The Edge, page 29
He steered the truck over to the shoulder, cut the engine, and waited for them to pull in behind. He didn’t get out. Devine decided to let them come to him.
And they did.
“Step out of the truck, Devine,” said Harper, his hand once more on the head of his baton.
Devine poked his head outside the truck window. “Are you arresting me… again? What was wrong with the first time?”
“Out, now!”
Devine climbed out just as it began to rain.
“Come back to the cruiser and get in,” ordered Harper. “Before we all catch pneumonia.”
Devine sat in the back seat, with Harper next to him. Fuss leaned over the front seat to face them.
“What’s up?” Devine asked.
“What’s up is why do you think it’s your job to go around riling people up?”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me give you an example. You basically accused Françoise Guillaume of dereliction of duty if not outright conspiracy.”
“I never said that and—”
“And I heard that Alex Silkwell nearly killed herself because you were throwing around wild accusations about her sister and the attack on Alex all those years ago.”
“Who the hell told you about—”
Harper continued to talk right over him. “And you’ve pretty much convinced Mildred that Earl Palmer was murdered when there is no evidence, nada, of that being the case.”
Devine flicked his phone screen and tapped an icon. Then he held up the phone. On it was the picture he’d taken of the noose. “Eight coils plus a round turn and two half hitches.”
“What?”
“The noose. Eight coils. And then it was secured to the rafter with a round turn and two half hitches. It’s typically used to secure a rope to a stationary object.”
“So? Earl was a lobsterman. He probably knew every damn knot there was.”
“I took Alex to Bertie’s studio. She remembered everything that was in it while she worked there with Bertie, which was mere days before she was killed. The only thing she saw there that she had never seen before was a pulley bolted into another rafter directly above where Earl was hanging from. It had been painted black to match the color of the wood so as to blend in. I didn’t even remember seeing it. And then there’s an iron bolt set into the wall over the workbench. Under the iron bolt was a fiber, looked to be a rope fiber.”
“What are you saying, Devine?” demanded Fuss.
“I’m saying someone strung Earl up using that pulley.”
“Who the hell would have done that?” barked Harper.
“Whoever got Earl to lie about finding Jenny’s body. That made him a loose end.”
“Oh, okay, here we go again with your bullshit theory,” said an exasperated Harper.
“Even if you think a crippled Earl could climb up on that chair, set the noose, and then kick the chair away, how did he do the eight coils on the noose and the round turn and two half hitches?”
“He was a lobsterman. He’s been tying knots since he came out of the womb,” barked Harper.
“Not lately he hasn’t. Have you seen the size of his fingers? How bent and stiff they are? They’re full of arthritis. When I was walking with him he could barely hold on to the head of his cane. And he can’t even look down, which you’re going to have to do to make these knots.” He pointed at the picture of the complicated knots. “It requires dexterity he no longer had. And why hang himself in the first place? He had a shotgun. Why not just pull the trigger on that, which he could have done even with those fingers? Why go to all that trouble? I’ll tell you why. Faking a death by suicide using a shotgun is a whole lot more difficult than doing it by hanging. You’ve got possible forensic trace in the former that you really don’t have in the latter.”
Fuss eyed her boss nervously. “Maybe worth checking out, Chief.”
Devine added, “And the knot used to secure the noose?”
“What about it?” demanded a still irate Harper.
“It was chosen for a reason, because the first part of the knot, the round turn, would keep the load in place until the two half hitches could be secured.”
“You mean if the killer used the pulley he’d have to secure Earl up there somehow until he finished off the knot?” said Fuss.
“Yes. He obviously couldn’t leave it strung through the pulley, otherwise we’d know it was probably murder. If Earl had used the pulley to kill himself there would have been no need to secure the noose to the rafters. The pulley and bolt would have worked just fine. In fact, if they had just used the pulley and left Earl hanging from it I wouldn’t have been nearly as suspicious. But they overthought it.” He paused. “I actually picture two people. One on a ladder next to Earl, whose head is in the noose after being hoisted there using the pulley, and his feet on the chair. The end of the rope is secured to the bolt. Then the second person cuts the rope but holds on to the end with all his weight, while the first man holds on to Earl, who would have gone slack with the rope cut. The two killers then work together to wrap the rope around the rafter and manage to complete the round turn. I’m not saying it would be easy, but it is doable. And if they strung him up with one rope, put another noose around his neck, and then cut away the first rope, the subterfuge would have been discovered during the autopsy, with the misaligned ligature markings and such. They must have known that, which means they might have some specialized knowledge in forensics. Then they can complete the two half hitches and let go of Earl completely, kick out the chair, and the man goes swinging.”
“You’re overlooking one obvious problem,” said Harper. “How did they get Earl there in the first place? No signs of forced entry. No defensive wounds. No signs of a struggle. Earl might have been crippled, like you said, but he was still a big man. He wouldn’t have gone quietly into the night.”
