Ridley Pearson - In Harm's Way

“And was dragged through a garden,” Walt said.

“Or a nursery,” Boldt added.

“The lab work should help you there,” McClure said. “I’ll pack it up and get it off.”

“I’ll have one of my guys drive it down there this afternoon,” Walt said, a video of the struggle playing out in his mind’s eye, and the disturbing realization that Vince Wynn had showed no signs of having been in such a struggle.

“If there was a struggle,” McClure said, artfully awaiting the attention of the two, “a guy this size might have gotten in some serious blows. It might be worth checking the emergency room.”

“Or twenty-four-hour convenience stores,” Boldt said, eyeing Walt. “Have you got any of those here?”

“Good suggestions,” Walt said.

As he and Boldt were approaching the Jeep, Boldt stopped and waited for Walt to turn. “The woman at the nursery-”

“Maggie Sharp.”

“-was wearing a lot of makeup. You notice that?”

“I did.”

“Struck me funny at the time, an outdoor person like that bothering with cosmetics. But if she was covering something?”

“And while you were thinking that, I was thinking about Boatwright. The caretaker was tearing up a perfectly good garden and replanting it, supposedly at Boatwright’s request.”

“That certainly plays a little differently now.”

“Blunt trauma,” Walt said. “I keep coming back to a baseball bat. Marty Boatwright’s a football guy, and he’s old. I don’t see him clubbing Gale from behind.”

“His gardener maybe? An ax handle.”

“What if Wynn was right? What if Gale was here poking around old wounds? Wynn scares him off so he moves on to Boatwright. Caretaker sees a trespasser and takes a club to the back of the guy’s head without introductions. Boatwright realizes who it is, and for whatever reasons of his own, doesn’t want anything to do with this and tells him to dump the body and remake the garden, because in the struggle the garden got trashed.”

“There’d be an evidence trail a mile long,” Boldt said. “If Boatwright or his man owns a pickup truck, I’d start there. His man’s clothes and house would be next.”

“Be interesting if Boatwright’s name turned up on the same list server as Wynn: people considered at risk from Gale. That list would help us out.”

“I had a case down there that involved a home for boys. I had contact with some people. I could make a few calls.”

“It’s not your case,” Walt said. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t. Not that I heard. And as far as that goes, Gale’s death could easily tie to Caroline Vetta, and that means I’m interested.”

“Boatwright is not going to open his doors for us,” Walt said. “And replanting a garden hardly gives me probable cause.”

“The lab identifies what kind of plant made that pollen and we’ve got front-row seats either at the nursery or Boatwright’s.”

“I can nudge them to hurry it up. But they won’t get started until Monday at the earliest. And only then if I twist a few arms.”

“Looks like you and I are entering a long-distance relationship, Sheriff. And you know how those turn out.”

“In all honesty, it’s been a pleasure.”

“Back at you.”

Walt moved for the car door. Boldt stayed where he was.

“It’s none of my business,” Boldt said. “How do I say this? Your father… when we talked…”

“My father can be a real asshole.”

“He took a kind of holier-than-thou attitude, not with me, but about you. Like I could teach you something by coming over here. As I said, it’s none of my business.”

“I apologize.”

“My point being, he was wrong. Dead wrong. I could give him a call, as a follow-up, let him know how it went over here. Wouldn’t want to do that without your permission. Wouldn’t want to tread where I shouldn’t.”

The pit in Walt’s stomach told him more about himself than he wanted to acknowledge.

“Tread wherever you’d like,” he said, feeling the warmth of sweet satisfaction flooding him. “Kind of wish I had a wire in place for that phone call.”

Boldt barked out a laugh. When he climbed into the Jeep, the vehicle sagged to his side and then leveled. Boldt clipped into the seat belt, let out a sigh, and said, “I’m going to miss this place.”

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Walt told Fiona as he entered his office to find her waiting for him.

“I told Nancy it had to do with photographs,” she said, hoisting her camera case. “I lied.”

“A social visit?” He kissed her on the cheek. The return kiss was tepid at best. He moved around to behind his desk, thinking of little else.

“I wish. No. It’s… I need a favor, and I’m not sure it’s fair to ask. I don’t want to take advantage of our… you know… the other night, but at the same time, I need something.”

He stood and eased his office door shut and returned to the chair next to her, forgoing the seat behind the desk.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“I… the thing is…” She met his eyes and then looked quickly away.

“We’re both adults here.”

“It isn’t that,” she said. “It’s… We don’t really know each other,” she said. “Not all that well.”

He felt it in the center of his chest, not like a knife but more like a medical procedure where all the blood, all the life, was being drawn out of him into a syringe, while he sat there watching it.

“That’s what we do. Right? From here on out. Get to know each other better. Share the stuff you never share. It’s what makes the bond unique. Worth so much. I want to know you. I want to know all about you.”

Her eyes welled. “You might be surprised.”

“Try me. I like surprise.”

For an instant he saw in her a hope or dream, but something passed like a shadow between them and then that look was gone, replaced by something more protective and even suspicious. He’d had similar moments in interrogations when the suspect seemed ready to download, only to clamp down and turn inward. He’d lost her. Rather than push, or fish, which was his nature, he sat back and tried to appear the model of patience.

“I called the company. The one that can trace the pickup. Michael and Leslie’s pickup.”

He kept his mouth shut, measuring her fragility in her sideways looks and the whispering quality of her voice.

“They said I have to file a police report. Report it as a stolen vehicle. Without that they won’t trace it.”

“Pretty common with these companies,” he said. “They want it to be for real. It’s not a service to track down your missing teenager.”

“But that’s just it: that’s what I need. To track down Kira.”

“Meaning?”

“I haven’t seen her in a couple of days, Walt. That happens sometimes. We can go most of a week without overlapping. But the pickup truck being gone. That’s not good. She knows the rules. The last thing I want is for her to get into trouble with Michael and Leslie and maybe lose the house-sitting thing. But if I want to track her down, I have to report it as stolen, and if I report it as stolen-”

“The Engletons find out about it.”

“Exactly.”

“But if I were to make the call…?”

“Something like that. Yes.”

“No problem.”

“What? Really?” He watched the load come off her: her head raised, her shoulders seemed higher, straighter.

“Not a big deal,” he said. “I can have Nancy make the call.”

“But does it… I don’t know. Could you get into trouble?”

“I can’t imagine how. We make these kinds of calls often enough. It’s really not a big deal.”