Water's Edge: A totally gripping crime thriller (Detective Megan Carpenter Book 2)

by Gregg Olsen

I read:

  You are so busy these days. But then, you always were sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. I see you’re on the hunt again. And this time you’re interfering with Clallam and Kitsap County cases. Good for you. I’m sure you’ll find your man. Just hope he doesn’t find you first. You’re not as clever as you think.

  The next line makes my breath catch in my throat and I stand, put my back against a wall, and scan the room.

  It says:

  I’m in Port Townsend. See you soon. Wallace.

  I can hardly breathe. I check the house again. Quickly. Everything is locked but I know from experience that if someone wants in, they will get in. Locks are only as good as the gun that protects them. Kwikset, Schlage, Smith & Wesson.

  I pull on a pair of jeans and lay my gun on the desk. He wrote, I’m sure you’ll find your man. Does he know it’s a man? Is he the man I need to find? It’s possible. The killings started after I moved here. They are reminiscent of Alex Rader’s killings. But he’s dead and so is that psycho wife of his. He doesn’t have any children but me and Hayden.

  Hayden is safely, or at least safe from me, in Afghanistan.

  I finally go to bed wearing my jeans and sweatshirt and gun. I don’t sleep well. My mind races through questions and plans concerning the case. I will talk to Bohleber tomorrow after I get the DNA results. I will find Boyd and get DNA one way or another. I will track down the children if possible. If the DNA matches Truitt, I’ll think about what justice he should get. I don’t really peg him as the killer. He’s a sneak, a cheat, a coward, an incestuous bastard. Bohleber is a con artist. But you never know what a person will do when threatened.

  Thirty-Five

  My phone pings and jolts me out of my restless sleep.

  I’ve been having bad dreams—nightmares, actually—about incidents I wish I could just leave in the past. After seeing Leann. Seeing the photos of Benton and Knowles. All of it brings me back to what I did to Marie, who was responsible for Rolland’s murder and my mother’s kidnapping. When I close my eyes I can still see Marie’s body jerking, eyes staring at me from underwater in the koi pond. I thought she’d drowned but she was a tough old bitch.

  I was too.

  And I didn’t give up easily.

  I reach over to the nightstand and look at the phone’s screen. It shows I have a voicemail from the crime lab. It’s two o’clock in the morning. It has to be from Marley Yang. He should be sleeping. It’s his way of getting back at me for making him work.

  I listen to the voicemail.

  “Megan, it’s Marley. You and your new partner need to come to the crime lab in the morning first thing. Say ‘Thank you, Marley.’”

  “Thank you, Marley,” I croak out, and it feels like my skull is shattering. Never drink Scotch and then wine. I can’t wait until the morning. I know he wants to show off in front of Ronnie, but I have to know what he’s got. It must be good by the tone in his voice. I hit “call back.” Two can play this game. He answers and I can hear a radio playing loudly in the background.

  “Hey, Megan. Were you still up? It’s two o’clock.”

  Up and armed. My gun is under my pillow. That explains why my skull is hurting.

  “I was working late,” I say. “You too, huh?” It’s a good lie. Tells him I recognize he’s a hard worker and that I am too. A good bonding technique, I think.

  “You didn’t answer so I left a voicemail.”

  No shit, Sherlock. “I was so focused, you know?”

  “I’m the same way.”

  Enough with the chitchat. Get to the point.

  “Anyway, I have some results for you. You’re not going to believe them.”

  I might if you tell me, I think.

  “Try me,” I say.

  “I found two DNA samples on the slides from Leann Truitt. One is hers and the other belongs to an unknown.”

  My heart drops.

  “Did the DNA database—”

  Marley interrupts.

  “Yes,” he says. “I ran it through the DNA database. I didn’t get a name. If you’ll wait, I’ll give you all my findings.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  “I didn’t run the original tests for the victims from Clallam and Kitsap. The one from Clallam was inconclusive. The body had been cremated so another couldn’t be taken. What it gave me didn’t mean much. It spit out about a hundred possibilities, but even if we suspected a match with someone, we’d never prove it.”

