Ridley Pearson - The Body of David Hayes

“I’ve got some problems of my own,” Boldt said, grateful for the bridge LaMoia offered him. “One I could use your help on.”

“Go.”

Boldt explained his situation-Miles needing to be picked up, and the greater need of finding Liz. He didn’t go into details on Liz’s current situation or the case in general because LaMoia would have picked up most of it already. The ferry surveillance had involved too many people not to get talked up in the department.

“I can cut out of here in ten. I’ll hit all the hot spots, though I can’t exactly see Mrs. B. in a fern bar.”

“I was thinking you could check with Danny Foreman. You should know he’s fresh out of the hospital himself. Make up some excuse that you screwed up surveillance on my wife and don’t want me finding out, and wondered if he knew her ten-twenty.”

“Me screwing up. That would fit. That’s good cover.”

It was generous of him; LaMoia was no screwup. But his reputation as a rogue player would make just about anything he said believable. Ironically, Foreman, of all people, a class-A Lone Ranger, would understand his situation.

Clearly deeply concerned, a different LaMoia asked, “How worried are we here, Sarge?”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s in play. Their first mark, a guy named LaRossa, a friend of ours through the bank, keeled over of a heart attack this morning and is in Intensive Care. The way it plays for me is that the tune-up that Hayes took-this is the night we found Foreman lying in the bushes outside that trailer-was to win some cooperation from him. He ends up accessing a safe-deposit box, where he’d probably hid the software that had cloaked the embezzled money. That software gets passed to LaRossa by whoever’s now running Hayes, because LaRossa can get to the bank’s computers. LaRossa didn’t get the job done for them, so Liz moves to the top of their list. She, too, has access to the bank computers. And now she’s missing.”

“That sounds like something worth a little more than a chat with Foreskin.”

“Danny’s lead on this-at least in his mind he is-and he’s more than a little crazy with it. It’s all tied up with Darlene for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was running Liz in some covert op that only he knows about.”

“Peachy.”

“That’s why I think we look there first.”

“Got it.” LaMoia hesitated before asking the obvious. “And if that’s not happening?”

“Let me get the kids home. Get them safe. You check with Danny. Then we’ll worry about the next phase, if there is one.” Boldt emphasized, “Lean on him, John. We don’t want to waste resources and energy if Danny’s hiding something from us.”

“Me and Foreskin, we got some history, Sarge. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Bruce Lavin met Boldt out on the curb, Miles in tow. As Miles climbed in the back and buckled himself in, the piano teacher came around and stepped up to Boldt’s window. Boldt prepared himself to be lectured, something he didn’t need right then.

“We need to talk.” Lavin spoke in a whisper, an urgency, his body language punctuating his words. He was a small man with wild, curly hair and piercing eyes. His voice crackled like the sound of a cheap radio.

“Is there a problem?” Boldt spun around to look at Miles so his son could feel the depth of his concern. Miles had been endlessly briefed about the level of privilege these lessons represented.

“Quite the contrary,” Lavin said, his edgy voice still hushed. “Your son, Lieutenant… your boy… is perhaps the most musically gifted child I’ve ever taught , and believe me,” said the teacher, “I’ve taught plenty. He needs testing-mathematically, musically. If he is what I think he is, although I’d be honored to work with him, you can and should do better.”

Boldt felt a father’s pride engulf him. A child prodigy . He’d seen the same aptitude at home, which had inspired these lessons in the first place. He’d been so prepared for Lavin’s abuse about bad parenting that this complete reversal caught him off guard. His throat constricted and he choked out, “You can arrange the testing?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll have to speak to my wife. Is it expensive?”

“Wickedly. As is Juilliard,” the man said, an impish grin satisfying his sense of humor. “And that may be where he’s headed someday.”

“Sorry about the pickup,” Boldt said. “We must have gotten our wires crossed.”

Lavin patted him on the arm-a shocking gesture from what Boldt knew of him-waved good-bye into the backseat, and walked back into the house.

Boldt sat motionless, the tingling sensation only now receding, well aware that this was one of those moments in life he would never forget-a minute-long conversation through a car window. An entirely new world unfolding before him: his son, a musical wizard.

He couldn’t wait to tell Liz.

By midnight, Boldt, LaMoia, Bobbie Gaynes, and Daphne Matthews had all made calls, had driven the streets, had checked with Liz’s friends. LaMoia reported that he’d spoken to Danny Foreman, who had professed to know nothing of Liz’s whereabouts. “But the way he said it, Sarge. He may not be lying, but he isn’t solid. Something’s up with him.” Boldt had the same feeling about Foreman, though there wasn’t much to be done about it. Initiating anything like a formal complaint would require a good deal more than suspicion and bad feelings.

The Boldt kitchen served as the command center, with Boldt acting as both dispatcher and babysitter.

Memories of her imposed themselves, an involuntary reaction to her absence: making a vegetable face for the kids, cucumber eyes, orange mouth. Driving Miles and Sarah amid fits of laughter; to school, to church. Arriving to bed playful and daring. A woman who attacked life, sometimes to the detriment of her popularity. A woman unafraid. Tested, by cancer, by faith, by degrees. Her resolute composure inspired him like wind to a sailor. Not long ago she had suggested that should he want to retire from policing and take up his jazz piano full-time, she would support such a decision even if it meant downscaling their lifestyle. A partner, in full.

Matthews and Boldt shared a volatile history as co-workers who had, for a single night, been much more. The lingering sensations of that night had carried forward years into their relationship. With Matthews now testing a live-in arrangement with LaMoia-no two more opposite people existed on earth, in Boldt’s opinion-new lines had been drawn. The teasing and subtle flirtation was gone for now, and that somehow didn’t feel right. Boldt considered her his closest female friend after Liz, a person he could share himself with honestly. There was no end to his appreciation for her and what she gave back to him. But the spark that existed there now flickered instead of glowed.

Matthews stopped by the house, running out of ideas of where to find Liz. A blue Gore-Tex rain jacket, tight jeans, and a crisp white shirt. Her hair damp, but not stringy. A little more fatigue around her eyes than her office hour cosmetics allowed. She stood just inside the kitchen door, having turned down a chair, not wanting to stay. Boldt knew this had more to do with the current state of their friendship-tested by her decision to be with LaMoia-than it did her schedule. They knew each other a little too well.

When she brought up the unmentionable, he thought it so appropriate to come from her. Only she could ask him such a thing.

Daphne asked, “Have you tried her doctor-the hospital?”

“I’m still hoping Foreman knows where she is.”

“Lou? Have you checked? Have you called?”

“Is that the psychologist or the friend asking?”