Fall from Grace by Richard North Patterson

jaundiced eye on the tourists who jammed the redbrick sidewalks along Main Street, bobbing in and out of clothing stores, a bookshop, an ice cream dispensary. In his rumbling voice, he said, “God, I hate to see them. Then I hate to see them go. They bring the money that keeps this island afloat.”
    Adam nodded. “So,” Hanley ventured, “I guess you’ve got some questions about Ben’s death.”
    “A few.”
    Hanley turned to him. In the same mild tone, he said, “Frankly, Adam, I didn’t know your father was of any particular concern to you.”
    “He wasn’t,” Adam answered in a clipped voice. “But the rest of my family is, starting with my mother. This has left her badly shaken. It isn’t often that one loses a husband and an inheritance in the space of a few days. Nor did it help that the state police treated her like a suspect in his death.”
    Hanley shrugged, his expression neutral. “The state police aren’t from here. Someone on the island dies under funny circumstances, they take a boat over from Barnstable—the crime lab to inspect the scene, the medical examiner to take the corpse to Boston, and someone like Sergeant Mallory to work with me and the town police. Mallory doesn’t know your mother, brother, or uncle. What he does know is that this is a high-profile death with several possible explanations. Which can be summarized as ‘jumped, fell, or pushed.’”
    Though Adam knew this, the blunt coda carried a disturbing message—this was a homicide investigation, and Hanley and the police had reason to pursue it. “Do you have a favorite?” he asked.
    Hanley’s smile was less amused than deflective. “If I did, I couldn’t tell you. And if I can’t, Sean Mallory certainly won’t. Don’t even bother with him.”
    “But it’s fair to say you’ve reached no conclusions?”
    “That’s fair to say,” Hanley replied in a tone that conveyed vast reserves of patience. “If we had, we’d have closed the case or indicted someone. At some point one or the other will happen.”
    “Based on what?”
    Hanley drew a breath. “I’m only talking to you as a courtesy, and only to the extent I can. What I will tell you is that you can expect to hear from Sergeant Mallory. For understandable reasons, he’s taken an interest in your family. But then it’s an interesting family, isn’t it?”
    For a moment, Adam watched some prototypical tourists—dad, mom, squabbling sister and brother—passing in newly acquired Martha’s Vineyard T-shirts. “All families are interesting,” he said. “It’s just that some are less public. The medical examiner’s report must be of some help.”
    The corner of Hanley’s mouth twitched. “Not to you.”
    “Not even for my mother’s sake?”
    “I admire your mother,” Hanley said firmly. “But we can’t give it up while the investigation is on.”
    So the report was completed, Adam divined, and in Hanley’s possession. “Then it’s fair to say that the report doesn’t preclude a homicide.”
    Hanley leaned forward, elbows on knees, weighing his answer. At length, he said, “In itself, a fall off that cliff doesn’t tell you much. You get a severe trauma to the head, bleeding around the brain, a fractured skull, and scrapes on the face and body. None of that says why Ben fell.”
    “Did he land close to the cliff, or out a ways?”
    Hanley laughed briefly. “Kudos for the question. But I’m not telling you anything your uncle Jack couldn’t. Ben landed close to the cliffside.”
    “Meaning that no one hurled him into space.”
    Hanley’s smile lingered, as though he were following Adam’s thoughts. “Ben was a big man, Adam. The Incredible Hulk is not among the suspects.”
    “In other words,” Adam persisted, “the location of the body is also consistent with accident or suicide.”
    “I suppose.”
    “Then I suppose you also know he was drunk.”
    “So your mother tells us. But the toxicology report isn’t in