”

“She wouldn’t do that, Peyton.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I know my sister. I thought you did, too, eh.”

“She thought she had reason to do it, Freddy.”

Freddy shook his head, growing frustrated. “What are you talking about?”

“I told her I knew the truth, Freddy.”

“What’s going on here?” Freddy said to Wong.

“Detective Gibson said he had something important to discuss. I’m certain these people will get to it soon.” Wong looked at Stone. “Won’t you?”

“I know the truth about what happened that night, Freddy,” Peyton said again.

They locked eyes, and Freddy turned away.

“You’re a good brother,” Stone said. “I have a lot of respect for you.”

Freddy cleared his throat. “I don’t know what these people are talking about,” he said to Wong.

Peyton said, “You’re a good brother, Freddy. But it’s over now.”

“My sister didn’t do nothing.”

“And you pled not guilty,” Stone said. “It’s time for you to look at the big picture. Simon Pink was there. Your sister was there. And you were, too, Freddy. Not later, as you keep saying, but in the cabin when Simon was shot. All four of us know that’s true.”

“This is speculation, detective,” Wong said.

“I’m trying to spare your client from serving life in prison, Shelley.”

“He set a fire. That doesn’t get anyone life.”

Stephanie cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her.

“Ms. Wong, we’re here to offer your client a chance to cooperate with us and tell us the truth. He doesn’t have to. I’m very confident that I can and will prove that your client admitted he was at the crime scene to set a fire to cover his tracks—to convince people that he wasn’t there when the shot was fired. But let’s look at the facts of the case that I have to work with: The fatal shot came from his gun. It happened on his land. In the cabin he built. And he knew the suspect had seduced his mother and was cheating on his father, a man he spent every day of his adult life with, which, as we both know, is a strong motive. We can play that game and probably get a conviction and send Mr. St. Pierre to Warren for life, if he would like. But the three of us on this side of the table want the truth not just a conviction.”

“What is she saying?” Freddy asked Wong, who said nothing for several moments.

Then, finally: “I think I need a few minutes with Mr. St. Pierre.”

FBI Agent Frank Hammond kept his word, allowing Peyton in on the interview with Kvido Bezdek. In fact, it seemed to Peyton, he’d allowed half the criminal-justice officials in Aroostook County in on it.

Peyton was beside Hammond and Mike Hewitt at the interview table in Garrett Station Monday at 2 p.m. State Trooper Stone Gibson, DA Stephanie DuBois, Agent Mitch Cosgrove, and Secret Service Agent Wally Rowe were in the back of the room.

“I appreciate you coming in,” Hammond said.

“I am happy to help,” Bezdek said in his thick Eastern bloc accent. He was all smiles, but he also had Len Landmark, the Portland-based attorney, with him.

“Welcome back to the area, counselor,” Hammond said to Land-
mark.

Landmark didn’t smile. “Let’s get to it, gentleman. My client misses his homeland. He’d like to get this resolved in an expedient manner.”

“We all would. I can assure you of that,” Hammond said. “Could you tell me about your relationship with Sherry St. Pierre-Duvall?”

“I worked for her as a researcher. But I must admit that our relationship changed over the years. I loved her. Her death will be something I can never get over. It’s why I am still here. I must attend her funeral.”

Peyton had her hands on her lap. Had they been on the table, she’d have been tempted to slap him.

“Tell us about your hand.”

“I injured it many years ago.”

Hammond waited.

Bezdek glanced at Landmark.

“What would you like to know, Frank?” Landmark said.

“What happened to his hand?”

“May I ask why you wish to know that?”

“Sure. I’m curious to see if it had any influence on this case.”

“If anything,” Landmark said, “seeing as it’s his right hand and he’s right-handed, it proves that he could not have shot Simon Pink.”

Hammond nodded. “I see. How were you injured?”

“My hand was burned in a fire.”

Hewitt opened a manila folder that lay before him on the table, took out a sheet of typescript, and pushed it toward Bezdek.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a classified report,” Hammond said. “Check out the second paragraph.”

Peyton looked at Landmark. It was clear by his expression that he now knew why he was there—they were going after his client. He leaned close to the paper and read it.

“You can’t prove it,” Landmark said.

