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A fresh-faced Annie Palmer sat next to her grandparents. She must have still been in college, Devine thought. Alberta was holding Earl’s hand and looking anxiously at him. Devine could imagine the words of support she was probably saying to him. Earl’s face was bandaged, and his neck was in a support brace, as was his left knee. His right arm was in a cast. A cane leaned against his chair. He sat very stiffly, and Devine knew the man would soon undergo unsuccessful surgeries to try and repair the damage.
On the other side of Earl was a tall man in a police chief’s uniform. He had a face as granitelike as the bluffs that formed the extreme edge of the town’s shoreline. His physique was impressive, his chest and shoulders filling out his uniform. Devine knew from the photo he’d seen at the police station, and the one that Fred Bing had texted him, that this was Benjamin Bing, the third and youngest son of the founder of Bing and Sons.
As Devine looked closer, he saw something on Bing’s chest that was stunning.
Damn, so hewasa soldier?
Devine let the film run again and he watched as Bing leaned in next to Earl and started talking in earnest. There was so much background noise on the film that Devine could not make out what the man was saying. However, Earl’s reaction was one of surprise, even shock.
Later, as the service ended, Fred Bing directed the pallbearers out with the coffin. The grieving attendees filed out after them. As Benjamin Bing and Earl left, Bing had one arm around the older, injured man as he limped along with his cane. And all the while Bing was talking and each word seemed to be like a body blow to Palmer.
Devine’s attention now turned to Alex, who had hung back from the others. She seemed to be staring at the backs of Bing and Palmer. Then she visibly shuddered and put a hand on a pew to steady herself. Jenny hurried up, put an arm around her sister’s waist, and helped her out. They were followed by Dak and their parents.
Next, Françoise Guillaume came back into the picture. She looked first in the direction that her uncle had gone with Earl. And then she turned her attention to the Silkwell sisters as they exited the space. Then, alone, Guillaume left, too.
The film ended and Devine popped the DVD out and pocketed it.
Though he hadn’t been able to hear anything, what he had seen was telling, very telling.
As was Alex’s reaction to being close to Bing.
He had to find the former policeman. And fast.
Before someone else died a violent death.
CHAPTER
70
DEVINE PHONED CAMPBELL AND TOLDhim about the video.
“Benjamin Bing had a Purple Heart pinned to his chest. Presumably, he was in the military at some point and was wounded. I need you to find out all you can about his service record.”
“On it,” said Campbell before clicking off.
Devine locked up the house and walked back to the truck fingering his West Point graduation ring. The United States Military Academy had been the first school to issue class rings. They were awarded to cadets right after the start of their senior year at the Point. After that ceremony was the “hop,” a formal dinner and dance for cadets and their guests during “Ring Weekend.” Devine had invited his family, but none of them had shown up. He had hung out with a fellow cadet and his parents and siblings. Not the way he had envisioned this career milestone playing out, but life was always taking swings at you, he had found. And you couldn’t always duck in time. But Bing didn’t have a ring on. And a man who wore a Purple Heart around certainly would have worn his West Point or other service academy ring.
So he presumably hadn’t gone through West Point. But he still might have been an officer since there were other paths of commissioning in the Army.
Devine pulled off the road while the rain poured down, turning the roads a muddy brown from all the runoff. Off the coast the Atlantic thundered against the rocky shore with all it had, and still the Maine coast stood firm against every punch.
He looked down at his ring. It was more than an accessory or a prize to show off. It represented a connection to the Long Gray Line and the cadets’ opportunity to join that esteemed group on graduation day. He remembered one of his instructors telling him that while Devine continued to work toward his commissioning as an officer in the world’s most powerful military, his past, present, and future were all wrapped up, at least symbolically, by this thin band on his finger. It was an eternal bond to the Corps, to the Long Gray Line, allegiance to Duty, Honor, and Country.
Well, my “eternity ” turned out to be a lot shorter than most.
There was an annual ring melt ceremony held at Eisenhower Hall Theatre. Rings from Army officers were donated and placed into a crucible. There were photos and information about the donors. Every donor, or their family, received a handwritten letter from a cadet in appreciation. The rings were then taken to Bartlett Hall Science Center, where they were melted into a gold ingot.
Devine had dreamed about his ring being donated one day, either as the last full measure given by him on the battlefield, or many decades into the future as he died of old age. Technically, he could still donate it, he supposed. But he no longer thought he had the right to do so. And it wasn’t like his family cared one way or another.
Okay, that’s enough self-pity for one day.
So Bing was former military. Devine wondered why no one had mentioned that to him. He wasn’t sure how it exactly figured into all of this. But someone with military ties could presumably get access to an experimental Norma round easier than most.
He checked his watch and pulled back onto the road. When he drove up to Jocelyn Point, Alex was waiting for him out front with a small bag.
She settled next to him and they headed to Bangor.
“Thanks for driving me,” she said.