“He would if he’d been drugged.”
“Françoise found nothing like that,” said Harper dismissively.
“She didn’t check for any of that,” retorted Devine. “She ruled it a suicide by hanging.”
Harper started to say something and then stopped. He eyed Fuss, who was looking concerned, very concerned. He glanced back at Devine. “How do you know so much about knot tying?”
“The Rangers train in high altitudes because we have missions in those types of environments. We climb and rappel and do all sorts of things that require intimate familiarity with ropes and knots, belays, climbing stop descenders, carabiners, and the like.”
Harper sighed. “Okay, let’s get over to the funeral home and we’ll have Françoise run those tests. Okay?”
“Thank you, Chief,” said Devine quite sincerely.
“But if it’s all negative, will you stop with all this murder talk?”
“Yes. You have my word.”
“Okay, we’ll leave your truck here. You can ride with us.”
At the funeral home, they found Fred Bing and asked where his sister was.
“She’s just finishing something up. Should be done in a few minutes. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“Thanks,” said Harper.
Five minutes later Guillaume appeared. She was wearing a full leather apron and was taking off a pair of sturdy gloves.
“What’s up, Chief?” she said after giving Devine a glare.
“I want you to run some tests on Earl’s remains.”
“Tests? On Earl?” she said, looking stunned.
“Yeah, blood and tox. We want to check to see if he was maybe drugged or something. Devine has a theory.” He added, “Probably won’t amount to much.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t run those tests,” she said quickly.
Devine stepped forward. “If you won’t, we’ll find someone else who will.”
“You don’t understand, no one can run those tests now,” she persisted.
“Why the hell not?” demanded a confused Fuss.
“Because Earl’s remains have been cremated. I just finished doing it.”
CHAPTER
62
ANNIE PALMER LOOKED TRAUMATIZED. SHE was sitting in a booth at Maine Brew with Devine next to her and Harper and Fuss across from her. They had previously taken Devine back to retrieve his truck and then followed him here.
“I signed the papers for them to cremate Gramps. It’s what he wanted. Bertie was cremated and her ashes spread over the harbor. I was planning to do the same with his. Dr. Guillaume called and had me come in. She said everything was done and it was time to take care of the body. I was happy that he wanted to be cremated. I mean, I don’t have the money for a casket and burial plot and all. I was planning on having a celebration of his life here at the café, for his friends.” She paused. “I’m the only family left; my mom and dad had no siblings.”
Harper sighed and looked at Devine. “Just unfortunate, way I see it. But nothing out of the ordinary, either. They’re running a business. And they’d jumped through all the hoops. We knew the tests hadn’t been done, and I didn’t order any. Buck stops with me. We were a day late and a dollar short.”
Devine rubbed his brow, looking and feeling immensely frustrated.
“I’m sorry if I messed up,” said Palmer.
Fuss took her hand with a gentleness that surprised Devine. She said, “You did nothing wrong, hon. You did what your granddad wanted.”
They left Palmer there and walked out. On the pavement Harper studied his muddy shoes before looking up at Devine. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” Devine said frankly. “I need to think some things through.”
Devine got into the truck and drove off. He popped in a tape and started listening to CCR. He eyed the sky where the sun was long gone and the darkness was coming for them all. He sang along with the lyrics on the tape: “Well, don’t go ’round tonight / It’s bound to take your life / There’s a bad moon on the rise.”
He pressed the gas and went faster.
His phone buzzed.
“Agent Devine, it’s Fred Bing. I wanted to let you know that I heard back from my father. A lot quicker than I had imagined.”
“What did he say?”
“That he hasn’t seen or spoken to my uncle in over two weeks.”
“Is it unusual for your father not to have heard from him?”
“They’re not close, but they do live near each other. And they were scheduled to play golf together the other day, but my uncle sent a text saying he couldn’t make it.”
“Does your father know how long his brother has been away?”
“I don’t think he has a firm date, other than the two weeks not having heard from him until he sent the text about golf.”
“How old a man is Benjamin Bing?”
“He’s the youngest brother. By a lot. So, sixty maybe? My father is seventy-two but he’s the oldest, and there was a wide gap between kids.”
“Describe your uncle physically.”
“Big man. As tall as me but a lot broader. Strong as a horse. They used to joke in my family that he could be all six pallbearers in one.”
“You got a recent picture of him?”
“It was taken a few years ago. I can text it to you.”
“Thanks.”
“I understand there was some misunderstanding about Earl Palmer’s cremation?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Well, I was surprised, too, if you want the truth,” said Bing.
“What do you mean?”
“I usually call the family and arrange things. And then I do the cremation.”
“But not with Earl?”
“No.”
“Why?” asked Devine.
“My sister wanted to handle it.”
“Do you know why?”
“No, I mean, I didn’t ask her. I was just happy to get it off my plate. We have four funerals coming up. I’m barely keeping my head above water.”
