Free Tempting the Devil by Patricia; Potter Page A

very little.”
    â€œNot bad.”
    â€œDrugs?”
    â€œNo worse than other places.”
    â€œDo you think someone in either department could have been involved in the murders?”
    â€œDon’t mention that around here, missy, unless you want a lot of enemies.”
    He had never called her “missy” before, and although she didn’t think it was a good sign, she pressed on anyway. “Some say it would have to be someone they knew to take them down like that.”
    He leaned back in his chair. “Who are ‘some’?”
    â€œCommon gossip,” she lied. “Didn’t it occur to you?”
    â€œCan’t say it did.”
    â€œWho do you think would murder three police officers in cold blood?”
    â€œCan’t say.”
    â€œNo guesses?”
    â€œGuesses ain’t worth spit.”
    She knew she wouldn’t get anything else. His voice had grown increasingly hard from the moment she’d asked whether some local cops could be involved.
    She stood. “Are you going to the funerals?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œI’ll see you there.”
    He picked up the donut she’d brought, took a bite, and opened the file in front of him.
    She’d been dismissed.
    Robin hated funerals. She didn’t want to attend this one. She felt as if she was intruding on others’ grief. But this was one she could not avoid, not and do her job.
    She’d come early because she knew as many as a thousand law enforcement officers would attend. Motorcycles and squad cars from a dozen states or more clogged the streets and roads of the county.
    When she arrived, people were already milling about the simple white chapel. Two police officers stood ramrod stiff at the entrance. She went up and showed them her press credentials.
    â€œNo press inside, ma’am,” one said. “Just the family and close friends.”
    She nodded. She’d already been inside when she’d talked to the pastor, but she’d felt she had to try. She looked around at the mourners who were already gathering, then for anyone she might know from the county. She wondered whether Sandy would attend.
    There were several other reporters who’d come early for the same reasons she had. They’d hoped to get inside. She went over to where they had gathered in a small cluster. Two television cameras were already rolling.
    Hank Conrad, the editor of the local weekly, headed toward her. “Good stories.”
    â€œThanks. Do the police have anything yet?”
    â€œNot that they’re talking about.”
    She drew him aside, out of hearing of the others. “Have you heard of any particular gang or crime group operating in Meredith County?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œWhat about the sheriff’s department or police force. Any corruption?”
    â€œNothing big. Just some DUIs that were covered up. Maybe tolerating a few stills.”
    â€œDo you know anything about the Somerville Group?”
    He looked startled. “Who?”
    â€œThe Somerville Group? They own the property where the murders took place.”
    He shook his head and scribbled down the name. “Should have checked that myself.”
    â€œI didn’t think of it myself until …” She stopped herself, then changed the subject. “I was thinking about doing a story on crime in the county. Gangs. Drugs. Et cetera.”
    â€œNothing here that’s not anywhere else.”
    â€œThat’s not what I heard.”
    â€œWhat have you heard?”
    â€œThat there might be a connection to one of the local law enforcement agencies, that the police officers stumbled onto something very big.” It was a great exaggeration of what she had heard, but she wanted a reaction.
    â€œA connection with the local law? You mean police killing police? Where in the hell did you get that?”
    â€œDo you think it could be true?”
    His gaze searched her face.