credit records no questions please,' he said to Daphne. 'I supplied him with the gasoline credit card number. He's going to poke around for us. No promises.' He sipped from the soda can. 'You hear about the laptop?' Boldt shook his head. Lamoia was one of those cops who knew anything of importance before anyone else. He prided himself on it.
Lamoia said, 'J.C., who's working the first shift of surveillance along with Butch, just called in that Maybeck already deep-sixed the laptop. He got a photo of him tossing it into Lake Union. I suppose we could pick him up for littering.'
'Well,' Boldt said, trying to see the positive, no matter how small the victory, 'if we ever get as far as trial, his tossing a perfectly good computer in the drink may help reinforce the possible criminal nature of the data he had in there. We can assume he erased the data, so chances are that he also knew that the laptop was hot-maybe he even stole it himself. He's protecting himself. It's not much, but it's something.' 'There's a down side to that,' Lamoia reminded. 'If he's trashing evidence, there has to be a reason.' Daphne said, 'He's already onto us?' Boldt felt an added pang of urgency. Bile stung the back of his throat. His stomach had turned on him. Welcome back, he could hear it saying. If Maybeck and the harvester knew about the investigation, then the laptop wouldn't be the only evidence being destroyed. They would have to move quickly now. Every day, every hour gave the harvester more opportunity to distance himself from his work.
He scanned his current checklist. Addressing Daphne, who was still glowing with their success at the pawn shop an hour earlier, he asked, 'Do we have the count on the number of vets in King County?' He had asked her for this the night before on the way to the gravesite. It felt like a week ago. 'Not officially, but we have a bare minimum.' She hesitated.
Boldt knew that disappointed look of hers, knew that he didn't want to hear her answer.
She told him, 'Three hundred and seventy.' The, number hit Boldt like a truck. 'That's a joke, right?'
'That's only the veterinarians who advertise in the US WEST Yellow Pages. There's probably a third again as many who don't elect to advertise.'
Seriously?' A number that size seemed impossible. It was impossible in terms of the investigation. Boldt instructed, 'We've got to narrow that down. Fast. That's way too big a list to even begin Y I thinking about.' There were background checks to make, bank records to scrutinize, interviews to be conducted. A number like that would take a team of twenty investigators over six months to whittle down.
She added, 'Some of those are clinics. A clinic can have one or as many as ten or more vets. We're going to need an army if we're going to go after these guys one by one,' she suggested, having come to the same conclusion as Boldt.
Boldt fought to maintain some optimism. Given his fatigue, it wasn't easy. 'I'll hit Shoswitz up for the army- for task force status. You try to narrow that list down to surgeons. Or maybe tighter-internal surgeons? Transplant surgeons? I don't know.
See what's possible. We've got to cut that list in half at the very least. Half of that, if we're lucky.'
I'll do this during all my free time, right?' she asked sarcastically. He wasn't the only one showing fatigue. 'Listen, I know it's hard-'
'It's impossible,' Lamoia interrupted, supporting Daphne. 'I'm not laying this on you, Sarge, but we gotta have a bigger team. I've been pulling office hours and surveillance duty. Not only is the lieutenant gonna shit when he sees my overtime, but I'm a walking zombie. A guy makes mistakes when he gets this tired. Even me. We could be overlooking something here-something major-and we wouldn't even fuckin' know it.'
'Any suggestions?' Boldt asked. He'd been up all night with Dixie at the bone dig.
He could hardly keep a thought straight in his head.
Lamoia said, 'Like you said, a task force would sure help. We could pull guys from County Police; the FBI boys would be able to help out maybe. We've got to have more manpower.'
'And womanpower,' Daphne corrected. 'I said I'll try,' Boldt snapped irritably. 'Sorry,' he apologized.
Lamoia drained half the Coke. Daphne wrote herself a note.
She said, 'I'll do what I can to narrow down the vet list. Maybe Maria can help me out.'
Lamoia offered tentatively, 'I'm overseeing the Maybeck surveillance, but J.C.'s got it pretty well handled. I'll still be putting in a lot of office time. I'm available.'