“Not sure I want to.” Hammond pulled the paper back. “But it’s interesting that the CIA has known your client and Mr. Pink were together many years ago in Andela and that Mr. Pink introduced Mr. Bezdek to bomb-making.” Hammond looked at the sheet again. “A ‘training accident,’ huh? Jesus, what must have been going through your head when you first looked at your hand?”

“Want me to tell you?”

Bezdek’s voice had a different quality now. Still the thick accent. But the polished, polite tone was gone, replaced by anger.

Landmark caught the tone and said, “That won’t be necessary, Kvido. I’m still waiting for some degree of relevance, Agent Hammond. My client, after all, is grief-stricken but still managed to come here to cooperate in full because he wants to help.”

“Here’s the thing: revenge can come in many forms. But you need to be right-handed for most of them. Is that what you’re saying, Kvido?”

“I don’t follow you, agent.” Bezdek’s mouth was a tight slit now, his eyes narrowed. “And I’m tired of wasting my time.”

“I know what happened to your father. I’d like to think our government agencies have gotten better in the years since. But, like Mr. Landmark says, that’s not relevant. Your father was assassinated. I know that. And, hell, I might have even tried what you tried, had I been in your position.”

“Speculation, agent,” Landmark said. “My client hasn’t been charged, so I would appreciate you not speculating on what he ‘tried.’”

“I’m saying, given what happened to your father, given what became of your mother … You have my sympathy.”

“You know nothing about me or my mother.” Bezdek’s voice was a low, guttural growl. “Not one thing, agent.”

“I know she was a prostitute.”

Bezdek slammed his open palm on the metal table top. The sound reverberated throughout the room.

“That’s enough! You’re wasting my client’s time. You can charge my client or we can walk.”

Peyton knew Landmark was right. Everyone in the room did. She waited to see if Hammond had another card up his sleeve.

“I have several more questions,” Hammond said.

Landmark shook his head. “You’ve burned this bridge, Agent Hammond. My client came when you called him. You have insulted him and done nothing more than fish for suspicious answers. Let’s go, Kvido.” Landmark stood.

“Okay. You want me to be direct, Len. How’s this?” Hammond turned to face Kvido. “Tell me what you know about making bombs. Where you learned it. And from whom. Period. That’s what I want to know.” He turned back to Landmark. “That fucking clear enough, counselor?”

“I know nothing.”

Hammond leaned back in his seat. “So here we are, Kvido. I just had you read a classified document about yourself. The CIA knows you worked with Simon Pink. We know Pink made bombs for Andela. And you have admitted you were close to him … ”

Bezdek’s eyes ran to Peyton. She held his stare. “ ‘Father figure,’ ” she said.

“ … but you’re going to tell me you know nothing about bombs? I can guess you flunked the exam by looking at your hand. But you must have learned something.”

“Fuck you. All of you,” Bezdek said, but the rage had left his voice. His words were quiet now, controlled.

“Come on, Kvido,” Landmark said.

“I can ask State Trooper Stone Gibson back there to bring him in for questioning,” Hammond said.

Landmark sat down again.

“Why don’t you explain what Simon Pink was doing in Aroostook County?”

“I understand he was working,” Bezdek said.

“Coincidentally? For your girlfriend’s parents?”

Bedzek shrugged. And he smiled at Hammond, whose face colored. “Any more questions, agent?” Bedzek said.

“Sure. How come you gave Sherry St. Pierre-Duvall over two hundred thousand dollars? You see we have her bank statements. There were a couple accounts that took some finding, but you know how the government is in this country—too big. A lot of government employees have lots of time on their hands, like Agent Cosgrove back there.”

Cosgrove smiled.

“My finances are my business,” Bezdek said.

“Kvido,” Landmark said, “that’s enough.”

“Agent Cote, here, raised an interesting question when we first spoke to Chip Duvall. She asked him if he lost his house when he lost his business. He said no. That was interesting to us. You see sometimes, no matter how well you plan, no matter how smart you are, the people you surround yourself with fail you, even if they try hard not to.”

“Agent Hammond, you are way, way out of line here,” Landmark said. “And you know it. This is insulting. You called us in simply to fish. There is no other reason.”

“No. I’d like to know just why your client gave Sherry St. Pierre-Duvall two hundred grand. That genuinely interests me. I’d also love to hear where he got the money.”

