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.
Chapter 25
Devine drove over to the Bing and Sons Funeral Home and parked next to the front door. A long black hearse stood with its rear doors open next to the side entrance. A young woman at the front desk, upon seeing Devine’s credentials, made a call and then led him back to a small office where Françoise Guillaume was sitting behind her desk.