Ridley Pearson - Pied Piper

Daphne said, “What do you intend to do with this?”

Kalidja looked a little frightened. “Honestly, Ms. Matthews, if I had not discovered that Special Agent Hale already has this same information, I was intending that we-you and I-should present the information to the task force, as we discussed. But now? I have to wonder why Special Agent Hale would withhold such information. Yes? I am, unfortunately, not in a position to take this directly to S-A-C Flemming.”

“We call that an end run.”

“Yes. I deal with the S-A-C all the time, but by design, any information, especially information such as this, must go through Special Agent Hale. S-A-C Flemming is careful to insulate himself in this manner. He has managed to keep control of this investigation far longer than others might have, in no small part because he is so carefully insulated. Special Agent Hale and I were not brought on until Portland.

“This assignment has been a graveyard. Three of the S-A-C’s former deputies and two of his former intelligence officers were removed prior to Portland. He shoots the messenger, you see. It allows him to preserve his position.” She looked Daphne up and down, head to toe, and then met eyes with her. “There is something else, something far more disturbing,” she said softly. “I overheard Special Agent Hale inform the S-A-C that the task force was his whenever he wanted it.”

“Meaning?”

“Those were his words exactly: ‘yours whenever you want it.’ S-A-C Flemming does not like Captain Hill having control over the task force-we all know that, but he is an astute politician. He will not take control of a sinking ship. Nonetheless, I believe Special Agent Hale has discovered a way to push Captain Hill out of her chair when and if the time comes. If the time comes. Your Captain would do well to watch her back.” Looking at the fish, she said, “I do not care to see men ganging up on a woman just because she holds the position of power.”

Daphne recalled Hill’s request that she study and report on each member of the task force. “Captain Hill is quite the politician herself. I wouldn’t count her out.”

“Do not underestimate S-A-C Flemming. He is a brilliant man and a brilliant investigator. If the Pied Piper is caught, it will not be Sheila Hill’s collar. This I promise you. There will be only one person giving the press conference, and that person will be S-A-C Flemming.”

“And these?” Daphne asked, indicating the photocopies of the database information. “Why don’t I follow up on this for you?”

Kalidja had clearly been hoping for such an offer. “It is not for me to act upon information.”

“Your name will now appear as having accessed the same database.”

“Yes.”

“Hale may notice that.”

“Only if he seeks the same information a second time. I see no reason he would do that.”

“I accept,” Daphne took the envelope, to her a treasure.

“Watch out for Special Agent Hale,” Kalidja said in a hushed voice. She stood and straightened her knee-length skirt.

“Message received.”

Boldt, LaMoia and Daphne took a walk around Pioneer Square in order to avoid ears within Public Safety. Dodging tourists, panhandlers and ticket scalpers, they passed a sax player and Boldt left a dollar bill in his case, much to LaMoia’s disapproval.

“You just encourage them,” LaMoia complained.

“It’s how he makes his living.”

“You can’t call that music. You of all people-you know music. So why give up your hard-earned money?”

“They are con artists,” Daphne said. “The nine-one-one scam tells us that much. Their world is illusion. He could have been arrested and charged by the state, not the Feds. They wouldn’t have him in their database.”

“Hale is ahead of us?” LaMoia complained. “You know what that means for Sarah?”

Daphne answered, “We don’t know that for sure. We know only that he searched the same information that Kalidja supplied us. He probably got the names of the two cons with the same eagle tattoo.”

“It had to be Indiana, Michigan, Denver or New Orleans,” Boldt informed them. “New Orleans fits,” he confirmed.

“And just how the hell do you know that?” LaMoia protested.

“Anderson’s photos,” he answered. “The ones you gave me.”

“I went over those things a dozen times. Two dozen. There was no license plate, no markers or identifiers of any kind to indicate-”

“The sweatshirt,” Boldt supplied. “Coming down the dock he’s facing the camera. You can’t see his face because of the hat, but the sweatshirt has two colors on it: purple and gold. School colors. Those same colors are used by colleges in-”

“Indiana, Michigan, Denver and New Orleans,” LaMoia completed, understanding the logic.

“There was the off-chance it might have been high school colors, but I was betting university or college.”

“So it is New Orleans,” LaMoia said.

“Our suspect spent time there,” Daphne said, picking up on the reasoning. “Maybe went to school there. More than likely got a tattoo there. Could have spent time locked up. Kalidja stressed that only some of the inmates end up on the database.”

“May still have contacts there,” LaMoia added, “or a sheet.”

Boldt warned, “If we involve the law down there it will have to be done carefully. The ransom demand…,” he reminded.

LaMoia asked, “Why would Hale stonewall this from his own people?”

“Flemming’s attitude fosters independents,” Daphne said. “Kalidja warned me of that.”

Boldt suggested, “We need that tattoo shop.”

“Agreed,” LaMoia echoed.

“I have the address,” Daphne announced proudly, drawing looks of astonishment from both men. “You think I wanted fresh air?” she asked sarcastically.

Boldt asked, “Hale?”

“Probably has it too,” she admitted. “It was in their database.”

Boldt warned, “We can’t have him IDing a suspect.”

“No,” Daphne agreed.

“We going to Cajun Country?” LaMoia asked. “We gotta find this tattoo shop ahead of Hale.”

“I’ll book the flights,” Boldt said.

Boldt’s phone was ringing as he reentered his office. He caught it before voice mail picked up. He answered tersely, having no interest in Intelligence work, the pressure of Hale’s advance work threatening Sarah.

“What it is, my man,” the deep voice uttered into the phone.

He recognized the drawl immediately. “Not now, Raymond.”

“What has one tail but two assholes?” the snitch asked.

“Am I paying for this bit of entertainment?”

“What has a nice set of tits, a dick and two wings?”

Boldt didn’t want to be playing games. He told the man so.

“I thought you cops were good at solving shit like this.”

Boldt answered, “Two people on a plane: a man and a woman.”

“Damn!”

“So why do I care?”

“Because one of the assholes is this visiting heat, this FBI brother who’s been all over the TV. The other is one fine piece of trim.”

Boldt’s chest tightened: Flemming and Kalidja. “Where did you get this, Raymond?”

“A brother just came by the Air Strip. The G-man and the G-string jumped a private jet fifteen minutes ago.”

Flemming had a government Lear at his disposal. The information held together.

Boldt informed his informer, “There’s a fifty in it if you can give me their destination. And I need it quickly.”

“Right back to you.” The phone went dead. For Flemming and Kalidja to leave the city together without letting the task force know meant something big was in the works. Bigger than big: huge. Boldt suspected their destination was New Orleans, that Flemming had the jump on the tattoo shop, that Sarah’s chances were diminishing with every hour. Boldt called a travel agent and booked himself and LaMoia nonrefundable tickets to New Orleans on the earliest flight available. If need be, he would appeal to Flemming in person, revealing Sarah’s abduction.