Boldt And Matthews: No Witnesses Part 17

"And I turned on the light."

"You can imagine his panic. But he's a fast thinker. There's a basket of bobby pins and whatnot on the bathroom counter. He's wearing gloves. We know he's wearing gloves because he takes the bobby pin, spreads it, reaches around the corner into the hall, and puts the bobby pin into the live wall socket. He's lucky. This is a small house and he shorts out all the downstairs outlets, including the light you turned on. The place goes dark again. Again, he makes for the door."

"I hear him and I run." She felt suddenly colder. Perhaps it was not the sweat. Boldt's descriptions enabled her to visualize the intruder. She felt violated. She felt lucky to be sitting here drinking wine.

"But he hears you smack into that beam, fall over the chair. He hesitates-just an instant-unsure what to do. You're too fast for him. Suddenly you've got a gun. It's doubtful he has one. The law views breaking and entering without a weapon so much more leniently. But in any case, he didn't come here to be shot, or to shoot you. Things are definitely looking bad. And now here you come, shouting your warnings, as you said you did, and he's in trouble-a cornered rat ... and all that. But the point is-" He caught himself. "Are you okay?"

"You're a little too good at this," she said. "It wasn't you, was it?" She forced a smile but winced with the pain it caused her.

"Well, you know the rest."

She stood out of her chair and faced Boldt, arms crossed.

He knew that same look in Liz. "Need a hug?"

She nodded.

He wrapped his big arms around her and pulled her tightly to him unreservedly, unashamed, unconnected to their past and that evening when they had done this without clothes. She did not want to cry. She returned the hug, and buried her face. Her hair smelled like sweat. A boat motored slowly across the lake. She thanked him.

He said softly, "Why don't you point me toward a newspaper? You get yourself showered and dressed. Let's get you settled. Okay?"

"I'd like that. But I hate to take your time."

"After that, we need to talk some more." She nodded. "Do you want to report this? Officially, I mean? I don't want to discourage that. You have every right-"

"No, Lou. No thanks. I've been there. You're asking, do I want to stay up until two in the morning? Do I want to answer a hundred questions I'd rather not? Do I want to make a huge scene, all in order to never catch this guy? I don't think so."

"Still, it's not right of me to discourage you."

"I can do that all by myself."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. I'm a big girl now. But if you would stay. Have you eaten?"

"We eat early. Miles," he explained.

"Right."

"I'd like to use the phone if it's all right."

She nodded. She went upstairs and he heard her undressing and he thought maybe he should go. But he did not. A few minutes later she descended the ladder stairs with an unavoidable amount of leg showing, and headed straight to the shower without comment.

Boldt sat with her as she ate warmed-up leftovers and drank another gla.s.s of wine.

She glanced up at him occasionally and smiled through her eyes while chewing. "I feel kind of silly," she said. "You sure you won't have something?"

"Tell me, if you're ready. I'd like to hear."

She set her fork down, took some more wine, and nodded. He saw that she was going to have a bruise on her forehead, though maybe not too bad, and if she kept up the ice as she was, the lump might not be there in the morning. Sitting this close to her, both on stools at the galley's food bar, he could see the dozens of flecks of gold and red in her otherwise brown eyes-magical sparks that seemed to increase in candlepower with her enthusiasm. She had a ferocious amount of energy, of reserve power that at times seemed boundless. She stepped him through her experience leading up to the monorail ride. It took Boldt some getting used to that the planetarium meeting had taken place only yesterday; if he had been told a week, he might have believed it. She also described how she had lost the man in the crafts fair. She told him about the blue car she had seen what seemed like one too many times. And then she confessed her general state of paranoia over the last few days. "I don't know that a man can understand it," she said. "Women come to feel when they are being gawked at. It is something society condones: men undressing women with their eyes. Call it a zipless f.u.c.k. Whatever the term, when you're on the receiving end from the age of twelve or thirteen on, you develop a real sense for it-at least I have. The thing of it is, I feel as if the person can see what's underneath the clothing. Does that make sense? I feel violated. More than once I've felt like just ripping my shirt open and getting it over with. The fifth floor is the worst. Present company excluded, I find cops the worst-and I'm surrounded by them. But the point is, I know when someone like Michael Striker is looking down my blouse.

"And that's the way I have felt for the last three or four days. Just like that. As if someone has a pair of binoculars trained on me. As if someone is in the room with me when I'm undressing-when I'm in the shower-all the time. Like I'm being stalked. That's the only way I know how to explain it. Someone back there. Someone creepy. Someone all over me, like an oil you can't wash off.

"And then the car, and yesterday morning, and now this ... I know it looks like a burglary, Lou. Especially from a male point of view. But I don't think so. I can't tell you what. I can't tell you why. I wish to h.e.l.l I could tell you who, but someone's out there and he's got my name written all over him"-her voice cracked-"and I want it over with." Her eyes were pooled. She pushed her plate away, her appet.i.te ruined.

Boldt felt responsible. In a strange way he even felt responsible for what was happening to her.

"I know I haven't got a shred of proof," she said, reading his thoughts.

"You confronted the guy on the monorail?"

"Yes."

"And what did your feelings tell you then?"

"I'd like to tell you that I felt as if I were looking into the eyes of Jack the Ripper-because I've seen those eyes before; I know that look, and there is often a look. But truthfully, there wasn't in this one. He seemed embarra.s.sed, put on the spot. Weird thing is, for a moment there I even felt as if I knew him, as if we'd met. But that's the thing about a stalker, you see-about the good ones, the Ted Bundys-they know how to project that air of safety. Old friends. Good buddies. Hop in the back of my van and I'll rape and murder you. I'll tear your liver out and eat it for dinner, good friend."

