The Edge

Chapter 74

The gates to the bing mansion opened as Devine approached them. He slid past in the old truck and geared down as he went up a slight rise to the house. He could hear the ocean roaring in the rear of the property as the tide pushed closer. He looked up and saw another cluster of black clouds heading in.

He parked and got out, and used a lull in the rain to make it to the front door without getting drenched.

Guillaume answered his knock. She wore a navy blue pantsuit with tiny white pinstripes, and a white open-collared blouse. She seemed cheery and relaxed, which put Devine even more on alert.

“I thought a place this big would have a butler,” he said.

She smiled at his quip. “We run a lean operation, but we do have a maid service three times a week and someone to look after the grounds. But I like to cook. However, if I don’t, we go out or just do leftovers.”

“‘We’? You mean you and Fred?”

“Yes. Please, come in.”

She led Devine through a spacious foyer into a substantial great room with ceilings that seemed nearly high enough for him to parachute from. A roaring fire blazed away in a fireplace nearly as tall as he was. The furnishings were unique enough to suggest they had been custom-built. There seemed to have been no expense spared in both building and furnishing the place.

Devine wondered why Guillaume’s father had bothered dropping so much money on such a grand residence in a place like Putnam, Maine.

Guillaume seemed to be reading his mind because she said, “He wanted to rub their faces in it, of course.”

Devine nodded. “Okay. And what do you think about that?”

“I wouldn’t have done it. But then I didn’t have a say in the matter. Would you like a drink? I opened a nice red.”

“I’m more partial to beer if you have it.”

She got their drinks and they settled into seats in front of the fire.

“Dinner won’t be long. It’s a crockpot stew. Hearty fare on a cold, rainy night.”

“Sounds good. Will Fred will be joining us?”

“He had some things to finish up. He should be here shortly.”

“He works hard, I take it.”

“Yes, he does. Running a small business is more than a full-time job.”

“But you juggle lots of balls, too.”

“I suppose it runs in the family.”

Okay, chitchat done. Let’s get to it, thought Devine. He wanted to get back to Alex as quickly as possible.

“You wanted to talk about something?” he said. “Insights?”

She lowered her wineglass and looked alarmed that her turn on the stage had come perhaps sooner than she had expected or wanted.

“Yes, that’s right,” she began.

“Well, I’m happy to listen to whatever you can tell me that might be helpful.”

“I take it you don’t believe that Earl took his own life?”

“No, I don’t,” he said bluntly.

“Because he couldn’t have managed the chair and all?”

“You’ve been talking to Harper.”

“Actually, Wendy Fuss filled me in on your theory.”

“Harper agrees with me now. But you still think he killed himself?”

“I admit I did not take into account his physical ‘challenges’ in making my conclusion. I was looking strictly at the forensic evidence.”

“But not all the forensic evidence, because you didn’t run blood or tox screens. You just chalked it up to ‘adrenaline.’”

“I explained that to you. When suicide appears to be obvious there is no need. If he’d been fifty years younger and wasn’t found hanging, then, yes, I would have done a full postmortem.”

“So we’ll never know if he was rendered unconscious so they could string him up.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t,” she said firmly.

“So... insights?” prompted Devine, who had a feeling now that this evening was going to be a waste of time.

She set her wineglass down and seemed to steel herself. “Putnam, like many small towns, has secrets.”

“The big one is who raped Alex Silkwell.”

“I’m not talking about that, though it does involve the Silkwell family.”

An intrigued Devine took a swig of beer. “I’m listening.”

“Curtis Silkwell.”

“What about him?”

“What would you say if I told you that many here believe he is Annie Palmer’s father?”

“I’d say tell me more.”

“Curt and Valerie Palmer were attracted to each other; everyone here knew it. He was twenty years older than she at least. But she was beautiful — Annie took after her — and she caught Curt’s eye. He was quite the philanderer. But I’m sure you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t. Is there proof?”

“DNA? No. No one ever talked about doing that. But I can tell you that Curt paid for Annie’s college education out of state before she came back here. And I understand that Dak helped with the financing of her café. But when Annie was born, Curt was a congressman with plans to one day run for the Senate, which he eventually did and won.”

“So it was all hushed up?”

“Of course it was,” she said. “Those sorts of affairs always are.”

“And did Clare know?”

“She would have been blind not to. And Clare was never blind.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” asked Devine.

“I know you’re interested in Steve and Valerie Palmer’s deaths around the time that Alex was attacked.”

“And they were the ones who discovered Alex after she was raped.”

Guillaume held up four fingers. “Steve and Valerie Palmer, and Earl and Bertie Palmer. All dead. Fire, a hit-and-run, and lastly a hanging.”

“You did the autopsies on Steve and Valerie.”

“I did. And they died of smoke inhalation. That was as far as the postmortem went.”

“Meaning what?”

“Like with Earl, I did not do blood and tox screens.”

“Because it was believed to be an accident?” said Devine.

She rose and stood in front of the fire. Her tall, trim figure seemed right now to hold all sharp angles, Devine noted.

“Because I was encouraged to do the test for smoke inhalation and that was all.”

