The Edge

“Obviously to cover up where she was really killed, and by whom. The time-of-death window allowed plenty of wiggle room on alibis, so I don’t think that will help us.”

“The environmental elements did a number on the body, I was told.”

“But her body had to be transported there, probably in a vehicle. If we could find it, there might be some trace of her still there. And now we come to the man who found her. Everyone up here seems to think it’s just a coincidence that Earl Palmer happened upon that stretch of coast and looked down and saw her. Me? I think it’s the same odds as winning the lottery.”

“Well, people do win the lottery, Devine.”

“Yeah, but millions of people play the lottery. He was the only one playing this game.”

“You think he was told to lie, then?”

“I think a lot of odd things are occurring in a town filled with odd people. But I don’t know what it all means. Yet. Did you find out anything on Dak Silkwell’s OTH?”

“It’s buried deep. I really sense the hand of his father on this one, Devine. As I told you before, Curt never talked about his son’s service, other than to tell me that he joined up. So what’s your preliminary assessment? Local or global source for her murder?”

“But for one thing I’d say global.”

“What’s that?”

“She told her mother that she had unfinished business up here.”

The call ended a few moments later, and Devine set the phone down. Then he heard a knock on his door.

His hand on the Glock, Devine peered around the corner to see a bespectacled man in his fifties with a gray beard standing there.

“Yeah?” said Devine, from a distance.

The man seemed startled and looked around. “Mr. Devine? Harvey Watkins, I’m a local reporter. I’d like to ask you a few questions if I could.”

Devine opened the door.

Watkins held up his ID showing him to be a reporter with the Putnam Press.

“What sort of questions?”

Watkins gave him a condescending expression. “Jenny Silkwell’s murder? And you’re here to investigate it.”

“If so, you look seasoned enough to know that I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”

“I’ve already interviewed Chief Harper and Sergeant Fuss.”

“Then you have your story.”

“But our readers would like to hear from you.”

“I’m surprised a town this small even has a newspaper.”

“Well, it’s only published digitally, but local news is making a comeback and it’s about time. I only work there part-time. I also work at the hardware store. Someone pointed you out when you were there buying duct tape.” Watkins looked over at the window. “Understand someone took a shot at you.”

“If you were told that, I won’t deny it.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“If I knew that they’d be in custody.”

“So, the investigation?” asked Watkins.

“I’m working in cooperation with the local police, who have been professional and helpful. We hope to make progress and find out the truth.”

“You sound like a PR person now,” said Watkins, smiling.

“Good, then I hit my mark.”

“Can’t you give me anything? I used to be a reporter full-time over in Bangor. Never had a story like this on my doorstep. And I’m not getting any younger.”

He held up his phone with the record function showing and a pleading look on his face.

Devine leaned against the doorjamb. “All right, turn on your recorder.” He waited for Watkins to do so. “Okay, someone did take a shot at me. You and your readers can ask yourselves why. And the answer that occurs most likely at least to me is that our investigations are getting closer to the truth and someone is obviously not happy about that.” He wasn’t going to mention the different types of bullets used.

“Do you think the person is local?” Watkins asked.

“Don’t know. But we can’t rule anything out at this point.”

“We all know that Jenny was engaged in some, well, confidential matters for the federal government. Could that be the reason she was killed?”

“Again, we can rule nothing out. But any new information will be given out to the local press at the appropriate time. We like to be transparent, but we can’t jeopardize the investigation. I’m sure your readers will understand.”

Watkins turned off his recorder and smiled. “Thanks for that.”

“Now can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you know Jenny?”

“I knew all the Silkwells, including the senator. I came here from Bangor over thirty years ago. My wife has family in the area, and a job had opened up on the daily paper here that was better than what I had in Bangor. Of course, over the years, things change and that job went away. But we liked it here and stayed.”

“So you knew Jenny as a child?”

“Sure did. Precocious and curious about everything.”

“I’ve heard that from other people.”

“We all knew she was destined for bigger and better things, and she was. What we didn’t know was that she was also destined for a premature death.”

“Did you know her parents well?”