Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

Boldt felt a chill. "Do we?" She handed him another.

I am waiting. I suggest you do not. You will have to live with your choice. Others will not be so lucky.

"It's the first time he's mentioned himself," Boldt noted.

She handed him the last of the group. "That one was sent four days ago. This one arrived this morning."

Your indecision is costly. It can, and will, get much worse than this.

Below this on the fax was a copy of a newspaper article.

"Today's paper," she explained.

The headline read: INFECTIONS BAFFLE DOCTORS Two Children Hospitalized He had read the short article quickly. "They're very sick," she told him. "'It can, and will, get much worse than this," she quoted.

He looked up. "This is his offer of proof? is that what you're thinking?"

"He means to be taken seriously."

"I don't get it," he complained, frustrated. "Why didn't you bring this in sooner?"

"Owen didn't want to believe it." She took back the faxes possessively. Her hand trembled. "The second one warns against involving us."

She meant cops. She meant that the reason for them meeting here, not in the fifth-floor offices, was that she still was not sure how to handle this. "An Adler employee," Boldt said. "Past or present, an employee is the most likely."

"Owen has Fowler working on it."

She meant Kenny Fowler, formerly of Major Crimes, now Adler's chief of security. Boldt liked Kenny Fowler, and said so. Better yet; he was good police, or had been at one time. She nodded and toyed with a silver ring fashioned as a porpoise that she wore on her right hand. "I misjudged him," she said so quietly that Boldt leaned in to hear as she repeated herself. Daphne was not one to mumble. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," she lied.

A black hole. Absorbing energy. Admitting no light-pure darkness. He realized that he had already accepted it, and he wanted to blame her for knowing him so well. "Talk to me," he said, nervous, irritated. "You're right about it being an employee. That's the highest percentage bet. But typically, it involves extortion, not suicide demands. Henry Happle, Owen's counsel, wants it handled internally, where there's no chance of press leakage, no police involvement, nothing to violate the demands." This sounded a little too much like the party line, and it bothered him. It was not like her to voice the opinions of others as her own, and he had to wonder what kind of man was Henry Happle that he seemed to carry so much influence with her. "That's why I have to be so careful in dealing with you. Happle wants Fowler to handle this internally. Owen overruled him this morning. He suggested this meeting-opening a dialogue. But it was not an easy decision."

"We can't be sure this newspaper story is his doing," Boldt told her. "He may have just seized upon a convenient headline."

"Maybe." She clearly believed otherwise, and Boldt trusted Daphne's instincts. Heart and mind; he was reminded of his lecture. "What's Fowler doing about it?" Boldt asked. "He doesn't know about this meeting. Not yet. He, like Happle, advised against involving us. He's looking to identify a disgruntled employee-but he's been on it a month now. He's had a few suspects, but none of them has panned out. His loyalty is to the company. Henry Happle writes his paychecks, not Owen-if you follow me."

Boldt's irritation surfaced. "if this news story is his doing, I'd say we're a little late."

"I'm to blame. Owen asked me for my professional opinion. I classified the threats as low risk. I thought whoever it was was blowing smoke. Proper use of the language. The faxes are sent by portable computer from pay phones. Fowler traced the last two to pay phones on Pill Hill. That's a decent enough neighborhood. What that tells us is that in all probability we're dealing with an educated, affluent, white male between the ages of twenty-five and forty. The demands seemed so unrealistic that I assumed our boy was venting some anger nothing more. Owen went along with that. He put Kenny on it and tried to forget it. I screwed this up, Lou." She crossed her arms tightly again, and her breasts rode high in the cradle. Again she quoted, "It can, and will, get much worse than this.'" Her voice echoed slightly in the cavernous enclosure, circling inside his thoughts like horses on a carousel.

A black hole. His now. "You want me to look into it, I'll look into it," he offered reluctantly. "Unofficially."

"You know I can't do that, Daffy."

"Please."

"I'm not a rent-a-cop.

Neither are you. We're fifth floor. You know the way it works."

"Please!"

"I can't do that for very long," he qualified. "Thank you."

"If either of these kids die, Daffy-" He left it dangling there, like one of the many broken cobwebs suspended from the cement ceiling. "I know." She avoided his gaze. "You'll share everything with me. No stonewalling." "Agreed."

"Well … maybe not everything," he corrected. It won a genuine smile from her-and he was glad for that-though it deserted her as quickly as it had come.

His frantic footfalls on the formed stairs sounded like the beating of bats' wings as he descended at a run.

The newspaper article had listed one of the hospitals. For Lou Boldt, the victim was where every investigation began.