Landmark leaned close to Bezdek to whisper something.

Bezdek pulled back. “I need no help.” Then to Hammond: “I gave her the money. It was a gift.”

“Where did you get the money? I thought she paid you. You said you did research for her.”

“As a hobby. I am passionate about her research. It is not my”—he searched for the right word—“primary job. I invest in real estate.”

“What did Sherry do with the money?”

“Oh, that, I cannot tell you. You see, I do not know, Mr. Hammond. The money was a gift. She was free to do whatever she wanted with it.”

“Did you know her father?”

“No. I never met him. Based on her, I’m certain he was a fine man.”

“Actually he abused her, verbally and sexually.”

“That is terrible to hear.”

“Funny,” Hammond said, “that she never mentioned it to you, seeing as you were close to her.”

“Is there anything else?” Landmark asked.

“One other thing,” Peyton said, “but I’m hoping we can avoid it.” She slid the warrant to Landmark.

“You want to swab his mouth?”

“I don’t want to. I’d rather be able to ask your client a question and get an honest answer.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sam Duvall, Sherry’s nine-year-old son, is yours, correct?”

“Why do you ask?” Bezdek said.

“Sherry told me as much. I just want confirmation. I can do it with a DNA test, or you can provide the answer. Either way.”

“Yes, he’s my son. Sherry and I were together years ago. I told you I loved the woman.”

“And she was raising your son?” Peyton said.

“Yes.”

“And Chip? He adopted Sam?”

“No. Sam is my son.”

“But Sam goes by Chip’s last name. I’m told he legally adopted Sam.”

“Sam is my son.”

“Does Chip know you’re the father?” she asked.

Bezdek didn’t immediately reply. And he was too self-assured to look to Landmark for help. He simply sat staring at Peyton, his wheels clearly turning.

“We haven’t discussed it. As you can imagine, with Sherry leaving Chip for me, Chip and I do not have a relationship.”

“That’s funny,” Peyton said, “because I could’ve sworn he was meeting you for lunch when I saw you at the diner the other day.”

“I have never met Chip for lunch.”

“No,” Peyton said. “He pulled in, but you went out to stop him before he came inside.”

Bezdek shook his head.

Hammond was about to speak, but Peyton played a hunch, saying, “Yeah, Chip denied it, too.”

Bezdek looked at her for a moment, then nodded, and leaned back in his seat: an unconscious gesture, one that told her Bezdek had just been reassured.

Of what?

“Can you tell us where you were Wednesday afternoon?” Hewitt asked. He and Hammond had gone to find Bezdek then but hadn’t been able to do so.

“I don’t recall.”

“No? A smart guy like you? You can’t remember?”

“Perhaps I was taking a walk. I cannot recall. Maybe in the gym.”

Hammond said, “Do you know where Sherry took Matt King-
ston?”

“No. I would have no idea and no way of knowing. And, honestly, I do not like to think about that, about how it turned out.”

“Where were you the night Simon Pink was murdered?”

Bezdek smiled broadly. “Why I was in the air, flying here, Mr. Hammond.”

“I hope the flight was smooth.”

“Extraordinarily so. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you’ll be in the area for a few days, Mr. Bezdek. We may need to ask you some additional questions.”

“Like I said, I will be at Sherry’s funeral. She’s being buried here.”

“How does Chip Duvall feel about that?” Peyton asked.

Bezdek looked at her, thinking.

“I mean, surely he won’t want you there, seeing as you were stealing his wife.”

“Stealing is not the correct word.”

“What is?”

“I was making her happy. If he cared about her, he should have wanted that for her.”

“Is that what you wanted?” Peyton asked. “For her to be happy?” She felt Hewitt’s eyes on her, and she knew why: her tone had changed. She reeled her emotions back in. “That’s nice to hear,” she said. “What happens to Sam and Marie now?”

“We are working that out.”

“Who?”

“The people involved.”

“And who is that? They’re either going to you or Chip or you’re splitting them up. What’s the plan?”

“It’s not finalized yet.”

“Does Sam know you are his father?”

“Really, agent,” Bezdek said, “what are we talking about?”

“It’s time for us to go,” Landmark said.

