Page 63 of Water's Edge

Larry puts the report down on his lap. “I agree this all seems very similar,” he says, “but I still think it could be a copycat. We’ve had this sort of thing here in Washington and other places before. Remember Robert Berdella, ‘the Kansas City Butcher,’ ‘the Collector’? He looked like Rob Reiner, the actor. They don’t all look or act crazy. He did a lot of these things to his kidnapping victims before he murdered them. Maybe this guy’s a fan of his.”

Clay speaks next, looking at me and Ronnie. “I remember Berdella, of course, but these two are barely old enough to even know who Rob Reiner is, much less Berdella. So you’re saying someone is imitating Berdella’s murders?”

Larry shrugs a little. “Berdella is dead but books have been written about him. There are a million ways to kill someone. And a good chance someone is using the same methods of killing as someone else without even knowing it.”

Clay rocks back in his chair and pauses while he thinks. “Now all we have to do is find a Catholic that believes in witchcraft, kidnaps young men, has anal sex with them, and hates women. Come on, Larry. Why are you trying to make this more difficult than it already is?”

“I’m just throwing out ideas,” Larry says. “If you don’t look at a case from every angle, you’re going to have a hard time in court later. A defense attorney will bring all this shit up and you’re going to have to say you didn’t even consider it. The jury will think you have something against the scumbag you’ve arrested.”

Clay fixes his steely gaze on me.

“Your turn,” he says. “What DNA samples?”

Thirty-One

Make that a frog pinned down to a dissecting board in a high school science class. I can’t move. I can’t wriggle out of it. The truth is, I made a deal with Clay. I agreed that if he told me about the killer’s mark, I’d tell him about the DNA samples I asked Marley to compare. I intended to honor the agreement but not tell him any more than absolutely necessary. “Keep your cards close to your vest” is a motto of mine. In all things. Not just a case. I don’t think he particularly needs to know who had obtained the samples for me. I can hear Larry finding legal reasons that a defense attorney would rip the results to shreds. And Larry may be onto something. At the same time, I don’t care about taking this to court and putting it in front of a jury, where the killer can sit in his white clothes and white buck shoes, holding a Bible and looking sad and wrongly accused.

He is going to pay for what he’s done.

Myway.

“I always keep my promises,” I lie. “Before our discussion led away from my case, I was going to tell you that I interviewed Leann Truitt’s landlord. Her picture was shown around, as you know, and a state patrol officer out on Marrowstone Island identified her.”

That is partially true. Actually, Cass identified her, but Lonigan called me about it.

“The landlord is Joe or Joseph Bohleber,” I continue. “He rents out fishing cabins for a living.”

And blackmails people.

“He was hesitant to tell me the truth about her rental agreement, and flat out lied about knowing the victim’s father, Jim Truitt.”

Larry puts a big arm down on the desk hard and looks to the side. “Jim Truitt is her dad?”

I nod.

“Well, shit fire and save the matches.” He looks at Ronnie and says, “Excuse my language.”

I guess he doesn’t mind his language around me.

“Jim Truitt has a long reach,” he says, “in case you aren’t aware of it.”

I nod. “Sheriff says the same thing.”

Larry pushes back from the desk and makes a motion likeWell, there you go.

“Am I not supposed to tell you about that interview?” I ask.

“Well, shoot… I mean, there’s not much need to,” Larry says. “He’s a lying sack of… uh, excrement, so anything he tells you will be a lie. But he’s connected. Big-time connected. You go messing with Jim Truitt and you might kiss your job goodbye.”

Clay says nothing. He doesn’t even ask questions, which makes me think he knows Jim Truitt as well. How am I the only one, except for sensitive-eared Ronnie, who doesn’t know about this scumbag?

“So I got Truitt and Joe Bohleber’s DNA samples.”

“What?” Larry comes out of his seat. “You got Truitt to volunteer a DNA sample?” Larry sounds like the idea is utterly ridiculous.

He is right, of course. Truitt didn’t actually give the sample voluntarily. He just didn’t know he had given it. There’s a difference there somewhere.

“It was difficult,” I say, “but I obtained one.” That much is true. “Got one from Joe Bohleber too. I still need one from Steve Bohleber and Robbie Boyd. Steve should have the same basic DNA as Joe, being a twin.”

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