Ridley Pearson - Middle Of Nowhere

"Help me out here, Ronnie."

"I.I. installed two cameras, one upstairs at the street entrance, one downstairs on level two." He hesitated. "They switch tapes once a day. Fresh ones in place of the ones for the day before. So I knew my switch had to be done that night, before they arrived to put in the fresh tapes. I replaced the tape in the camera on sublevel two with a copy, and took the real tape for myself. Figured it might take them a while to realize. My guess was they marked and stored the tapes and kept them around in case any more vandalism was reported. Maybe erased them after a while, for all I know."

"It leaves me the tape for camera one," Boldt said, finally understanding.

"I don't know if it will do you any good, just seeing a car pull into the garage. I've got the one with the actual business going down, and it stays with me. I don't think they're too worried about that other one. A couple cops coming and going. Where's the foul? But you, Lou. Maybe you can make something out of it."

"Maybe so," Boldt said, glancing at LaMoia, who was already wearing a grin.

Boldt climbed the steps of the Pendegrass home with difficulty, due to the walking cast. In his hand, he nervously wormed the keys to the Crown Vic and the black remote that opened the doors or trunk. In his left hand he carried a videotape.

In a quick shuffle, he had sent Liz and the kids across town to stay at the Four Seasons for the night, promising his wife it was only as a precaution. Liz loved the Four Seasons. She had accepted the request surprisingly calmly, despite the late hour. Boldt took this as a sign they were on the mend. He climbed the steps hoping that he and LaMoia and Daphne had prepared for any and every eventuality, knowing full well that one never could. There were always holes in any plan, especially those made hastily.

He drew in a deep breath and knocked sharply on the door.

Pendegrass answered. He wore those same Air Nikes that Boldt remembered only too well. The two men stared at each other.

"So?" Pendegrass finally said.

Boldt held up the videotape for the man to see. "I couldn't talk Chapman out of his, and I never will. So I guess if you're set on that tape, then whatever you've got of my Denver trip goes out to whoever you plan on seeing it."

"And this?" Pendegrass asked, eyeing the tape in Boldt's hand.

"This is the one you overlooked. Even I.I. overlooked its importance. This is the one that's going to hang you once I get it to SID for analysis. This is what you want to trade for, whether you know it or not. It's the original. If you had me followed from Chapman's then you know I went back downtown. This is why. This tape. I substituted a Mister Rogers for it. You think anyone will ever notice? Not a chance. Because I.I. doesn't understand the importance of the second tape."

"As if I know what you're talking about."

"You think I'm wearing a wire? Is that it?" He raised his arms, still sore all over. "Search me. Go ahead."

"I'll pass. Whatever it is you're trying to do, nice try, Boldt."

"You've got a VCR," Boldt stated. "Five minutes. Give me five minutes." He waved the tape. "It's a real eye-opener."

An impatient Pendegrass considered this and finally stepped back from the door, admitting Boldt, who inside was a nervous wreck. If Pendegrass had slammed the door in his face, it might never have worked.

The TV occupied a tabletop in a cluttered living room that smelled of cigarettes. Pendegrass's wife looked in on them, but the man waved her away and she closed the door tightly, a concerned look overtaking her tired face.

Boldt handed the man the tape and remained standing. He identified the VCR's remote, and pocketing his own keys, took control. This had been Daphne's suggestion: Maintain control over the physical environment.

"The way I figure it," Boldt explained, "you and the others didn't think there was much to fear from the second security video-the one set up to record the entrance." Boldt pressed a button on the remote. The television showed a grainy black-and-white security video of SPD's parking garage. "But I'm telling you, you underestimate Bernie Lofgrin."

Pendegrass maintained a look of confidence, though Boldt had to believe there were cracks.

"There are three men visible in that car. You in the passenger seat, Riorden driving, and Smythe in the back," Boldt said, advancing the tape to the place where Detective Andrew Smythe's face showed clearly through the vehicle's backseat window. "You want me to keep going?"

"We come and go at all hours. All of us do. Yourself included. This proves what?"

"Your car went down to level two…" he advanced the tape, "as can be clearly seen."

"I don't know where you're going with this, Boldt, but this proves absolutely nothing. Zero."

"I'm not going anywhere with this," Boldt corrected. "It's Bernie Lofgrin you should be worried about. The guy's a wizard. You see this post right here?" Boldt pointed to the freeze frame of the car on the screen. "It's been scratched a dozen times by cars clipping it too close. For Lofgrin, it's going to be all about those scratches. They ended up like marks on a measuring stick running up the wall."

Now Pendegrass looked concerned. Any cop knew well enough to fear the things the lab could do.

"Lofgrin will measure the height of the rear bumper against those scratches as you fellows arrived, and then he'll compare that to the height of the same bumper upon your departure less than ten minutes later." He stopped to win Pendegrass's attention. "What you should have done…" Boldt advised the man, "… was take the assault rifles, but leave the military shipping cases. But that would have taken more time, right? That's what I'm thinking: You were in a hurry. The guns don't weigh much at all. But those military shipping cases add up. Lofgrin can measure the height of that bumper going in and coming out. He will prove that when you left that garage ten minutes later, you were carrying over two hundred extra pounds in the trunk. A dead body? I don't think so. Given the missing videotape recorded on that same night, and at least one missing weapon, what do you think I.I. is going to make of your visit?"

"Circumstantial bullshit. You won't get to square one with this."

This was the sticking point of Boldt's argument. The evidence on the tape was circumstantial-and only cir cumstantial-but Boldt needed Pendegrass to believe otherwise. "Might be," Boldt agreed. "How do you think I.I. will look at it? About all they ever deal with is circumstantial evidence. People are going to get questioned about this. People working in the boneyard. You. The others. Deals will be offered to one of you. Chapman will be subpoenaed to turn over that other tape. The best laid plans… A cop was shot at with one of those stolen weapons. This cop!" Boldt said defiantly. He walked over to the VCR and took the tape back. "You guys talk it over. My offer's on the table for tonight and tonight only."

Pendegrass stood there like a statue.

Boldt said, "Once Bernie Lofgrin gets this, it's out of my hands."

Pendegrass tried to sound convincing. "It don't mean nothing."

Boldt stopped at the front door. "Then you've got nothing to worry about."

Boldt's plan came down to the next few hours. If he was to turn circumstantial evidence into incriminating evidence, he believed it would happen before morning.

He lived twenty minutes from Pendegrass, and he spent much of the time with his eyes trained on his rearview mirror and his right hand gently touching the videotape in the seat beside him. He couldn't be sure, but he believed the same car that had been following him all night-to Chapman's, downtown, and to Pendegrass's-was still back there: a narrow set of headlights with a blue cast to the light itself.