Page 77 of Water's Edge

As I drive south to Poulsbo, I can see thickening clouds far across the bay. Clouds that are heavy, churning. The water is black and roiling as it makes its way to shore.

Yes, I think, a storm is coming.

Thirty-Eight

I circle the hospital parking lot, wondering where people in need of medical assistance are supposed to park. There’s nothing. Finally, I see Clay sitting on a Harley. He waves to me to pull into the half space next to him. He’s going to get drowned when that storm hits. I meet him at the entrance.

“So what do you expect to find in Dina’s records?” he asks as we make our way to the entrance.

I don’t answer. Not because I don’t want to but because I’m caught off guard.

A policeman, not a security guard, sits at a desk with the receptionist. The sight of a police uniform in a hospital makes me shudder. I can control it. It isn’t Alex Rader. Policeman. Serial killer. He is dead. And then the officer looks up and smiles at me. My heart starts thumping. He reminds me of Rader. Same size, same haircut, same smarmy smile.

“What’s up, bro?” the officer says to Clay.

He hasn’t been smiling at me after all.Good.

My pulse starts to normalize.

“Jimmy, this is Detective Carpenter,” Clay says. “Jimmy’s the friend I talked to about Boyd.”

Jimmy gets up and comes around the desk, and he and Clay man hug. A little too long. The look that passes between them is not of the brothers-in-arms type. Ronnie would be devastated to learn that Clay isn’t a ladies’ man at all.

I don’t care.

He is cute but not my type.

“Jimmy Polito.” The policeman takes my hand, and despite his hulking size, his handshake is as soft as Ronnie’s.

“You’re the Jimmy that works at the college?” I say this like I’m not surprised, although I am. Port Townsend has a small police department, and I thought I knew everyone. What’s more, it’s at least an hour to drive from the campus to here. When does he find time to work as a policeman?

Maybe I never met Jimmy because he’s always working off duty somewhere.

“The one and only,” Jimmy says, smoothing back his black hair. “Pleased to meet ya.”

His accent is different.

He notices me noticing.

“I’m originally from New York,” he says. “Manhattan. Little Italy. I got my mother’s eyes and my dad’s temper.” He laughs, and the usually reserved Clay laughs along with him.

“Jimmy worked his way across the US,” Clay says. “He was with Kitsap County Sheriff’s Office before he became a traitor and went to Port Townsend Police.”

“Traitor, huh,” Jimmy says, getting into what looks like a boxing stance.

This is like a male mating ritual. I’ve seen it many times before. But that’s not why I’m here, and I haven’t got time for another long, long man hug. I need coffee and I’m cranky.

“Since you’re here,” I ask, “did you get anything on either of the Boyds?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Neither of them. I had the other security guys and gals keep an eye out. The real Boyd hasn’t been seen on campus for a while. His professors said he quit coming to class over a month ago. I checked his dorm. He’s in a room by himself. Nothing. No sign of the skinny white Boyd, either. Or the car you described. You want me to keep looking?”

“Can you see if the white Boyd is a student there?” I ask. “Maybe under another name? Maybe show the registrar a picture of him, post a picture in the dorms, see if anyone recognizes him? His picture is on his website.”

“I should have thought of that,” Jimmy says. “Will do, Detective Carpenter.” He gives a little sarcastic salute.

“Megan, please,” I say. “And I really appreciate it. You can call me or Clay. I’ll give you my cell.” Out of business cards, I find a piece of notepaper on his desk and scratch out my name and number. He supposedly has done all this legwork. Clay asked for all this before. I heard him myself. It kind of pisses me off that he hasn’t done a damn thing.

“That’s just for business, bro,” Clay says. “Don’t be drunk dialing her.”

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