Devine wasn’t really listening. “Remember to send me the pic of your uncle. Thanks.”
He clicked off and kept driving, his mind littered with possibilities.
He called Alex. She answered on the second ring.
“You hungry?” he said.
“Actually, very. And I don’t feel like cooking.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes if that works.”
“It does.”
Along the way his phone dinged and he opened it, his eyes going back and forth from the road to the phone screen.
Benjamin Bing had memorable features: strong chin and jaw, thick, graying hair, what Devine referred to as buzzard eyes—the sort that immediately made you uncomfortable—and slender lips just beneath a nose as sharp as a Ka-Bar blade.
Damn if he doesn’t look like a soldier.
Alex was waiting for him in front of the house. The wind slightly lifted the hem of her knee-length skirt. Long boots covered her calves. Her parka looked warm and comfortable.
She slid into the truck and said, “How are you doing?”
“I was about to ask you that.”
“I got a lot of work done today, so that’s good.”
“And everything else?” he said.
She eyed him pensively. “I had no thoughts of jumping off the top of the house, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t mean that… necessarily.”
“Do you know why I went up there?”
“Tell me.”
“It’s the place where I can see the farthest. I don’t mean out on the ocean. I mean in my head.”
“But you were very close to the edge. I was afraid… that you might…”
“I can’t say that the thought has never entered my mind. But after what happened to Jenny…” She frowned, shook her head, and adopted a look of intense focus. “It was exactly like you said. If I did something like that, it would be as though what Jenny did was worthless. She sacrificed her life to find out the truth about what happened to me. I… could never do that to her. To her memory. I just couldn’t.”
She faced away from him but he could see, in her reflection in the window, the tears sliding down the woman’s face.
“You know, you’re pretty much the most honest person I’ve ever met,” said Devine. “And… I find I can’t be anything other than frank with you, even when I don’t want to be.”
“Is that a good thing?” she asked, now looking at him.
“I think it is, yes. If a little unnerving.”
They drove on.
CHAPTER
63
SHE DIRECTED HIM TO A little hole-in-the-wall Greek restaurant that was as far removed from the organic bulk of Only Real Food as it was possible to be. The interior was comprised of four tables and one waitress. She greeted Alex with a warm smile and a lingering hug and cast Devine an intrigued glance.
“Travis Devine, this is Chloe Samaras,” said Alex.
The three other tables were occupied, and Samaras directed them to the fourth and most private table, well away from the others and along the back wall. She deposited the menus in front of them, took their drink orders—Mythos beer for Devine and a glass of Prosecco for Alex—and left.
“I didn’t think you came into town much,” he said.
“When I do, I usually come here to eat.”
“Why’s that?”
“Chloe and I went to high school together. She’s really nice. Her uncle Tony is the chef. He taught me how to cook some really cool Greek dishes.”
Their drinks came. After Alex took a sip of her Prosecco she said, “So why dinner? Do you have more questions?”
“Yes, but I also wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay.”
She fingered the stem of her glass and sank back in her chair. It started to rain, the drops pattering against the restaurant’s plate glass window.
“When I was little my dad and I would go up to the widow’s walk and watch the storms roll in and out. Not if it was lightning, of course. And we would talk about stuff. It was really nice. Like when I would sit in his office and watch him write while I drew things in my sketchpad.”
“Did you ever draw him?”
She smiled. “All the time, with varying degrees of success.”
“Ever think you finally captured the true essence of the man?”
Alex’s smile faded. “No,” she said. “Your questions?”
“Why don’t we eat first? Might go better.”
Devine ordered kotosoupa and pastitsada with beef, while Alex had gigantes beans to start and grilled vegetables with warm pita for her dinner.
Devine took one spoonful of his soup and looked at her. “Wow.”
“I know, right?”
The main meals were just as savory.
“Okay,” said Devine. “I’m definitely coming back here. Thanks for the introduction to Putnam’s finest Greek food.”
“You’re welcome. Now, your questions?”
He set his knife and fork down, took the last sip of his beer, and said, “You ever have any interactions with Benjamin Bing?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What a strange question. Why do you ask?”
“He was the police chief back when you were attacked. I was just wondering what you thought of him, how he handled things.”
“I don’t remember dealing with him directly. Chief Harper was a sergeant then, I believe, and they had other officers, too, but my family mostly dealt with Harper.”
“How about before you were attacked? Anything with Bing?”
“I’d see him in the little Christmas parade we have every year. My father knew him quite well. It was a political friendship, I gathered. I do recall that one of the boys I went to high school with stole a car for a joyride and wrecked it while Bing was chasing him. The story was Bing pulled the boy out of the car and…”
“And what?” prompted Devine.
“Well, beat him up.”
“How did his parents take that?”
“They sided with the chief. They thought Tim deserved to be taught a lesson. It was so unfair. He only stole that car to take a girl for a ride. And if Bing hadn’t been chasing him, none of that would have happened.”
