Boldt And Matthews: No Witnesses Part 14

"We haven't done an end run on you concerning this bank account, if that's what you're asking. Sure, I could find out the particulars of the account through my contacts, but I lack the kind of access you enjoy at these corporations, so I'm leaving it to you."

Boldt did not believe any of this. Adler and his company had more than enough banking contacts to end-run the police. He a.s.sumed Fowler was already looking into it and simply wanted to avoid the legal problems of admitting it. Boldt saw the incredible opportunity this extortion presented to the investigation, realizing the importance of convincing Adler to reach into his pockets and play the game. He realized the current indecisiveness between Taplin and Adler could be made to work to his advantage, and he believed Adler would listen more closely to Daphne than anyone in this room. Meeting eyes with her, he asked, "How do we interpret this?"

She stared at him briefly and answered, "It's his first serious mistake. He has allowed greed to cloud his agenda. I disagree with Mr. Fowler: I don't believe he had this in mind all along. I would say this came as an afterthought. Perhaps faced with a violation of his demands, he realized he had one of two choices: kill hundreds or turn up the heat. I think he has elected the latter. And in doing so, I think what we learn from this is that he is indeed reluctant to deliver on this more serious threat of ma.s.s killings. Either he doesn't have the means to do so, or he's lacking in will. My interpretation is that he blinked. We should take quick advantage of it. If he's greedy enough, we can use that against him."

Taplin insisted, "We are not going to pay. This company will not be held hostage. Besides, we very well may have cut him off at the knees by changing the glues-which admittedly we have you to thank for, Sergeant. The product codes on the Portland contaminations were all for cans produced prior to the glue change. To date, we have seen no contaminated cans post glue change. This extortion attempt is nothing but an act of desperation. He's out of bullets."

Daphne said, "We don't know that. He could easily have a stockpile of soup-a hundred cans or more-in which case the new glue means nothing. The other thing of interest is this bank account-an established bank account. He's not asking for a paper bag filled with cash, for a dead drop in the bus terminal. This bank account indicates premeditation-a professionalism that must be taken seriously. The demands have continually escalated. Are we seriously willing to challenge this person? I would warn against taking such an action at this point in time. Pay the ransom. Play him out. The FBI would tell you the same thing."

Taplin stood rigidly tall and said in a c.o.c.ky, defiant voice: "And if we pay, what happens if this is just the tip of the iceberg?"

"It often is," she answered. "I don't have to explain to you that these product-tampering extortions can continue for years. I'm sure you've researched your position. The H. J. Heinz baby food case in England went on for over two years. Thirty thousand British pounds were paid out before they caught the man."

"I'm familiar with the case," Taplin conceded. "It is exactly what we want to avoid." Toying with his three-hundred-dollar fountain pen, the attorney said, "At some point enough's enough."

"This is not that time," Boldt cautioned, turning his plea to Adler. "If anything, it's just the opposite: This is when to play along." He met eyes with Taplin and then Adler. "You are both men who clearly understand opportunity. You don't have your kind of success without knowing when to play and when to fold. This isn't just another threat," he said, indicating the fax, "it's an invitation. He's handing us a real-world link to himself. It's exactly what we've been lacking: a way to lure him in. Forget the glue and the soup and the bacteria. He's requesting currency, which by definition moves. You move it into the account and he has to move it back out. And when he does, we're waiting. It's that simple."

"He can-"

"Wire it?" Boldt interrupted, cutting off Taplin before he constructed a compelling argument. "He probably thinks he can. But we'll follow it. This is the computer age-he can't do anything with that money without our knowing about it. Look, he has made himself vulnerable. This is our first decent chance at him. Don't take that away from us." To Adler he said excitedly, hurriedly, "If you don't pay him, all we're likely to have is more killings-that's what he's promised us. If you pay, we have a trail to follow."

Taplin complained, "If you give in to a demand like this and the press gets hold of it, you're seen as weak. These people never stop coming after you. Never. It's over."

Adler appeared to be deep in concentration. Boldt elected silence. Adler met eyes with Boldt, and he seemed to be searching for the right answer. The sergeant said, "If you give me the choice, I'd rather follow a money trail than a string of Slater Lowrys."

Adler checked his watch, turned to Taplin, and said, "You know who comes to a place like this-a planetarium? Kids. Kids like my Corky, like your Peter and Emily. Kids like Slater Emerson Lowry. What if we push this guy over the top? What if there are a couple hundred Slater Lowrys that we're directly accountable for? How do we live with something like that?"

Taplin's expression was sullen. "I don't have an answer for that, Owen."

"I do," Adler said. He said, "Kenny?"

