DEAD TIDE by Marks Jane

Author:Marks, Jane [Marks, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: IC Publishing
Published: 2022-05-24T00:00:00+00:00

34

ROSLYN

“Hunt,” I said, picking up the phone on the second ring. I had just spent the morning using Elle Wolfe as a personal driver to each of the crime scenes. She seemed hellbent on filling each and every moment of silence with fast-paced conversation . . . More so than usual.

“Hey,” Bonnie’s voice cut in quickly. “I just got a call from a Mr. Alexander over at the cemetery. He said you told him to call if he noticed anyone hanging around.”

“Yes,” I said, already motioning for Wolfe to turn the car round.

“Well, someone’s hanging around,” Bonnie continued. “I figured you would be the closest.”

“I’m headed there now.”

We were at the cemetery within five minutes. Sure enough, even from the parking lot, I could see the figure of a man standing next to Molly Edgars’ fresh grave.

“Stay here,” I told Wolfe before getting out. I didn’t look to see the pout that I knew would be on her face.

Approaching the man, I saw that he was tall and thin, with the same slightly hunched shoulders as someone else in town.

“Paying your respects,” I said quietly, moving next to him with Jasper by my side. He jumped, pushing an eerily familiar pair of square glasses back onto his face.

“Oh! Y-yes. She was my niece,” the man said. He had narrow features, with thick eyebrows. He was a little shorter than Nelson but virtually identical in every other way.

“Peter Edgars, I presume?” I asked.

The man looked surprised but nodded. “Have we met?”

“No,” I said, taking out my badge. “SSA Roslyn Hunt with the FBI.” I watched him. His dark eyes widened as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Oh, you must be working the case then?” Peter Edgars asked.

“Indeed.”

“Any leads?”

“It’s an ongoing investigation,” I said, glancing at the flowers on his niece’s grave. “It’s a shame you missed the funeral.”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight again. “I was in Italy. I came as soon as I heard.”

“Italy?” I repeated. “Your brother didn’t mention that.”

“Probably because he didn’t know,” Peter Edgars mumbled. “We don’t exactly stay in touch.”

“I’m aware,” I noted. Peter shot me a questioning look, but I didn’t expand on the statement. “Why were you in Italy?” I asked.

“I lead a summer program there,” Peter said. “I’m a professor at Williams College.”

“Teaching?”

“The origin of words, rather.”

“That’s very specific.”

“I teach linguistics too,” he shrugged. “That’s usually a more popular class.”

“Italy seems like a logical place to go then,” I agreed. “Is that why we couldn’t get a hold of you?”

“Pardon?” Peter asked quickly.

“We tried to reach you,” I clarified.

“For any particular reason?” he asked, a nervous twinge in his voice.

I shrugged noncommittally. “Well, your niece was found with her throat slit.” From the corner of my eye, I saw him fiddle with his hands. “How long are you in town?” I asked.

“Erm . . . A few days. I wasn’t planning on staying,” he said.

“Would you mind coming into the station?”

“Why?”

“Standard protocol.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Well . . .”

“Wonderful,” I said. “After you.

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