“Thank you for your time today, Mr. Bezdek,” Hammond said and stood. The others followed him out.

Twenty minutes later, Hewitt and Peyton were in the breakroom. Peyton was eating a salad; Hewitt was having five cookies.

“Quite a lunch,” she said.

“I ran six miles this morning. This is my reward.”

“Healthy.”

“Healthy enough,” he said. “You were getting pretty upset in there.”

“Not much to like about that guy.”

“You were close to Sherry when you were kids, huh?”

She looked at him. He was staring at her.

“What are you saying, Mike?”

“I’m saying this isn’t only about Sherry St. Pierre-Duvall, Peyton. This is also about Simon Pink, Pete McPherson, and, of course, what was probably an assassination attempt on the president of the United States, which comes above all else. Don’t lose sight of that.”

“I won’t. But Sherry was used and tossed away by this asshole—and that led to all of the other deaths, Mike.”

“She was paid, Peyton. Two hundred grand, in fact.” Then he nodded. “But, yeah, she never expected things to end as they did.”

Through the window in the breakroom, she could see the rolling farmland across the street. A large crop sprayer bounced across a field, its metal arms jutting out like mechanical wings.

“Freddy changed his plea after we left,” Hewitt said. “Stephanie is in talks with Shelley Wong. In exchange for talking, Freddy’s being released on his own recognizance. It was part of the deal. He really wants to get out of there and back to the farm.”

“He’s not cut out for prison life.”

The tractor’s huge tires moved carefully between the rows. Peyton was amazed at the speed at which the tractor traversed the land.

“He better get used to prison,” Hewitt said. “Conspiracy to Commit Murder carries ten to thirty years. I doubt he’s getting off without serving something.”

“Might depend on how much he talks.”

“He doesn’t know all that much.”

“Or he’s playing dumb.”

“He’s not smart enough to pull that off. You saw him today. We were offering him a pass, and he didn’t know it.”

“You think no one knew what the cabin was being used for, except Sherry?” Peyton shook her head. “Farmers are some of the most observant people you’ll ever meet, Mike. Hard for me to believe Freddy knew so little. I think he was scared when we interviewed him and didn’t want to say anything to incriminate himself.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m certain Fred knew something was going on in that cabin, too. He was upset Marie called me to start all of this.”

“Think she knew?”

“That’s a good question. I don’t think so. Simon Pink could’ve given her the money I found in her dresser—that would explain why she was so upset to learn of his death: he was helping her escape her abusive husband.”

“So she called us, as any good citizen living near the border would?” Hewitt said.

“That’s what I believe,” Peyton said. “She called to report two men on her property. That’s all.”

“So what did Fred Sr. get out of this?”

“His back taxes were paid by his daughter. It’s quite a gift, Mike. It let her parents keep the farm, avoid being disgraced. It’s a bigger deal, maybe, than anyone not from here might realize.”

Hewitt sat looking at her. “That Conspiracy to Commit charge is looking contagious.”

“I wish Hammond would’ve pressed Kvido Bezdek on the IEDs, Mike.”

“I’ve worked with him before. He’s good. He got a warrant and tapped both hotel rooms this morning. He did it himself.”

“Really?”

“He knows what he’s doing, Peyton. You know, not everyone goes at things a hundred miles an hour.”

“You saying I do that?”

“You started off convinced we had a crystal meth problem, if I recall correctly.”

She smiled. “You recall correctly. Still, I want to know who planted and set the IEDs. Pink, we assume, made them, and he was dead. Sherry couldn’t plant them; she wouldn’t know how. And Freddy was in jail. That only leaves Bezdek. He might not be able to make them with that hand, but he could have set them out there.”

Hewitt was nodding.

She took a bite of her salad and chewed quickly. “Well, Bezdek isn’t staying here forever. Everything hinges on him—the money, the IEDs, the kidnapping, everything.”

“We think.”

“I know it.”

“No,” he said. “You think you do.”

“I know it. Listen,” she said, “we all want to nail this guy. I have an idea, but we’ll need one more warrant.”

“We tapped both hotel rooms this morning.” Hewitt blew out a long breath. “If it’s a decent idea, we might try it. What do you have in mind?”

“It won’t be easy, but it’s all there is left to do,” she said.