The Edge

Chapter 24

He stopped by a hardware store and bought some duct tape. When he got to his room at the inn, he checked his booby traps, then he duct-taped over the hole in the window and closed the curtains. He eyed the opposite wall where the round had embedded itself, and he wondered if the locals had made any progress on finding out who had fired it.

Devine then emailed Campbell with his report, recounting everything he had learned since his last communication to his boss.

A minute later his phone buzzed. It was Campbell.

“You’ve clearly stirred the hornet’s nest,” he said.

“Seems like it.”

“We have been monitoring chatter from the regions where Jenny operated.”

“And?”

“It’s an interesting silence,” replied Campbell. “We would have expected more after an event like that.”

“As in trying too hard not to say something?”

“Exactly.”

“So are we leaning toward her murder being related to her job?”

“Not yet. The silence may be genuine.”

“Well, the crime scene was staged.”

“Explain.”

Devine went over the points and concluded with, “I think she was brought there after she was shot and her body was dumped on the rocks. The bullet entry angle alone blows up the official theory.”

“I agree with you.”

“The casing could have just been dropped at that spot easily enough. But whoever put that scheme together didn’t take into account the entry angle, or the fact that the shooter would be lying prone on the ground.”

Campbell said, “So no spot there where he could have rested the stock on a tree limb and fired pretty much at eye level? Or maybe a full-size tripod that would make for the same angle?”

“All the limbs on the trees around there were well off the ground. And a full-size tripod and a shot from three hundred yards away to make it a level entry into her head? What would have been the point? Why not just fire from a prone position? You’re still going to hit the target.”

“Okay, she was killed elsewhere and dumped where she was found, and the scene was doctored to suggest otherwise. Why?”

“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?”

“Oh, sure. Covered all of Curt’s campaigns. War hero turned maverick politician. The people of Maine loved him. And he did right by them. Maine has gone through some tough times. But we’re hardy folks and we keep plugging away. Curt was one of us. He was tough and kept plugging, too. Sure sad to hear how sick he is now.”

“What did you think of Clare?”

“She was a good partner to Curt, and I mean as a wife, mother, and political spouse. Those are three distinct roles, and most people fall down on at least one of them. Not Clare.”

“And the kids?”

“Nice, polite, all talented in their own way.”

“I understand that years ago Alex sort of had a personality transformation. You know anything about that? Because the people I talked to had nothing specific to tell me.”

Watkins looked around nervously. “You can’t quote me or anything.”

Devine straightened and his expression sharpened. “Anything you tell me is confidential. You want to come inside?”

Watkins nodded and stepped across the threshold.

Devine sat on the bed while Watkins perched on the edge of the desk chair.

“It was during the summer. She was a rising junior in high school.”

“What happened?” asked Devine.

“Alex was assaulted and ended up in the hospital. I believe she almost died.”

Devine was stunned. “Did they catch the person?”

“No, they never did.”

“So Alex didn’t know who it was? Or why she was attacked?”

“No. It was either a stranger, or Alex couldn’t identify the person for some reason. The whole thing was hushed up, if you want the truth. Curt was running for the Senate for the first time back then. Most people in Putnam probably don’t know what really happened. I only know what I told you because I was a reporter. And I have to say that back then my boss put the kibosh on digging into it or me really talking about it.”

“So she became... reclusive?”

“Changed her whole life, really. She just became a shadow of what she had been. It was really very sad.”

“You’d think it would have made her want to move away from here.”

Watkins took off his glasses and cleaned them on the sleeve of his coat. “I think it just made her afraid, Mr. Devine. Afraid of the old and the new. She at least was familiar with this place. But other locations just became too big a potential nightmare for her. And as the years passed, I think whatever walls she built solidified. She has the old house, and now her studio, the kids she teaches, and that’s about it. At least that’s my two cents’ worth of psychology.”

“Did she get counseling?”

“I would imagine she did.”

“Did her family support her?”

“Jenny was working in DC at the time. She came straight home and spent every day at the hospital. And after her sister was released, she was with her all the time. Probably calming her, reassuring her, supporting her. That was Jenny.”

“And Dak?”

“He was away in the Army at the time.”

Devine nodded, his mind going back to a naked Alex standing defiantly in that window. Does she feel safe there? Invulnerable? Am I overthinking this?

“Mr. Devine, you okay?”

Devine came out of his thoughts to find the man staring worriedly at him.

“What a terrible thing to have happen,” he said. And then Devine thought how lame that must sound.

“Happens to far too many women,” noted Watkins. “Although one is one too many. But we live in a troubled society and things are not always what they appear to be, people included. Had a neighbor back in Bangor. Nicest guy, help you whenever you needed it. The year we left Bangor to move here he was arrested for possession of child pornography. You think you know someone, and then, hell, you realize maybe you don’t know a damn thing.”

After Watkins left, Devine sat there thinking that the reporter’s last words were some of the truest he had ever heard.