He stops and looks at us.
“Aren’t you going to take notes?”
“I have a very good memory,” I say. “Go on.”
He sighs. “Okay. Fine. I go over and look and it’s a woman. She ain’t moving and looks banged up. I thought maybe she had fallen but then I see she’s not wearing anything but her panties and a bra. So I think maybe she tried to swim to the beach and got tossed up on the rocks. I climbed back up and called 911. Then I thought maybe she needed help and I got in my car, but it wouldn’t start. Then the officer showed up and he called for a deputy and, well, here we are.”
I question him again, walking him through his story. It doesn’t change. He climbed down, saw the body, climbed up, and called 911. Boyd swore he didn’t touch anything or take any pictures, although I don’t believe him, because he still has his phone. He’ll probably hightail it back to campus and show pictures to his buddies or sell them to the news media.
I say to him, “So when CSI gets here and takes fingerprints and collects DNA samples, yours won’t show up anywhere?”
He swallows and I hear his Adam’s apple click in a dry throat. He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. You can’t get fingerprints off a rope and that’s all I touched. Honest to God. And the rocks where I was climbing down.”
“We have a new technology that’s called Touch DNA. You probably heard about that in class.”
He stays silent.
“And it’s what the name says. When you touch something, part of your DNA gets on the item, body, whatever. Then, using the FBI and Homeland Security database, we can then trace it back to the person through family lineage and down to a specific individual.”
Boyd stops chewing on his beard and begins rubbing the side of his face.
“Well, to tell the truth, I might have walked out in the water to see better. But it was too deep, and I didn’t want to get that wet. I didn’t never touch her, I swear.”
The bottom half of his jeans are still damp.
My rule of thumb is that when someone says, “I swear,” what follows is going to be a big fat lie. I believe he didn’t touch the body but maybe he took pictures. Maybe even a selfie. People are sick. I should know.
“Can you let him sit in back of your car?” I ask MacDonald.
MacDonald does so reluctantly.
As he is getting in the back seat Boyd says, “I’ll give a full statement to your partner, Detective Marsh.” He smiles at Ronnie. She smiles back, turns to face me, and scowls.
“I’ll take his statement if you like, Detective. They taught us how at the academy. I’ve got a voice recorder on my cell phone.”
I’ve used my phone recorder to take confessions too. But the person giving the confession didn’t know I was recording them. Tricking them didn’t bother me.
MacDonald is cold. I need to turn on the charm.
“I’m Megan,” I say. “Can I call you Mac?”
“No. It’s State Patrolman MacDonald.”
Four
Seriously.
He wants me to call him State Patrolman MacDonald.
Not a chance.
This is going to be a long morning.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Is the rope still there, or did Deputy Davis have something of his own to climb down with?”
“He used the witness’s rope,” MacDonald says.
I was afraid of that. It’s too late to collect the rope. I follow the beaten-down grass path through a stand of huge big-leaf maples to a smaller fir where a climbing rope is tied off. The rope extends down the side of the cliff. I step out as far as I can but don’t see a body or my deputy. I return to the cars and MacDonald.
“Deputy Marsh will stay up here to wait for Crime Scene. Do you have crime scene tape?”
He nods.
“Can you help me out and string some along both sides of this road? We’ll need to search both sides for any evidence or tire marks.” I look directly at him.
He doesn’t say anything. He goes behind the car and opens the trunk.
“Unless you have hiking boots and work clothes in your handbag,” I tell my erstwhile deputy, Ronnie, “I want you to stay up here and take a statement from the witness.”
She looks down at her shoes. “Sorry. I thought we’d be staying in the office today. Tomorrow I’ll be better prepared, ma’am.”
Ma’am? Seriously?
“Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’” I tell her. “I’m Megan for today. Okay?”
“I’m really taking Mr. Boyd’s statement?” she asks.
“Might as well get your feet wet. I want you to write his name and personal information down. And get the license information.”
She takes a notebook and pen from inside her jacket. It was so tight fitting I didn’t see anywhere she could have hidden them. “And while you’re at it, search his car.”
“We don’t have a warrant. Is he a suspect?”
“No,” I lie again. “Just see if he’ll let you. If it makes you feel better, you can ask him to let you search his car while you’re taking the statement. If he says yes, it will be on the recording.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“I’ve been at this awhile, Ronnie. Trust me.”
“I do. Trust you, I mean.”
Now, that’s a start.
“I’m going down to see what we have.” I go to Mac’s car, open the door, and ask Boyd, “Are you sure there’s no other way down there besides climbing?”
“I guess you could swim around.”
Smart-ass.
I return to Ronnie.
“Are you going to call Marine Patrol?” she asks.
“I’ll call from down there.” Mac approaches with a roll of yellow-and-black tape. “Thank you for helping. This is Reserve Deputy Ronnie Marsh.”
Ronnie offers her limp hand and he takes it long enough for it to drip through his fingers and says, “Nice to meet you.”
“She will be taking a statement from Mr. Boyd.”
I know Mac will gladly let Ronnie take the statement so he can avoid going to court or testifying. I don’t warn him that once Ronnie starts talking, there is no off switch. The witness is on his own.
I follow the trail through the trees again and stand at the top of the cliff. It’s about thirty or forty feet to the bottom. Rocks ranging in size from a football to a dinner table cover most of the beach. I scan for the body again, but I can’t see it from here. I turn around and start descending hand over hand, shoving the toes of my boots in any crack they can find. I get about ten feet from the top and look down again. Can’t help it. I don’t care for heights. I can’t even see the deputy. I start down again and don’t dare look anywhere but straight ahead. I hang on to the rope and try to lean away from the rock face like they taught in the academy.
“Watch out for…” a voice comes from below.
My foot picks that exact moment to find probably the only loose shale on the side of this cliff and I slip. Two things save me. There is a small sandy area where Deputy Davis is standing four or five feet below me.
And I land on top of him.