The Edge

“The mole?” asked Devine.

“We’re ninety percent through our audit.”

“Let me know when you finish, with or without an answer.”

“What are you going to do now?” Campbell asked.

“Take a nighttime tour of Putnam, Maine.”

“In the hopes of finding what?” asked Campbell.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

Chapter 43

Devine drove to the spot where one sister had been raped and the other one found murdered. He got out and walked around, while at the same time in his mind moving through the details he knew about Jenny’s murder. And speculating on what had happened to Alex here.

He thought about Jenny with a rifle aimed at her head. And of Alex when she realized what was about to happen to her. The twin images rocked him to his core, when Devine didn’t believe anything could anymore. He walked to the edge, and looked down at the rocks and then out at the ocean, which was rumbling and tumbling.

He had seen more violence and depravity in his life than most others had. To a degree it desensitized you to the stunning cruelty of which human beings were capable. Yet in other ways Devine found he was more empathetic than most. It might be because he had comforted, as best he could, colleagues and friends and family members who had lost loved ones. That didn’t just include fellow Americans, but soldiers from other countries, and civilians who had lost everything and everyone they cared about to war.

Death was always unsettling, even when it was expected. But violent, unexpected death? It had a horror, a grotesqueness that most humans simply couldn’t wrap their minds around. That’s because there was nothing logical or understandable about it.

He looked in the direction of Jocelyn Point, where two vulnerable women were hunkering down. Perhaps they were managing to get by together when they might have failed alone. At least he hoped so.

As Devine looked back out to the water he saw the lights of a boat that was very near the shore, and north of his position. He looked at his watch and wondered who it might be out there at this hour of the night.

He hopped into his SUV and drove toward where the boat seemed to be heading. He continually glanced out at the water to follow the vessel’s journey. And then the light vanished, which deepened his suspicions. He slowed the SUV, pulled over, and stopped. He slid his optics from his bag, got out, and looked through them over the vehicle’s roof. He swept the horizon for a glimpse of the vessel. But it was like the boat had disappeared into the night.

He got back in and was about to pull back on the road when a car passed him, going fast. He glanced quickly enough to see that it was Dr. Guillaume in a gray BMW sedan. He pulled in behind her and followed at a discreet distance. By now she had to have finished at Palmer’s place or squared things away at the funeral home before she did the post in the morning. She might be heading home, wherever that was. She had told him she lived here, but also kept a place in Augusta.

He lowered the window a crack because he was feeling warm and a little claustrophobic. The briny smell from the Atlantic flooded the interior and brought back memories of West Point and sailing on the brackish Hudson River.

Officially known as the United States Military Academy, West Point had been identified by George Washington as the most strategic location in the American Revolutionary War. Originally named Fort Clinton, it was the oldest continuously maintained military outpost in the country. It was on the west bank of the Hudson, hence the name. A branch of the U.S. Mint was located there. It was pretty safe, Devine thought, being on a military installation loaded with weapons and people who knew how to use them.

Four of the best years of his life had been spent at the Point. He had made friendships he expected to last the rest of his life. For his comrades who had been killed in battle those lifetime bonds would not happen. But that was something they had signed up for. Collectively, they were all supposed to make the world better, or freer, or safer. The jury was still out on that.

But regardless, we did our duty and did our best.

He slowed down when the Bimmer did. Then it turned onto a paved driveway on a stretch of coast road that was unfamiliar to Devine. The wrought iron gates opened, the Bimmer passed through, and the gates closed behind the car.

He pulled off and watched Guillaume drive up to the side of what could only be termed a mansion. Then the house swallowed the car as she pulled into a side-load garage bay.

He squared up the SUV and pointed the lights at the gate. Coming together, the twin metal gates formed a large B.

B for Bing?

He’d thought Jocelyn Point was impressive, or at least it had been back in the day. This place looked to be no more than a decade old and was even larger. He wondered if she lived there alone or with around fifty people. It was more hotel than house.