Bellows Falls

Chapter 11

I MET WITH MOLLY BREMMER at the Howard Johnson’s in Greenfield, Massachusetts, partway between Brattleboro and Lawrence. That arrangement was at her suggestion, and I appreciated the gesture. Before I left town, I’d received a call from Jack Derby, telling me he was meeting with the attorney general’s office early that afternoon, and that if I wanted my ambitions turned into reality, I’d better show up to make the best presentation of my life. I was keeping my fingers crossed that Bremmer might supply me with a little extra ammunition.

Marchese had told her some of what I was up to, and on the phone I’d answered several questions she’d formulated as a result. She’d said she would make a few calls and check some files but wanted to tell me what she found in person. Her enthusiasm, I sensed, had been stoked by Marchese’s own, which had less to do with me than with his fondness for Sammie Martens. It was a refreshingly human insight on how police work often gets done, or even why in some cases.

Molly Bremmer was middle-aged, stocky, and appeared faintly doddering until I saw her eyes. They, like her hair, were iron gray and spoke of a woman who was used to standing her own ground. We greeted one another in the parking lot and entered together to find a small table, far from anyone else, near a window looking out onto the traffic.

After ordering coffee from the waitress, Bremmer placed a pair of reading glasses low on her nose, and extracted a yellow legal pad from her briefcase. “Norman Bouch, the gentleman-thief,” she said with a smile, and looked over her glasses at me. “What did you want to know?”

“Charmed you, did he?”

The smile only widened. “He tried. I merely observed. I think he’s more successful further down the food chain. I interacted with him over a long enough period that he finally stowed the bullshit and opened up a little, although not enough to spill any beans. He was a man with a plan, and a do-gooder like me was purely a bureaucratic necessity he had to deal with before moving on.”

“So he didn’t divulge the plan?”

“No, he’s arrogant and a showoff, but he’s far from stupid. There are elements of the chess player in him, minus the patience. Still, I’d say it probably involved kids and abused or vulnerable women. Those are his specialties. That’s not necessarily a sexual scenario, by the way-he just needs to dominate those around him. The charm is part of that, practiced on those he can’t actually control. If you can’t win ’em, woo ’em.”

That sounded right, from what I’d seen. “What did you mean by a ‘sexual scenario?’ ”

“Personality disorders of this type often have a sexual basis, but I don’t think there’s any of that here-not with the children at least. Women are another matter. But I never picked up on a single pedophiliac marker. Norm just needs the dependency. It’s one of those paradoxical signs of insecurity. In a weird kind of way, you could describe him as a typical co-dependent.”

“Did you always meet Norm in your office?” I asked.

“No. The point of the program was to send us out into the subject’s habitat. It was supposed to make them feel more at home, and allow us to see them functioning among their peers. On that level, it worked quite well. After some initial discomfort-shared by both sides-” she added with a smile, “they loosened up enough that we collected some peripheral data. Nothing of much value, however, which is why the whole thing collapsed. No one figured out that the only people who’d agree to participate would be self-servers like Norm. Maybe they thought a bank robber would invite a shrink along on a heist, purely as an observer… Still, the money was good and the experience personally valuable.”

“Did Norm get chummy enough to introduce you around?”

“Oh, he played it up. I was his personal show horse, after all.”

“What was he up to at the time?”

“Technically, he was a garage mechanic. Psychologically, he was an empire builder. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a leader. His only problem was finding an army who’d follow. That’s where the kids and women came in.”

“Was someone named Jasper Morgan one of the kids?”

She laughed. “Not even a remote chance I’d remember that, probably not even if you waltzed him in right now. I met a great many people, but in this instance my only focus was Norm.”

I thought a moment. “I told you on the phone we think Norm has created that army, as you put it. My guess is he compartmentalized it into cells so it won’t fall over like a row of dominoes. He has lieutenants in different towns, empowered to hire and fire on their own. It gives them autonomy and a sense of authority and makes it harder for us to track the scheme from one end to the other.”

She was shaking her head slightly. “What I’ve been dancing around with my psycho-jargon is that Norm Bouch is a control freak. What you describe may be correct in part-the complexity of the structure reflects the man’s intelligence, and I’m sure he makes his lieutenants feel powerful, but don’t believe for a moment that he trusts anyone with autonomy. Whatever it is you’re facing up there in Vermont, he’s pulling the strings. You should be able to backtrack everything to him in the long run, like pulling the right loose thread. It might just take some doing, that’s all.”

I described the sexual harassment case that had brought me to Bellows Falls, explaining how I thought Brian Padget’s subsequent troubles were based partly on Norm’s irritation at having his first scheme ruined by me.

