Page 33 of Water's Edge

“Do you require a reference?”

“Yep.”

“Do you mind answering with more than a yep?”

“Look,” he says, looking at me for the first time, “I took time out to drive you the hell out here. I’ll send you the rental agreement. I guess it won’t do me no good now, will it?”

“Do you remember who the reference was? Mother? Father? Employer?”

Killer?

“She didn’t say, but I talked to a Jim Truitt. I guess he’s related somehow. Rich guy. I don’t recall how it came about, but I got his phone number and address on the rental papers.”

We enter a wooded area and the Jeep slaloms between the towering firs. I can see a blue strip of horizon like dashes and dots in the distance: Mystery Bay.

“And I don’t remember the address,” he says. “She might have a copy inside if you want to look. I got a key.”

He isn’t telling me everything, so I press him for details.

“Do you know Jim Truitt?”

“No. Never heard of the guy. Why don’t you bother him instead of me?”

“You just said he’s rich. How do you know that?”

He doesn’t respond. I don’t say anything but I’m going to find Jim Truitt. And I’m going to send a deputy to Joe’s house to get the rental agreement. I don’t want him sending it to me on “Joe time,” as Cass put it.

The Jeep comes out on a narrow dirt road. A clearing with a log cabin is dead ahead. I look back to see if Ronnie was able to navigate the rough terrain. I don’t see my car but the way through the trees should have new tire tracks through it. I hope my Taurus isn’t in a shallow ditch with a busted axle. I’m relieved when she pulls up beside us.

I don’t plan to go inside the cabin. In fact, I don’t even want to walk around the cabin. This might be where the murder took place. She was bound, beaten, and sexually assaulted. I have personal knowledge of that kind of sicko. Now that I have one victim, I have to search for others.

I take Joe’s key to the cabin, and Ronnie writes all his personal contact information in her notebook. He lives on Flagler Road, so he won’t be hard to find. She writes his license plate number and vehicle description and asks for his driver’s license. He is a little testy but becomes really nasty when I tell him the cabin and area is now off-limits until Crime Scene releases it. I promise he’ll get his key back and the place won’t be trashed. He doesn’t believe me.

While we wait for Crime Scene techs to arrive, Ronnie puts Joe in the Taurus and records a statement. I listen in: she asks all the right questions. She doesn’t make the mistake some investigators make and try to be chummy or too authoritative. She lets him ask questions and she lets him answer his own questions.

Smart.

Before I let him leave, I ask, “Where is your twin brother now?”

He shakes his head.

“You don’t know, or you won’t say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “He took off right after Leann rented the cabin. Been a while since I heard from him.”

“Did you tell my deputy where he lives? A phone number? Some way to find him?”

Ronnie shakes her head.

“Why not, Mr. Bohleber?”

“I’m not my brother’s keeper. He has half this business, but he just packed up and took off. He didn’t tell me where he was going and, to be honest, I don’t want to know. He’s left me with all the work and he’s still getting half the proceeds.”

“What bank?”

He just looks at me.

“I’m not going to ask again, Mr. Bohleber. If I have to get a warrant, I’ll have to consider you a suspect and this will get much messier.”

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