“Oh, that’s right.”He smiled, moving closer.“You’re from Portland too.Hey, seeing as we’re both from the same place originally, maybe you could share some details with me about who the victim is and what happened.”
I was not about to confirm the identity of the deceased to a reporter before the next of kin had been notified.Basic procedure, and the fact that he’d asked told me he was either testing my boundaries or rusty on how these things worked.
I frowned.“I’m sorry.When I said people needed to stay back because this is an active scene, did you think that didn’t include you?”
Color rose in his face.I’d embarrassed him.I hadn’t meant to, exactly, but I also wasn’t sorry about it.Boundaries mattered.If I gave an inch to the press on day one of an investigation, I’d spend the rest of it chasing the narrative instead of controlling it.
“Well, I’m not just here gawking at the body,” he said.“I’m trying to write an accurate story for my paper.”
“And you think that because we’re both from Portland, I’ll just invite you on the boat or something?”
“I noticed you had your officer hang crime scene tape,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm.“That’s not usually the case when it’s an accidental death, is it?”
“We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet.”
“I see.”He twisted his lips, glancing at the boat.“Why do I get the feeling your department is treating this as a suspicious death?”
“I have no idea,” I said dryly.“Maybe because you’re a reporter and your kind like to jump to conclusions.”
He laughed.I hadn’t expected that.Most reporters got offended or pushed harder.Spencer just laughed.It was a nice husky laugh too.He really was more charming than I’d expected.I’d have to watch him.He was the kind of guy who could weasel his way in before you realized what was happening.
“That’s not true,” he said.
“No?”I allowed myself half a smile.“Seems like that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”
He shrugged.“I’m just asking questions.That’s my job.”
“Fair enough,” I said agreeably.“And figuring out what actually happened here by examining the facts is mine.The department will issue a statement when we have something to share.”
“And you won’t confirm you’re treating Eddie’s death as suspicious?”
I held onto my patience.“We’re investigating the circumstances of the victim’s death.That’s all I can tell you right now.”
He studied me for a moment, and I had the uncomfortable sense of being read.Not in a hostile way.More like he was filing me away the same way I’d filed him away, each of us trying to figure out what the other one was.
“You know,” he said, “we’re really on the same side.We both just want the truth.”
I’d heard that line from reporters before.It was never true, not entirely.Cops wanted the truth, even if it took a while to get it.Our evidence had to hold up in court.Reporters wanted the truth on a deadline, in their words, on the front page by morning.Those two versions of wanting the truth collided more often than they aligned.
“Even if that’s true,” I said, “I can’t tell you any more than I already have.Sorry.”
“Okay.”He sighed, but it wasn’t defeated.It was patient.Like he’d expected this and was already planning his next move.“Well, I’ll be around if you decide you want to talk.”
I nodded and turned back to the scene.I could feel him watching me as I walked away, and I made a mental note: Spencer Cross was going to be a problem.I was sure of it.
* * *
I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon on the boat and at the dock.Bree and I photographed the scene, bagged what evidence there was, and coordinated with the county medical examiner’s office for the body removal.I talked to six fishermen, three dock workers, and the owner of the bait-and-tackle shop.Nobody had a bad word to say about Eddie Salcedo.Well-liked.No known enemies.Steady as a man could be.
Except.
Two of the fishermen pulled me aside and admitted, independently and without prompting, that Eddie and his partner, Gil Moran, hadn’t been getting along lately.When I pressed for details, neither would elaborate.Maybe they didn’t know the reason.
And then there was Dale Pruitt.Three different people mentioned the grudge, the permit, the threats at the bar.Dale’s name was all over this scene like a fingerprint.Which, in my experience, usually meant one of two things: either he did it, or somebody wanted me to think he did.
I needed the autopsy results, I needed the harbor security footage, and I needed the GPS data, or whatever was left of it after somebody wiped the unit.I also needed to talk to Gil Moran, who had conveniently not gone fishing with his partner the one night his partner ended up dead.And I needed to talk to Pruitt’s wife about that alibi, because a spouse’s word was worth exactly nothing until it was corroborated.And even then it wasn’t necessarily worth much.
One reason I’d come to Coral Cove was because I was tired of dealing with so many murder cases.That was the miserable truth.I’d wanted peace and quiet, and to be surrounded by less death.But too many things about Eddie Salcedo’s passing didn’t add up to an accident.If the man had been murdered, he deserved justice, and I’d have to be the one to get it for him.
