Ridley Pearson - No Witnesses

“Is there something you want to tell us?” Daphne asked. Boldt felt the avoidance in the man, too, and it impressed him that Daphne seized upon it so quickly.

“Jergenson was the house dick. Remember Jergenson, Lou? I offered him a fifty, and he said how it was on the house because catching people fucking was part of his job, and he remembered me. People don’t forget this,” he said, indicating his prosthesis. “The one shrink I’ve seen make a big deal about my mitt. Talked a lot about manhood and what I tried to do to Danielson. No offense, Matthews, but the guy is full of shit.”

“I’m not a shrink,” she said.

Boldt was not sure if Striker even heard that. He did seem pretty stoned.

“It had a lot less to do with my mitt than it did with my dick and my heart. She tore my heart out is what she did. Especially at the end there: She wasn’t trying to hide it at all. Just wave it in my face and head out the door all dolled up. Came home smelling like love. Jesus.”

“So Jergenson let you in.”

“Right.”

“How did you know which room, Mikey?”

He looked over at the Canadian Rockies, and when he did, Daphne shot Boldt a quick look of apprehension.

“And he was … And you should have seen her … He had her on another planet. He had her so far gone that I’m not sure she even recognized me. Know what I mean?”

Boldt could sense it, and he thought Daphne could as well-that was what that look had been about, though he felt at a loss as to how to get at it. This was her territory; he felt more like a spectator, and yet Striker seemed more comfortable talking to him. He did not look at Daphne at all.

“Did this man Jergenson know your wife?” she asked.

“Nah. He was a beat cop once upon a time. Spent his last years as a court guard. That’s how I knew him. I’m surprised you don’t remember him.”

Daphne inquired, “So it wasn’t he who told you where to find your wife.”

Boldt asked, “Did you follow her? Was that it?”

“It’s not what’s important,” replied the attorney authoritatively. “They were in the act. Boy, were they. And I caught the bastard, and I blew him away. What little shooting I’ve done in my life was done right-handed. If I hadn’t had this,” he said, indicating his prosthesis, “I’da hit the target.”

They remained silent.

“Not easy to shoot left-handed is it, Lou? You ever done it?”

“I’m still a little confused about something, Razor,” Boldt said. “When we talked out in front of my house, you said that you weren’t comfortable following her. You asked me to do it for you. So did you change your mind, is that it?”

“You’re missing the point,” Striker repeated, avoiding an answer, attempting to use his attorney skills that were considerably dulled by the drugs coursing through him. “I had to have proof. Can you understand that? I’d been through her dirty laundry-and I don’t mean that figuratively; I had asked questions and had studied her carefully for her reactions-it’s my job to spot the guilty. I knew I was getting lies, and there were times she would come home and completely avoid touching me until she’d had a bath or a shower, and when you see enough of that, you no longer wonder what’s going on. But I had to know . That’s just part of who I am. I’ve got to know.”

“Is there something you would like to share with us about how you identified the particular hotel?” she asked.

Boldt felt warm, and the room was not warm. Not unless that fake window was responsible. He felt anxious, because Striker was incredibly nervous, and the sergeant knew that if the claw had not been tied shut, it would have been chirping away.

“I’ve fucked things up for you,” Striker apologized.

Boldt said, “I’ve always wished I could throw you a curveball, Razor, but I’ve seen people try it in court and I’ve seen you blow them away, so I’d just as soon lay it right out there.”

“Do it.”

“Who did you hire to follow Elaine?”

Striker shook his head like a person who had a bug caught in his hair. Boldt took inventory of Daphne, who gave him a slight shake of the head, indicating for him to let Striker be. Her eyes said, Don’t push.

Striker took a moment to recover. This was the first time he met eyes with Daphne, and she sensed in him a hatred of all women, and took this as normal. She offered, “I can leave the room if you like.”

“No. It’s not that.” He looked at Boldt. “I didn’t hire anyone, Lou. It wasn’t like that.”

“Okay, so you didn’t hire anyone. After you spoke with me, did you ask someone else in the department to do this for you, or maybe one of the investigators in your office? Someone like that? No curveballs, Razor. I’m putting it to you straight: you have screwed things up for me. I need answers .”

“I received a call.”

Boldt glanced over and met eyes with Daphne as she sat forward in her chair. “A call?” Boldt asked, as calmly as he could force his voice to sound.

“I received a telephone call telling me that if I was looking for Elaine, I could find her in room four-seventeen.”

“Male or female?”

“Elaine is female, Lou.” This was the medication talking, and though Striker chuckled for a little too long, Boldt waited him out.

“Male,” Striker answered.

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“No, I did not.” He seemed a little bored, a little let down in himself for talking about this.

“But you believed him. You went there prepared to shoot a man.”

“I didn’t think about it. I was on autopilot.” He laughed more strongly this time. “You know, I’ve put guys away for twenty years who tried that line on me! Talk about the tables turning!” He hesitated and said, “You’re messing with my head here, Lou, because I hear what you’re saying to me. You’re saying someone fed me that phone call knowing damn well that I’d go and blow the guy away. Counting on me to do it. And if you don’t mind, right now that’s a little much for me, okay? Because I know what people think about my temper-I mean, it’s no secret.”

Boldt asked, “When did you receive this phone call?”

“A little after ten.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah, the office.”

“And is that number published?”

Striker nodded. “I see what you’re getting at, Lou, but it’s no good. I didn’t recognize the voice. I’m being straight with you on that.”

“You were set up, Razor,” Boldt informed the man. “Someone wanted you or Danielson or both of you out of the way.”

“Yeah?” Striker said angrily. “Well, I couldn’t care less about that. If I got that phone call again, I would go right back there and finish up what I started. I swear I would. My one and only one regret is that I missed . I wasn’t aiming to kill him. A PA knows the difference between assault and murder one. But I missed, goddamn it. Four shots and I couldn’t hit the damn thing. Four damn tries. Not that it was very big anyway. So much for the myth-I’m here to tell you.”

At first the laughter seemed all right, though Daphne looked concerned. And then Boldt realized that the laughter would not quit, and after a minute it frightened him, because Striker had lost all control. He was crying and laughing and looking at them desperately as though he did not understand where it came from and that they should pull the plug and shut off the machine. He was laughing ten minutes later, when the male nurse kicked them out and delivered a shot of something that Daphne said would take care of it. But it did not. When they reached the car, Boldt imagined he could still hear the man’s laughter, as if it had penetrated the electronic window, reverberating down to the parking lot below. Even the car door closing did not shut it out for Boldt. And he told Daphne this.