Devine rose and stood next to her, letting the heat from the fire warm his chilled bones. And he wanted to be right next to the woman when he asked his next, obvious question.

“Who encouraged you to stop at the smoke inhalation test?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Senator Silkwell? Why? Why would he care?”

She didn’t respond so Devine filled in the answer. “Because you’re saying he killed the Palmers? What would be his motive?”

She gave him a patronizing look. “Like I just said, Agent Devine, fifteen years ago he was running for the Senate for the first time. Any hint of scandal would have derailed his campaign. Such things as adultery still counted with voters back then.”

“So someone threatened to expose his secret? Who? I suppose the Palmers, if you think he had them killed and then encouraged you to do short shrift with the postmortem. But that would have been a scandal for the Palmers too. I can’t believe Steve Palmer would have wanted his wife’s adultery known to the world. So where’s the motive for the Palmers to spill the truth to such an extent that Silkwell would feel he needed to kill them?”

“Money. Steve Palmer was a lousy businessman and a gambler to boot. He’d lose more money than he had at the Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun casinos in Connecticut.”

“So he was blackmailing Silkwell? But by then the family didn’t have any money.”

“Oh, they had some. How else could they keep paying the taxes on Jocelyn Point and keep it running? It’s not cheap. And Curt Silkwell had invested what money he did have well. Indeed, he invested in some of the industries he oversaw as a member of certain congressional committees. As luck would have it his timing was amazing in getting into investments and then out of them in the nick of time before the bottom fell out.”

“So he was trading on insider information?”

“Apparently many of them do, to this day.”

“And how did you come to know all of this?”

“I made it my business to know. And I had firsthand knowledge of part of it.”

“Right. You let someone encourage you not to do your job.”

“I’m not proud of that. But I was just starting out and these were people I looked up to. I was afraid not to do as I was asked.”

“And of course Senator Silkwell is in no position to defend himself against these accusations,” he replied.

She took the poker and nudged some embers until they flamed up. “I’m not surprised you don’t believe me. No one wants to think a war hero, a great man, could do bad things. But if I am telling the truth, does that qualify as a motive for murder, to your thinking?”

“You also mentioned Earl and Bertie Palmer?”

“Bertie spent a lot of time with Alex after she was attacked.”

“So?”

“Bertie and Earl both knew about the affair.”

“Bertie started spending time with Alex after she was attacked fifteen years ago. But Bertie was killed a few weeks ago, and Earl just days ago,” pointed out Devine. “So why wait that long? And Curt Silkwell couldn’t have been involved in either of their deaths. He’s been in a hospital for a long time.”

“But Clare hasn’t, has she? And I understand she married a very wealthy man. A man who might be able to hire certain people to do a certain job.”

“You’re very well informed.”

“I find that’s far better than being ignorant,” she retorted.

“But I’m not sure how much sense it all makes. Why would Clare, after all these years, care about an affair of her husband’s from nearly thirty years ago coming out? Particularly if he had other such trysts and now she’s remarried and put all that behind her?”

“Curt being Annie’s biological father may not be the only secret the Silkwells are covering up.”

“What else?”

She retook her seat while Devine continued to stand. “People around here have long wondered where Dak got the capital to invest in all these local businesses.”

Devine leaned against the mantel, his mind racing ahead.

Dak’s smuggling might come out after all. “You have any theories?” he asked.

“Bertie was over at Jocelyn Point a lot over the years. What if she stumbled onto his source of capital?”

“So Dak ran her over? And then killed Earl in case she had told him?”

“I’m not saying it’s true, but you have to admit, it’s a plausible theory.”

“So who shot Jenny? And then Dak? The polymer casing links them. If it was in retaliation somehow for him killing Bertie and Earl, how does Jenny tie in?”

Devine had an advantage here. He knew about the satellite images that Jenny had found showing that the Palmers had seen what Devine believed to be a cop car racing past right before they found Alex. But for that, Guillaume’s line of reasoning would be far more compelling.

“I guess it’s your job to find that out,” she replied curtly.

“Assuming there is a connection.”

“Do you have a theory tying them all together?”

Devine had known that query was coming and it confirmed for him what this whole dinner invitation was partly about. The first part had been shifting potential guilt onto the Silkwells. And the second?

A fishing expedition. Ironic in a coastal town that makes its living off lobster. And eels.

“I’ve got lots of theories, but I need proof.”

“Like you said before, I’m listening. And I can give you my expert opinion.”

I bet you can, and then you’ll run off and tell your uncle, wherever he’s hiding, which might be right here.

The front door opened and closed and Fred Bing walked in, his hair and coat wet.

She looked at him. “Why didn’t you pull into the garage, Fred?”

“My damn remote didn’t work again.” He looked at Devine. “Hey, sorry I’m late for dinner. I hope you two went ahead and ate.”

“No, we waited for you,” said Guillaume. “And I’ve been having an interesting discussion with Mr. Devine.”

Fred took a long sniff. “Well, your beef stew is calling me.”

They all went in to eat.

Guillaume only had eyes for Devine. And for his part, he was surreptitiously watching her every step of the way at the same time he was on the lookout for the hulking Benjamin Bing to jump out with a gun.