by Gregg Olsen
Larry puts a big arm down on the desk hard and looks to the side. “Jim Truitt is her dad?”
I nod.
“Well, shit fire and save the matches.” He looks at Ronnie and says, “Excuse my language.”
I guess he doesn’t mind his language around me.
“Jim Truitt has a long reach,” he says, “in case you aren’t aware of it.”
I nod. “Sheriff says the same thing.”
Larry pushes back from the desk and makes a motion like Well, there you go.
“Am I not supposed to tell you about that interview?” I ask.
“Well, shoot… I mean, there’s not much need to,” Larry says. “He’s a lying sack of… uh, excrement, so anything he tells you will be a lie. But he’s connected. Big-time connected. You go messing with Jim Truitt and you might kiss your job goodbye.”
Clay says nothing. He doesn’t even ask questions, which makes me think he knows Jim Truitt as well. How am I the only one, except for sensitive-eared Ronnie, who doesn’t know about this scumbag?
“So I got Truitt and Joe Bohleber’s DNA samples.”
“What?” Larry comes out of his seat. “You got Truitt to volunteer a DNA sample?” Larry sounds like the idea is utterly ridiculous.
He is right, of course. Truitt didn’t actually give the sample voluntarily. He just didn’t know he had given it. There’s a difference there somewhere.
“It was difficult,” I say, “but I obtained one.” That much is true. “Got one from Joe Bohleber too. I still need one from Steve Bohleber and Robbie Boyd. Steve should have the same basic DNA as Joe, being a twin.”
“Is that what you were talking to Marley about?” Clay asks. “I’ll bet he didn’t like running all of that DNA.” He is looking at me like he is onto what I’ve actually done. I don’t tell them that Marley has no idea who the samples are from.
“Anyway,” I press on, “Marley said he’d do the comparisons quickly. Did the DNA from Margie Benton and Dina Knowles get you anywhere?”
I didn’t see any mention of either in their reports.
Larry hangs his head. “My samples were contaminated.”
“Contaminated?” I ask. I find it hard to imagine a vaginal swab being contaminated in a controlled environment—and there is always a remedy if it is. “Couldn’t you just take a new sample?”
“Not contaminated, exactly,” he says, like he’s confessing something untoward. “My victim led a very active sexual life.”
“Mine, too,” Clay says quickly, “but we got a good sample.”
Larry misreads the disappointed expression on my face as me being peeved by what he’s just said.
“Now, don’t go thinking I’m a sexist or nothing like that,” he says, looking first at me, then at Ronnie. “Hey, anything we say in this room stays in this room. Right?”
I ignore him. I may need some ammunition to use against him someday. I have Ronnie as a witness.
Larry goes on to explain and in doing so shoves his foot deeper in his mouth.
“My victim had maybe as many as twenty ‘samples’ in her on any given day. She worked at a bar during the evening and was a prostitute on the side. Then she gave up the lower-paying job and quit the bar. DNA would be inconclusive at best.”
I assumed that Larry’s and Clay’s DNA evidence matched. I thought that was the reason they were working the cases together. I was wrong. Maybe the DNA isn’t going to be enough to make these cases after all.
It doesn’t really matter if everything else leads to the killer.
“I did some digging into Bohleber’s and Truitt’s past,” I say. “Bohleber told me he has a twin brother, Steve. They moved to Marrowstone from Indiana, where they had a farm. I found Indiana criminal records on Steve Bohleber. He did three years for assaulting a policeman. He’s on parole now. I checked with his PO and they haven’t been able to locate him.”
I have their complete attention and I continue.
“Joe Bohleber was a suspect in Indiana for bank fraud and money laundering, but those charges never stuck. Nothing on record here. Neither of the twins ever show employment as farmers. Joe told me they were co-owners of fishing cabins. Leann Truitt lived in one just off Mystery Bay.”
Larry jumps in. “They probably have a weed farm on Marrowstone. Maybe your little gal got to snooping around and they killed her to keep her quiet?”
