At the reception window, I’d managed to shake loose the Reverend Davies with a promise to continue our conversation later, only to be shepherded quickly by the receptionist into the cluttered, brightly lighted room. I sat alone at the table for a while, examining the ringed Olympics pattern made by a series of coffee cups. Finally, Detective Menario and Assistant Attorney General Danica Marshall came in. The detective, baggy-eyed, unshaven, had on the same wrinkled shirt and trousers from the night before. I’d glimpsed Danica Marshall in the Knox County Courthouse on a few occasions when I was giving testimony at trials, but we’d never been formally introduced. Her office was located in Augusta, the state capital, but as one of several prosecutors assigned to murder investigations in Maine, she got around a lot, leaving a trail of lewd comments and dirty jokes in her wake. This was my first look at her up close. My impression had always been that Danica Marshall was a stunner, but there was something severe about her deep-set eyes and cheekbones under the fluorescent lights of the training room.
