Paul Doiron - Trespasser

“Morrison told me Barter’s been dealing pills to teenagers,” I said.

“Roofies are his specialty.”

“I guess it makes sense that a registered sex offender would traffic in date-rape drugs.”

“It’s all just hearsay. A kid we busted said he bought the pills off Barter. We can’t pin anything on Calvin.”

I had the distinct impression the sheriff was beating around some kind of bush. “So, I heard Hans Westergaard’s car might have been spotted in Massachusetts?”

“I can’t comment on that.”

If I kept pressing, I wondered if I could tease some information out of him. “A man just doesn’t disappear into thin air. Whoever killed Ashley left that house in a hurry. If Westergaard was panicked and on the run, he would have used one of his credit cards by now.”

“You know I can’t go into any of the investigative details.” He readjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Mrs. Westergaard told Detective Menario that she spoke with you outside the jail.”

I gave a mirthless laugh. “I figured she would.”

“You should expect that AAG Marshall is going to come after you for tampering with a witness.”

“I’d say Jill Westergaard tampered with me. ”

The sheriff licked his lips. “May I have a glass of water?”

“Help yourself. The glasses are to the right of the sink.”

Even in my altered state, I understood that Baker was behaving oddly.

He returned from the kitchen with a jelly glass full of water and a look of resolve in his moist eyes. The conversation seemed to have taken a wrong turn in Baker’s mind, and now he was determined to get it moving in the right direction. “You know I worked at the Maine State Prison for many years before I ran for county sheriff.”

“I don’t mean to insult you, but that’s one reason I didn’t vote for you,” I said. “Your opponent had real community policing experience. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

For the first time, the tidy little man seemed to bristle. “I’ve heard that criticism before. You’d be surprised how many people at my own church have apologized for not voting for me. But it doesn’t matter. I won the election.”

“Where’s your church?”

“First Pentecostal.” He set down the glass and put a small pink hand on each knee. “Do you worship locally?”

“No, but I was raised Catholic.”

My answer seemed to deflate him, causing his shoulders to shrink. “I learned a lot about human nature working in the prison,” he said out of nowhere. “In my experience, most corrections officers are literal-minded individuals. That’s as it should be. It’s not a prison guard’s responsibility to second-guess judges or juries. Our job is to execute the law without prejudice or preference.”

“Sheriff, I’m really not equipped to have a philosophical conversation at the moment.” I displayed my black fingertips to bring the point home. “Could you please tell me what you want?”

His eyes darted around behind their amber lenses, but they didn’t leave mine. “I know Ozzie Bell and Lou Bates left certain documents with you. Have you had a chance to read them yet?”

The question spun my head around 360 degrees. “Don’t tell me you’re a member of the J-Team.”

He made a not very convincing show of clearing his throat. “As the sheriff of Knox County, I can’t engage in public crusades on behalf of convicted criminals.”

“I don’t believe it-you actually think Erland Jefferts is innocent.”

He sipped his water so lightly, I wasn’t even certain he had consumed any. “When you work at the prison, you get to know certain prisoners. I found Jefferts to be a remarkable young man. He’s a painter, a gardener, and a mentor to the other prisoners. He’s helped inmates learn to read, and he’s organized Bible-study groups.”

“He also raped and murdered a young woman, I seem to remember.”

Baker shook his head with such vigor, I feared his glasses might fly off. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“The man was convicted by a jury of his peers!”

“Anyone who researches the prosecution of Erland Jefferts will have their faith shaken in Maine’s legal system.”

I was losing patience now. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“You found Ashley Kim.”

“I found her mutilated corpse.”

The sheriff, sensing my growing irritation, attempted yet another fresh approach. “Unlike Trooper Hutchins, you recognized that Ashley Kim was in danger, and you took action to find her, even though it wasn’t your responsibility as a game warden to do so.”

“That’s a flattering way of saying I’m not a very good law officer.”

“I think you have the aptitude to become an outstanding law officer. That’s why we’d like your assistance.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean the J-Team?”

He refused to bite. “There’s a chance that if you looked through Bell’s files, you might spot a detail we’ve overlooked.”

“Look, Sheriff,” I said. “If you think Jefferts was wrongfully accused and Nikki Donnatelli’s killer also murdered Ashley Kim, then you prove it. That’s your job, not mine.”

He smiled benevolently. “You’re not as cynical as you pretend to be.”

“Is that so? What am I, then?”

“You’re a brave young man who believes in the cause of justice.”

I stood up unsteadily. “I need to take a piss.”

What had Kathy Frost called me? The patron saint of hopeless criminal prosecutions? From Jill Westergaard to Dudley Baker, I was suddenly attracting gullible saps like a picnic basket attracts wasps. I stood over the toilet and marveled how my life had taken this bizarre twist.

This murder investigation was no longer any of my business. My only involvement would be as a witness at Professor Westergaard’s trial. And yet the spectral image of that murdered girl just wouldn’t leave me be. I’d begun to fear it never would. I didn’t trust Menario to find Ashley Kim’s killer, whether it was Hans Westergaard or not. The idea of adding her name to Maine’s list of unsolved homicides filled me with a red rage. I owed it to that poor woman to do something on her behalf.

By the time I returned to the living room, I’d decided on a course of action. “I’ll look through Bell’s files,” I said with a theatrical sigh. “On one condition, though. You have to promise to share information with me about the Ashley Kim investigation.”

Baker’s fat neck flushed scarlet. “I won’t share anything that might compromise the case.”

“Does Westergaard have access to a private plane? I know he’s rich. Is there any way he could have slipped out of the country? Back to Europe or something?”

“I’m not at liberty to reveal those particular details.”

I pressed my splint against my chest. “Just tell me who Menario has interviewed, then.”

He puffed out his cheeks. “Mark Folsom, the owner of the Harpoon Bar in Seal Cove. We pulled one of his fingerprints off the pay phone outside Smitty’s Garage.”

Charley Stevens had called me with that news. “Folsom was Nikki Donnatelli’s employer.”

“And a suspect in her murder. But he claims that he’s used that phone on several occasions, and there’s nothing to place him at the scene of the accident on the night of Ashley Kim’s disappearance.”

“What about the Driskos?”

“So far, they’ve refused to talk. The state police are expediting the DNA tests on that blood and hair you collected, but it seems certain that the Driskos stole the deer from the road. Menario can’t arrest them until he has proof of it, though.”

“How about the Westergaards’ caretaker-Stanley Snow?”

“He has alibis for the entire day Ashley was missing-people who swore they’d seen him at the Square Deal and around Seal Cove. He’s also offered to take a polygraph.”