He watched me warily.“I was at home with my wife last night.”
“From when until when?”
He shifted restlessly.“From about noon until this morning.”
I frowned.“You quit work at noon yesterday?”I didn’t know many commercial fishermen who had that luxury.
“Not by choice.”He rubbed his grizzled jaw.“I was out fishing, but noticed the bilge was holding more water than it should.When I checked the pump, the float switch was dead.I decided to head in early rather than babysit the bilge all day with a manual pump.”
“I see.”
“You sound like you don’t believe me.”He scowled.“I’m telling you I was home all night with my wife.Ask her.”
“I will.”I smiled and his eyes flickered.“Did you go out again at all?Maybe after a nice evening at home with the wife you came down to the harbor to check on your boat?”
“No.”Resentment burned in his eyes.
“You didn’t like Eddie though, did you?”I noticed the flush that crept up his cheeks.
“I didn’t think Eddie was the saint everyone else around here did,” he growled.“But I wouldn’t have hurt the guy.”
I narrowed my eyes.“And yet you made verbal threats to Eddie.”
“It was all talk.”He leaned against his truck, mouth grim.“And as I said, I was home all night with my darling wife.”
I didn’t believe him.But just because he might be lying about where he was last night didn’t mean he’d done anything to Eddie.People had all kinds of reasons for lying to the police.Dale was angry, but that didn’t make him guilty of anything.People who felt they were wrongly accused were usually angry.
“Okay, well, I’ll have a chat with your wife.”I forced a smile.“Appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“Like I had a choice?”he muttered, yanking open the door of his truck.
I headed back down the dock toward the Pacific Lady and noticed a dark-haired guy with a notebook and pen, talking to a group of fishermen.He had to be the reporter the harbor master had mentioned.He was lean, maybe mid-thirties, although age was hard to tell at this distance.He was listening more than he was talking, and most of the fishermen seemed comfortable with him.Apparently he’d taken the time to build real relationships in this community.Or maybe he was just cultivating sources.It was hard to tell with journalists.
I’d dealt with plenty of reporters in Portland.Most of them were fine.A few were genuinely helpful, the kind who’d sit on a story if you asked them to.But even the good ones had an agenda that wasn’t always aligned with mine, and the bad ones could blow an investigation wide open with a single premature headline.I didn’t know which kind this guy was yet, and until I did, he was a variable I needed to manage.
The crowd that had gathered was creeping too close to Eddie’s boat.Bree was busy hanging the tape, so she hadn’t noticed them encroaching.A few people had their phones out and I didn’t want pictures of Eddie’s body spreading through the community or online.It was disrespectful to Eddie and his family.
“I need everyone to step back from the boat,” I said loudly.“Please head farther down the dock.This is an active scene.”
People moved quickly, most of them looking apologetic.The reporter moved with them, but not far.He repositioned near the fuel dock, where he still had a sightline to the boat.His body language said nonchalant, but I knew he’d picked that spot deliberately.Clever.Annoying, but clever.
Bree finished taping the perimeter while I conferred with the harbor patrol officer about securing the boat overnight.I was at the end of my conversation when I became aware of the reporter guy approaching from my right.Notebook out.Pen in hand.
Here we go.
“Excuse me, Chief Hale.I’m Spencer Cross, Coral Cove Beacon.”
I looked at him.Up close, he was younger and more attractive than I’d thought.Early thirties tops.Sharp blue eyes and a nice full mouth.His smile was warm.Non-threatening.Absolutely calculated to put me at ease.I couldn’t deny it was a nice smile, but it wasn’t going to work on me.
“Any chance you could tell me some details about what happened here?”he asked.“That’s Eddie Salcedo’s boat.So, I’m assuming the body is Eddie’s?”
“Spencer Cross,” I repeated, realizing I knew the name.“I know who you are.”
I’d never met Spencer in Portland, but I’d heard of him.He had a reputation as a cop hater.I wasn’t sure if it was fair.Some cops, even good cops, often resented anyone who went after men in blue, even when those men were dirty.That kind of blind loyalty had never made much sense to me.Bad cops made us all look bad.If you were dirty, you deserved what you got.Not all my brothers in blue agreed.
“Do you?”He seemed surprised.
“I’m familiar with your work back in Portland.”
