The blue edge of midnight - By Jonathon King Page 0,82

glinted sharply off the knife blade before the cameraman panned up the slope of the ramp following the body bag up to the black Chevy Suburban.

As we watched the footage I could feel Billy’s eyes on me, but I didn’t turn from the screen as the report cut back to the anchorwoman.

“More in a moment. But now we take you live to the sheriff’s administration building where lead investigator Jack Hammonds is holding a press conference.”

The screen changed to show Hammonds standing at a podium flanked by several men in suits, clasping their hands in front of themselves like ushers waiting to take up the collection at Sunday church service.

Richards was the only woman in the bunch. She had cleaned up and was wearing a skirt with a jacket that looked too large. Her blond hair made her stick out even more and I could tell she’d put on some lipstick. I picked up my gin and took a deep draw.

The camera tightened on Hammonds, who had begun to speak.

“As you are already aware, through the joint efforts of the FDLE, the FBI, the Sheriff’s Office and the FMD earlier today we were able to ascertain the whereabouts of six-year-old Amy Alvarez at a location in the far Everglades. With the quick action of a medical-response team from the county rescue center we were able to airlift the child to Memorial Hospital where she is now listed in guarded but stable condition.”

Hammonds cleared his throat and took a drink of water before continuing.

“Subsequent to our arrival at said location, we were also able to locate the remains of a suspect we have now identified as David Ashley, a thirty-eight-year-old Florida native. The deceased was found hanged in a location nearby.”

You could hear the press corp squirm in their chairs and then someone in the back yelled, “Are you saying he committed suicide, Chief?”

Hammonds paused again and seemed reluctant to look up from his notes to face the gathered cameras.

“Mr. Ashley did not leave any correspondence or suicide note to indicate his mindset or motivation, but there were indications at the scene of a troubled and potentially psychotic individual. Evidence was also collected at the scene linking Mr. Ashley to another victim in this summer’s string of abductions and although we will continue our investigative efforts into this matter, it is our hope that today’s developments put an end to this long and difficult case.”

Hammonds gathered his one-page address and turned to his team as some politician took the podium and began, “First of all we want to share in the joy of the Alvarez family in the safe return of their child, but our hearts also go out to the families …”

I stood up and Billy stopped the tape and punched off the set. I made myself another drink and stood at the kitchen counter thinking about Hammonds’ “linking” evidence and how even he wouldn’t hang himself out that far unless they picked something up at the scene. I was running my memory through the inside of Ashley’s cabin when I remembered the blanket. Richards had peeled it off the child and someone had put it in an evidence bag. Hammonds would not have missed it. Every piece of evidence in every abduction would be stuck in his head. He could easily use it as a strong tie-in, proof that Ashley was the right suspect.

Billy rolled the painting back in place over the television screen and McIntyre started for the kitchen.

“What they like to call a slam dunk case,” she said, stacking the bowls in the sink. “Especially tidy since the suspect is dead.”

“At least they k-kept you out of it with that ‘able to ascertain the w-whereabouts’ c-crap,” said Billy, carrying his wineglass to the counter.

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” I said, avoiding a reaction to his emphasis on the word they.

“Do you think it’s over then?” McIntyre asked me.

“Possibly,” I said, thinking of the knife. “Maybe they’re just hoping that if there were more snakes in the bucket, they crawled away for good.”

She raised another exquisite eyebrow to me, her only response. I picked up my drink and moved out to the patio where I stood at the railing in the high ocean breeze and looked out on the black water. The moon was down. I could see a few dots of light far out from shore, boats at anchor or trolling so slowly they appeared stationary. I sat in the lounge chair and closed my eyes. I