Page 85 of Water's Edge

Her name is Karynn. I hate how a living person is reduced to a thing, a victim, when he or she is murdered.

“The bodies are on their way to Dr. Andrade,” I say.

“She one of ours?”

“I think so.”

Clay chimes in with a singsong voice. “I know. I know. You want to wait for all the evidence.”

“When Dr. Andrade gives me a time for the autopsy, I’ll give you a call if you want.”

I hope he says no. I don’t want to throw up in front of him. Even if he’s not interested in women.

“That’d be good,” he says. “Do you want me to call my friend Jimmy?”

“That’s part of the reason I called you back. I’d like to look at Boyd’s dorm room.”

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“Just turning over every rock. Will you clear it? I don’t have a warrant, but the guy’s dead. There won’t be a trial.”

“I’ll call Jimmy as soon as we hang up. But you remember he stole the identity of the real Robert Boyd and he’s missing. We have to assume he’s alive. Might even be there.”

I hang up.

“Are we going to the college?” Ronnie asks.

“Not we. Me. I need you to stay here and do the computer searches.”

She looks like a disappointed child. She’ll get over it. I actually have a little faith in her.

Forty-One

I park in a space marked for Campus Security. I’ll probably get a ticket, but they’ll never take me alive. True to his word, Clay called me right back. Jimmy gave me his blessing and called ahead to the chief of security. She’ll meet me at her office and accompany me to Boyd’s dorm room. Jimmy has finally come through with something.

My phone pings with a text from Dan.

Dan: Hey you. Had a great time.

Me: Me too.

Dan: Let’s do it again.

I don’t know what to say. I want to see him again, but I don’t know how to fit something good into my life. Without ruining it, that is. I take the easy way out. I send Dan the “thumbs up” emoji and tell him that I’ll call him later.

“On the case.”

Now he gives me the “thumbs up.”

There is a knock on my passenger-side window and all I can see is a uniform and gun belt. I put down my phone and roll down the window, expecting to be told I can’t park here. A woman in her thirties squats even with the window.

“Detective Carpenter?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m the one you’re supposed to meet,” she says. “Come with me.”

I exit the Taurus and meet her on the sidewalk. I was wrong in my assessment of her age. She is easily in her late forties. Tall, thin, athletic looking, with short-cropped black hair, no makeup, dark blue uniform, and three silver stars on each collar. Fine lines around her eyes indicate a tanning bed or years of hard living.

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