  Inconclusive, like Larry said it would be.

  “Do you have any good news?” I ask.

  “I was saving the best for last,” he says. “The Kitsap sample had two DNAs. One was the victim’s and the other wasn’t in the database, but…”

  He lets his words hang in the air.

  “But what, Marley?”

  He hesitates until I want to reach through the phone and slap him upside the head.

  “It was a positive match for the unknown DNA collected from Leann Truitt.”

  I let that sink in and don’t realize I’m holding my breath until Marley says, “Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah, Marley. Good job. I owe you one.” I hope he understands that’s a figure of speech. I’d never owe him one for doing his damn job. “I’ll send Ronnie in to get the results personally.”

  “That’s great,” he says, and then: “I mean, can she give me your report on where you obtained the samples?”

  “Yeah.” There’s no need for a report. Neither Bohleber nor Truitt matched any of the results. “But keep the results on file for ‘B’ and ‘T’ for me if you can.”

  “I guess. I’ll put them in the DNA database, but I need a case number to put them under in case someone gets a hit later on.”

  Crap! I forgot they’d be put in the DNA database and some type of case number had to be associated with the entry. But I guess it’s a good thing. Somewhere down the road a detective may get a match with a case they’re working. I’d love to see Bohleber or Truitt, or both, snatched up and charged with rape or murder.

  “I’ll give Ronnie the case number if that’s okay.” I may just make out an incident report with me as the person reporting. That way, if there’s a hit, they’ll come directly to me.

  “Fine with me,” Marley says. “I’ll have the results ready for Ronnie in the morning.”

  I disconnect the call and sit on the edge of my bed. Alex Rader raped all the women he kidnapped. But Alex’s DNA would not be in the database because he was a cop. Well, it would be in the DNA database now since I’d left his body to be discovered with evidence of the other kidnappings and rapes he committed. I rescued my mother from those monsters and there’s no telling how many future victims were saved.

  It’s late, or early, and I have to be at work soon to make up some kind of report for Marley. I think it’s important that Ronnie visit the crime lab to maintain the good relations I’ve built with the lab supervisor.

  She’s useful and I admit to myself that I’m beginning to like her.

  Thirty-Six

  I wake at 6:00 and rush through my morning routine: shower, blow dry, brush my teeth and hair, put on lipstick and eye makeup. Luckily I don’t have to select clothes. Several sets of the same thing hang in my closet, so I just grab one set and put it on. I lace up my boots and look for my gun in the lockbox. For a moment I panic: the box is empty. I put it under my pillow. I slide it into my shoulder holster. I take my car keys and my purse and I’m on the road. I pull into the Sheriff’s parking lot by 6:30. I can do that because I don’t have to worry about being stopped or ticketed.

  I’m a cop.

  Enough said.

  I see Sheriff Gray is already in. I also see Ronnie’s Smart car.

  Nan waylays me when I walk into the office.

  “These must have come in last night,” she says, handing me a stack of papers. “I got them off the printer this morning. They look important.”

  She stands there, waiting for me to say something or give her
a tip. I take the papers. They’re from Marley at the lab.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Is the sheriff busy?”

  Nan looks disappointed that I don’t tell her what the lab results are. She’s the last person I would tell, with her foghorn mouth.

  “Reserve Deputy Marsh is in with him.”

  She says this like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. I think it’s perhaps because he relied so much on Nan in the past and now Ronnie is taking her place. Or trying to. I go to his door, knock, and enter. Ronnie’s in street clothes today.

  “Megan,” he says, looking up. “Ronnie was just telling me about your meeting yesterday in Kitsap.”

  “You have my report,” I say. I wonder if Ronnie’s account contradicts anything I put in it. Namely, that I had Cass get DNA samples from Bohleber and Truitt.

  “And she tells me they have a Rapid DNA machine now.”

  Ronnie speaks up. “Actually, they’ve had it for over six months, Tony.”

  Tony? What the…?