It was times like this, when,everyone reached deep and suddenly rallied around each other in the crunch, that Boldt remembered what it was like to be a team, what he had missed about this job. just yesterday he had wondered why he had come back; now he wondered why he had ever left. God, was he tired.
He consulted his list again and said to Lamoia, 'There's more.'
'Always is.'
'Now that we've located these bones, I want a follow-up.
Granted, anybody and their brother with a four-wheel-drive has access to that area of the Tolt River, but I want to search county records for any landowners out there. Forestry anything we can think of. We cross-check anything we get both with the AMA's list of surgeons and with the list of vets that you put' together,' he said to Daphne. 'Sometimes people bury bodies a million miles from home-just as often, in their own backyard. Let's check that out.' 'I'm on it,' Lamoia said, writing it down, trying his best to mask his discouragement. 'I know that it's a long shot and a hell of a lot of work,' Boldt admitted. He also knew that Lamoia didn't like this kind of paper research; he preferred street work. 'But these bones are part of this thing. Dixie proved that with the tool markings. We can't let this slide.' He encouraged, 'If we go to task force status, we may be able to wrestle loose a chopper to do an aerial search of the Tolt region. Maybe that would speed it up.'
Daphne suggested, 'U.S. Geological might have satellite maps of the area. We could look for structures, identify locations, and check county records. Kind of work it backwards. Our friends at the Army Corps might be able to help us with the maps.' 'I'll call them,' Boldt said, making a note. 'What else?'
Watson entered and took a seat in a chair over by Daphne. His glasses were filthy. He needed new blades in his electric razor his face looked like an old weed patch. He adjusted his glasses and said, 'I won't bore you with the details.'
'Good,' Lamoia said, intimidating the man.
Watson looked a nervous wreck. His domain was wires and cathoderay tubes. He didn't take to a meeting like this.
Daphne advised him, 'Don't worry about John. He has a testosterone problem.'
'To every problem, a solution,' Lamoia chimed in, trying to stare her down. 'Not in your wildest fantasies.' She stared back. 'Watson?' Boldt asked. When people came under too much stress, it found strange ways of manifesting itself. 'That's not my name, you know,' he complained. 'With a name like Clarence, you should be grateful, ' Lamoia advised him. 'The database?' Boldt reminded. 'The laptop. Did you print up the database for us?'
He handed Boldt a sheet of paper. The database looked like a spreadsheet, a grid of rows and columns. There were seven columns and had they been titled across the top, which they were not, Boldt guessed they might have been labeled, DATE, NAME, FILE NUMBER, ADDRESS, PHONE NUMBER, BLOODTYPE, (?). The rows were created by the — names of the donors, listed alphabetically.
'The minute we had this list, we faxed it down to Bloodlines for comparison. According to them, what distinguishes ours from theirs-in terms of layout-is the addition of a new column-the last column over-which contains as yet unexplained four-digit numbers. This column is unique to this laptop database; that is, there is no such column in the Bloodlines database. The other distinguishing feature is that the date column-far left has also been modified so that only a small percentage of the records now contain a date. They should all be dated. 'It is sorted alphabetically by the donor's name,' he continued. 'What's interesting is that if a name has a date, it also has an entry in this new column. There are twenty-eight such dated fields.'
'Twenty-eight?' Boldt asked, flipping forward. 'It's the donor list,' Daphne speculated. A silence hung over the room. Daphne broke it. 'Is Sharon on there?'
'Twenty-eight donors,' Boldt repeated, looking ahead on the list. How many dead? How many victims of electroshock? He spotted the name. 'She's on here,' he confirmed.
Daphne went a sickly pale and excused herself from the room.
Boldt fought his stomach. Lamoia killed the Coke. Watson toyed with his glasses nervously. Boldt waited for Daphne's return. She didn't look much better.
He ran down the column of names, calling out: 'Blumenthal, Chapman, Shaffer, Sherman, Walker: They're all here.' He felt it as both a nauseating moment of reality and a major moment of triumph the extra care they had