Clay puts up his hand. “Hold on, Larry. Marrowstone Island has had legal cultivation and use laws since 2012. They can grow it in their backyards if they want, and it seems a lot of them do. Why would Bohleber worry about being ratted out?”
I’m sure Bohleber isn’t worried about marijuana. I can’t prove it yet, but he was into blackmail. Truitt is a different horse altogether. If he is the father of Leann’s baby, he has motive to kill or hire someone to kill Leann. Maybe he hired one of the Bobbsey Twins.
“You both said the bodies were hard to get to,” I say. “How did you get to them? Who worked the scene?”
Larry lays another picture on the desk. It is a view of the scene from the water. I make out the rail of a boat in the bottom corner of the image.
“Marine Patrol came out,” he says. “They took some of our CSIs and worked the scene together. You need names?”
“Not at the moment,” I say. “I had Marine Patrol come out also. Captain Martin and a deputy named Floyd. They helped the techs work the area. Marine Patrol recovered the body and brought it around to a boat ramp to get it to the coroner.”
“‘Marvelous Martin,’” Clay says with a grin.
“Roy took me out on the boat one time during my rotation,” Ronnie says.
I’m grateful just then that Larry offers no colorful comment concerning Ronnie’s rotation.
“I’ve read your autopsy reports,” I say. “The cause of death for Knowles was strangulation. Benton bled to death. Both had broken necks. Is that right?”
Larry and Clay nod.
“What can you tell me that isn’t in the autopsy reports?”
Larry and Clay exchange a look. Larry looks for Clay to take the question.
“The bodies were scrubbed clean,” he says. “I mean scrubbed. There were some minute abrasions in the skin around the knees, feet, hands, elbows, and butt. We called them scuff marks. Our pathologist used a magnifying glass to examine every inch of skin. We found two carpet fibers embedded in Dina’s left elbow. Larry said the same scuff marks were on Margie, but the pathologist didn’t find anything of note. He called the pathologist after we talked about the possibility of the killer scrubbing down the areas, and the pathologist said—”
Larry cuts Clay off. “He said he didn’t remember. It had been over a year ago, but I remembered so he should have. I don’t think he wanted to be embarrassed for missing it.”
“Can we get a reexamination of the body, Larry?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Cremated.”
“Same with Dina,” Clay adds.
I excuse myself and phone Sheriff Gray in the space over by the copier. It is past quitting time, but I know he’ll still answer his cell.
“I was just heading out,” he says. “Got something for me?”
I ask him to contact a judge or whomever he needs to talk to and make sure Leann’s body isn’t released to the family yet.
“I need a specific reason for a court order,” he says.
“Carpet fibers,” I tell him. “We’re looking for carpet fibers.”
Thirty-Two
I come back to the circle and Larry’s rubbing his ample belly.
“Can we get something to eat?” he asks.
“I know you had burgers and fries before you got here,” Clay says. “I can still smell them on you.” He says this jokingly, but we haven’t been working on this for two hours, even.
“How ’bout you gals?” Larry asks. “There’s a Thai place next door.” He pronounces Thai like “thigh.”
Ronnie, who had a salad for lunch with a glass of water, chirps, “I like Thai.”
“Well, hell!” Larry says loudly. “Who don’t like thigh?”
“I’m allergic to Thai food,” I lie. I don’t want to eat because I want to get done here and I’m supposed to meet Dan in a couple of hours at Hops Ahoy. “It’s right next door, so maybe you could order something. We have to get back to the office.”
Clay looks disappointed. He narrows his brow. “What’s your hurry? I’m sure Tony won’t mind if you both just head to Port Townsend when we’re done.”
I don’t give him a look, but I wonder how he knows we both live in Port Townsend. I didn’t know Ronnie lived there until I took her home. Jefferson County is a big place, and the Sheriff’s Office is in Port Hadlock.
“Sheriff expects a report on his desk first thing, and he’s an early bird.”
That’s my story and I make a vow to stick to it.
“You’ve got our reports,” Larry says. “I’m starving. I always eat before six because I have stomach issues and acid reflux. If I wait much longer, I won’t be able to get to bed until midnight.”
I’m glad when Clay steps in.