Molly Bremmer shrugged. “We all make mistakes. It could be he misjudged the harassment angle, but I’d be cautious if I were you. Remember that Norm likes to show off-to himself if to no one else, somewhat like masturbation. Your Bellows Falls officer being saddled with a drug charge may have been a back-up plan-it could also have been in the works from the start.”

That possibility solved some timing problems. If Padget had been framed only after the sexual harassment charge had collapsed, Bouch hadn’t had much time to put it together. Bremmer’s suggestion seemed more likely and made me realize just how devious an opponent Norm might be.

Assuming Brian had been framed at all.

I was having a hard time seeing him as a drug user-much less a dealer-but the young cop’s own cocaine-tainted urine couldn’t just be ignored. Until I could explain it, any theories that he was set up weren’t going to be very convincing.

I returned to something Bremmer had mentioned earlier. “You said you met a great many people when you were hanging out with Bouch. Were there any from Vermont?”

She again consulted her notes. “Yes. There was a young man named Lenny. I only took note of him because he was such a standout. He was slightly older than some of the others and more like Norm in his personality, which struck me as an anomaly. Norm’s standard choice was the submissive type, not somebody who might stand up to him. It was the one instance where I sensed a genuine friendship holding sway over Norm’s usual controlling pattern.”

“No last name?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, I only knew he was from Vermont because he called Burlington home. I sensed he was traveling to and from there to meet Norm in Lawrence.”

“If I ever found a picture of this Lenny, would you recognize him?”

“Maybe. I saw him several times. It was always a social setting. I don’t know what business they might have been cooking up, or even how they met in the first place, but he became a familiar face.”

The tip about Lenny was hopeful-maybe. It certainly echoed what Amy Sorvino had said about Burlington and the relationship Bouch had reputedly had with Jasper Morgan. But it didn’t give me anything additional to win over the AG’s office. I was still, as Tony had said, totally reliant on my abilities as a bullshitter.

Disappointed, I paid for the coffee and escorted Molly Bremmer to her car, thanking her for all her help.

As I was closing the door after she’d slid in behind the wheel, however, I suddenly asked, “Given Norm’s personality, is it likely his wife could’ve been fooling around without his knowing it?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “My professional opinion, without knowing the wife? I’d not only say it was unlikely, but that if she was, Norm probably had a hand in it. As a manipulator, it would’ve been right up his alley.”

I arrived back at the office fifteen minutes before my scheduled meeting with the attorney general’s envoy, underwhelmed at my prospects. If my pitch to Derby had worked, as Gail had pointed out, because he’d wanted to avoid a potentially messy, labor-intensive case, it stood to reason the AG might reject me for the exact same reasons. What I’d learned since had sounded encouraging to me, but I doubted someone with a tight budget and a limited vested interest would be similarly impressed.

Sammie Martens walked briskly into my office as I was pondering my strategy, a notepad in her hand. “You got a second?”

“Just that.”

“I started looking into Emily Doyle-just public access stuff, no official fingerprints-and I came up with something pretty interesting. She’s from Burlington originally.”

I raised my eyebrows noncommittally, but she’d grabbed my attention.

“Not only that, but when she was there, she lived in an apartment on North Street, just a few doors down from where Norm Bouch still has a place.”

“Any indication they knew each other?”

“Not so far.” Her smile betrayed an ambition to clear that up soon.

“How’d you find out Bouch had an address in Burlington?”

She laughed. “I called Information. He’s listed. Then I got hold of public records. He’s been renting for about three years.”

I shook my head in wonder at how often, with our growing dependence on high-tech communications and sophisticated information gathering, we simply forgot about things like phone books. “Nice, Sam. I guess you better go town by town and see if he pops up anywhere else while you’re at it.”

“I got something on Jasper Morgan, too,” she said as I checked my watch. “I asked Willy to snoop around Morgan’s neighborhood, see if anyone had gotten more chatty now that things have cooled off. Turns out Jasper’d gotten a little cocky just before he disappeared, and maybe a little greedy. Word is he was starting to look over his shoulder. This was just before he entered the Retreat incognito, which makes me think maybe we weren’t the ones he was hiding from.”

“And that maybe he ran from us,” I finished, “because our flushing him out turned him into a sitting duck for someone else.”

“Sounds good.”

I patted her on the back as I left the office. “It’s been a pleasure talking with you, Sammie. I’ll give the AG your regards.”

The AG was personified in this case by a tall, dark-haired, tough-minded woman named Kathleen Bartlett, who for the past five years had headed the Criminal Division. The AG in Vermont was similar to the county-based State’s Attorneys in terms of power, but unlike them, he had greater jurisdictional reign. Also, since his office wasn’t split among fourteen counties, his staff was proportionally more impressive. For example, for all the SAs in Vermont, there were two investigators, one of them part-time. In Bartlett’s division alone, there were five.

