Ridley Pearson - No Witnesses

Boldt felt hotter than just moments earlier: body chemicals. He could not allow himself to stare, and so he looked back at the black hole that LaMoia had dug, and the similarity to a child’s grave was impossible to mistake. He took his first and only stab with the shovel and spilled a mound of dirt back into the hole like a widow at a funeral. He touched his breast pocket, LaMoia looking on nervously, and said for the benefit of the microphone: “Suspect confirmed.” He heard the dispatcher repeating this as he plucked the earpiece from his ear and stuffed it down inside his collar, out of sight-out of contact now. Isolated.

The plan called for he and LaMoia to make the front of the line-to beat the kids to the truck and hence maintain their position closer to the parking lot than to the dock or the party area. Boldt took two steps toward the ice-cream truck and casually shouted over his shoulder loudly enough for the driver to hear, “What kind you want?”

“Get me an orange and vanilla,” LaMoia answered loudly, delivering his one line just as he had been told.

Boldt quickened his step, sensing the approaching children coming up on him rapidly from behind. Everything felt sharp and crisp, and suddenly the sunlight seemed overpowering-blindingly bright. To his left, the cop on the high dive adjusted his position. To his right, high on the ridge of the roof, the sharpshooter could no longer be seen, but Boldt could imagine the black eye of the barrel looking down on him.

If Boldt pressed the switch hidden on his chest and uttered the words Take him , then Caulfield was a dead man-his sentence decided right here and now. The power of that possibility did not escape him. He was judge, jury, and executioner. Ironically, arrest was all that could save the man now.

In this moment of consideration, he moved too slowly. Two of the frantic children scampered past him and cut in line, beating him to the ice-cream truck. This was not the way they had planned it, and though his fallback position had been to take Caulfield before any sale of ice cream, that too was now no simple matter, given the two children-hostages-easily within his reach.

The safety release was Diana and her three shepherds. Boldt glanced over at her, seeing she was in position, just behind the ice-cream truck, kneeling and talking to her dogs: stalling.

Boldt could not make a play for Caulfield until these two kids were out of the way.

The first child in line ordered a Big Dipper with nuts, and Caulfield, looking uncomfortable and acting slightly awkward, moved to the side of the truck and checked two of the small doors before coming out with the order. “None with nuts,” he said, handing the girl the ice cream. “I’m all out.” She took it anyway and immediately handed Caulfield two dollar bills. Boldt recognized fear as it darkened the suspect’s eyes: with all this preparation, he had neglected to bring change. He stuttered, “Ahh-I-,” glanced into Boldt’s eyes, and hurried back into the truck. He came out with change and handed the girl some coins. He looked into Boldt’s eyes again-calmly-and Boldt thought that Caulfield somehow knew.

The second child in line ordered a Red Bar-frozen fruit juice on a stick-and it occurred to Boldt that as he stood here waiting in line, every Montclair frozen ice-cream product in a three-state region was being pulled from the shelves-every truck emptied and the product destroyed. If Caulfield had laid bigger plans, hopefully they had shut these down.

“Change?” the man was asking Boldt. “Any change?” Caulfield repeated. Boldt had been caught up in thought. “Any quarters?”

The coveralls allowed a snapped slit to access the pants he wore underneath, and Boldt reached into his pocket and found five quarters and several dimes. He extended his open palm to Caulfield, who thanked him, and picked his way through a dollar in change, exchanging it for a dollar bill.

He thanked me. I just helped him , Boldt thought. He stuffed Caulfield’s dollar back into his pants, but it required of him an amazing amount of concentration and effort for so simple a task.

The girl with the Red Bar slipped out of line, and Lou Boldt stood facing Harry Caulfield.

“Help you?” the clown asked.

“An orange one with vanilla, and a Big Dipper, please.” He was saying “please” to a murderer; it seemed inconceivable to him.

Caulfield checked two doors. The white vapor of the dry ice escaped, briefly concealing him inside a cloud. “An Orange-Up and a Big Dipper?” he confirmed.

“That’s right.”

Boldt heard the tearing of paper. The two kids were not waiting: They were ripping into their treats. He glanced hotly at Diana, and she released the trained dogs, who immediately bounded across the pavement and leapt at the girls, knocking them down and stealing their ice-cream bars. The panicked screams and piercing cries of the two girls cut Boldt to his core. Diana plunged into the fray, confirming that the ice creams were not in their possession, and then called off her dogs, making apologies. She reprimanded both dogs severely, all the while petting them-a trainer’s game. As if on cue, Daphne and another of the fake caterers rushed to help the girls.

His backup was in place.

Boldt, pretending to be absorbed in the drama, kept one eye cautiously on Caulfield, who handled the disturbance quite well. And then Caulfield’s head snapped and Boldt followed his line of sight: Inexplicably, the third of the shepherds was gobbling down one of the ice creams. It had sneaked in behind its trainer as she collared and controlled the other two dogs. Seeing this, Caulfield seemed to panic.

Boldt tried to catch Diana’s eye, but it was too late. Snap, snap -the Big Dipper was gone.

“Two-ninety,” Caulfield said.

Boldt had not thought this out, had not figured on having to hold the two ice creams in one hand while searching for money in his pocket. This left him with no hand free for his weapon. As he rummaged back into his pocket and found several dollars, Corky Adler jumped line in front of him and demanded a Sno-Foam Fudge Bar. At this same moment, Owen Adler, right behind his daughter, looked first into Boldt’s face, then Daphne’s, and actually staggered as he realized what he had walked into. He straightened himself up, and in a moment of quick thinking said, “Corky, let’s wait for the cake!”

At the sight of Adler, Harry Caulfield was unable to move. The air charged with hatred. Corky, oblivious to it, said to the clown, “It’s my birthday, I can do what I want. Right, Monty?”

Boldt handed Caulfield the money, which snapped the man’s momentary lapse. If he could just get Corky out from in front of him, it was over. His hand, free of the money, was now touching the stock of the handgun. Move, Corky . “Better listen to your father,” Boldt said, trying to nudge her.

“Stop it!” she said precociously, holding her ground.

Move! He tried again.

“Quit it!”

“All out of Sno-Foam,” Caulfield apologized to the girl, focusing on her briefly, moving to the freezer door closest to him. “But how ’bout a Big Dipper?” he asked. “Monty thought the birthday girl loved Big Dippers.”

Adler stammered.

Daphne stepped forward, alongside Boldt, a face of cold stone. She took Corky’s left arm, “Listen to your father, Corky.”

“You made it!” a delighted Corky said. “Oh please. Oh please, Daffy!”

The other kids pressed in against Boldt, eager to be next in line. It was too crowded. It was all wrong. They could not take Caulfield with Corky where she was, and they could not allow this man to sell anything more.

Caulfield was distracted, and Boldt followed to see one of the shepherds whining and circling erratically, Diana consoling him. Boldt understood then that all of the ice cream was poisoned, not just selected pieces intended for Adler or his daughter. Another check of Diana’s charge confirmed it. The dog stumbled and went down onto its front legs in a praying position. He collapsed twice and pulled clumsily back to his feet, wanting to perform for his trainer. But it was no use-he was dying.