  “I saw the DNA results on the printer and put them on your desk,” Sheriff Gray says.

  So Nan didn’t find them on the printer. She must have been reading them and made an excuse for looking at them. It’s not her job, but it is her MO.

  “I have them right here, Sheriff,” I say. “I got a call from Marley last night and we went over this briefly. I need Ronnie to go there this morning and talk to Marley. I have some paperwork for him, and he promised to have a more complete report on the DNA comparisons.”

  “Sure,” he says. “I think he’s taken quite a shine to our Ronnie here.”

  Our Ronnie?

  I don’t tell him I’ve instigated the infatuation just slightly. Okay, shamelessly. I hate to admit it, but I’ve taken a liking to her too. She can be frustratingly chatty sometimes, but she apparently kept the surreptitious way I obtained the DNA samples to herself. I appreciate that. It will keep the sheriff from knowing I’ve violated big-shit Truitt’s privacy. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Even Marley doesn’t know who the samples belong to.

  “I’m—we are finally getting some traction here. Sheriff. The Clallam case is an unknown right now and we can’t identify a suspect. The DNA from their case is messed up, so we can’t connect it to the other, but we can connect Kitsap’s with ours. I was a little surprised that Dr. Andrade didn’t put much faith in the rape kit.”

  “No one’s perfect, Megan,” he says.

  He’s directing that comment at me. I know I’m not perfect. I’ll be the first one to admit it. But I usually get the job done. If that’s as close as I come to being perfect, I’ll take it. If anything, I’m probably harder on myself than anyone. Except maybe the anonymous emailer who’s sending veiled threats. I’ve survived this long. Maybe he should rethink things?

  “I’m glad you took my advice and left Jim Truitt alone,” the sheriff says, and gives me a sideways look.

  Ronnie is looking at her lap and her cheeks are turning red.

  Well, crap. I take back what I was thinking about her. She spilled her guts. Sold me out. Sheriff Gray was telling me he knew I’d gotten Truitt’s DNA on the sly. At least he wasn’t giving me a sermon.

  “I was up late and have some avenues to pursue,” I say. “Ronnie, stop by my desk when you’re finished here. I have something for you to take to the lab.”

  She doesn’t look at me but gets up from her chair. “I’m done. I was just saying good morning.”

  And a lot of other things too. But it is hard to blame her. This is a good case. Not something you get to do at the academy. That’s all training. This is real.

  I go to my desk, log onto the computer, and pull up a form that she can take to the lab. I only put down what he needs to know to save the DNA samples for me. No names, no locations, no dates, no officer collecting the sample. I don’t even put Lonigan in the short report. No sense in dragging him through the mud if this turns into a problem. Ronnie is not mentioned, either, but I play with the idea of attributing it all to her. Throw her under the bus. But I don’t.

  She stands by my desk. “I’m sorry, Megan.” She suddenly looks like an abused animal. Head down, sad expression. If she were a dog, her tail would be between her legs. I don’t feel sorry for her a bit. She promised to keep it quiet. A promise is a promise.

  Unless it was made by me.

  I hit the “print” key and the printer by Nan’s desk whirs into life. I rush over and take the paper off the tray before Nan can get it. I save the file in my computer, but I don’t make another copy for anyone.

  Ronnie takes the report and leaves. I don’t expect her back until after lunch. Marley will probably take her somewhere to eat. I remember my aunt Ginger told me how, after I was born, my biological father couldn’t resist coming to the hospital to let my mom know he was aware of the birth. Took her flowers. I doubt the killer is the father of all of these babies, but it’s possible that he thought some reason up to visit them in the hospital.

  I pull out the reports from Kitsap and Clallam Counties and sift through them looking for any mention of a baby, the hospital where the baby was born, birth certificates, anything that will give me a starting place. If I can find the same guy signing in to visit all three of the victims, or even two, I will have a solid lead. If I’m lucky, the hospitals will still have video surveillance tapes. But first I need the names of the hospitals and the dates the victims delivered. In Leann’s case I could probably get the information from her father, Jim Truitt, who claimed he knew nothing about her except that she was a disappointment.

