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“Hi, Mr. Wilson. Hold on a sec, I’m going to connect you with Mr. Hamilton.”
“Wait!” says Garrett. “Where’s Marcia?”
Lynn’s already put us on hold. Over the first few bars of Nottingham’s hold music, I whisper to Garrett, “Marcia’s boss?Reginald Hamilton, the head of Nottingham Publishing and a half a dozen other media operations?”
Garrett shrugs. We’ve never met Hamilton. Neither have most of the people who work for him. He’s a cranky seventy-five-year-old Brit and a total recluse.
The hold music abruptly stops. “Hamilton here.”
“Mr. Hamilton, this is Garrett Wilson and Brea Cooke. We work with Marcia Dillion—”
He cuts Garrett off. “She’s no longer with Nottingham. Now, about your project. We’re pulling the plug.”
CHAPTER
52
Partial transcript of interview of HERBERT LUCIENNE by Detective Sergeant MARIE GAGNON, New Hampshire State Police, Major Crimes Unit
GAGNON:I want to again confirm that you’ve been read your Miranda rights, that you have not requested an attorney, and that you are aware that we are recording this conversation.
LUCIENNE:Yeah, I want to get this shit over as soon as possible.
GAGNON:Good. So do I. Please state your full name and address.
LUCIENNE:Herbert Lucienne, fifteen Mast Lane, apartment four, Hampton Falls, New Hampshire.
GAGNON:And your age?
LUCIENNE:Forty-three.
GAGNON:What is your current employment status, Mr. Lucienne?
LUCIENNE:I’m on disability from a construction accident three years back. Cheapskate cousin of mine owns the building I live in, and basically, I got a room, a bed, a minifridge, and a hot plate.
GAGNON:According to state records, Mr. Lucienne, you’ve supplemented your disability income by other means. Including burglary, drug peddling, and shoplifting.
[Pause in audio]
LUCIENNE:Sorry, was that a question?
GAGNON:My question is this, Mr. Lucienne. Can you explain to me how you came to be driving a vehicle with skeletal remains in the trunk?
LUCIENNE:I have no idea. It’s not my car.
GAGNON:The vehicle is registered to Ken MacDonald of Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Do you know Mr. MacDonald?
LUCIENNE:No, I don’t. I don’t know who that is.
GAGNON:If you don’t know Mr. MacDonald, why were you driving his car?
[Pause in audio]
LUCIENNE:Look, this is what happened, God’s honest truth: Three days ago, I found an envelope under my door. Note inside said if I wanted to make five hundred bucks, go to the far end of the Walmart parking lot and pick up a red Sentra. It gave me the plate number and time—last night at eleven forty-five.
GAGNON:And you didn’t question why you were being asked to undertake this task?
LUCIENNE:Shit, no. The envelope had five one-hundred-dollar bills, but they were, like, cut in half. No good bythemselves. The note said that taped inside the right front fender there’d be another envelope with the car keys and directions and a hundred bucks for expenses.