Page 83 of Water's Edge

So far, all of the victims have been posed carefully. The killer is telling a story. If Boyd was the killer and committed suicide, the story ends here.

If not, I’ll have to end this story.

“But you don’t believe it’s suicide?”

“They found a purse up here near Boyd’s body. And some women’s clothing.”

“But you think someone is setting Boyd up as the killer?”

“Too early to tell,” I say. “Hopefully, there will be some identification for both of them.”

Just then, Bart comes toward me with his phone.

“The cloth,” he says, looking uncertain.

“What about it?”

“It’s a note,” he says holding out his phone.

I look down and I feel the sand slipping under my feet.

In block letters:

I’M SORRY MEGAN

Forty

I’m thinking of the message left for me at the crime scene. I wonder if someone has followed me from my past, or if this is a new admirer. I look over at Ronnie. Her mouth is moving, and I do my best to shake off my anger and worry and listen to her as we drive back to the office.

“Vitruvian Woman,” Ronnie says.

For the last few miles she has complained about the way her parents treat her and how they don’t want her to be in law enforcement.

Right now, I’m agreeing with them.

“You know?” she asks me.

I don’t.

“Vitruvian Man,” she goes on. “Leonardo’s famous drawing of the human body. A male figure in a circle with his arms out to the sides, legs spread. He believed it showed the divine connection between the human body and the universe. The perfect man. You’ve seen it. I know you have. Only this one is a woman. Her legs and arms spread. Posed. Just like a drawing.”

I think about it. Maybe she’s onto something?

“Look it up when we get back,” I say.

She takes out her ever-present cell phone and begins punching, tapping, and sliding her finger across the poor abused screen.

“Here it is. See?”

She holds the screen where I can see without taking my eyes too much off the road. I’ve seen the drawing many times.

“What do you think it means?” I ask.

Ronnie shrugs a little. “It’s a woman instead of a man. If he’s substituting the woman for a man, it must be important. Maybe mother issues? I’ve heard of several serial killers that had mother issues. The perfect woman. Only she’s dead.”

The perfect woman is dead.

“Think about it some more and see what you come up with,” I tell her.

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