I had known Kathy Bartlett since her fledgling days as a county prosecutor and had always admired her no-nonsense, apolitical pragmatism-traits I wished were more commonplace within law enforcement. After shaking hands all around-Latour, Brandt, and Derby were also in attendance-she didn’t disappoint me by dwelling on the amenities.

“Jack’s briefed me on your proposal, Joe, and I’ve read what files he and Tony could scratch together. I won’t deny I’m interested, and I even agree with some of your arguments-the risk of conflict by involving the drug task force, for example, although I know they won’t like it-but I’m not convinced we’re the right office for this. As things stand, people could legitimately claim you’re either on a vendetta for Lavoie having his gun stolen or just on an ego trip.”

“Jasper Morgan may’ve started this case,” I began, “but since then, we’ve come up with Norm and Jan Bouch, Brian Padget and Emily Doyle of the BFPD, and even someone named Lenny who lives in Burlington, knew Bouch in Lawrence, and who well might be running things for him in Burlington.

“And the connections are still growing. I recently found out Doyle and Padget were once an item, before Padget fell for Jan Bouch, and that Doyle used to live in Burlington, just a few doors down from an apartment rented by Norm Bouch.

“I also just got word Jasper Morgan’s old neighborhood pals are starting to think he got whacked by his boss for sticky fingers. If that’s true-and it fits why Jasper was so desperate to disappear-then it certainly involves the Bratt PD in more than a simple gun theft, and it gives me a leg up as the investigator since I’m already looking into the guy we’re all supposing is the boss in question.”

I paused, but only briefly, for any objections. “Last but not least,” I went on, “is the timing and cost effectiveness. The timing hinges on the arraignment date for Brian Padget-it would be nice to have a better idea of his guilt or innocence before he faces a judge. The cost effectiveness is that since this case plays to Brattleboro’s self-interest, among others, I’ll be working on salary, doing most of the legwork, without calling on too many of the AG’s resources. If and when I dig up enough to fully whet your appetite, then you can jump in with little lost up front.”

Bartlett frowned at that. “If we’re in, we’re in. We won’t rubber-stamp an operation just so you can run all over the state like the Lone Ranger. I’ll buddy you up with one of my guys, and I’ll be expecting daily updates.”

“I realize that,” I countered, pleased by that show of acceptance. “This deal would merely give you an extra investigator instead of costing you one. You’d call the shots.”

She seemed mollified by that. “Jack was telling me the primary reason to exclude the State Police was both your passion for the case and your already considerable knowledge. I have to admit I agree, and the arraignment does make the timing important. Emily Doyle worries me, though. What do you think’s going on there?”

“Any number of things. She could’ve planted the dope in Brian’s home because she was pissed off at him for dumping her; she might’ve done it because she’s in cahoots with Bouch, and Bouch saw her as the easiest way to plant the stuff; or she may be an entirely innocent victim of circumstance and coincidence.”

“Which we’re trained to mistrust,” Tony added.

“Why are you so convinced Brian Padget was framed, especially when his own urine says otherwise?” Bartlett asked suddenly.

“I’m not,” I answered. “But I do think the urine is the only solid thing against him, which is unusual.”

For the first time, Latour made his presence felt, with a small, enigmatic grunt.

“The dope in the toilet speaks for itself,” I explained. “It may be exactly what it appears to be, or just as easily be a plant. The involvement with a dope dealer’s wife straddles the same fence. He may have been trying to lure her onto the straight and narrow, and she-with or without her husband’s involvement-may have been setting him up. What sticks in my craw is the guy who squealed on Padget to the paper. He said he was pissed off because Padget hadn’t paid him for drugs, not once but twice. He also said they’d done drugs together the night before he made the phone call. Now, that sounds pretty screwy to me-you don’t do drugs with someone who just stiffed you on the payment. My bet is Bouch was the caller, hoping to use us to nail Padget’s hide to the wall.”

In the silence that followed, Kathleen Bartlett took us all in for a long moment before finally nodding her head. “All right, I’ll sign off on it. I’ll have to fly it by the boss, and explain things to the VSP and the head of the task force, but I’m willing to give it a shot. It would be nice to clear a cop or two, jail a bad guy, stop a source of drugs coming into the state, and protect a few teenagers all in one swoop-assuming any of this pans out.”

Her last comment didn’t go unnoticed, but like people circling an unexploded bomb, we all gave it a wide berth and made plans for how to structure the investigation, covering our doubts with a slightly strained optimism.

It was only then I began wondering how much of my neck I’d stuck out. Worst-case scenario, it was possible I’d chosen to deal with job-related weariness and ambivalence by committing professional suicide.