The Edge

Benjamin Bing had memorable features: strong chin and jaw, thick, graying hair, what Devine referred to as buzzard eyes — the sort that immediately made you uncomfortable — and slender lips just beneath a nose as sharp as a Ka-Bar blade.

Damn if he doesn’t look like a soldier.

Alex was waiting for him in front of the house. The wind slightly lifted the hem of her knee-length skirt. Long boots covered her calves. Her parka looked warm and comfortable.

She slid into the truck and said, “How are you doing?”

“I was about to ask you that.”

“I got a lot of work done today, so that’s good.”

“And everything else?” he said.

She eyed him pensively. “I had no thoughts of jumping off the top of the house, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t mean that... necessarily.”

“Do you know why I went up there?”

“Tell me.”

“It’s the place where I can see the farthest. I don’t mean out on the ocean. I mean in my head.”

“But you were very close to the edge. I was afraid... that you might...”

“I can’t say that the thought has never entered my mind. But after what happened to Jenny...” She frowned, shook her head, and adopted a look of intense focus. “It was exactly like you said. If I did something like that, it would be as though what Jenny did was worthless. She sacrificed her life to find out the truth about what happened to me. I... could never do that to her. To her memory. I just couldn’t.”

She faced away from him but he could see, in her reflection in the window, the tears sliding down the woman’s face.

“You know, you’re pretty much the most honest person I’ve ever met,” said Devine. “And... I find I can’t be anything other than frank with you, even when I don’t want to be.”

“Is that a good thing?” she asked, now looking at him.

“I think it is, yes. If a little unnerving.”

They drove on.

Chapter 63

She directed him to a little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant that was as far removed from the organic bulk of Only Real Food as it was possible to be. The interior was comprised of four tables and one waitress. She greeted Alex with a warm smile and a lingering hug and cast Devine an intrigued glance.

“Travis Devine, this is Chloe Samaras,” said Alex.

The three other tables were occupied, and Samaras directed them to the fourth and most private table, well away from the others and along the back wall. She deposited the menus in front of them, took their drink orders — Mythos beer for Devine and a glass of Prosecco for Alex — and left.

“I didn’t think you came into town much,” he said.

“When I do, I usually come here to eat.”

“Why’s that?”

“Chloe and I went to high school together. She’s really nice. Her uncle Tony is the chef. He taught me how to cook some really cool Greek dishes.”

Their drinks came. After Alex took a sip of her Prosecco she said, “So why dinner? Do you have more questions?”

“Yes, but I also wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay.”

She fingered the stem of her glass and sank back in her chair. It started to rain, the drops pattering against the restaurant’s plate glass window.

“When I was little my dad and I would go up to the widow’s walk and watch the storms roll in and out. Not if it was lightning, of course. And we would talk about stuff. It was really nice. Like when I would sit in his office and watch him write while I drew things in my sketchpad.”

“Did you ever draw him?”

She smiled. “All the time, with varying degrees of success.”

“Ever think you finally captured the true essence of the man?”

Alex’s smile faded. “No,” she said. “Your questions?”

“Why don’t we eat first? Might go better.”

Devine ordered kotosoupa and pastitsada with beef, while Alex had gigantes beans to start and grilled vegetables with warm pita for her dinner.

Devine took one spoonful of his soup and looked at her. “Wow.”

“I know, right?”

The main meals were just as savory.

“Okay,” said Devine. “I’m definitely coming back here. Thanks for the introduction to Putnam’s finest Greek food.”

“You’re welcome. Now, your questions?”

He set his knife and fork down, took the last sip of his beer, and said, “You ever have any interactions with Benjamin Bing?”

Her eyes narrowed. “What a strange question. Why do you ask?”

“He was the police chief back when you were attacked. I was just wondering what you thought of him, how he handled things.”

“I don’t remember dealing with him directly. Chief Harper was a sergeant then, I believe, and they had other officers, too, but my family mostly dealt with Harper.”

“How about before you were attacked? Anything with Bing?”

“I’d see him in the little Christmas parade we have every year. My father knew him quite well. It was a political friendship, I gathered. I do recall that one of the boys I went to high school with stole a car for a joyride and wrecked it while Bing was chasing him. The story was Bing pulled the boy out of the car and...”

“And what?” prompted Devine.

“Well, beat him up.”

“How did his parents take that?”