  I play in my head what I might say to him. What I want to say.

  Well, guess what, Jim? She’s no longer a disappointment. She’s dead. If I find out you killed her, or even had her killed, you’re next.

  Thinking of Leann, I wonder when she had her baby and where. I don’t find what I’m looking for in Clay’s and Larry’s files, and I know it’s not in mine. I’ll have to ask them to see if they ran that down during their investigation.

  Then I have a sudden inspiration. Leann was living on Marrowstone Island, and the Nordland General Store is the center of the universe there. Little places like that are gossip central—and gossip, I am convinced, is as good as cash. Maybe Cass will have an idea where Leann gave birth.

  I call Cass.

  “Nordland,” she says.

  “Cass, it’s Megan.”

  “Howdy, girl. Did that stuff that I don’t know anything about do you any good?”

  I remember what I just thought about gossip. I don’t want to tell her anymore.

  “It’s still being looked at,” I say. “I’m sure it will help. It will either confirm or eliminate some information.”

  “Glad to help,” she answers. “Hang on a minute.”

  I hear someone talking in the background and then Cass comes back on in a soft voice. “One of those jerks, probably Joe, told people I was giving away pies. I guess I’ll have to put a sign outside that I’m out of free slices of pie.”

  We both chuckle.

  “I don’t know how to thank you for this, Cass,” I go on. “Please don’t mention it to anyone…”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Cass says in a good-natured way. “I always watch CSI and those cop shows. It’s exciting to be helping. Even in a small way. Don’t you worry. My lips are sealed. Unless you need me for a witness. And then you couldn’t shut me up with a shovel. Sample B and sample T got an ass-kicking coming. I hope you get them.”

  I hope I can trust Cass not to blab to everyone on the island. All that can happen is the sheriff and I get fired for harassment of Jim Truitt, the upstanding citizen, and his spirit guide.

  “Cass, I didn’t call about the samples. I need to pick your brain.”

  “Me? Go ahead.”

  “First of all, you need to keep this to yourself.”

  “Cross my shriveled heart and whatever,” Cass says, once more making me smile. I hope I’m still tough like her when I get older.

&nb
sp; “Do you know where Leann had her baby? Or her doctor’s name? Anything?”

  She doesn’t hesitate a beat.

  “Honey, the Nordland General Store is known as Gossip Town, and you just happen to be talking to the mayor. I don’t gossip myself, you understand, but I’ve got keen hearing. For instance, I know that Leann went into labor at her cabin and was taken to the hospital in Poulsbo. Sorry, I don’t know which one, and I didn’t hear the doctor’s name.” She gives me a date that’s close to when this happened.

  Poulsbo is in Kitsap County.

  Dina Knowles lived and worked and died in Kitsap County.

  I thank Cass, end the call, and immediately punch in Clay Osborne’s cell number. He’s out of breath when he answers.

  “Detective Carpenter. Did the DNA already come back?”

  “It has. Not how I thought, but it’s something, at least. Can you talk?”

  I hear traffic and kids laughing, people talking.

  “Sure,” he says. “I’m out for a run. It helps with stress. Do you run?”

  No, I think, I take my stress straight up with water on the side.

  “I used to when I was in high school,” I say. “Not anymore. Not since police academy.” We ran five miles a day on most days at the academy. The crazy cadets would run ten miles and then come back for physical training. Push-ups, jumping jacks, sit-ups—all the fun stuff I was never going to miss.

  “You should come run with me some time,” he says. “Exercise will extend your life.”

  Not when you have psychos threatening you. But maybe it will help if I have to run. Like, really have to. I’ll pass.

  “That sounds like a great idea,” I lie. “Right now I need some information.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you know where Dina Knowles had her baby? Doctors? Anything along those lines?”

  “Did one of the DNA samples match Dina?”

  “In a way,” I say. “But that’s only part of the reason I’m asking. I’ll send you a copy of the lab reports.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Yes, I found out where Dina had her baby. North Kitsap Medical Center.”