"Boldt's right," Fowler answered. To Taplin he said, "I understand where you're coming from with this. We do open ourselves up to all sorts of nightmares-but they are financial nightmares, not human ones. It's just like Boldt says: He's giving us the chance to switch tracks. Money instead of lives. I think we jump on that kind of opportunity."

"So do I," Adler agreed.

Taplin, a look of resignation overcoming him, shuffled papers into his briefcase and snapped it shut, refusing to meet eyes with Boldt. "I'll arrange the necessary deposits."

"We should start small," Fowler said, directing this to Daphne. "Half maybe. Make him keep the communication coming."

"I can support that," she agreed.

"I'll speak to the bank," Boldt said. He thanked Adler, adding: "It's the right decision."

Adler rocked on his heels and said, "We'll see."

EIGHTEEN.

Boldt's hopes rode on a meeting he had set up with Pac-West Bank. Perhaps in setting up this bank account-which for good reason was presumed to be a dummy-the Tin Man had inadvertently left them a clue to his or her ident.i.ty. It was for this reason that Boldt invited Daphne along: to look for psychological clues in the facts of a bank account application.

As agreed, they all left the Seattle Center separately. Boldt met Daphne at her houseboat, where they shared a pot of tea and planned the bank meeting.

Boldt filled her in on the burning of Longview Farms. "I can hear it in your voice that you blame yourself for sending him there. You can't do that, Lou. We need you at a hundred percent."

"Something bothered you about the second fax."

"You're changing the subject. The subject is Lou Boldt."

"What was it?" he asked, refusing her.

"It was a little thing: no placing of blame. All the others made a point of putting the blame back onto Owen. Not this latest one."

"And that's significant?"

"The a.s.sumption of responsibility is extremely significant, yes. He or she doesn't want to a.s.sume responsibility for these poisonings. They are Owen's fault. As long as they remain Owen's fault, they can continue. Strangely enough, the day they stop being Owen's fault, we're in trouble. The guilt for these deaths could unravel him. We don't want that to happen."

"And you think this fax indicates that it has already happened." He made it a statement.

She did not want to commit herself. She blew on the tea and looked out her window at Lake Union and a pair of windsurfers, like b.u.t.terflies on the surface.

"I think that receiving two faxes on the same day, with one of them significantly different from all the others, may just be enough to attract the interest of Dr. Richard Clements. And if it does only that, then we're all better off. He's the best, Lou. We could use him."

"There's something else," he said noticing that look of hers.

"Which one of us is the psychologist?"

"Is that an answer?"

"I've changed my mind about the wife. She certainly didn't kill Sheriff Bramm. And from the way you describe it, that wasn't the work of a hired gun. That was someone extremely angry. A male."

"Yes."

"You knew that," she stated.

"Yes."

"Someone with a personal stake."

"Absolutely."

She moved restlessly on the stool. "Chances are when he killed the sheriff, he was symbolizing on Owen. It shows us the kind of anger we're dealing with. It shows us how volatile he is. He wants to see him dead, Lou. He'll stay with this until he does-or until we catch him." She looked away, not wanting to show him her eyes.

"Maybe the bank can help us," Boldt said. "Razor's going to join us."

"That should be interesting."

Prosecuting Attorney Michael Striker was of average height, but he looked small because he had a small head and a small mouth. He might have had his ears pinned as a child, but they were fanning back out in middle age, bent like leaves stretching for the sun. People called him "Razor" because his voice sounded like someone humming into wax paper wrapped around a comb. At the end of his right arm he carried a metal claw that served as his hand. As a barroom stunt, Razor would stack matchsticks into four-inch-tall wooden chimneys using only his prosthesis. When he was nervous it chattered involuntarily, sounding like an eggbeater hitting the side of the bowl.

The support of the prosecuting attorney was critical to any investigation. A PA did not run an investigation, but he steered it in the necessary legal directions that winning convictions required. The lead detective-the "primary"-and the PA formed a team that was sometimes comfortable, sometimes not. Most warrant affidavits went through the PA or were hot-rodded directly to a judge with the PA's approval. Being around Michael Striker when he was nervous took some getting used to, as did adjusting to his volatile temper, but Boldt enjoyed the man. He was among the top five PAs in King County, and some people had him picked for a Superior Court appointment within the year.

Boldt, Matthews, and Striker were escorted to an elevator and shown up to the sixth floor, where a set of fake trees and the faint twinge of disinfectant welcomed them to an executive wing.

Lucille Guillard, a cream-skinned black woman in her late twenties with a glorious French accent, an exceptionally long neck, and penetrating black eyes, wore a blue linen suit and white blouse combo that could have been stolen from Liz's closet. An overriding confidence permeated a smile that was at once both expressive but controlled. She shook hands all around, offered them seats, and got right down to business. An a.s.sistant delivered three photocopies of the computerized account information.

