The Edge

Devine edged over to where Guillaume was kneeling next to the body, which was lying on a synthetic tarp designed to capture all trace evidence. She used a digital thermometer to test the ambient air temp and then employed a rectal probe to check Palmer’s body core temperature.

“How long, Doc?” Devine asked.

“The ambient temp in here is thirty-seven degrees. He has warm clothes on, which would counteract the ambient some. The body loses roughly one point four degrees Fahrenheit of heat per hour after death up to twelve hours and about point seven per hour after that.” She looked at the rectal thermometer. “Based on all that, this reading indicates he died between one and three this morning.”

Devine looked at the ligature marks on Palmer’s neck. “Those look gravity-induced,” he said. “As opposed to straight-line, which would show strangulation.”

“You know about such matters?”

“I have a little experience with them, yes.”

She held Palmer’s large head in her gloved hands. “No obvious signs of bleeding or blunt force trauma.”

“So he wasn’t knocked out and then strung up?”

“Why in the hell would you think that?”

Devine glanced over to see Harper staring angrily at him. He swiveled his glance around to Fuss to see what she looked like. She was staring at her boss — anxiously, it seemed to Devine.

“I’m saying that it might not be a suicide.”

“His beloved wife was killed horribly,” said Harper, walking forward as he spoke, crossing the footprint of the small building until he was looking up at the taller Devine. “The man is out of his mind with grief. He walks alone in the middle of the night looking for... fuck, I don’t know what. Maybe a little peace. And then he finds the body of another person he knew.” He pointed at the rafter from which Earl Palmer had been hanging. “And now we get this. Seems pretty linear and obvious to me. A person can only take so much.”

“So you’re convinced he took his own life?” said Devine.

“I’m not convinced of anything until the doc over there gives her verdict. But why would someone want to kill Earl?”

“That’s our job — to find out.”

Harper stabbed a finger into Devine’s left pec. “I’ve got one murder to solve, Devine, I don’t need you going around trying to add to that number with all this bullcrap.”

As Devine looked at Harper all he could see was the man’s signature on the log list, and the missing rape kit. He was certain that Mildred James had told Harper about Devine’s checking out Alex’s evidence file. And the man was obviously not happy about it.

“Well, you actually already have two murders. Alberta Palmer? Earl would make it three. And like you said, Chief, let’s wait until we get the verdict from Dr. Guillaume.” He looked at the woman. “I’m sure it’ll be a top priority for you, right, Doc?”

“Yes, yes of course,” she said, looking and sounding agitated. “I’ll do it first thing in the morning.” She looked at the EMTs. “Load the body in the van and bring it to the funeral home. I can do the post there once I get approval from Augusta. I know they have a backlog right now, and I don’t want to get lost in a long queue. But I also want to be fresh when I do the post.”

“We’ll need the place to be secure,” said Devine.

“I’ll call the county and have them send a deputy over to watch the place all night,” said Harper, taking a step back and seeming to lose all emotion and with it all his vitriol.

“Good,” said Devine as he started to walk out.

“Where are you going?” asked Fuss.

“To take Annie home. You got our statements. Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”

He left and got into the Tahoe. Palmer was sitting there, staring out the window at the cottage where her grandparents had raised her after a fire had taken her parents away. Then her grandmother had been killed. And now... this.

“I’m so sorry,” said Devine, and not for the first time.

When they discovered the body, Palmer had rushed forward and grabbed her grandfather’s legs, screaming at Devine to help her get him down, to perform CPR, to save him.

But Devine had seen many dead bodies, and he knew he was seeing a long-dead one at the moment. It had taken all his strength to pull her away from him, lead her out to his vehicle, and get her inside. Then he’d called the police. He’d sat with her while he waited for them. He tried to soothe her, come up with words that would make the pain of such a traumatic discovery go away. Until he recalled that those words did not exist.

So he had just held her, let the woman cry into his shoulder, told her it would be okay when he knew it wouldn’t. He got her to cup her hands and breathe into them when she sobbed so hard she hyperventilated and couldn’t catch her breath. The flood of CO₂ calmed her twitching lungs.

“Is there someone you can stay with tonight? I don’t think you should be alone.” When she didn’t respond he repeated his question. Halfway through she said, “Jocelyn Point. Dak and Alex.”