“Let’s get done and I’ll buy you dinner, Larry.”
I flip through my notes. I want to go and check out the crime scenes for myself, but I don’t want to take a boat to San Juan Island. I have the pictures. I need to know who their witnesses are and if they believed them. Their opinions were never in the reports.
“I need to go down your list of people you talked to. Ronnie sent my reports and they are up-to-date. Except for the DNA I got today, and I just told you about that. You’ve got my crime scene reports.”
“I was with Mindy for most of that,” Ronnie says.
Clay gives me a questioning look. “Mindy?”
“Mindy Newsom is our best crime tech,” Ronnie says. “She’s great.”
“We could have used her,” Larry says. “What’s she look like?”
“What?”
“I mean, I might know her,” Larry says. “Doesn’t she own a flower shop?”
“Yes,” I say quickly before moving on.
I am beginning to think Larry is not only lazy, he is a pig. Clay is the real deal. I decide to tell him part of what I suspect about Truitt. But not that I think he’s the father of his daughter’s baby.
Larry doesn’t seem like he can keep that to himself.
I say, “Bohleber said he didn’t know Jim Truitt even though Truitt was co-signer for Leann’s cabin rental. Joe told me he and his twin brother, Steve, both own the fishing cabin business together, but Steve has nothing to do with it. I talked to Truitt. I thought it was strange that when he found out his daughter had been murdered, he didn’t ask any questions about how, when, or where it happened. He didn’t ask to see the body. He said he hadn’t seen his daughter for two years. But he admitted to paying his daughter’s rent since she came home from law school over a year ago. He and Leann had argued about her getting pregnant by Steve Bohleber. Truitt didn’t think his daughter should have a baby and ruin her life, but he wanted to make sure the baby got a good home. She wanted to keep the baby. Bohleber, the baby’s father, wanted money to convince Leann to give the child up for adoption. If she kept the child, that would mean Truitt would have to put up with Bohleber as family, and as you know, Truitt is very prideful and the Bohlebers are very greedy. He paid Steve Bohleber what he wanted, and the baby was put up for adoption a year ago. He didn’t know how to find Steve now because he’d taken off to parts unknown. When we got Jim Truitt’s name from Joe Bohleber, Joe called him and said we might be coming to see him.”
“I see where you’re going with this,” Larry says. “You think Jim is the real father of the baby but said it was Steve because he knows the truth. Bank fraud, money laundering. Now blackmail. That’s why you got DNA from Jim. Jim may have paid Steve to skip town. He might be paying Joe to keep it all quiet. You think Jim might be the killer?”
Clay says nothing, and I don’t want to confirm what Larry has guessed at. Never show your whole hand. I’ve said too much already.
“I’ve got four suspects and no witnesses,” I say. “No one at the bar where Leann worked could tell me much. They didn’t know who she was dating but knew she was seeing guys. Plural. All three of these women had babies. Do you think that means something?”
I do. But I want to see what they suspect.
Clay speaks first. “The baby angle may or may not be important. Unless they all got pregnant by the same killer, I don’t see how it would be connected. Only Larry’s victim was pregnant when she was murdered.”
Larry says what I expect: “You two aren’t mothers, but women have babies. It’s just a fact of life. All three of them having babies don’t mean squat. You’re guessing.”
Clay and Larry had interviewed policemen who frequented the bars where the victims worked. Margie was found three weeks after she’d been seen last. Dina was missing two weeks before her body was found. Leann was missing a short time, maybe a week or less, according to Cass at the Nordland General Store. She didn’t come in for groceries this past Sunday. It fit with the coroner and autopsy report.
“All three of the victims worked at bars,” Clay says. “Dina worked at Doc’s Marina Grill.”
“That’s in Port Townsend. I know the place,” I say. “My victim worked at the Old Whiskey Mill.”
“Not far from where Dina worked,” Clay adds. “Bars would be good places for a killer to target victims.”
“Margie lived in Crane,” Larry says. “But she worked at Front Street Alibi when she worked at something besides on her back.”
Clay frowns at him.
