Page 99 of Water's Edge

Yes, I think.

“I’m not convinced yet,” I tell her. “But I guess it’s possible.”

“When we go through the hospital video, we need to keep that in mind.”

She’s right. We’ll do it tonight. I told Clay we were doing that at Ronnie’s place. He offered to come over and help. I add paranoia to the queasy feeling roiling inside me.

“Roy was sweet on Margie. You don’t think…”

I keep my eyes on the road.

“Everyone is a suspect until they aren’t,” I say. “We’ll keep everyone in mind for now. Okay?”

Captain Marvel is a suspect now. He knew Margie Benton, possibly intimately, and never offered that information to me. He found the bodies but maybe he had dumped them as well. If he was the killer, he covered his tracks nicely. He was at every crime scene, but his Marine Patrol duties could account for that.

And then there is Clay and his boy buddy, Jimmy from Little Italy. I can imagine Jimmy as Clay’s murder sidekick. Jimmy is always clowning while Clay is more serious. Jimmy was flirty when we first met, but it was playful. Then there was the way that those two looked at each other. The way they were together. All of the victims had been raped. Those two just didn’t fit. And Clay was helpful only because I had asked for his help. He didn’t inject himself into my investigation.

“What do you think about the symbols at the scene and the way the bodies are being posed?” I ask Ronnie.

“Distraction,” she says right away. “Or maybe it has some psychological meaning to the killer like we talked about. I read that serial killers have a signature. That might be what’s going on with this guy. And there is no jewelry on the bodies. We know that Leann was getting dressed to go out. Can you imagine going on an important date and not wearing a necklace or something?”

Actually, Icanimagine it. I barely put on makeup when I had my date with Dan.

We’re in Port Townsend. I turn down the street and head for Doc’s Marina Grill on Hudson Street. The street is lined with campers and motor homes and picnic benches. The view of the bay is spectacular. I’ve eaten at Doc’s a few times and the benches remind me of times when I took Hayden down to the bay and we sat on a bench like these, watching a seagull fight with a smaller shorebird over a French fry.

My heart aches for my little brother. I wonder how he is. If he ever thinks about me.

“They look busy,” Ronnie says as I see a truck pulling away from the curb. I take the spot.

“Clay has the names of Dina’s manager and the owner in the file,” I say.

Ronnie already has the names written down, of course.

“We’re going to just do like we did in Port Angeles. Let someone come to us and see if they recognize a picture.”

“You don’t trust Detective Osborne?” she asks.

“It’s not a matter of trust,” I tell Ronnie. “If we cover the exact same ground he did, we’ll get the same answers.”Or not.“I want to see if there’s anyone he should have talked to.”

That’s a nice way of saying I want to see if he’s been hiding something from us like Larry did.

Instead of going in the front door, we go to the back where I know there is a fenced seating area. We stop a waitress and I show her my badge. Ronnie pulls the picture of Dina Knowles out and shows it to her.

“This is my first week,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen that girl.”

She directs us to the manager inside.

I ask, “Is there another waitress that’s been here a year or so? I don’t want to disturb your manager.”

She says to wait and goes inside. A short, squat woman of about forty comes out wiping her hands on a short apron.

“Can I help you?”

I identify myself, and Ronnie shows her the photograph.

“Dina,” she says. “She’s dead.”

“I know. That’s why we’re here.”

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