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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, peopledowin 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 thePutnam 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.”
