Ridley Pearson - The Art of Deception

It almost sounded as if Foreman had planned it that way. He wouldn’t put it past him. “You took a dive in order to get a five-year-old embezzlement case reopened?”

“It’s not like that.”

Part of Boldt wanted to congratulate the man if this were the case. Any cop taking a hit,even a Lone Ranger,was certain to awaken the sleeping giant of the SPD bureaucracy. The other part of him didn’t want to give Foreman that kind of credit, didn’t want to see a friend misuse the system,didn’t want to believe the assault had been anything but a surprise to Danny Foreman. Most of all,he didn’t want to think that Danny had caused that bloodbath inside the trailer and then done damage to himself in order to cover it up.

“Remember,Lou,this was Liz’s bank. Still is,right? Tell me they don’t want their money back. Or maybe you don’t remember. I promise you Liz remembers.”

Boldt felt stung by the comment,and he wasn’t sure why.

He remembered plenty. Just seeing Foreman’s face and hearing his voice triggered any number of memories. The cancer ward at University. Darlene Foreman’s funeral. A wake for her while Liz healed and grew stronger. A growing distance between them as Foreman stopped calling and stopped returning calls.

“What the hell happened to us?” Boldt asked.

“Liz lived,” Foreman answered, as if he’d been waiting to say this for years. And perhaps he had. “Resentment. Envy.

Hang any name on it you want-that’s what happened. And I’m supposed to tell you I’m sorry,but I’m not. I still can’t bear the thought of being around you two. Throws me right back into all my shit. Seeing you now,it’s a good thing,don’t get me wrong.

But not with her. Not the two of you. Not together. I feel cheated,Lou,and my guess is it’ll never go away.”

“You want me to pass this off to someone?” Boldt wanted nothing to do with the case,nothing to do with old wounds like these.

“It isn’t like that.”

“I’d offer LaMoia but he’s tied up in a seminar. Two weeks of counterterrorism.”

“Heaven help the enemy. Nah. My guys’ll take care of this in-house. I realize it falls within city limits,but cut us some slack and we’ll save you the paperwork.”

“That doesn’t sit right with me. You’re saying you don’t want me to open this up?” Was Foreman playing him? Taking it away so that Boldt would reach all the harder for it? And why was he suckering into it?

“It’s open now,isn’t it? I know how you are. Leave it be, Lou. Be a pal and pass it off to my guys.”

It still felt like an attempt at reverse psychology. The paperwork finally came through and Foreman was officially admitted.

An X-ray orderly arrived to escort Foreman to the “photo booth.” Boldt stayed seated in the uncomfortable chair,a three-week-old copy of People magazine dog-eared in the Plexiglas rack,Stephen King looking at him sideways.

Boldt called out,“I’ll wait and see if you need a ride home.”

Foreman trundled off,his walk giving away the lingering effect of the drugs. Boldt felt a knot in his throat,still stunned that friendship could go so far wrong,guilty for getting all the breaks while Danny Foreman had gotten none.

He hunkered down for a long wait,thinking to call Liz so she didn’t wait up. Liz lived. Boldt heard the words echo around in his head. Like it was some kind of crime.