Page 84 of Water's Edge

I have other things on my mind at the moment. For example, the piece of cloth Boyd was clutching in his dead hand was a piece of the skirt that was found near his body. A Sharpie pen was found in the back pocket of his jeans. The pen and the piece of cloth were covered in blood.

My name.

Since Boyd wasn’t bleeding, I assume the blood was from the female victim.

Vitruvian Woman.

In addition, there was a Washington State driver’s license in the purse that identified her as Karynn Eades. Karynn with ayand twon’s. I switch my thoughts to the cloth in Boyd’s hand. Boyd’s hands were bloody, but he had no cuts.

Sheriff Gray, Ronnie, Captain Marvel, Joey, and the other crime scene guy, Bart, were convinced it was a suicide note. I really can’t be sure. Their reasoning was that Boyd knew I had figured out he was the murderer. He took one more life before ending his own. It made sense, and that was what pissed me off most. Boyd had disappeared after that day at the cove on Marrowstone.

I’d given him my name at the scene.

And it was me who let him go. If this was a suicide, it was my fault Karynn with twon’s was dead.

I don’t want to believe he’s the killer.

I play back the other details from the scene.

The clothes were the right size for the victim. No shoes were found. The bra was rolled up with the skirt. The skirt was missing a piece of fabric, the size of the note. The glinting item I spotted buried in the sand near her body turned out to be a spent .45-caliber shell casing. Crime scene techs used a metal detector and found several other pistol and rifle shell casings of various calibers. Captain Martin says he’s heard shots fired in the bay in the past and suggested the shell casings were probably left over from the Fourth of July or New Year’s.

Ronnie is silent until we reach the office and pull in. I shut off the ignition.

“What do we do now?” she asks. “Boyd is dead, and he practically admitted to the killings. At least to Karynn’s, and he was right there with her body.”

I don’t say anything. I’m thinking. I get out of the car and head inside with Ronnie following behind. I almost make it to my desk when Nan hands me a pink message slip.

“Detective Osborne called,” she says. “He said to call him back as soon as you can.”

He has my phone number. He could have called direct and not gone through nosy Nan.

“He said he didn’t want to disturb you at the scene,” she says with a frown, as if she has read my mind. She stands there.

If you’re waiting for a tip, here’s a tip: Stop being so nosy.

“Thanks, Nan,” I say, and force myself to smile.

“It’s my job,” she says, and briskly walks away.

I might have hurt her feelings. I don’t care.

Ronnie pulls up a chair and opens her mouth in preparation for another barrage of insight or questions. I phone Clay. I will call Larry next out of politeness. I don’t expect Larry to do much of anything. I guess Clay can call Jimmy from Little Italy and tell him to call off his search.

“Megan,” Clay says, answering. I hear loud traffic in the background and the growl of an engine. He’s on his Harley. “I hear you found Boyd.”

“Skunk Island.”

“Appropriate place to hang himself.”

Who have you been talking to?

“That’s the general consensus.”

The line goes silent, then he says, “But you don’t think so.”

“I just want to be sure,” I say. “Wait for all the evidence.”

“That’s the smart thing to do. But from what I hear, he was twenty feet away from another victim’s body.”

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