“What?” Larry says. “She was a hooker or my name’s Father Christmas.”
“The Alibi is in Port Angeles,” I say.
“Yeah. Sorry for my language, missy.”
Missy? That’s the second time. I guess I’m counting.
Clay hurries along. “That’s only about twenty-five minutes from Port Townsend, where the other two worked. The killer likes them to be found.”
Larry takes it from there. “He leaves them naked, or nearly, to humiliate them. Margie was cut open. She had marks around her neck, wrists, and ankles that looked like what your girl had. She had sex recently, but like I said, she was a hooker, so who knows? She’d been missing for at least three weeks.”
The pathologist said she’d been dead for less than twenty-four hours.
“Dina had some bruising around the vagina,” Clay says, dropping his voice a little. For Ronnie’s sake, I think. “It was attributed to a rape, but it could have been abuse. She was promiscuous, so even the rape isn’t a given. She had the same injuries as the others. She’d been missing two weeks, more or less. She’d been dead around twenty-four hours when she was found, according to our coroner.”
The pattern seems clear, strikingly so. Three weeks missing, two weeks missing, less than a week missing. The killer is on a roll. Speeding up. If he is on a schedule, the next victim is already kidnapped or will be soon.
“Leann was found in a cove near Marrowstone State Park. You know who found her and how. Where were yours found?”
“Dina’s body was discovered near Adelma Beach in Discovery Bay,” Clay says. “Dispatch received an anonymous call that said they’d spotted the body from the water. We borrowed your Marine Patrol to search the water near the beach.”
“Witnesses?” I ask. “Suspects?”
Clay shakes his head. “No suspects. Captain Martin was nearby when the call came out. He confirmed it. She had no family that we could find. Her coworkers said she was flirty with the customers. No one in particular. Neighbors didn’t know much about her. She kept to herself. Like both the other victims, she lived near the water. She had a small place just past Haven Boatworks facing Port Townsend Harbor. It’s right on the Pacific Northwest Trail along the bay. I don’t think Jim Truitt is a possibility on Dina, but the Bohlebers could be a different story. One or both of them maybe have been in the bar and met her.”
/>
“Captain Martin had to recover my victim too. That poor guy can’t catch a break,” Larry adds.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“His wife drowned about ten years ago. He doted on her. It’s a shame for him to have to go through all this, but I guess that’s what the Marine Patrol expects. People drown all the time, but murder is something else altogether. I’d hate to be doing his job after what he suffered.”
Ronnie’s face goes pale. “Did he find his wife?”
“He was with her.” Larry looks down at his hands. “They were skinny-dipping. She was six months along.”
“She was pregnant?” I ask.
Ronnie goes even more pale. She’s chalk now.
“Lost his wife,” Larry replies. “Lost the baby. Almost lost his life trying to save her. Damn near lost his job. Became an alcoholic, but don’t tell anyone that. He got dried out and they kept him on. He’s good at what he does. Hard to replace a guy like that.”
I want to ask who worked the drowning case, but I don’t. I can find out on my own. Clay gave Larry a strange look when he brought up the drowning, but he says nothing.
Thirty-Three
I drop Ronnie at the Sheriff’s Office and go home to change clothes. I have just enough time to get to Hops Ahoy. I think about Dan. Detective Osborne reminds me so much of Dan. Not only his looks but his quiet, nonjudgmental manner. I imagine he is easy to talk to like Dan. But he’s a cop. It would never work. Not that I have any interest. Going on a date with Dan is hard enough. Dan doesn’t pry. He listens but doesn’t expect me to tell my life story. I can’t, anyway. A cop would keep digging until he drove me crazy.
I flip through the sad contents of my closet. Several possibilities on hangers, all basically the same. Black or blue cotton slacks, white shirts, two blazers, a couple of dresses, and nice jeans for casual. I pick the jeans and one of the white tops. This is definitely a casual event. Not really even a date. A meal and a drink with a friend.
I apply lipstick and eye makeup. I study myself in the mirror over the sink in the bathroom. The top is not right. I change into a button-down long-sleeve shirt. It fits slightly tighter, but I go with it.