Ridley Pearson - The Body of David Hayes

The message didn’t surprise Boldt, but Foreman’s edgy, demanding tone did. The ordeal that Foreman had gone through had taken its toll. Boldt had no idea what it was like to have fingernails pulled, no idea what that did to a person.

“It’s seventeen million dollars, Danny. WestCorp was insured. They’re not out a cent. I know they’d love to prevent something similar from happening again, but the only person who seems to really give a damn about closing this case is you. As for me… my concern is for Liz, and only Liz. I want her out. I want her disconnected. Neither of us needs to relive this. All it can do is hurt us. What you’re asking is impossible. It’s the one thing I’m working against: her involvement. As to my condoning the destruction of evidence-I can’t do that either. Her prints or not, the cabin needs to be gone over by the technicians. We need every scrap of evidence there is. And I’ll tell you why,” he said. “Because this crime scene-whatever happened here, whoever it happened to-is wrong. Can I put my finger on it? No, I can’t. Not yet. But it’s wrong. You don’t do this twice to the same guy. I just don’t see professionals doing that. That’s why we need the technicians. That’s why I’m going to stay right here with you until they arrive. Liz’s prints can and will be explained, no matter the outcome. Does anyone think she possesses the strength to tie David Hayes into a chair? Even with Rohypnol? Not a chance. She will not participate beyond serving as a comm center. They want to call her, fine. Beyond that, it’s surrogates, undercover officers, and that’s that.”

“You’re going to make this decision for her?” Foreman asked. “Without her?”

“You tried to blackmail me a minute ago, Danny. Extort me. For what? A six-year-old case that no one cares about? Look in the mirror. There are reasons the original investigating officer doesn’t get the lead when a case resurfaces. You embody those reasons. You’re burned out, Danny. You blame that case for Darlene’s illness, even for her death, for all I know. You’re hanging on to this one and it’s going to take you with it. Let it go, man! Pass it off to someone less personally attached.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Foreman asked, his voice steady and calm, but belying an undercurrent of raw energy that raised Boldt’s hackles. “Practice what you preach, soldier.”

Boldt felt a severe stab of pain in the center of his chest and nearly buckled over with it. He was living this case, something every detective knew not to do. It caught up to you, this kind of thing.

“You okay?”

Foreman’s voice sounded distant to Boldt. He hadn’t realized he’d gone blind in one eye until the condition cleared like a window shade lifting.

“Lou?”

“Fine,” Boldt lied. But he could see clearly again out of both eyes. His hearing returned to normal, losing that echo. He realized they were like two high school kids who entered into a brawl as opponents, but rose from the pile bloody and shaking hands. “I can’t do what you ask. I’ve got to say no to the evidence tampering, and no to Liz doing anything for Hayes or whoever’s behind this. I’ll take what comes my way is, I guess, what I’m saying to you. You want to play hardball, that’s up to you.”

“It’s not up to me,” said Foreman. “Never has been. If there’s a body out there, I want to find it. Fast. Yes. Because maybe it leads us to who did this ahead of whatever they have planned for Liz.”

“They?”

“Whatever. If Hayes survived, or if he gave up whatever’s necessary to get that money back, then there’s only one person this is gonna come back on, Lou, and that’s Liz. Slice it, dice it, I don’t care. It’s going to be Liz. She has access, and she has history. Who would you come after?”

Boldt knew he was right, though wanted to talk himself out of it. This being Wednesday evening, the bank reception celebrating the merger was now just a few days away. The embezzled money had to be wired out ahead of that deadline or be lost. It seemed hard to imagine that by Monday morning everything would be back to normal.

“There’s stuff I’ve got to do,” he said. “So who makes the call? It’s Wednesday night, Danny.” He held this leverage over Foreman-SID processed evidence at all hours. Foreman’s private lab likely did not. It was to both their benefits if Boldt made the call, if SPD did the work.

“So make the call.”

Boldt saw a flicker of thought register in Foreman’s eyes. Just a flicker, but enough to sense he’d been had. Danny Foreman knew he’d never have his evidence in time unless SPD’s lab handled the crime scene. He had purposefully manipulated Boldt into making the offer to involve SPD’s lab. The involvement of the lab would mean Boldt, or one of his squad, would inherit the paperwork, the meetings, the explanations, the press, the analysis. Danny Foreman had just encumbered Boldt, leaving himself free to pursue the money trail. More to the point, Foreman knew Boldt would not walk away from any crime scene.

“I don’t like being run, Danny.”

“I suckered into a phony tip or I’d have been here to prevent this. At the very least, to witness it. How do you think I feel?”

“So who did that to you? Not me.”

“Come Sunday night, you and Liz are gonna see there’s only one way to play this. She walks into that bank. She does what he asks- they ask-and we follow that money to the scumbag who’s causing all this trouble. You aren’t there yet, but you’ll get there, Lou. I know you will.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

“That tape ever gets seen, it’ll sure as hell end her career, and it won’t help yours any.”

“We’ll land on our feet.”

“And I’ll be there to catch you.”

“Sure you will, Danny.”

Boldt raised his phone and called Bernie Lofgrin directly, ready to involve the lab.

He sensed he was making a huge mistake.

BOLDT FOUND TRUE POLICE WORKelectrifying. Now that he carried a lieutenant’s shield, such moments came rarely and so when encountered proved all the more meaningful. For him detection was a mathematical process, and therefore very much related to his music, which he thought of as a mathematical language. As a detective you connected A to B and B to C and therefore A to C, and around and around it went, simple algebra and geometry applied to everyday problem-solving.

The problem had been to approach his interview of Malina Alekseevich with more than a hunch and a whim. For Boldt, several disparate pieces of evidence came together in the men’s room midway into his morning routine at work.

Standing at the urinal, going about his business, he heard the distinct click of the door’s deadbolt being thrown and glanced over his shoulder to see a woman locking the lavatory door.

“Wrong door,” Boldt called out, his right hand fishing to return himself to his shorts. “This is the men’s room.”

When the woman told him she needed two minutes of his time, and called him by rank, Boldt hurriedly zipped himself up. In all his years of policing, he’d never been ambushed in a men’s room.

She was a handsome woman in her early thirties, strong-bodied and big-chested. She wore her blond-tinted hair as bangs in front and cropped at her shoulders, lending her coif the look of a helmet. He searched for a name to go with that pleasant face but couldn’t find it. He washed his hands as she moved over to him and spoke quickly and softly.

“Sorry for the cloak-and-dagger, but I couldn’t think how else to ensure privacy.”

He apologized for having forgotten her name.