All Night Long

housed the mayor’s office, the town council chambers and the police department. Luke pulled into a slot beside the big car and sat quietly for a few seconds, studying the scene.
    “Something’s missing here,” he said.
    Irene made a soft little sound of disgust. “Like the major media?”
    “Looks like the news of Pamela Webb’s death hasn’t gone beyond the town limits yet.”
    “Except for the story in this morning’s edition of the
Glaston Cove Beacon,
you mean,” she said wit rim pride.
    “Except for that,” he agreed. “But since I doubt that anyone outside of Glaston Cove actually reads the
Beacon
, I think it’s safe to say that the story is still very low profile.”
    Irene unfastened her seat belt. “The
Dunsley Herald
went bankrupt years ago. I doubt if the
Kirhyville
Journal
has got the word yet. And you’re right about the limited circulation of the _Beacon. _” She smiled coolly. “All of which means I’ve still got an exclusive.”

    His gut tightened. Disaster loomed.
    “You know,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “it might be a good idea to talk about how we wan o approach this conversation with McPherson. Never hurts to have a strategy.”
    But he was conversing with himself. Irene was out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind he nd heading toward the entrance of the municipal building. He saw her reach into her oversized shoulder bag and take out a small device.
    A recorder, he thought. As he watched, she slipped it into the pocket of her trench coat.
    “And to think that I came to Dunsley for peace and quiet,” he said to the empty front seat.
    He got out of the SUV , pocketed the keys and went after Irene. He caught up with her just as she strode through the front door of the municipal building.
    A short distance beyond the entrance, a tall, distinguished-looking man with a very familiar profile stood talking in low tones to Sam McPherson.
    Ryland Webb possessed a full head of the silvered hair that seemed to be a requirement for public office. He also had the face for the job, Luke thought. The combination of rugged, man-of-the-West angularity mixed with just the right touch of old-world aristocrat photographed well.
    An attractive, well-groomed woman in her early thirties stood at his side, gripping his hand in a silent gesture of loving support. The fiancee, Luke decided.
    On the other side of the lobby, an intense, twitchy man spoke urgently but very softly into a phone. An expensive-looking leather briefcase sat beside one foot.
    “Pamela was a deeply troubled woman, as everyone in this town is well aware,”
    Webb said to Sam. He shook his head in a melancholy gesture, the long-suffering, grieving father who has always feared that his daughter would come to a bad end, no matter how hard he worked to save her. “You know as well as I do that she struggled with her inner demons from the time she was a teenager.”
    “Thought she was doing okay these past few years,” Sam said evenly.
    “She was seeing a psychiatrist again,” Ryland said. “But obviously in the end her illness overwhelmed her.”

    “It doesn’t look like she OD’d on street drugs.” Sam frowned. “The bottle we found on the table is a legitimate prescription. I’ve got a call in to the doctor who wrote it.”
    Ryland nodded. “That would be Dr. Warren. Worked with Pamela for quite a while.
    This isn’t his fault. I’m sure he never realized that she was planning to kill herself.”
    The harried-looking man with the briefcase ended his call and hurried toward Ryland.
    “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I just spoke with the people who are handling the funeral arrangements. They picked up your daughter’s body at the hospital morgue a few minutes ago and are on their way back to San Francisco. We should be going, too.
    It won’t be much longer before the media gets wind of the tragedy. We need to have a statement ready.”
    “Yes, of course, Hoyt,” Ryland said. “I’ll talk to you later, Sam.”
    “Sure,” Sam said.
    Irene stepped directly into Ryland’s path. “Senator Webb, I’m Irene Stenson.
    Remember me? I was a friend of Pamela’s in the old days here in Dunsley.”
    Ryland looked startled. But his expression quickly turned warm and polite. “Irene, my dear. Of course I remember you. It has been a very long time. You’ve certainly changed. I almost didn’t recognize you.” His expression grew somber. “Sam says you were the one who found Pamela last