"A woman!" Daphne was the first to notice.

Boldt felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. The Shop-Alert video had suggested the involvement of a woman, but the torture-homicide of Sheriff Turner Bramm had convinced him that he was after a man.

"No such address," Striker declared. "I've got a cousin who lives in the fifty-nine-hundred block on the even-numbered side. There's a park across the street from him. There's no such number as 5908." To Guillard he said sharply, "Do you people ever check these things?"

Guillard bristled. "I am not New Accounts," she clarified, as if it were a banking disease.

"Well, let's see the original application. We're a little rushed." Striker's prosthesis began chattering.

"We're okay, Razor," Boldt said, trying to calm him.

Guillard reread her copy of the computerized sheet. "This account was opened last week. That means that the original application would be destroyed by now."

"Destroyed?" Striker inquired, leaning forward in his seat. "What the h.e.l.l do you mean, 'destroyed'?"

"Razor," Boldt said. He could feel the man about to explode.

She complained, "Pac-West is a paperless workplace. We're all E-mail and voice mailboxes around here. Not that I like it. The bottom line for you guys is that the original application would have been scanned and downloaded to the mainframe in San Francisco five working days after the account opened. I can get you a facsimile of that original-the quality is exceptional-but not the original itself, I'm afraid."

"f.u.c.king bean counters," Striker complained. "You can't develop latent prints off a copy, lady. You know what we're up against here? A facsimile? You think a facsimile is going to help the sergeant?"

Boldt said, "It was a long shot anyway, Mikey. This is hardly Ms. Guillard's fault. We had expected a bogus address, a bogus name."

"I would doubt that," Guillard said. To Striker she said sternly, "The applications are checked out."

Striker objected. "You want to know what you're looking at here? Ten to one this name belongs to a recently deceased female. The false ident.i.ty gives this person a Social Security number that matches the name just in case your bank actually does run a check-which I still doubt. Federal agencies have taken steps for years to automate and cross-reference their orbit databases in order to prevent what we call mortuary fraud, but, like banks, they are a bunch of bureaucrats, and they move about as fast as slugs and are about as intelligent-"

Daphne interrupted. "She would need a current mailing address, wouldn't she? For the statements?"

"Absolutely. If more than two statements are returned to us, we suspend the account immediately." For Boldt, Guillard's French accent turned her words into whipped cream.

"But that means she has two months before you close the account," Daphne pointed out.

Striker said, "That's what I'm telling you: slow as slugs." His right hand sounded like a fence gate in a strong wind.

"If this address is fraudulent, as Mr. Striker is suggesting, we will cancel the account today."

"No," Boldt cautioned. "You mustn't do that."

Guillard eyed him curiously, confused.

Daphne explained, "If an exception can be made, we would prefer the account remain open."

"I don't understand," Guillard complained.

"Of course you don't!" Striker hollered. "Jesus!"

Boldt grabbed Striker by the arm and led him into the hall, shutting the office door. "Enough, Razor!"

"I'm sorry, Lou." His metal claw ticked loudly. "You can see what she is: a foreigner, a minority, a woman-that's a quota position, for Christ's sake."

"She's an executive vice president, Razor. One of twelve. You're way out of line here." Striker was breathing heavily. He nodded.

"Things have been s.h.i.tty for me at home, Lou. You're probably right."

"Why don't you talk to Legal-see if we can't get any doc.u.mentation on this account without jumping through the hoops. And be professional about it, Razor. We need these people."

"Yeah."

"Okay?"

"Apologize for me." Striker headed to the elevator without another word.

Boldt returned to the office and apologized profusely to Ms. Guillard. He said, "It's personal problems."

"We all have them," Guillard replied understandingly. "Still, I am glad he is gone." She allowed a warm smile. Her eyes met the two of them. "This is something serious, is it not?"

"For the moment I'm afraid you'll have to go mostly on faith." He hesitated and then informed her. "I'm with Homicide. Mr. Striker is a prosecuting attorney. And Ms. Matthews is the police department's forensic psychologist. We're after a person who is committing particularly heinous crimes."

"And this is the person you're after? This Sheila Dan-forth?"

"Possibly," Boldt conditioned. "We don't know that for certain."

She appeared more than a little overwhelmed. In her smooth French accent, Guillard said, "Very well. How may I help you?"

"The application was made in person?" Boldt asked hopefully.

Checking the printout, Guillard said, "No. By mail."

"Mail?" Daphne asked.

"It is done all the time. Nothing unusual there."

"Avoid the cameras," Daphne said to Boldt.

"Exactly," he answered, then inquired of Guillard, "and the opening deposit?"

She located a code on the doc.u.ment and used her computer terminal to look it up. "Postal money order."