"You know what Shoswitz would ask?" Boldt said.

"Am I overworked? Under stress? Sure. I know. And if it wasn't me, I'd be sent to me for a little chat to see what's up. But it is me. And I am under stress, and I am overworked. But no, I honestly believe it has nothing to do with that. Good enough?"

"For me it is."

Daphne said, "Probably not for him, I know. But it's you I care about anyway."

Boldt asked, "Do we talk about what neither of us is comfortable talking about? That this may be related to your New Leaf work?"

"I want another gla.s.s of wine, but if I have one I'm likely to start belly dancing in the living room, or maybe I'll just pa.s.s out. Ever carried a woman up a ladder?"

"I'll leave you on the couch," he said, standing and bringing the bottle of wine over for her. "Anesthesia. You're allowed this once in a while." He poured.

"It really sucks that I'm not allowed to see Owen."

"I feel real sorry for you," he said sarcastically.

"Jealous?"

"Maybe I am just a little."

Her eyes warmed, those flecks sparkled, and she was about to say something but she caught herself. He wanted to hear it, but he knew it was better that he did not. He felt no confusion about his emotions or desires, but that did not mean he could not love this woman just a little more than was acceptable-not as long as he kept it to himself. And maybe she kept it to herself, too.

He reminded: "You first sensed this three or four days ago, you said. To both of us, that feels more like a week. Do you remember back three or four days ago? Can you separate it out?"

"We're going to talk about it," she said, their exchanges suddenly quicker.

"Yes," he affirmed, "we are."

"You think it's connected to my work on New Leaf?"

"I think it may be. I think it's worth exploring."

She ran her hand through her hair in a nervous manner. "Someone knows what I'm up to and doesn't like it. Is that it? Is that how it goes?"

"Several people know what you're up to. Many more may suspect it. Maybe that guard at the archives said something. Maybe Kenny or Taplin saw you pa.s.s those keys, but hasn't said anything. Maybe there's an employee who figured it out."

"An employee involved in the original fraud."

"It's serious stuff what you're suggesting. People would have positions to protect-"

"Do not bring Owen into this!"

"I didn't say anything," he protested. He waited a second and said what he had to say, what had been on his mind for several days now: "Was Adler in on it? Has he said anything to you?"

She gasped, and the warmth in her eyes froze over. She stiffened and nearly spit at him, "Some things need not be asked!" She averted her eyes and said, "Do you think I would keep something like that from you? How can you possibly think that?"

"I think it would put you in a difficult position. You wouldn't indict him without some d.a.m.n good proof-not if you're human. And maybe you'd look elsewhere for the proof, if things got a little too warm where you were looking. And maybe-just maybe is all-you would ask him at some point and he would say that he'd rather you didn't, and what then? Where does that leave you?"

She softened some. "Well, it hasn't happened like that."

"It's Longview Farms I'm focused on," he confessed. "The New Leaf situation is of interest to me only insofar as that if it proves true-that State Health or someone at New Leaf deliberately altered records to throw blame onto Longview-then there's all sorts of places I can run with that. We've talked about it. And what happened out there yesterday bears it out, I think. And maybe-just maybe-whoever was involved in doc.u.ment tampering at either State Health or New Leaf, if anyone, is also involved in this present situation. Crime makes strange bedfellows-we both know that."

"More than one person?"

"There's a woman involved. We've all but confirmed that. Is she alone in this? Is she working with a boyfriend? A lover?"

"The sheriff," said the psychologist.

"I just don't think a woman would have done that. Not what I saw."

"Those burns," she said. He nodded. "His genitals?"

"No."

"His face?"

"Yes."

She considered this. "The face? I don't like that. Not for a woman, I'd have to agree. You may be right. Where the h.e.l.l does that leave us?"

"I can put someone on you," he offered, changing the subject. "Watch for someone watching."

She said sarcastically, "With the dozens of people at your disposal you have to spare. Who do you have in mind, Sergeant?"

"Or maybe Fowler could. If you asked Adler-"

"He'd do it," she finished for him. "Is that what you think? You're probably right," she admitted. "But they're rent-a-cops for the most part. If there is someone watching me-and mind you, I hate that idea-and we scare him or her off, then we've lost whatever we had."

"But on the other hand," he countered, "if they caught the person and we could have a little chat, we might be light-years ahead."

"Point taken," she said. "I could fax Owen and ask."

He offered her an expression that said, "I would if I were you."

"And meanwhile, Sergeant?"

"We tear into Longview Farms. Physically, we already have: The lab is busy on a dozen fronts. But I mean historically. We find the wife. We find the people who worked there. We chat up the neighbors, the meat inspectors, the UPS driver. Anyone and everyone. My bet is that that's where we're going to find our boy."

"Boy?"

He mocked, "You get this feeling when you're a homicide d.i.c.k."

"And New Leaf?"

"Yes. I think we keep going ... you keep going. If you're up to it. We want that connection, if it's there. From where I'm sitting, we want whatever the h.e.l.l we can come up with."

"The sheriff," she said, coming back to Boldt's nightmare. "Police involvement."

"He warned us, and I blew it."

"You didn't blow anything."

He gave her a look. Enough was enough. He knew what he knew. "You okay?" he asked, coming off the stool.

"Fine. Get out of here," she teased.

"You sure?"

"Go."

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She blew him one back.

She stopped him when he reached the door. "Just one thing, Sergeant."

He turned to her.

"You might want to take that hat off before someone sees you."

He felt up there, realizing he had been wearing it-looking stupid-for the better part of two hours. "Jesus," he said, throwing it at the rocking chair. "You could have said something."

"Yes, I could have," she admitted, laughing, and wincing with the pain.

TWENTY.