Bob Proctor, our broom-up-theass prosecuting attorney. You know what Bob would do? He'd laugh you right out of that office! Swear to God.'
As Soswitz turned to face the plate, Boldt smiled behind his back. Daphne had coached him on how to handle the lieutenant: 'Let him be right. Let him tell you what you need.' Boldt said, 'We have those tool markings linking the victims. If we could only raid all three vet clinics at the same time … If we come up with the surgical shears responsible for those tool markings, we've got a conviction.'
'You're ahead of yourself,' Shoswitz advised. 'It's a Catch-22, Lou. You need those shears in order to obtain the necessary warrants to find those shears.
Come on! You can't conduct search-and-seizures based on hunches.
I shouldn't have to be telling you this. We shouldn't be having this conversation. I'm saving you from eating a lot of crow. You know that?'
He swung again. Cracked one way the hell out there. The automated crowd let — out a deafening cheer. 'But you see how close we are?' Boldt encouraged. 'What more do we need?' 'You're close, yes, but you're not there. You need a witness-an employee, maybe.' Boldt heaved a sigh of relief. He was so close now. A little more … 'What about those numbers in the database?' Shoswitz; asked. 'Were they flight numbers as you suggested? Maybeck and that database-now there is some good evidence. Fuckin' judges and juries just love anything to do with computers. Can you link that to any of these vets? You do that, you're one step closer.'
This was the reason for Boldt's being here. Without knowing it, Shoswitz had stepped into the trap. 'Each of the four-digit numbers that are unique to the laptop database corresponds to a Northwest Airlines international flight that originates in Vancouver, B.C. Over a dozen flights, but to only two countries: Argentina and Brazil. Both are known markets for donor kidneys. The fact that all the flights are with the same two carriers indicates …'
'A courier,' the lieutenant answered. 'A flight attendant, a pilot. Someone hand-carrying the organs for them.' Shoswitz lost interest in the baseball.
Boldt felt his skin prickle. So close now. 'Exactly. They arranged and kept track of the flights well ahead of schedule because time is an issue with these organs.'
'If we identify this courier, you've got your witness. We just might bust this thing.'
Boldt could hear the door of his trap slamming shut. Shoswitz was starting to see front-page headlines. 'Close, but no cigar,' Boldt said.
Shoswitz considered this challenge. He said, 'There may be two couriers. One transporting the organs between here and Vancouver and then passing the thing off to a second who carries it onto an international flight. The international courier would never know the harvester's identity.'
'The harvester — remains insulated,' Boldt agreed. 'But more importantly, they get the organ to someone who is acceptable for bringing in an organ. Flight crew personnel courier UNOS organs all the time. Passengers never do.'
'Which means we need this other courier the one making the trips between Seattle and Vancouver. 'It would be a courier, wouldn't it? if they shipped the organs, they'd leave a paper trail.'
'Agreed.'
Abandoning the bat, Shoswitz tripped some buttons. The screen died, and the lights came on. Compared to Yankee Stadium, this room was tiny. Shoswitz looked foolish in his batting helmet and scuffed wing tips.
Boldt explained quickly, 'We need to identify any passenger who is making roundtrips to Vancouver on the dates of the harvests. We're lucky there because the dates are in the database.'
Shoswitz was catching on. He said, 'You've already done this, haven't you?'
'We ran Maybeck's name first-I was all but positive that he was the courier. He was the one with the laptop, with the database, but I was wrong. We came up blank. It's not Maybeck. We ran the names of the three vets-also blank. I want to run the names of the employees at all three clinics next past and present-through the air carrier manifest lists, but it's an enormous job. Dozens of carriers dozens of dates. It's a logistical nightmare.'
'Is it even possible?
The courier would travel under a different name each time, wouldn't he? Pay cash. Travel light.'
'Not different names we're lucky there. SEATAC to Vancouver is international--@you have to show legal identification. That helps.' Massaging his elbow, Shoswitz asked, 'What about driving?'
'It takes too long. Every hour counts with these organs.' You're warm, Boldt wanted to say. 'Checking flight manifests for a name common between them? How many carriers between here and Vancouver? A dozen? More? How many flights a day? Fifty? Sixty? How long to cross-check them all? Jesus! A week? A month? I'd say Anna Ferragot died for nothing. We're no fucking closer.' Shoswitz; displayed the same frustrations that Boldt had felt. Daphne had anticipated this. According to her, this was the turning point. 'Impossible,' Shoswitz mumbled.
'But if we were to narrow the field,' Boldt suggested. He actually crossed his fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he had done that. Miles started kicking.
'Why are you looking at me like that?' Shoswitz asked, sensing he was missing something. 'Give me a second. just give me a fucking second.'
'Seattle to Vancouver!' Boldt hinted.
Shoswitz didn't want any hints; he glared at Boldt then snapped his fingers in realization. 'Immigration! We can search the fed's Immigration computers-it's a single database. We can search by date, by the names of the clinic employees. We don't have to deal with a dozen different carriers. How hard can that be? How long could that take?'
'A matter of minutes, if we go in the back door.' This was Boldt's moment of glory: Shoswitz had arrived. Boldt said, 'It's the federal government. It's red tape a mile long. If we go after it legally, it could take weeks. Months, even.'
'Why not an end run?' Shoswitz asked.
Boldt thought: Why not! Such tactics were fairly common practice: You asked a contact at a credit agency or the phone company-or Immigration-to do a search for you; if something useful was discovered, you were told to make it a formal request, knowing in advance that the formal request would net what you were after. It saved you from jumping through all the legal hoops only to come up dry. Shoswitz finally understood, finally saw his role in all of this. 'You want me to make the call, is that it?'
For Boldt, it was like fireworks going off. A home run. 'You're the only one with the necessary contacts at Immigration. I don't have them. Lamoia doesn't. But you do. I know you don't like this kind of thing, Phil, but we need some help here.' Boldt had Daphne to thank for this; this technique had been all her doing.
Shoswitz said, 'You could have just asked, you know.'
Boldt offered an inquisitive expression.
The lieutenant considered this a moment. 'No,' he conceded, 'I suppose not.' Miles squirmed. He clapped his hands against Boldt's chest.
Boldt said, 'Lamoia's working on getting the employee lists.
Three clinics in all: Tender Care, North Main, and Lakeview.
With any luck, we should have those names by morning.'
THURSDAY February 9 7 A.M.
With one day in which to find Sharon alive, Daphne, having slept for only three hours, marched into Boldt's office at seven o'clock Thursday morning and announced, 'We overlooked something.'
Wearing the same clothes as the day before, Boldt looked up from his desk with glassy eyes and replied, 'I wouldn't doubt it.' 'I know how to identify the harvester.'
He sat up, suddenly more alert, and watched as she passed by him, heading directly to one of several large stacks of paperwork. 'Didn't you pull the drivers licenses on the three Tender Care vets?'
'Other stack,' he directed. 'But it's no good.
Shoswitz agrees that we'd be tipping our hand, that we'd give the harvester a chance to close up shop, to destroy evidence, if we interview them. Although the way Maybeck behaved with the laptop, I'm starting to think we're already too late.'
'It's not an interview I'm after.' She dug through the next pile over and extricated three sheets of paper. 'He can tell us who he is without our ever asking a question.' She added, 'The thing is, Dixie told us the harvester is left-handed. Remember? We weren't thinking.'
'But how-?'
'His signature, dummy.' She placed the first sheet in front of him. It showed a poor-quality photocopy of a
